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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and/or used fictionally.
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WARNING: This chapter contains graphic scenes that some readers might find disturbing. What is written in no way whatsoever represents the author's personal feelings and is written in the context of the overall series. Reader discretion is advised.
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Aurora Crusade
Chapter 13
Justice Served - Part I
As he descended the staircase with Colin, The Phantom heard snatches of conversation from the games room, and from the manager's office.
"I am worried not so much about the physical injuries the boys might have suffered," the doctor was saying as The Phantom entered the office. He paused, his old, hazel eyes suspicious at the intrusion.
Ace Grimes, quickly rose from behind the desk where he had been sitting, and made a short, quick, neck bow. "Your Royal Highness," he said. He then afforded Colin the same gesture and murmured, "My Lord Defender."
The doctor, wondering if he had stumbled into some strange kingdom, looked confused as he made to rise. The Phantom, seeing the confusion on the old man's face, quickly advanced his hand forward. Chuckling quietly, he said, "Please, pay no attention to Ace." He took the doctor's hand and continued softly. "My name is Philip Lascelles. My friends call me `Phantom'." Turning, he indicated Colin. "This is Colin Arnott."
The doctor studied both young men closely. He saw something in both men's' eyes, heard something in the softness of the younger man's voice, and nodded slightly. He had seen, and heard, Ace's marks of respect, and knew instinctively that there was something much more about the two men than met the eye.
"My name is Hampton. I'm the doctor," he said with a smile.
"Oh, yes, you're Miss Mabell's brother-in-law," said The Phantom, returning the doctor's smile. The doctor was wearing a wrinkled tweed suit of ancient cut. He smelled faintly of tobacco, good Scotch and an antique after shave lotion. To The Phantom the doctor represented British aplomb, and bulldog tenacity. He would make a good friend and, The Phantom suspected, a firm and dedicated enemy.
Doctor Hampton instinctively liked this young man. "Yes, I am," he said. "I'm officially retired but old age . . ." He shrugged. "Old age does not mean that I'm in me dotage. I've kept up with things medical, and I am trying to ascertain just what I am up against." He gave Ace a deprecating look. "Mr. Grimes has been somewhat, shall we say, reticent."
The Phantom laughed. He looked around the office and then said, "Did he at least offer you a drink?"
Ace looked embarrassed. He did not know the doctor, and had been `reticent'. That the old man was Mabell Airlie's brother-in-law more or less vouched for his bona fides, but Ace felt the need to be very careful. Ace noted the silent exchange between the young Prince of the Order and the Doctor, saw a gleam of something akin to recognition in The Phantom's green eyes, and nodded silently. The doctor was now, although he might not know it, one of them. Ace reached for the bottle of Scotch.
Smiling approvingly at the absence of affectation, for he abhorred fripperies of any kind, Doctor Hampton accepted the offered glass of Scotch, cleared his throat and began again. "As I was saying to Mr. Grimes," he began, "Physical injuries should not be a problem."
The Phantom looked up sharply. "May I ask why you would say that?" he asked. "You do know what we are dealing with, what we might find?"
"I know," replied the doctor equably. "However, I have been around the Horn a turn or two, and I served my time as an Attending in the Emergency Ward at St. Michael's." He paused, sipped the whisky and smiled. "You are dealing, or so Mr. Grimes has said, with men who have purchased young boys for their sexual pleasure." He glanced at Ace, who nodded.
"It has been my experience that when one possesses a valuable commodity. . ." He noted the scowl that appeared on the younger man's face, ignored it, and went on, ". . . That one would do everything to protect that commodity from loss or damage."
Colin was irked at the doctor's pedantic tone. "Excuse me, doctor, but we are talking about innocent children!" he complained. Then he added under his breath, "Not boxes of laundry powder!"
The doctor sighed and regarded Colin. "Young man," he said quietly, "you will learn with age, as I did, that compassion at times cannot be allowed to interfere with your judgement. I know it is hard, but it must be done! I know what has happened to these little boys, I know! I saw it every day! I tried to help heal the broken bodies, the shattered minds, of men, of women, of children. I saw depravity on a scale that boggles the mind."
