The PTA of Eden Academy was, in theory, a parliament. Members attended meetings, where they could field questions, vote on decisions, and petition for changes. But in practice, an overpopulated hall crowded full of rich and indignant parents with the free time to spend at a PTA, all sitting on chairs designed for stackability rather than comfort, would under the slightest stress take on the appearance of other forms of government. Enthusiastic and highly temporary governments, ones where the balance of power mainly centered around which side had gotten the latest shipment of ammunition. Around exam season, it devolved more into torch and pitchfork territory.
Professor Verschwitzt, Civics instructor for third years and unfortunate teacher's spokesperson for this meeting of the PTA, put up his hands in an attempt to placate the crowd.
"Please, people, one at a time, one at a time," he said, the lights shining off his bald head. "I understand that the heating is a problem but maintenance says it won't be fixed until tomorrow. No, there's nothing I can do. No we will not fire the maintenance people. I understand that your undershirt is expensive and shouldn't get sweaty, sir. Next question."
A father who was more armpit stain than man returned to his seat. He was replaced by an indignant-looking mother, who stood up and held a folded piece of paper aloft. "My Peter got sent home with this note! What's all this about bringing men with guns to the school for some stupid party?!"
Verschwitzt sighed inwardly. Somebody asked this question every year. At least the answer was easy to memorize.
"Ma'am, the extra security for the Imperial Scholar meetings is strictly for the protection of our school. All the illustrious figures who attend must be able to feel safe and at ease on our campus, so that our scholars can learn from them to lead our country to a brighter future," he said, forcing his voice into something other than a monotone. "Normal classes won't be held on that day, and your son won't attend if he's not an Imperial Scholar."
"I don't want to have soldiers anywhere near our school! Who knows what filthy men like them will get up to! Why do we need them when the school has its own security staff?!"
Verschwitzt reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, figuring that wiping off his forehead would buy him a couple seconds. Peter's mother was never actually going to succeed in this argument, of course, but they would probably be here for hours while she gave it a good try.
Before he could respond, he heard another voice rise from the seats.
"I disagree."
Verschwitzt looked up. A light-haired woman with her bangs covering one eye had stood up from the crowd, scowling at nothing in particular. She was near Major Watkins, who made a convenient landmark. You could always find Major Watkins in a crowd, even if it was just because of all the empty seats in the rows directly behind him.
"And you are, Miss?" Verschwitzt said.
"Mrs. Fiona Forger, sir. My daughter Anya is a first year," Mrs. Forger said. "And I disagree with the assessment of the security. I think the concern of the school is warranted. The safety of our children and our future leaders should be our first priority in these uncertain times."
"You do? Well that's great, we-"
"In fact I think there should be more security."
"Well we always want to-"
"Particularly the west entrance, which should have an additional checkpoint installed with additional traffic barriers, covert operatives checking for suspicious vehicles on the two intersections that cars can take to its entrance, and bomb-sniffing dogs."
"Bomb sniffing-"
"Golden retrievers, preferably."
"I-"
"Do you care at all about the safety of my little angel, Professor?"
"Yes, I-"
"Also I cannot abide any slander towards soldiers. Soldiers are a pillar of any functioning democracy. They're professionals, and heroes. And handsome. But I digress."
Verschwitzt watched in amazement as Mrs. Forger pulled out an enormous stack of binders from a duffel bag in the seat beside her. "I'm prepared to support my viewpoint with citations and statistical analysis. I have a copy for everyone here. If anyone wants to object, please do so only after you have fully informed yourself."
And somehow, nobody seemed to be interested in arguing against the extra security anymore.
The black muscle car screeched around the corner, in hot pursuit of the cherry-red convertible that sped in front of it. The terrain here was flat-out, and inch by inch it slowly closed the distance as they raced ahead. The gap closed, but right when they were within a car length of each other, the convertible struck its final gambit. With a physics-defying skid, it turned ninety degrees across the path of the muscle car, t-boning itself and launching the muscle car up and into the air, where it plowed into the side of a giant dog.
"Don't bother Bond while he's sleeping, Anya," Twilight said from the couch.
Anya obligingly picked up her toy car from in front of Twilight, and ran over to resume the car chase in the kitchen, all without stopping the "vroom" noises that were so fundamental to the adventure. Bond wiggled his nose as some crisis in his dreams coincided with a tiny car crashing into his side.
Twilight looked back down at his work. He had long gotten used to the habit of reading and writing reports out in the living room, even with Anya around. It was more convenient than hiding in the bedroom for hours every day, and it wasn't like Anya was ever interested in looking over his shoulder. He had a hard enough time getting her to do her math homework; there was no way she was going to bother reading a statistical analysis report from WISE.
