Shadow of a Sword by Francis W. Porretto

Author:Francis W. Porretto
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, christianity, ethics, phenomenology, supermen, alternate creation myth
Publisher: Francis W. Porretto

Saturday afternoon and evening, July 1

As Aaron Randall laid the platters of sliced steak and mashed potatoes before the two captives, Conway nodded to the patrolmen supervising them. Each freed his charge’s right hand, bent the other hand behind his back and reshackled it to the chair.

Sumner peered curiously at the young patrolman for a long moment before turning to Conway. “What’s the payload?” he murmured.

Conway merely smiled. Sumner shrugged, pulled a phone from a jacket pocket, hit a speed dial button, and stepped out into the corridor. The two miscreants dug into their dinners with relish.

Steve’s more ruthless than I knew. I couldn’t get word one out of these two. He pushed all the right buttons without so much as a flicker of an eyelid. I have no doubt that he meant it, either.

Would I have gone along with burying them alive if they’d refused to talk?

He couldn’t decide.

“Anything else, Mr. Conway?” Randall said.

He shook his head. “Not for now, son. Thanks again.” The young patrolman made to depart, but Conway halted him with a gesture. “Were you on the schedule today? I don’t recall seeing your name on the duty list.”

Randall blushed. “No, sir, I wasn’t, but I had nothing else to do, and I was getting bored sitting at home, so I figured I’d come in and see if I could make myself useful.”

Conway chuckled. “I sense an employee who’s going to build up a large fund of unused vacation days. Look, Aaron, this business can and will eventually get to you, one way or another. It’s a bit like war: when it’s not terrible as all get-out, it’s a terrible bore. All the same, I appreciate your attitude. Now go out and get drunk or something.”

“Yes, sir.” Randall left.

How long will it take to get him to call me Kevin? Ah, well, the young will always have their little ways.

He stepped into the hallway just as Sumner pocketed his phone. The politician looked up and grinned broadly.

“It really is who you know, isn’t it?”

Conway shook his head. “Nah, it’s what you’ve got on ‘em. So what did Forslund say?”

Sumner’s grin grew broader still. “He said he’d be delighted to render such a trivial service to the next president of the United States. His jet will be waiting at Westchester Airport, ready to go, in two hours. All we need now is for our two guests to take their naps.”

“I’d say fifteen or twenty minutes more.” Conway glanced at his watch. “I told the kitchen to put enough barbiturate into the mashed potatoes to tranquilize a rhino. Steve,” he said, “why South Georgia Island?”

Sumner’s eyes twinkled. “Ever been there?”

“Hell, no.”

“And you never will, and quite likely neither will anyone else from Onteora County other than our two little darlings in there. It’s a survivable environment, you can earn a subsistence living there if you’ve got a strong back, but for someone without his own assets, you couldn’t build a prison that’s tougher to escape.” He glanced at the door to the interview room.

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