Free Vicky Peterwald: Target by Mike Shepherd Page A

Empress. The Empress and her uncles and brothers, to be more precise.”
    “Delicately put,” the admiral muttered.
    “However, mutterings about the current condition in our beloved Greenfeld do not constitute a conspiracy, at least not yet. Dearest Stepmom may be moving to adjust the laws more to her liking. Still, from what was shown to me in the database, there is no way that I could name a party or parties involved in a concerted effort to overthrow my dad’s throne.”
    Vicky eyed the admiral. He studied her right back. She could detect no decision behind his eyes, so she went on. “The only clear evidence of a conspiracy is the bribe that was given to you and the other admirals to deliver my delicate body to someone or ones unnamed. Did you try to trace the money?” she asked.
    “The Navy did its best to do that,” Admiral Gort replied. “It got nowhere.” He glanced at Mr. Smith. “I wonder if you would have better luck.”
    “I don’t deal with luck, sir, and I am always available for hire. Assuming the price is right, and the check clears.”
    “Mr. Smith,” Vicky said, “has made it clear to me that he is first and last a mercenary.”
    “An amazingly well-equipped one,” the admiral said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
    “His equipment has saved my life at least once,” Vicky added.
    “A fortunate blow-by of my contract to keep Kris Longknife alive,” Mr. Smith said, dismissively.
    “So you were employed by Wardhaven Security,” the admiral said, turning on him.
    “Me, and a whole lot of other people you’d never expect,” Mr. Smith said with a grin. “In case you are concerned, the sudden decamping of the Wardhaven princess left me, and likely several others of my type, suddenly unemployed. I offered my services to your Grand Duchess, and she has accepted. With my contract, she buys my loyalty.”
    “While the contract lasts,” the admiral growled.
    “But of course, sir. How long would your loyalty last without a paycheck? And before you begin to toss stones, may I point out the glass in your own house, sir? You have admitted to taking bribes to determine the fate of my employer. Exactly how are we different?”
    “And if I decide to kill her?”
    Mr. Smith looked around at the gray walls surrounding him. “I would, of course, do what I could for her although I must admit, the circumstances do seem to agitate for discretion being the better part of valor for me.”
    “Thank you so much for telling me that,” Vicky said.
    “Please excuse me for stating the obvious, Your Grace,” Mr. Smith said, “but the correlation of space to force is decidedly against you. Where would be the benefit to you of my joining you in death?”
    The look of disgust Vicky gave the mercenary was only equaled by the one he got from the admiral.
    Vicky chose to go on with her own question. “Admiral, could you explain one thing to me?”
    “I might,” he said guardedly, still eyeing Mr. Smith like something left behind by a diarrhea-ridden cat.
    “You do not know where the money came from, but surely you must know where my still-breathing body is to be delivered. Else why bribe you in the first place?”
    “I have an e-mail address. No doubt intel has already discovered that however it was acquired cannot be traced back to the person who did it. I will say that I have you and intend to deliver you. They will tell me where the delivery is to be made.”
    “No doubt, with a lot of cutouts in between,” Mr. Smith said, professionally.
    “So the conspiracy is lying low until it has something, or rather someone, to conspire around,” Vicky concluded. And then spotted the question she had missed before.
    “And what does the Navy’s General Staff think of all this? I can’t believe that they aren’t in on this up to their ears.”
    That question clearly bothered the admiral. “Lieutenant, you are asking too many questions.”
    “Yes, that’s likely, but I strongly suspect that the decision to