He looked directly at Colin. "I know that you think me a cold, heartless old man, but believe me, I am not." He held up the glass of Scotch. "Coldness, and dispassion helped me forget the pain I felt for all my patients, and this, well this helped me sleep at night!"
Colin blushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean . . ." he started to say.
Doctor Hampton cut him off. "Yes, you did," he said without rancour. "I understand, and I hope that you will never have to make the decisions I made." He studied his glass, thinking. Ace had explained to him that all but one of the young Knights was "Service" - Sea Cadets, actually. Their official escorts were "Navy", which Doctor Hampton considered a definite plus in his book. The doctor, after one glance, assumed that the other men, politely referred to as "minders", were in fact bodyguards and also "Service" of one kind or another.
The doctor regarded Colin, mentally evaluating him. The doctor was, in his own opinion, a shrewd judge of character, and he had been around long enough to know a dud when he saw one. Colin Arnott was not a dud!
Clearing his throat, Doctor Hampton said gently, "Ace has told me that you are a naval officer - a Lieutenant. You are still learning your profession. As part of your learning process I suggest to you that you will, one day be placed in a position where the decision, or decisions, you make will result in death. You will worry, later, if the decision you made was the right one, that the deaths were justified." He paused and regarded The Phantom. Ace had been very careful to explain the young man's position in the Order, although he had inconveniently left out that The Phantom, and it seemed Colin, had been ennobled and given honourifics. A strange looked look came into Doctor Hampton's eyes. "I suspect that some of your companions . . ." his old eyes darted to The Phantom . . . "will also be placed in like situations." He downed his drink in one gulp. "I pray that you, and they, will never know the pain of having to decide who will live, and who will die."
The Phantom's hand reached out and he gently took the old doctor's hand in his. "As you did?"
"As I did," confirmed Doctor Hampton. "I served my internship in the RN, in Prince of Wales. My surgery was the wardroom table. During the battle with Bismark I looked after the wounded sailors and I had to decide which of them would live, and be treated, and which of them were dying, and not saveable."
"Triage," interjected Ace.
"Yes," replied Doctor Hampton with a nod. "A necessary medical discipline that is practiced everywhere."
"It is a discipline I hope I never have to practice!" blurted Colin.
Doctor Hampton held out his glass for a refill. "You will." He regarded The Phantom. "You will."
The Phantom stared. "Me?" he squeaked.
"You," replied the doctor enigmatically. He would not tell the boy that he had seen the spark of leadership. Sooner or later young Phantom Lascelles would be required to make the hardest decision a man could make: life . . . or death.
Doctor Hampton did not know when The Phantom would make the decision; he just knew that it would happen. The doctor was an old man, and long ago had learned not to question fate, or to interfere when fate demanded action. He decided to leave the subject of conversation and turned to Ace.
"I do not think that the boys you are going to rescue will have been beaten. Some will, if experience is any judge, but . . ." Doctor Hampton paused, at first reluctant to speak of such a sensitive matter. However . . . "What must be considered are three things, the physical harm done to the boys, the possibility that they may have contracted a sexually transmitted disease, and their mental health."
Ace nodded sadly. "We have thought of the last." He recalled Doctor Langford describing the injuries Eugen had suffered at the hands of Edmund Stennes. "I know about the first."
"What first?" The Phantom asked. He looked at Ace and then at the doctor. "What are you saying?"
Doctor Hampton sighed. "Phantom, we are talking about damage to the anal passage, the rectum. An adult male penis is a huge, penetrating weapon to a small, eight or nine year old boy. The male is interested in only slaking his lust, in penetrating and ejaculating! He ruts and thrusts and does not care that he is tearing soft tissue, or causing excruciating pain. The damage can be extensive." His tone said, "Believe me, I've seen it all before."
"We have an accommodation with the Chinese Community Hospital," offered Ace.
