The Viennese Waltz(38)
It wasn’t a really satisfying meeting. Not because Bernhard had been unable to get the information. About the only thing he had missed was that Hayley Fortney was the one in charge. He’d even figured out that it was the women running things. Mostly that was by the process of elimination, because he couldn’t see Ron Sanderlin—or either of the other two men—running a business. But Hayley Fortney was just a teenaged girl. The idea that such a person could be able, much less trusted, to manage large sums of money and major projects was so ridiculous that it never even occurred to him. As well to think it was all being run by Brandon’s chickens.
Magdeburg, United States of Europe
Francisco Nasi brought up the next report. He’d already read it, of course, so all he needed to do was give the contents a quick scan to refresh his memory.
“This is from our correspondent in Austria.”
Mike Stearns got a crooked little smile on his face. “‘Correspondent.’ Sounds so much nicer than ‘spy.’ I assume we’re talking about Sonny Fortney, right? Or is that ‘need to know’ and I don’t?”
Nasi pursed his lips. “Interesting protocol issue, actually. Since you’re the head of government, I suppose you technically need to know everything. In any event, you’re my employer, so if you tell me you need to know I’ll take your word for it.”
Mike shook his head. “I’m not sure how that worked back up-time. At a guess, judging from the screw-ups, the CIA and the other spook outfits didn’t tell the U.S. president more than half of what they should have. In our case . . .”
He pondered the problem, for a moment. “I’ll take your word for it, whether I need to know something or not. Just make sure you let me know there’s something I might or might not need to know in the first place. If the grammar of that sentence doesn’t have you writhing in agony.”
Nasi smiled. “In this case, as it happens, Sonny really is more in the way of a correspondent than a spy. He does report to me—as I’m sure the Austrians have already figured out—but I don’t have him creeping around listening at keyholes or peeping into windows.”
“For that, I assume you have other people. Call them ‘real spies.’”
“I don’t believe you need to know that, Prime Minister.”
“Spoilsport. So what’s happening in Austria?”
“To summarize . . . The Austrians are adjusting to the American presence. More slowly and with greater difficulty than they should, of course, but they’re doing better than I expected.”
He set down the report. “But it’s very early days—and now we have a new emperor. Ferdinand III will be one mainly setting the tone and the pace.”
CHAPTER 11
Dealing with the New Emperor
September and October 1634
Race Track at Simmering, Austria
“Did you point a gun at Baron Julian von Meklau?” Emperor Ferdinand III asked Ron Sanderlin as he entered the garage. It had taken a while for word to reach the emperor and Ron wondered if the youngsters had talked or just someone that had seen the confrontation.
“Uncle Bob did, Your Majesty. But only because it looked like the boy was going to try and take a horsewhip to me.” Ron looked at the retinue that followed the emperor around everywhere. “Mostly it was to warn the kids off so things didn’t get out of hand.” Ron considered, then added, “Actually, I’m a little surprised that there hasn’t been more trouble. We’ve had a lot of gawkers, but no one trying to take anything. And aside from von Meklau and his friends, no one trying to throw their weight around.”
“Now that I think about it, Herr Sanderlin, I’m a little surprised myself.” Ferdinand motioned and Ron followed him out of the garage to the muddy field. The gaggle of hangers-on surrounded them both. Ferdinand III continued, “This is to be the road for the 240Z?”
“The track, yes,” Ron told him and went on to explain what he, Bob, and Sonny had worked out. There were several side trips into up-time terminology, what an automobile race track was and how it differed from a horseracing track.
About halfway through the explanation, Ferdinand interrupted. “Take me for a ride.”
“Your Majesty . . .” Ron started to object, then seeing the excited expression on the emperor’s face, gave in. It was his car, after all. They got Ferdinand in the passenger seat with the seat belt fastened. Then Ron put the key in the ignition and Ferdinand stopped him.
“What’s that?”
“The key.”
“Like a key to a lock?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. You can’t start the car without it.” Ron chose not to get into the whole issue of hot wiring.