As they strolled along the stone corridor, Frank decided that nicety wasn't called for.
He said, "Your rooms, or mine?"
She looked up at him from the side of her eyes. "I thought you'd never ask. Yours. You might never find your way bck to your own suite in the morning."
And that was the full extent of their courting, then- preliminary love play. Margit was a businesslike woman, in her sex life as well as her secretarial work.
In fact, she was as straightforward a woman as he had ever bedded, and at his age, Frank had seldom gone without horizontal refreshments when he had desired them.
In his bedroom, she had stripped with flattering haste, and had pirouetted exactly once, to show off the woman's body, saying, "Like me?" before sliding into the emperor-sized canopied bed.
His voice was on the thick side as he told her, "Yes," climbing out of his own clothes.
"Good heavens," she said, teasing him, "is that for me?"
"Yes," he said hoarsely, already rampant.
Not for Margit Krebs were new variations of the world's oldest theme. She took her sex straight and lustily, somewhat surprising Frank, who had expected unique desires on the part of this sophisticated wanton. Perhaps that would come later, he decided as he performed for her. For the present, his lady wanted immediate basic action.
And wanted it again, within minutes after they had both reached rapturous climax. He began to wonder if he had known what he was getting into, so to speak.
Later, as they rested, both staring up at the rich cream-colored canopy above, he said, only partly in humor, "And what is a nice girl like you doing in this kind of work?"
She followed along. "What's the classic answer to that? Just lucky, I guess."
"Come on, come on. On the face of it you're the junior member of the staff that runs the toughest organization on Earth. Why would a woman like you want to hold down such a job? With your obvious ability you could get top positions anywhere. So why be the notorious Grafs secretary?"
She looked at him strangely. "It's where the power is."
"I don't understand."
"The Graf is the single most powerful man in the world, darling. Not the wealthiest, not the one with the most political clout, but the most powerful. Others may not always realize that, but he is."
"Why?"
"Because he holds the life of every other living person in the palm of his hand."
He thought about that for a long moment, before saying, "But that's him, not you."
"The Graf doesn't operate in a vacuum," she told him patiently. "There is no such thing as a one-man dictatorship. Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Mao were the heads of teams. Without the team around them, they wouldn't have been able to cope. The same with Napoleon and Alexander the Great.
Alexander would have been nothing but a headstrong, alcoholic youth had it not been for Nearchus, Parmenion, and other leaders trained by his father Philip. True enough, the Empire broke up upon his death, when the team started fighting among themselves. But while they were still a team, with him at the head, they were invincible. So it is with the Graf. He does not stand alone, making all decisions. He has a team. I'm part of the team. You might be, too."
That quieted him.
She said, a quirk of amusement there, "I should warn you about Lothar. I think perhaps he's getting a bit tired of Peter, who isn't quite as young and pink-cheeks as he used to be."
That came as a surprise. "You mean he's gay?"
She laughed. "What is your old American expression? He's as queer as chicken shit."
"Not my cup of tea," he said gruffly.
"You've already proven that, darling, though I do hope that you're up to proving it again." She reached over to stroke him intimately.
Frank said, "Wizard, but hold it for just a little, eh?"
"You mean that literally?" she said, wickedness in her voice.
"You're a sexpot. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
"Yes."
He frowned again and said, "What ever happened to my father's estate? From what you people say, he must have been a partner for something like twenty years. When he died my mother refused to take anything except enough to educate me on. What happened to the rest?"
"Why, I don't know, darling." She frowned as well. "And I should know. I'm supposed to know everything connected with Mercenaries, Incorporated."
Chapter Seventeen: Lee Garrett
When Lee Garrett reported to the office of Sheila Duff-Roberts early in the morning of the day after she had arrived, it was to find the Amazon-like secretary of the Central Committee of the World Club already deep in work. A cigarette, half an ash, dangled from the side of her mouth, and the smoke from it spiraled upward.
Sheila looked up, did her sparse smile, and said, "Good morning, darling. I rather expected you to return here after your lunch with Jerry Auburn yesterday. Do sit down."
Lee took the indicated chair and said apologetically, "We ran into some difficulty. By the time it was ironed out I felt exhausted and Mr. Auburn took me back to my suite."
"Difficulty?"
"He was attacked in the restaurant by a waiter, apparently a Nihilist. I've read about them, of course. But…" she shook her blond head "… good heavens, I didn't know it had gotten to the point where they were attacking prominent people right in the open."
The other at last noticed the length of her cigarette ash and tapped it off into her improvised ash tray. Her eyes narrowed. "Nihilists! The bastards are really getting out of hand. Just recently they kidnapped one of our candidate members of the Central Committee and shot him when his wife couldn't pay a fifty million pseudo-dollar ransom. Something simply will have to be done. What happened?"
"It was terrible. The man was about to shoot Jerry—Mr. Auburn—from behind. But something made him turn and, well, Jerry knows savate and…"
"What the hell's savate?"
"A method of fighting with the feet; an old French sport with some aspects of karate. Jerry disarmed the man and had kicked him unconscious before the others arrived. The manager, of course, was extremely upset. He said that the waiter was a new man who had only been there for a few days. He called the police, of course."
Sheila shook her head. "Trust Jerry to come up with something like that, fighting with his feet. Undoubtedly, he'll report on it later. With almost all of the Central Committee in Rome, we can't afford to run chances of assassination. Which reminds me: we're to have a party tonight. All of the Central Committee members and candidate members will be present. It will give you an opportunity to meet them and for them, of course, to get an impression of you. In the ballroom, beginning at nine."
Lee frowned. "Candidate member?" she said.
"Yes. You see, there are but ten members of the Central Committee, plus myself as secretary. Most of them are rather elderly. So, at any given time, there are as many as a score or so candidate members, waiting to be made full members upon the death or retirement of any of the present incumbents. One of the matters to be handled at this session is such a promotion. Grace Cabot-Hudson hasn't been active for some time, so she is being asked to retire to the position of Central Committee Member Emeritus and a new member will be appointed."
In an angry movement of a well-manicured hand, she took up another cigarette and lit it, before going on. "And it's ten to one that it won't be another woman. Male dominance still prevails in the Central Committee. You'd think that at least half the members should be female, but no. The male ego we still have with us." She snorted. Then, "Well, be that as it may, dear, I'll see you at the party tonight. Have you met any of the other members, besides Jerry?"