The front door clicked and swung open. Anya looked up. "Ah! Mama's home!"
Bond perked up, and raced over to borf a greeting to Nightfall as she hung up her coat and Anya demanded to know what they were having for dinner. When the cyclone around her abated, and she had stowed the duffel bag back in the closet, she walked over and sat opposite Twilight in the living room.
"Welcome back, Fiona. How was the PTA meeting?" Twilight said.
"Everything went well. I raised the suggestion that we discussed earlier, and the reaction seemed positive," Nightfall said, arranging a beanbag cushion in her lap.
"Did you mention the golden retrievers?"
"Of course."
"Good. I don't know if they'll take us that seriously, but it's important we at least plant the idea in case we have to take further measures," Twilight said.
"Indeed," Nightfall said. She nodded towards the closet where she had stored the duffel bag. "I also visited Franky on the way home. He had some material for us."
"Oh?" Twilight said. He looked back over to the kitchen, where Anya was screaming in despair as the toy muscle car flipped end-over-end off the counter. "Let's discuss it after Anya goes to bed."
Donovan Desmond was paranoid. This was known. But merely knowing it as a vague factoid was quite different to actually getting a brief glimpse into the dark, deep pit of terror that the man had dug for himself.
"Guards for Mr. Desmond are rotated on a daily basis. Guards must be ready to accept any and all changes in shift schedule at last-minute notice. Guards are not allowed to discuss their work with each other while off-duty under penalty of dismissal," Twilight said, reading aloud from a list of job instructions Franky had uncovered. "Guards are not allowed to look directly at Mr. Desmond for longer than thirty seconds at a time under penalty of dismissal."
"Oh. There's another ten pages of regulations here at the back," Nightfall said, flipping through the folder.
One instinctively assumed that even extreme paranoia had limits, that any reasonable person would find his limit and learn to accept some risks. Donovan Desmond did not have limits. If Desmond could have lived in a bank vault at the bottom of the ocean, he wouldn't, but only because he would have been concerned about betrayal from submarine crews and tube worms. Twilight suspected that the end to this long list of demands was exactly the end of Desmond's imagination.
"Guards must disclose all of their dietary habits. Failure to submit a full meal report by the end of every week will result in dismissal," Twilight read.
"I was going to say that their salary seems remarkably high for a six-month contract, but I suppose most of them don't hang on long enough to collect paychecks," Nightfall said
Twilight grunted, just trying to keep a grip as he read page after increasingly absurd page. Franky had outdone himself; Desmond's heart would probably stop if he knew the information was in the hands of his ostensible enemies.
The instructions for the guards were a work of art, but the dossiers that had come with them were just as important. Desmond had over two dozen personal guards, always on six-month contracts, possibly just because that was the shortest length people would possibly agree to. Backgrounds were varied but consistently professional. Military, police, the odd mercenary, some people with suspiciously mundane backgrounds that Twilight immediately categorized as "Intelligence". Nobody was ever hired back after their six months were over. Many of them never made it six months at all.
Why would someone want to assassinate Donovan Desmond? Quite possibly just out of spite.
"It makes me wonder why we're even bothering," Twilight said. "A man this desperate to protect himself has almost certainly put more thought into potential assassination attempts than we can."
"The most prepared man in the world will die like any other if you shoot him in the head," Nightfall said. "We know more about this specific attempt than Desmond, and if we tip anybody off he'll know for a fact that he's being monitored."
"I know. It's just frustrating," Twilight said, puzzling over a list of approved employee undergarments. "There aren't a lot of good places to begin here."
"If worst comes to worst, we can try direct infiltration and replacement," Nightfall said. She slid two dossiers onto the table and tapped them with either hand. "Two of Desmond's guards are matches for us in height and build. If we assume their places, we'll be in the best possible position to observe and protect him."
"That's a last resort. Desmond will almost certainly realize something is off eventually, and he'll probably try to have us killed on the spot once he realizes," Twilight said. There was also an allusion to "disciplinary explosives" in the employee dress code, and while he would like to know more about that he would prefer not to learn by experience.
Twilight got off the couch, and walked over to the bookshelf. "I'll tell you what I think our best option is, though," he said, pulling a map off the shelf.
He spread the map on the coffee table, showing a full layout of central Berlint. He put a finger down on one spot. "This is Eden Academy," he said, and spread two fingers on the other hand. "And these are two residences that Desmond maintains in the city. We don't know which of his guards are on which shift, but we do know that their homes are here, here-"
Twilight paused. Either he was going to have to rethink this demonstration or he was going to have to grow more fingers.
