James Axler – Stoneface

The man behind the desk said, “Come here.” His voice was very soft and completely flat. It was the voice of a man with few feelings and a lot of authority.

Ryan did as he was told, measuring each step. He didn’t seem to have much choice, with Doug marching behind him. He noticed as he passed it that the fireplace was a fake, colored lights shining through molded plastic logs, strictly a decorative item. It cast no heat at all.

Facing the Commander across the desk, Ryan got a better look at him. He wasn’t particularly tall, but his shoulders were very broad. His chin was squared, his jawline blocky. His eyes were a pale gray, like chunks of old ice. Thickish brows rose outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his short white hair grew down from high temples to a point on his forehead. He had unnaturally smooth white skin, with very few lines or wrinkles.

The shadowed depths of the Commander’s eyes regarded him with an impersonal impassivity. “Who are you?”

“Ryan Cawdor.”

“A citizen of Helskel?”

“No. I came from there, though. Against my will.”

“Doug tells me you have a companion, a woman.”

“Yes.” Ryan didn’t ask if Mildred had been captured or chilled. He kept his face and tone composed.

“How did you get in here?”

“The nose.”

“Of course.” The Commander’s eyes opened a bit wider, then narrowed to slits again. “An unforgivable security oversight on the part of my aides. It has always been so.” The words were delivered without heat, without change in timbre. “Why are you here?”

Ryan took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell him. “It’s about your relics. Your artifacts.”

“Indeed. What about them?”

“Lars Hellstrom wants them all to himself.”

The Commander nodded, his expression vague and preoccupied. “I am aware of that.”

He moved around the desk and extended his hands toward the fireplace, as if to warm them by the cold, colored light. “Why did he send emissaries such as you and your companion? Are you negotiators or are you assassins?”

Ryan sidestepped the question. “Hellstrom feels that you should share more of your bounty, and not hoard it all up here.”

“No. Impossible.”

“I’ll convey that message to him, then.”

“No, I’m afraid that’s impossible, too. Your friends at Helskel will never receive word of the goings-on in this office. Not during my administration.”

The Commander no longer looked vague or preoccupied. “You anarchist scum. You filth. You maggot. How dare you profane the sanctity of this high office with your person? I’ve dealt with prying busybodies like you before.”

Ryan made a move to step backward, and the slide mechanism of the shotgun clanked loudly. He lifted conciliatory hands. “Look, I mean you no harm. I have nothing but admiration for you and your high office.”

The Commander looked at him closely, with the detachment of a scientist examining an unfamiliar germ strain beneath a microscope. He gazed at Ryan steadily for what felt like a very long time.

Finally he smiled as if amused. “Perhaps I’ve been a trifle hasty. I am curious as to why Lars Hellstrom took such extreme measures to alter the terms of our trade agreement, and you may be able to advise me. After all it’s not as if you’re a journalist.”

He reached up and pressed his ice-cold fingers to the left side of Ryan’s head. He brought the hand away and studied the blood. “You’ve sustained an injury. Several, in fact. You appear to be losing a considerable amount of blood.”

“It’s not as serious as it looks,” Ryan replied.

“Losing any of the precious fluids of the body is serious, Mr. Cawdor. Go with Doug and he will see to your wounds. In the interim, we will try to locate your companion.”

Ryan managed to keep the surge of relief from showing on his face. Mildred hadn’t been apprehended or chilled and was still loose somewhere in the enclave.

With the hollow bore of the Browning staring him in the face, Ryan divested the combat harness of the remaining grens and ammo clips. Then Doug prodded him toward the door with the shotgun barrel. He marched Ryan out of the office and back into the miniature Washington, D.C. The smoke and dust had dissipated. A few armed men were in view, but when they approached, Doug waved them away.