"We will need their facilities," responded the doctor. "Not at once, but later. It will depend on the damage the boys have endured and suffered." He thought a moment. "We will most definitely need their laboratory facilities. I will have to draw blood from each boy you bring here. The lab can determine if they're infected with something."
"Syphilis? Gonorrhoea?" asked Colin.
"Yes. They are the most common diseases. I will need to draw blood to determine if the child is infected with syphilis. Gonorrhoea exhibits clear signs of infection, notably penile excretion of pus from the meatus . . . the small opening in the glans corona of the male organ." Doctor Hampton reached into to his jacket pocket and brought out a battered note book and a pencil. He began writing furiously. "This is a list of things I shall need," he said to no one in particular. "Can the hospital supply them?"
Ace took the notebook, read the list and nodded. "Penicillin . . . tetracycline?"
"I want to give each boy a prophylactic injection of one or the other, simply to be on the safe side . . ." He thought a moment, and continued, "We will need blood tests done quickly. If any of them are infected we must begin their regimen as soon as possible. The tests will also determine if any of the boys is allergic to penicillin. If they are, then tetracycline is a very effective substitute."
Ace made a note and then looked briefly at his watch. Time was short. "I'll take care of it. Everything will be ready when you need it."
Leaving Doctor Hampton and Ace to their list, The Phantom and Colin left the office. As they passed through the lobby, The Phantom saw that many of the minders had taken up positions where they could watch the double doors leading to the street, and the windows overlooking the square. Ned Hadfield, in charge in Alex Grinchsten's continued absence in Quebec, nodded as The Phantom passed by.
"Ned has learned," Colin offered quietly as they strolled toward the games room.
With a slight nod of his head The Phantom expressed his agreement. "All he needed was to know that we all stand on our own merits," the young man said. "Ned is a good soldier, and a good man." He reached down and gave Colin's hand a squeeze. "He's learned from his mistakes."
Before Colin could reply a burst of deep, masculine laughter filled the short corridor that led to the games room. The Phantom recognized the sound of at least one of the laughing men. "Harry's holding court, I think."
"Oh God," moaned Colin in mock terror. "Please, God, please don't let him be showing off the Pride of the Fleet!"
"Perhaps just the Escorts," The Phantom sniggered, his deep, emerald eyes twinkling.
As it happened, Harry was not showing off anything except his knowledge of weaponry. On the pool table was an eclectic collection of small arms, hand guns for the most part. The Phantom also saw what looked like BAR, and two pump action shotguns. "Are they expecting a war?" he asked Colin, his eyes wide.
One of the men overheard the remark and stepped forward. Like the others, he was well over six feet tall. He was darkly tanned, and dark haired, with a broad, muscular chest outlined by the dark T-shirt he wore. His face was square-jawed, and he needed a shave. "Shane Kingscote," he introduced himself with a smile, flashing perfect teeth. "We're like the Boy Scouts, always prepared!"
"I always thought that it meant keep a fresh condom in your wallet!" Todd quipped with a snigger.
"Nah, it means always keep a jar of Vaseline in your back pack," rejoined Cory.
Todd gave his twin brother an inquisitive look. As neither he nor Cory had ever been a part of the blatantly homophobic Boy Scouts movement he wondered how Cory would know what a Boy Scout would, or would not carry in his backpack.
The Phantom pointedly ignored the Twins and reached out his hand. "I'm Philip Lascelles," he said, returning Shane's smile. Then he noticed an almost imperceptible stiffening of bodies, as the six new men drew themselves to attention. "Damn," he thought, "Ace has been busy!" He was beginning to become annoyed whenever he was reminded of his new status in the Order.
Wanting nothing he had not earned, The Phantom turned and looked at each of the men in turn. "My friends call me `Phantom'," he said firmly. "I hope that you will call me that, too."
Shane relaxed, and said, "Okay, Phantom' it is." He indicated the others gathered around the table. "Your boys are getting to know us." He grinned broadly as he continued. "We call ourselves The Gunner's Rangers.'"
