At the mention of Nolan’s name, Caine lowered his head slightly. If he didn’t have to see Ruap’s face, he might be less tempted to throttle the little turncoat. The renewal of gunfire, somewhat closer, caused three of the Indonesian soldiers to turn protectively outward.
Ruap had seen Caine lower his head, probably thought he smelled the blood of an emotional wound. “What? Feeling alone without your powerful friend?”
Caine turned his head away, tilted it lower. He couldn’t see Ruap’s face anymore, but saw his knees shift, his waist bend. Unbelievably, the man who was now the president of Indonesia was going to lean over and resort to petty, public bullying.
Ruap gloated. “It must be terrible to see all Corcoran’s work—and all his lies—coming undone within a single year of—”
The gunfire intensified. Caine saw the rest of the soldiers’ boots turn away as they faced toward the sound—and, almost before he realized it, he saw and seized the opportunity which that distraction presented.
Caine snapped back sideways at the waist and kicked out and up. It was the same kick he had used on the knife-wielding assassin on Barney Deucy, but, without the step-through, it had less power. On the other hand, although Riordan was not flexible enough to reach the head of most opponents, Ruap was short and had bent over.
Caine’s foot slammed, heel first, into Ruap’s mouth.
The Indonesian President-for-Life cried out. The guards turned, confused, weapons snapping down as Caine stepped back, hands raised, fingers spread.
There was the briefest instant of complete quiet, except for the distant gunfire. Then the tumult of contending voices and gestures began:
Ruap: “Ngentot! You bastard! You will die!”
Urzueth Ragh: “Ambassador! Desist!”
Eimi: “Mr. Riordan, do not make us—”
The larger of the two Hkh’Rkh security advisors from the shuttle stepped aggressively forward, and, in only partially understandable English, growled “Traidtorr!”
Urzueth Ragh tried to wave the Hkh’Rkh back. He stopped, but did not give ground. The Indonesian troops had their guns trained on Caine while tensely watching Ruap, awaiting a verbal order, even a gesture, as to what they should do next. But Astor-Smath was, in contrast, relaxed and wearing a smile that was uncommonly broad, even amused, as he folded his arms and awaited whatever might happen next.
Caine chose to turn slowly to face the Hkh’Rkh, hands open and far away from his body. “I am not a traitor. I punished a traitor.”
The Hkh’Rkh pitched his head back sharply: a negation gesture. “Lie. You struck your leader. To blood. I saw.” The Hkh’Rkh edged closer, his firearm hanging loose in his grip, but the other hand rising, showing impressive claws. Urzueth Ragh’s redoubled remonstrations and gestures went unnoticed.
Ruap sputtered furiously as he realized that he had lost one of his front teeth, turned to his troops, mouth open to yell what Caine presumed was the last human utterance he would ever hear—
—but the Indonesian was stilled and restrained by a hand on his arm. Astor-Smath’s eyes, narrow and bright, were watching Caine and the Hkh’Rkh.
Caine swallowed. He probably hopes the Hkh’Rkh will kill me and save him the diplomatic and public relations headache of ordering it himself. Riordan stepped toward the Hkh’Rkh, arms still out. That surprised the warrior into a moment of indecision, during which Caine asked, “Tell me, Warrior, what do the Hkh’Rkh call a leader who pretends to a higher rank than he actually has?”
“K’rek’zhum. Or a fool.”
Caine nodded, glanced over his shoulder at Ruap. Meaningfully. The Hkh’Rkh’s eyes flicked momentarily after his.
“And, Warrior, what do you call any high leader—genuine or not—who lies to his people, or his Warriors?”
The Hkh’Rkh stopped and his crest rose slightly. “He is shk’vaag-gul. It means”—he struggled to find the words—“‘dung from the mouth.’ But that is not right. Those are the words, but not the meaning.”
Ah. “Perhaps it is this: He Who Speaks Shit?”
The warrior’s crest lowered slightly. “This is right, I think.”
Again, Caine looked behind at Ruap, then back to the Hkh’Rkh. “If you are so sure, then, that my blow was struck as a traitor, rather than to punish a traitor—if you are so sure you know the true state of affairs between us humans—then here I stand at the tip of your claw. I have not the might nor speed to resist.”
The Hkh’Rkh paused, uncertain, glanced down at Urzueth Ragh. Who made wild motions for the warrior to lower his arms and step back.
Astor-Smath, evidently realizing that the Hkh’Rkh had been decisively diverted from his lethal intent, released his light hold on Ruap’s arm with a look of disappointment.
Ruap, dark brown with rage, seemed ready to advance, then glanced quickly at Caine’s feet, and kept his distance, instead. “You will pay for this, Riordan. You will—”
“Come now, President Ruap,” soothed Astor-Smath quickly. “If you take such a hostile tone, our partners may doubt our ability to be good and patient hosts to Mr. Riordan. Who has, however, proven himself to be a dangerous person. Clearly, during his stay at our facility, we will need to keep him in his quarters except when he is on official diplomatic business.” Astor-Smath smiled reassuringly at Urzueth Ragh, but when he turned that same expression toward Caine, it became a predatory grin, a dire promise that was as vindictive as it was unvoiced.
Caine managed to suppress his first genuine pulse of fear since landing in Jakarta. He turned toward Urzueth. “I do not understand, Esteemed Administrator. I was assured by Darzhee Kut that I was to retain my status as a diplomat and remain attached directly to the retinue of First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam.”
Urzueth Ragh seemed to fidget. “And so you are, Caine Riordan. But your fellow humans intuited our uncertainty over how best to provide for you, and so volunteered their services to ensure that your stay was optimally comfortable and secure. They will see to your housing, your feeding, your comfort, and your transport to and from our own compound in what was this nation’s presidential palace.”
“It is kind that you thought to make me comfortable in this manner, Urzueth Ragh, but I would much rather remain in the company of the Arat Kur. These humans are not my friends.”
“No, but they are our partners, and they have given promises for your safety and comfort. Which you have abused by striking your host. You should be grateful for their forgiveness.” Urzueth Ragh let the tone of remonstrance, and a single pedantically raised claw, sag. “Besides, the matter was arranged directly with First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam himself. I am powerless to alter it. So the matter is settled.”
Riordan looked about the enclosure. Two Hkh’Rkh guards, two Arat Kur in combat armor, and half a dozen Indonesian soldiers. All ringed by clones. If he attempted to flee, he wouldn’t live long enough to take a second step.
Astor-Smath stepped forward and smiled. “I am happy to have you in our facilities, Mr. Riordan.” His smiled broadened into a primal display of teeth. “More happy than I can say.”
Astor-Smath’s entourage, minus the Hkh’Rkh, was waiting in the communications center to which they had all relocated when Caine returned from his sudden, escorted visit to the restroom. Astor-Smath turned to him, the same maddening smile on his face. “Quite finished, Mr. Riordan?”