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. Tonight is the Embassy Ball. You will be formally introduced and presented to the President and Madme President. You can meet her, get a good look at her. Tomorrow you deliver your letters of mark--"
"All forged, you know. Quite a good job. We have a member of our team. His name is Tycho. He--"
"Tomorrow." Baejling hung on grimly. "You will proceed to the palace tomorrow--"
"Oh, we won't be staying that long," Raoul said complacently.
Baejling sat back down again.
"What? But--How? Surely you're not thinking of"-Baejling swallowed, lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper--"assassinating Madame President during the ball!
She'll be surrounded by bodyguards! Her supporters. They'd catch you. We'd all be shot on the spot!"
Raoul gazed at Baejling long moments. The Loti's drugfuzzy eyes slid into focus, became fixed and cool, without pity, without compassion.
"I am an expert at my work. The Little One is an expert at his. You either trust us and allow us to proceed as we think right or you terminate our employment this moment."
Baejling looked sick. Mary Krammes, white to her lips, said something to him in her own language. He nodded heavily, wiped the handkerchief over his head again. Lifting his previously untouched wineglass, he downed the drink at a gulp.
Raoul glanced out of the comer of his eye at the Little One. The Adonian's eyelashes flickered
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