The Phantom's green eyes scanned the small group of "Rangers". They were all of a type, every one of them over six feet tall, with chiselled bodies that bespoke hours of working out, firm legs and chins, and clear eyes. Like their minders, The Gunner's Rangers all screamed "military".
As the men shuffled forward to shake The Phantom's hand, Shane introduced them. Once again The Phantom was surprised at the similarities between the young men, for were all clear eyed and fair skinned.
They differed, of course, as all men do, but they exuded an air of masculinity and competence. He was also impressed by their credentials: they were all soldiers and two, Shane Kingscote and Sam North, were graduates of RMC, the Royal Military College.
As he studied each of the Rangers in turn, The Phantom wondered why they had left the military. Why had Teddy Vian, Max Hainey, Jeff MacDuff and Gil Stephenson, whose demeanour and words evidenced military training, left the service they so obviously still cared for? Why were Shane and Sam, proud graduates of RMC here, involved in a clandestine operation, instead of in the field with one of the battalions of the Canadian Army?
As the group moved away and returned to demonstrating the firearms laid out on the pool table, Cory sidled up. He nudged The Phantom in the ribs. "Fine group of studs, eh, Phantom?"
Somewhat startled, The Phantom looked at his friend, and once, his lover. "Whatever are you mithering on about?" he asked testily.
Cory sighed. "Phantom, they're gay!" Cory whispered confidentially.
"You're nuts!" responded The Phantom in an exasperated tone. "They're not gay, they're Rangers!"
Cory giggled. "You know, Phantom, you really must start paying more attention to body language." He shrugged expressively. "Trust me on this, they are gay."
The Phantom gave Cory a dirty look. "Next you'll tell me that they're all eminently qualified to be knights!"
From behind The Phantom came a repressed snort of disgust. "Only four, but he's working on the other two!"
The Phantom turned to see Sean Anders, Cory's red-haired companion and lover, glaring daggers at the blond haired twin. "They've been here an hour and he's had to go to the heads four times!" His eyes flashed, as if to say "The dirty little pig!"
Shaking his head, and raising his eyes to Heaven, The Phantom let a snigger escape his lips. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked no one in particular.
Colin, who had been eavesdropping, asked in a low voice, "Because he's the Penis Pope, because he likes to check out guys in the can?"
Cory's blue eyes flashed, and then softened. "I seem to recall a certain Lieutenant putting on a most delightful show in a public loo in Comox." He paused and deliberately eyed Colin's crotch. "Being a gentleman, I shall refrain from revealing the results of my examination." A huge grin broke Cory's face. "Mind you, for some reason, the nickname `Stumpy' springs to mind."
"He is not!" blurted The Phantom, his emerald green eyes crackling.
"That's called a `Gotcha!'" muttered Harry as he walked by. "You are too easy!" His cackling laughter trailed after him.
The Phantom tried to think of something nasty to say back, could not, and then found his attention drawn to a commotion in the lobby. With Colin, he walked back and saw a stunningly handsome, blond-haired, red-faced man holding two struggling boys by their ears. Both boys were yelping and one was muttering threats about "telling the rabbi!"
"Who in hell are they, and what in hell is going on?" The Phantom asked Colin.
"Well, they ain't Irish," responded Colin with a grin. It was an old joke, usually told when someone suspected of being Jewish was being discussed.
"What?"
Colin pointed with his chin toward the struggling boys. "I doubt that payos and kippas are a part of Irish national dress," he suggested with wide grin.
Aaron Mark II, who had heard Colin above the yelping of the boys, returned the grin. "Meet Lenny Weintraub." He smacked the back of Lenny's head. "And this little pischer is Mordecai Goldschmidt." Mordy received a smack. "And you're right, they are not Irish." He gave the boys a thunderous look. "They are dirty little spies, is what they are!" he said gruffly.
One of the boys, the one with dark red hair and pale features, swore loudly. "I ain't no spy!" Lenny Weintraub yelped indignantly, his side curls trembling. "I was only . . ."
