While it may seem that my employer has a greater tendency than most to "buy his way" out of problems and dilemmas, I have noticed that he invariably draws the line when it comes to dealing with politicians. This is not, as it might be supposed, the result of any distaste on his part for the influence of "special interest groups," nor does he subscribe to the "An honest politician is one who, once he's bought, stays bought!" school of thought. Rather, it stems from a stubborn belief on his part that elected officials should not have to be "paid extra" to do their jobs.

As he puts it, "Waitresses and card dealers are paid minimum wage in antic.i.p.ation of their income being supplemented by tips, so if one doesn't tip them, one is, in effect, robbing them of their livelihood. Public officials, on the other hand, are expected to live within their salaries, so any effort on their part to obtain additional earnings for the simple performance of their duties is extortion at its worst and should be a jailable offense!"

Needless to say, this att.i.tude does nothing toward increasing his popularity with the politicians he comes in contact with.

Governor Wingas, or Wind-gust, as he was known to his rivals, could not suppress a feeling of smug excitement as the commander was ushered into his study. Ever since reading in the media that there was a megamillionaire in residence in the settlement, the governor had been racking his brain for a way to entice a fat "campaign contribution" out of that noteworthy. All party and luncheon invitations had gone unanswered, however, as had his personal notes soliciting contributions and hinting vaguely at "beneficial legislation" for the Legionnaires.

Now, at long last, he was not only getting a chance to meet the munitions heir, but that chance was coming under circ.u.mstances that could only be viewed as "favorable for negotiation." In layman's terms, with two Legionnaires under lock and key, he had their commander over a barrel and had no intention of settling cheaply . . . or easily.

"So, we finally meet, Mr. Phule . . . or should I call you Captain Jester? The governor smiled, leaning back in the leather chair behind his desk as the commander settled in one of the guest chairs.

"Make it 'Captain Jester,"' Phule said, not returning the smile. "This isn't a social call. I'm here on official Legion business."

"That's right." Wingas nodded, enjoying himself. "You're the one who doesn't accept social invitations. Well, then, shall we get down to business? What can I do for you . . . as if I didn't know. Frankly I expected you sooner than this."

"I had some other stops to make first," the commander returned flatly. "As to what you can do for me, I'm here to ask you to drop the charges against the two Legionnaires currently residing in jail."

The governor shook his head.

"I couldn't do that. The men are criminals. I caught them myself outside the window of this very room. No, sir. I can't see letting them go free to steal again . . . unless, of course, you can give me . . . shall we say, a reason to show leniency?"

"I can give you two reasons, Governor," Phule said through tight lips, "though I expect only one will really matter to you. First of all, the men weren't breaking into your home . . . "

"Perhaps you didn't hear me, Captain." The governor smiled. "I caught them myself!"

". . . they were breaking out of your home," the commander finished, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You see, my Legionnaires are very eager to have a chance at that honor guard job you've given to the Regular Army, and those two men, Do-Wop and Sushi, broke in here trying to find something I could use as leverage to force you to give us that chance."

Phule paused to shake his head.

"In some ways, it's my fault. I talked about looking for leverage while they were listening, and they took it on themselves to try to get it for me. Anyway, they brought what they found to me, and I ordered them to put it back. They did, and you caught them as they were leaving. In short, there was no crime, which should be all the justification you need to drop the charges."

"No crime!" the governor snorted. "Even if I believed this yarn of yours, Captain-which I don't they still broke into my home. Twice, from what you say."

The commander flashed a tight smile, his first since entering the room.

"Make up your mind, Governor. Either you believe me or you don't. In case you're having trouble making up your mind, however . . ." He stretched out a hand, pointing at the governor's desk. "Bottom drawer on the left, in a file labeled 'Old Business.' That's what they were replacing. Convinced?"

The governor's smile dropped away like supporters after a losing election.

"If you mean . . .

"Frankly, Governor," Phule continued, "I don't care what your s.e.xual preferences are, or whom or what you practice them with-though I usually confine my own leanings to our own species-much less whether or not you keep pictures for souvenirs. All I want is my men back. Of course, if their case should go to court, I'd be obligated to testify in their behalf, including describing in lurid, graphic, the-media-will-love-it detail the pictures they were supposed to have stolen."

"You couldn't prove a thing," the governor snapped, paling. "Unless . . . are you saying you kept copies of those pictures?"

