Free 3 Thank God it's Monday by Robert Michael

gentleman. And the veiled threat about Giselle. That had almost
stopped his heart. He knew!
    “Sinegem is not entirely my mistake!” He proffered.
    Clarence’s eyes darted from the knife to Eilif’s vest. Eilif
stood, his hands out in a warding gesture, his chest heaving in panic.
    “That is true. Mr. Chen is mostly responsible for that mess.
Maybe I am placing too much blame at your feet, Mr. Nicholaisen. You are merely
a stakeholder who has been allowed a voice. Understand, though, that we will
allow no such error of judgment in the Coalition.”
    “Of course not. You have my loyalty,” Eilif said, his voice
coming out in a squeak. He had to stop himself from saying, you have my
fealty.
    The knife disappeared. So did the demon that had inhabited
the body of Clarence. That was surely what had transpired, Eilif thought. His
eyes had seemed to glow red, his nostrils to smoke, and his body to grow taller
and broader as he had threatened him. Now the physically meek and calculating
Clarence had returned, his manners perfect, his voice sounding superior rather
than threatening.
    “If only we could ensure that loyalty, Mr. Nicholaisen. Alas,
we only have words. Of course,” he glanced behind him, a smile edging at his
thin, pursed lips, “we can always manufacture loyalty to some degree, I suppose.”
    The threat was not lost on him. He could feel his hands tremble
with rage and fear. To lose control to a man he felt was inferior was one thing
and to be threatened with a total lack of control was another entirely.
    “That will not be necessary. Proof of my loyalty will be
provided once Mr. Monday has performed his mission.”
    “How can we know that is loyalty, Eilif? Does it not still
fulfill your dream of vengeance against Gabriel Vine? And how exactly do we
interpret the further existence of your daughter? She was not in the lab at
Galbraith. She was not at the facility at Sinegem. Is that what passes for
loyalty these days?” He wiped his hands with a pocket kerchief and smiled
gently.
    “I don’t know...”
    “Of course you don’t,” Clarence snapped, turning away. He
opened the door.
    Giselle stood there flanked by two of his security personnel.
    Eilif was stunned, his mouth agape. He could not move. He
felt his knees weaken and his hands wrench against the table behind him for
balance.
    “How did she...” he began, already forming lies and denials in
his head. He had never been an effectual liar. He dealt in truths, even when
those truths hurt.
    “Oh, do not worry, my dear Mr. Nicholaisen. We are fully
aware of your love for your daughter. Why else would you subject her to these
petty games of vengeance and incest? What? You did not know that we were aware
of her lineage?” Clarence traced the lines of Giselle’s cheek and stared at
Eilif. “Why, the bones!  The fine-china complexion!  The absolute class and sexual
energy. Those could only be traits she received from her mother, Barbara Vine. Or
should I say Barbara Monday?” He glanced at Jake in the next room.
    “Let me ask, though:  did you tell Giselle this truth? Surely
she would have wanted to be reunited with her mother, the great Barbara Monday.
Why not? Barbara was philanthropic, she supported the arts, she gave to the
poor, she championed the little guy, and she fought the kind of corrupt bureaucracy
that her husband served. And she paid the price, didn’t she?”
    Eilif felt his lip trembling. He did not want to answer. He
knew he would sound petulant, fearful, or resentful. He would certainly not
sound loyal. He kept his eyes on the men beside Giselle. They seemed placid,
peaceful, their rifles at the ready. They wore no emotion. It was then that he
understood.
    “You have enthralled all of our forces, haven’t you?” It
came out as accusation, much to his displeasure. He cringed as he asked the
question. Clarence seemed not to mind, though. He seemed absolutely giddy.
    “Why yes. We did. It was quite the feat, I must admit.