"Shut up!" the other boy, who had dark hair and smooth, olive skin, snarled. Mordecai Goldschmidt gave Lenny a dirty look. There was no way he wanted strangers, particularly gentiles, to know what he and Lenny had been up to.
Mordy struggled and broke the hold that Aaron Mark II had on his ear. He adjusted his kippa and assumed a disdainful air. He looked venomously at his cousin. "You're up to something!" he accused. His dark eyes scanned the circle of inquisitive faces. "You're consorting with . . ." He all but spat the next word, ". . . Goyim!"
For a moment, Aaron Mark II was nonplussed. While he was `consorting' with one particular gentile, Aaron Mark I Edgar was, as he put it, "Jewish where it counts" and hardly unclean.
"You don't know what you are talking about!" Aaron Mark II snarled. He leaned forward, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea and as hard as stone. "Remember who I am, and what I am," he murmured coldly to Mordy. "You've been imprisoned in that damned yeshiva for so long that they've warped your mind, and your perceptions." He stepped back. "You're warned, Mordecai," he pointed to the carpet covered floor. "Here, in this place, you hear nothing, you see nothing!"
Mordy heard and saw the threat. He took a step back, his emotions in turmoil. He had never seen Aaron so . . . angry. He knew that his cousin was Mossad, and a smart Jew didn't screw around with them. "But Aaron . . ." he began in a whining voice.
Aaron Mark II, who had spoken with Ace Grimes, and taken Aaron Edgar as his lover, spat contemptuously, "You know nothing." He waved his arm, his broad hand encompassing the growing crowd of onlookers. "They are Christians, yes, but they are also Knights, and they are Brothers of the Covenant of Abraham!"
The Phantom turned his head, the better to hide the smile that had formed on his lips. What the handsome young man had said was technically true - so far as the Knights were concerned. It was obvious that the man did not know of the Companions - Peter Race, Jérémie Cher, and Sandro, who were Companions because they were not a part of the "Covenant of Abraham." Sandro was Jewish, although not yet a Son of Abraham. Then there was Nate Schoenmann, also Jewish, a handsome, curly haired boy who was a part of the Covenant. Eion Reilly had no worries, nor did Blake Putnam Randolph, who had, during a spirited game of football, flashed not only his aunt, Mary Randolph, but also the Twins' mother, Mabell Airlie, Michael Chan, and three startled footmen. Everybody now knew exactly what a Scotsman wore under his kilt!
Lenny Weintraub wondered what the fuss was all about. He knew, as Mordy had to know, that Aaron was Mossad, as was his brother, Yacov. Lenny, while he did attend yeshiva, also went to a public school, a school where he participated in the athletic program and he knew that the vast majority of his male classmates would never be called "unclean", in the religious sense. He gave his friend a pitying look. "You are such a schmuck!" he muttered.
Aaron Mark II stifled a laugh. "Now listen, both of you! I . . ."
"Allow me," said The Phantom, stepping forward. He grinned at Aaron Mark II and motioned for Sandro and Nate, who had been attracted by the noise, to join him. When they were at his side The Phantom looked at Mordy. "I'm not Jewish, but my friends here are."
Nate and Sandro nodded.
The Phantom continued, "I know that everything seems strange to you, and that you've seen things that you're curious about."
"Got that right," sniffed Mordy. "The rabbi said . . ."
Seeing Aaron Mark II about to give Mordy a slap, The Phantom hurried on. "A man of probity and discretion, a man who knows that certain things are sensitive, I'm sure." He knew that he was reaching, but figured, what the hell. "So it is with us."
"Us?" asked Mordy, his curiosity piqued.
"Well, the Knights, of course," responded The Phantom, thinking fast, "and our friends." He placed his hand on Mordy's shoulder. "We understand that certain, um, matters of a sensitive and private nature should remain private." When both Lenny and Mordy began to blush furiously The Phantom knew that he had hit a sore spot, or a hard one.