"I could bluff and say yes," Phule said, "but the truth is, I didn't. Like I say, Governor, I had no intention of using that information, which is why I, told my men to put them back. Still, a politician's reputation is a delicate thing, isn't it? The faintest shadow of scandal can ruin it, whether it's ever actually proved or not. The question as I see it, is whether or not prosecuting my men is worth jeopardizing your political career."

Wingas glared at Phule for several moments, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up his phone and angrily punched in a number.

"Chief Goetz, please. Governor Wingas calling.

h.e.l.lo, Chief? This is the governor. I . . . She's fine, thank you . . . Look, Chief, I've decided to drop the charges against those two Legionnaires you're holding . . . That's right. Let them go . . . Never mind why! Just do it!"

He slammed the phone down with a bang and stared out the window, waiting for his temper to cool before turning to the commander once more.

"All right, Captain Jester. That's settled. Now, if there's nothing else, I'll ask you to excuse me. I believe I have some pictures to burn."

To his surprise, the Legionnaire made no motion to rise.

"As a matter of fact, while I'm here, there is another matter I'd like to discuss with you, Governor."

"There is?"

"That's right. The honor guard job I mentioned earlier?"

"Oh yes. The one you weren't going to use the pictures as leverage to get."

With admirable speed, the governor put his anger behind him. Politics was no place for anyone who couldn't change gears swiftly, or who yielded to the self-indulgent pleasure of holding a grudge against someone who was a potential ally or contributor. For a moment, Wingas allowed himself to hope that there might be a contribution in this, after all!

"What it is, Governor Wingas," Phule said, "is I think we may be in a situation where we might be of mutual benefit to each other."

The governor's hopes solidified into reality. He had heard enough pitches for favoritism that he easily recognized the roundabout approach. It was strange, but people rarely came right out with their requests . . . or offers. You simply had to wait them out while they worked themselves up to their final approach. The only question left in his mind at this point was how large a contribution Phule was prepared to offer. That, and how long it was going to take him to get to the bottom line.

"That's what politics is all about," he said cagily.

The commander was looking pointedly around the room, his eyes dwelling on the leather-bound books and original artwork that festooned the walls.

"This certainly is a nice place you have here, Governor."

"Thank you. We . . ."

"Though probably not as nice as that town house over by Altair where your wife is living."

Despite his resolve to be patient, the governor felt a stab of annoyance at the mention of his personal holding . . . and of his wife.

"Yes, yes. Now then, just how large a campaign contribution are we talking about here?"

"Contribution?" Phule frowned. "I think there's some mistake here, Governor. I wasn't talking about making a contribution to your . . . campaign. Not when you're already living beyond your means."

Wingas purpled. "Who says I'm living beyond my means?" he demanded.

"Not 'who,' Governor," the commander said. "More like 'what'-specifically your current loan application. Frankly, if you don't get it, I'd be surprised if you stayed out of bankruptcy for the rest of the year."

"That's just a consolidation loan, so I can . . . Hey! Wait a minute! That information is supposed to be confidential! What right have you got to go poking around my personal finances?"

"Oh, the information is confidential, all right," Phule a.s.sured him. "I just happen to be on the board of the bank that's reviewing your application, and in that capacity I'm supposed to use my best judgment in appraising the risk involved in major loans, which I'm afraid your loan qualifies as."

The governor slumped back in his chair as if he had been struck.

"Are you trying to tell me that unless I give the Legion the honor guard contract, you'll veto my loan approval?"

"Let's just say it would be difficult not to factor it into my a.s.sessment of your judgment and reliability." The commander smiled.

"I see."

"However, I'd like to clarify something you just said. I'm not asking you to hand the Legion the contract on a platter. Just give them an equal chance with the Regular Army to earn the a.s.signment. "

Wingas c.o.c.ked his head to one side, looking at Phule through narrowed eyes.

"If you don't mind my asking, Captain, why not just push for the a.s.signment flat out? I'm not in much of a position to argue with you."

"That's a fair question, Governor," the commander said. "You see, I'm trying to build my company's confidence in itself. If they can earn that contract in a fair compet.i.tion with the Regular Army, or even make a decent showing for themselves, their confidence should increase. Buying the contract, or pressuring you into giving it to them, would tend to have the opposite effect. It would give every indication that I believed the only way they could get the job is if I bought it for them. The truth is, I have every confidence in my troops that in an open, fair compet.i.tion, they can perform as well or better than anything the Regular Army can offer."

"Interesting," the governor murmured thoughtfully. He stared out the window, then shook his head.

