He had a suspicion that if he'd said, "Miss Jones, come into my apartments, I want to lay you," not one of the four would have blinked an eye and Miss Jones would have trotted after him. He had a dozen such staffs in half a dozen countries throughout the globe.
Simmons was waiting for him in the living room, ramrod-stiff, subservient just to the correct point, not sickeningly so. "Welcome home, Mr. Auburn," he said.
Jerry looked around the lush room. "Did you think this was home?" he growled. He headed for the bar, adding over his shoulder, "I came without luggage. Check to see if all my needs are available. Tell the chef—what's his name here, Henri?—that I'll probably dine in the apartment tonight. Alone."
"Yes, sir, of course. Yes, it's Henri, sir. He's anxious that you taste his new dish based on shad roe."
"Wizard," Jerry said, taking up a cognac bottle from the bar and pouring into a glass generously. The butler faded. Jerry sat down on a couch, put his feet up on a cocktail table, and took a pull at the drink.
Barry Wimple entered from the door that led to the offices. He was the epitome of the senior executive. Jerry Auburn sometimes wondered if they took courses in grooming at New Harvard Business College. He had never seen a senior executive who wasn't groomed to his teeth. He suspected that the other's clothing bill was greater than his own.
"Welcome back, Mr. Auburn," Wimple said. "Was your trip to Europe satisfactory?"
Jerry regarded him coolly. "How did you know I went to Europe?"
The other looked at him in distress. "Why, Mr. Auburn, Captain Wayland of your air yacht recorded it in his report."
Jerry made a note to do something about that. He didn't like anybody at all to know where he was at any given time. But obviously Wayland had to make reports on his expenditures, costs of fuel, landing fees, and so on.
He said, "Barry, I want you to get a few heavies in here when I'm in residence."
"Heavies, Mr. Auburn?"
"Hard types; guards. And I don't want you to hire them from Mercenaries, Incorporated. I've got reason to believe there might be a contract out on me. Get them from some competitor of the Graf."
His New York office head blinked at him. "A contract?
You mean… but, sir, that's ridiculous. Who could possibly want you…"
"Not everybody loves me like you do, Barry. So, six guards. I want them here this afternoon, inconspicuously, and I want them to shake down anybody who comes to see me."
"This afternoon?"
"Yes, preferably. But especially tonight. Is Lester here?"
"Yes, Mr. Auburn. And Ted Meer as well, as you instructed."
Lester was a carbon copy of Barry Wimple, fifteen years younger. One glance marked him as an efficient, supercilious WASP who would wind up a millionaire by middle age almost without trying.
Jerry nodded at his greeting and said, "Lester, I want you to find out who is the head of Mercenaries, Incorporated in North America. Have him here this evening. Tell him that the meeting is confidential. I'm assuming that New York is his base of operations."
Lester stared at him blankly, a touch of dismay there. "Mercenaries, Incorporated, sir?"
"You heard me. If they're here, and they should be, there must be some manner of contacting them. Start earning your pay, damn it. Don't you know any upper slot news people, or someone in the IABI? Either should know."
Wimple cleared his throat. "I have a niece who is married to a captain of detectives in the Inter-American Bureau of Investigation, Mr. Auburn."
"That ought to do it. Anything else pressing on the agenda, Barry?"
His senior aide said, "There's a representative from the Lagrangists waiting to see you, sir. When the order came for your limousine, I took the liberty of informing him that you were to be here this afternoon and that you might work him into your schedule. He's on his way. Of course, if you haven't the time…"
"Lagrangists?" Jerry said. "You mean from Lagrange Five? What does he want?"
"He wouldn't say, sir. He wanted to discuss it with you face to face. He was upset when I told him that you had retired and seldom devoted time to business matters anymore."
Jerry grunted. "Send him into my office when he arrives. I
don't believe I've ever met a real space colonist before. Brief me, Barry. How much have we currently got invested in Lagrange Five and the Asteroid Belt Islands?"
"Two hundred and twelve million and, ah, some change, Mr. Auburn. Largely in the Satellite Solar Power Plants."
Jerry grunted again. "That much? All right, you two, get going. I'll see the Lagrangist in my office and the Mercenaries, Incorporated bastard here in my quarters, both as soon as they've arrived. And remember, Barry, I want the new guards to frisk them before they see me."
The two left. As they crossed the outer office, Lester said to his higher-up, "He's a tough sonofabitch."
Wimple looked at him from the side of his eyes. "I'd probably be the same if I had inherited a few billion."
Jerry Auburn was idly looking at some reports he wouldn't ordinarily have bothered with when the man from Lagrange Five was announced. He hadn't known what he had expected; among other things, possibly an older man than this, if the other was an official representative from the space islands.
Ian Venner was disgustingly healthy looking. He must have been exactly the height and weight that the insurance statistics averaged out on a man of his age. He was a sun-faded blond, sharp blue of eye, with a good mouth on the wide and dry humorous side, and a strong chin. He looked as though he either owned the place or didn't give a damn who did.
"Sit down, Mr. Venner," Jerry said, even while sizing the other up.
"Just Venner," the newcomer said crisply. "We don't use the term Mister in Lagrangia.''
Jerry said, "Why not?"
"It is derived from the word master and I don't wish to be anyone's master any more than I want someone else to be mine."
Jerry refrained from twisting his mouth in amusement. "What can I do for you, Venner?"
"The Space Federation is desirous of buying out your holdings in space, Auburn. I've been sent to make initial contact."
"Man, you don't waste words. What federation? I don't usually handle this sort of thing. I have aides who make business decisions in which I seldom involve myself. I didn't even know there was a federation in Lagrangia."
The other nodded, not as though he approved of Jerry Auburn's divorcing himself from the details of his enterprises, but as though he had already heard of the fact. He said, "Recently, a loose-knit organization has been formed to represent the united needs of Lagrangia and the Belt Islands."
Jerry scowled. "United States of the Americas? Common Europe? The Soviet Complex? The Reunited Nations? Or a combination of two or more, or all of them?"
"No. The federation represents only space colonists actually living in space. We have no other affiliations."
"Don't be ridiculous," Jerry growled. "Every island in space is controlled by either some Earthside nation, the Reunited Nations, or by consortiums of multinational corporations."
His visitor was shaking his head. "Times are changing. One by one, we're buying out private interests in Lagrangia and the Asteroids, and most of the new islands are colonized from the older islands but have no political ties to them, or to the original nations which first founded them."
Jerry was staring at him now. This was absolutely new. There wasn't much news about the space projects any more; they were being played down drastically, as budgets were being cut on the space program. Still, he should have heard of this.