As he listened to the soft voice, Mordy felt himself becoming . . . mesmerized was the only word he could think of. Suddenly, having sex with Lenny, which he'd been doing since they met over a year ago, wasn't quite as bad as the rabbis said it was. Lenny was a putz, but he had a nice dick, and he sure gave a mean blow job! But . . . the soft voice was kind, and understanding and Mordy realized that this strange, green-eyed young man understood.
"I won't say anything to the rabbi!" he gasped suddenly. He did not know why he said it, but he knew without even considering it, that he could not, for some strange reason, betray the confidence he felt. He glanced at Lenny.
"Hey, I could care less about that old bastard," spat Lenny. "I was only keeping you company," he declared with a grin. "Besides, if something is going on, it sure looks interesting to me."
Mordy saw that Lenny was giving the dark-haired Sandro an appraising glance. So did Sandro.
"I am not yet . . ." Sandro's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. "Of the Covenant," he finally said.
Both Mordy and Lenny stared at the young Russian. "You mean . . ." began Lenny.
"I am Russian," declared Sandro. "Things are difficult there."
"So I hear," offered Lenny, whose father was an ardent Zionist and firm anti-Communist and lectured his family on the religious restrictions the Jews of Russia suffered.
"But I am soon to have my bris!" said Sandro hurriedly. "Then I will have my Bar Mitzvah!"
"Perhaps you would care to talk to Sandro, as one Jew to another?" suggested Colin. He did not express his thought that once Lenny got Sandro into someplace private it would be "Katy bar the door!"
The Phantom shared Colin's thoughts. "Um, yes, a very good idea," he said quickly. "Perhaps, Nathan, you could explain to our guests about the Order." He smiled sweetly, knowing he had put Nathan right in the middle.
Nathan glowered. He might be a most inadequate Jew but he was smart enough to see the sparks flashing between Sandro and Lenny. As for Mordy, well, he was just a dumb Yeshiva boy who had been brainwashed by the rabbis. "Sure," he said easily. He wasn't about to show Lenny or Mordy the result of his bris, but he knew enough about the Order to explain it. He would also make sure that all three remained more or less on the straight and narrow.
Aaron Mark II sighed in relief as he saw Nathan lead the three boys away. "Thanks," he said presently as he looked at The Phantom. "We've come too far for some little nebbish to screw the pitch now."
The Phantom nodded. "Steve Winslow, The Gunner, talks about the Mrs. Reillys' of the world inadvertently screwing up the best laid plans." He could not help smiling. "I don't think he ever consider the Mordecai Goldschmidts' of the world."
"Neither did I!" admitted Aaron Mark II with a shake of his head. "Nor did I think that the rabbis might be sticking their noses into our business."
"It happens," offered Colin. He regarded Aaron Mark II a moment. "Won't the rabbis be suspicious if Mordy doesn't report in?"
Aaron Mark II's face grew thunderous. "I'll take care of the rabbis!" His words contained a hidden threat that neither The Phantom nor Colin wanted to contemplate. He saw the looks on the other men's faces. "Don't worry. I won't break their legs!"
The Phantom looked startled. He was aware of Mossad's reputation, which was as bad, or worse, than Michael Chan's. Neither Michael nor Mossad forgot an injury, or forgave an insult, as the terrorists who massacred 11 Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics, their PLO masters, and supporters, found out to their peril. "You are joking?" he asked.
"Yeah, I wouldn't really hurt the little schmuck, even if he does needs good whack upside the head," replied Aaron Mark II with a grin. Then he sobered. "I take it you're here for the same reason I am?" he asked.
"I am here because there are boys to be rescued," replied The Phantom. "We all are."
Aaron Mark II looked around the lobby. He noted the men, all young, all alert, and all obviously experienced and well-prepared. "Who are these guys?" he asked.
"Our minders," replied The Phantom simply. He smiled a small smile. "Michael Chan thinks we need protection, so . . ."