"Nope. I can't do it. Since you've got a gun to my head, Captain, I might as well be honest with you. Normally I'd take your money, then get back to you with a message that I had been outmaneuvered. The way things are, though, you'd probably take it as a double cross and s.h.i.t all over my loan application. The actual situation is that I can't help your boys, even enough to give them a chance. I've already signed the contract with the Regular Army for the job, and I can't get out of it if I wanted to."

"Oh, I expected that, Governor," Phule said easily. "I believe there is one loophole that you could wiggle out of . . . if you were so inclined, that is."

"What's that?"

"Why, the settlement ordinance that forbids the unilateral contracting of services without the review of compet.i.tive bids, of course."

"I'm sorry, I don't recall any such-"

"As a matter of fact, I happen to have a copy of the ordinance right here, sir."

The commander produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and set it on the desk in front of the governor.

"You'll notice that it's signed by the members on the Settlement Council and that it's dated a week before your contract with the Regular Army . . . sir."

Wingas made no move to pick up the doc.u.ment. Instead, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Phule.

"Captain . . . why do I find myself thinking that if I were to call for the original of this doc.u.ment, I'd find that some of the signatures on it would still be wet?"

"I believe I did mention that I had to make a couple extra stops before I called on you this evening," the commander pointed out levelly.

The governor threw up his hands in theatric surrender.

"All right! I give up! When the Army gets here, we'll set up a compet.i.tion where you and your thugs will have a chance at the contract! Is that all, or do you want my dog, too? I don't have a daughter."

"That will be all, Governor Wingas," Phule said, rising and reclaiming the paper from the governor's desk. "Needless to say, I'm glad we had this little talk. I was sure we'd be able to work things out."

"Captain Jester!"

The governor's voice stopped him with his hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"Sir?"

"Have you ever considered running for public office?"

"Me, sir? No."

"Good. "

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Journal #121

In reviewing my entries thus far, I notice they give the impression that my employer was always on top of things and antic.i.p.ated every contingency. Such was not the case. He was certainly exceptional when it came to adapting quickly to situations or covering when surprised, but surprised he was . . . more often than he would ever care to admit.

I can state this unequivocally, as it was my privilege to be present on more than one occasion when he was clearly (to my eye) caught flat-footed.

The company's new facility, or The Club, as the Legionnaires took to calling it, was certainly no comedown from the comfort they had enjoyed during their stay at the Plaza. In addition to the already referenced confidence course and firing range, it had its own swimming pool and sauna, a moderate-sized gymnasium, and enough rooms to accommodate a small convention. As it evolved, however, the main gathering point for the Legionnaires was the combination dining hall, meeting room, and c.o.c.ktail lounge. With its comfortable sofas and fireplaces amid the widely scattered tables, it proved to be ideal for socializing during off-duty hours, which in turn made it the pivotal point for dispensing or collecting information or gossip that wasn't available through normal channels.

Phule paused for a moment before seating himself for breakfast, surveying again the bustle of activity in the dining hall. To his eye, it was apparent that there was something afoot this morning. The Legionnaires were huddled together in groups at various tables around the room, their heads close together as they murmured back and forth while poring over something. Occasional snickers erupted, and more than a few speculative glances were directed his way . . . and there was obvious nudging with elbows as his presence was noted.

That the commander found this conduct puzzling and more than a little curious went without saying. Their general manner was that of school kids sneaking a peek at a frog which had been smuggled into cla.s.s, all the while wondering what the teacher would do when she discovered its presence. The trouble was, for the life of him he couldn't imagine what would inspire this behavior in his, own motley crew. Finally he gave up trying to speculate and sank into a chair at his butler's table.

"Good morning, Beeker," he said absently, still peering around the room. Were it not for his preoccupation, he might have noticed that his butler never glanced up from the Port-A-Brain he was bent over.

"Morning, sir."

"Tell me; Beek . . . the troops tell you things they won't tell me . . . if it isn't a breach of confidence, do you have any idea what has everybody wound up this morning?"

"I believe I could make a fairly accurate guess."

Phule broke off his surveillance and turned his gaze to Beeker, only to find himself studying the top of that notable's head.

"Well?" he prodded.

The butler tore his eyes from the computer screen to meet his employer's gaze with ill-concealed amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I believe it also explains the sizable donation Brandy made to the company fund . . . the one you found so puzzling."

"Look, Beek. Are you going to tell me or-"

"I believe it involves this . . . sir," Beeker-said deadpan as he swiveled the computer screen around to share with the commander.

The screen displayed a page from a magazine, but the reduced size did not affect the impact of the banner headlines superimposed on the picture: h.e.l.l'S BELLES.