Rich Man's War Read Online Free PDF Page B

people qualified to run a ship of that size and complexity who could also be trusted for dangerous and covert ops. Yeoh could account for all of them—those on active duty, the retirees and those in the private sector. As Kiribati had said, it wasn’t like him to outsource such a matter, so he wouldn’t have hired someone from beyond Archangel… would he?
    Given the impending problems on Scheherazade, it seemed likely that the ship would be in play again soon. Once the shooting started, the ships’ captains on scene would have to take charge and make decisions on behalf of all Archangel… and Yeoh had no sense at all of who commanded the largest ship.
    Yeoh headed out toward the elevators . The admiral quickly dismissed the idea of approaching President Aguirre directly on the matter. Kiribati’s bonds with the President ran deeper than those of a career military officer who’d been in place well before Aguirre was elected.
    She couldn’t let this go, but she couldn’t make noise about it, either. Military intelligence would likely be too unreliable here; the bonds between that division and Kiribati’s Intelligence Service were too widespread. Someone, perhaps even a well-meaning subordinate, would inevitably tip her hand.
    Her current approach had gotten her this far. Yeoh could probably get further on simple passive research. Still, her ploy on this last operat ion had borne some fruit. She’d put good people in the field and trusted in their abilities, and they had delivered. Her mind began considering other personnel who might be good to put into play. It wasn’t long before she decided which ship she would send, based largely on its captain. Concerns about her staff also came to mind.
    Stepping out of the elevator , Yeoh walked into the upper lobby overlooking the grand entrance to Ascension Hall. Below, tourists filed past the original oversized paper copies of Archangel’s colonial charters. Two marines in full dress regalia stood guard beside them.
    The sight triggered an idle thought. She walked to a navy crewman posted at the top of the stairs, also in dress uniform. His posture stiffened just a bit and he saluted sharply for the head of Archangel’s military. “Crewman Jones,” she said, reading his nametag as she returned his salute, “I’m looking for another member of the honor guard. Do you have today’s duty roster on your holocom?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Technically, he did not break the stance of attention—he looked straight ahead, remained stiff and didn’t turn his chin, but something in his expression lightened as if to affect a grin. “But I imagine I can tell you where to find who you’re looking for off the top of my head.”
     
    * * *
     
    Nothing surprised him more than the frequency of one question: “Hey, would you mind if I took a picture with you?”
    He’d gotten it from celebrities, ambassadors, wealthy political donors to the president and politicians in offices high and low. Six months ago, the most sought-after personalized souvenir of any visit to Ascension Hall was a picture of oneself standing alongside the president. While everyone still wanted that picture, they now also wanted their picture taken with Tanner Malone.
    His fifteen minutes of fame seemed mostly over. He didn’t hear his name on the news anymore, nor were there requests for interviews. Talk of film adaptations of his experiences died off. He’d expected to fade back into obscurity. Yet there was still this.
    At times, he was flattered, even excited. At other times, less so. He didn’t agree with the politics or practices of everyone who came through the palace doors. Yet as a member of the honor guard, he had a responsibility to be respectful, politically neutral—politically mute, to be more accurate—and exceedingly, unfailingly polite.
    As such, he didn’t feel he had much of an option to decline.
    Tanner answered the request before him as he always did: he smiled, stepped