Nodding his understanding, Aaron Mark II considered the situation. He knew about the Order, and while he was hazy on the details, having only what his lover, Aaron Edgar, whom everybody had taken to calling "Aaron Mark I", had confided, he knew enough. He noted Harry, Phil Thornton and Mike Sunderland as they walked through the lobby on their way to the restaurant. He also noted that the three large boys were followed by four younger boys, two of them redheads, one a slim, dark haired boy, and the last blond and pink cheeked. Before he would question their presence, The Phantom spoke.
"Don't judge us on our age, or our appearance. We are here because we want to be here. We know about the lost boys."
Aaron Mark II considered this. "Well, personally I think we could use all the help we can get." A warning look came into his eyes. "You could be sailing in harm's way, you know."
The Phantom agreed. "We know. We also know that it is our duty to help."
Hearing the determination in the younger man's voice, Aaron Mark II nodded. "I'm not the gaffer," he said quietly.
"No, Steve Winslow is," returned The Phantom. "He is Chancellor of the Order, as I think you know," Aaron Mark II nodded. He did know. ". . . and the Grand Master has decreed that the Order be cleansed." He thought a moment. "Steve Winslow is a good man, but even he cannot do everything he needs to do alone." His eyes roamed the lobby. "He has managed to gather some good men around him, but he needs more. Michael Chan knows that we are here; in fact he sent us here. The Gunner knows this as well."
"Knowing is not agreeing," countered Aaron Mark II. He shook his head. "Some of those . . . hell, they're kids!"
Colin chuckled. "My friend, you risk the wrath!"
"What?" Aaron Mark II looked at Colin, confusion written on his face.
Colin explained. "Before we left BC, Michael decided that we should all participate in a field exercise, the Knights against an over-confident Security Force led by an arrogant man who thought he knew everything about defeating an inferior force in the bush."
"Now, be fair, Colin, we did have help," said The Phantom, his face breaking into a smile and his emerald eyes gleaming.
"True," replied Colin, "but the point is Ned didn't consider your lads as anything other than boys, with minimal training." He saw Ned come into the room. "Ned Hadfield is in charge of the minders. You might want to have a chat with him." He beckoned for Ned to come alongside.
Aaron regarded the tall, sandy haired man approaching. Ned's walk, his body language, spoke volumes. "Y'all called?" asked Ned, much more comfortable and far less arrogant around the Knights than he had been in Vancouver.
"Ned, this is Aaron Goldschmidt," said The Phantom. "He has expressed some doubts regarding our abilities to help."
Ned's face expressed his surprise. He looked at Aaron Mark II and shook his head. Then he grinned and drawled deliberately, "Y'all are in for a surrrprise."
"I am?"
"Ned, perhaps you might discuss our abilities with Aaron?" The Phantom asked.
Ned regarded Aaron Mark II a moment. "Y'all feel like a sip o' somethin'?"
Aaron Mark II nodded. He felt an urge for a drink of something strong, something very strong.
Ned nodded and motioned toward the door. As Aaron Mark II made to follow the tall West Virginian, The Phantom placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured. "Some of the boys call him Too Tall', and you will undoubtedly hear jokes about the cut of his jib'. Please, whatever you do, don't mention the cut of his jib. He's very sensitive about his jib."
Even more confused, Aaron Mark II followed Ned Hadfield from the room.
When the two men disappeared in the general direction of the room where Ned had set up his command post, Colin turned to The Phantom. "Aaron does have a point, you know," he said.
"How so?"
"Phantom, The Gunner might not be as agreeable to you, and the other Knights, participating in this crusade of ours," Colin said flatly. "It's one thing for Michael Chan to approve, one thing for that old reprobate, Chef, to champion your being here, but Steve Winslow is the Chancellor, and he is the man in charge in the field. He just might have a different opinion."
Much to Colin's surprise, The Phantom's eyes did not turn to green fire, nor did a look of supreme stubbornness come over his face.
A movement at the door leading from the square had caught The Phantom's eye. "Well, why don't we ask him his opinion?" he said.
Colin turned and saw The Gunner, accompanied by a slim, fey looking young man enter. His blue eyes narrowed. The moment of truth had arrived.