"Hang on a minute," he said.
In a few moments, after a quick harvest of artifacts from around the living room, he was back on track.
"Right," he said. "Each of these crayons represents the home of one of Desmond's guards, color-coordinated by last name. The crayon box is Desmond residence A, The toy train engine is Desmond residence B, and the caboose is Eden. From these we can deduce the two most likely avenues of approach."
"Represented by the pipe cleaners."
"Yes. Now, we've ruled out attack from within Eden's grounds, which means that the assassination attempt will likely occur along one of these lines of travel. This gels with our observation that the assassins have been working with explosives. The problem is that we don't know which route Desmond's car will take."
"The car represented by the toy car."
"Refreshingly straightforward, yes. However, we do know from Franky's intelligence that Desmond's car is inspected on a weekly basis. Under tight security with the direct supervision of two of his guards, but at a third-party auto shop, represented by this dart from a toy gun."
"We should really tell Anya to pick up her toys more often."
"In the morning. But crucially, the inspection scheduled for this week includes a full oil change and suspension alignment, which will make it take longer. Not too much longer, but long enough that the shift for the guards on schedule will end. And Desmond is neurotically strict about shifts. So when the guards at the shop leave, represented by the Bondman action figure, we, represented by the Evil Countess and Villainous Toadface action figures, move in to place a tracer on the car before the next guard shift arrives. That way we can monitor Desmond's movements and react more effectively on the day of the mixer. Any questions?"
"You should really be Bondman, not Toadface."
"Fiona."
Nightfall shrugged, looking up from the toy-strewn map.
"Wait for the gap in shift schedules, break into the shop, plant the tracer, leave," she said. "Brilliant as ever, Loid. I have no objections."
Twilight smiled, and began picking up the map and Anya's toys. That was one advantage of the "random debris" school of model-making; there was no suspicious evidence left over afterwards.
He was surprised that he had gotten used to all of this. Over the last few months, he and Nightfall had planned dozens of small missions and maneuvers sitting at the coffee table just like this. It was a far cry from the back of a van, or in the basement of an abandoned barbershop. In the Forger household the coffee was hot and came with a sandwich. In the back of a van the coffee was in a cold thermos and usually just came with whiplash.
"By the way, I got a message while I was out. They canceled that other mission we had planned," Nightfall said, standing up and heading towards the kitchen.
"The tennis tournament? Why?" Twilight said. "Did they find some other way to get hold of what Campbell is hiding?"
"No. SSS got to him first," Nightfall said. "He's well-known as a patron of the theater, and apparently some SSS officer has gotten a real chip on his shoulder about anyone who associates with actors."
Twilight grunted. That was disappointing, but there was nothing he could do. There was only ever one thing you could do, really, and that was get on with the next mission. Best to just focus on breaking into that auto shop.
He watched Nightfall's back as she fiddled with the coffee maker, noticing the tug on the string and strap of the apron she wore for even the most minor of kitchen activities. He supposed, on further reflection, that there was no real need for both of them to go on this mission. It was a simple infiltration job with an obvious target; a spotter was somewhat superfluous.
But then again. There was no reason not to take her along, was there?
"You be on your best behavior at Becky's house, alright?"
"Understood, Papa."
Twilight heard the honk of a horn outside, and reached down to hand Anya her backpack. Lucky that Anya's friend had invited her over to her house this afternoon. Franky was threatening to start charging "exponential overtime" rates for babysitting work.
Twilight walked over opened the front door, and then looked back to see that Anya was still in the living room. She had paused, and was rummaging for something in her bag.
"Come on, Anya," he said. "Don't want to make the driver wait for-"
"Yah!"
Twilight snatched a toy dart out of the air as it flew towards his chest. He scowled down at Anya, who was holding her toy gun in both hands with a determined expression on her face. Bond yawned behind her.
"Give me that. I told you not to aim this at other people," Twilight said, grabbing the dart gun.
"Aw. But I've been looking for that dart for weeks," Anya said.
"You can have it back if you behave yourself this afternoon," Twilight said, pocketing the toy.
Anya nodded, and raced out the door. "Bye Papa! Bye Mama!"
"See you later tonight, Anya," Twilight said, shutting the door. He watched out the window to make sure she got into the car safely, then started putting on his own jacket. He walked over to the bedroom and knocked on the door.
"Everything ready to go, Fiona?" Twilight said.
"Just packing a few things. I'll be out in a minute," Nightfall said.
Twilight walked back into the living room just in time to hear the phone ring.
"Forger residence," he said, picking up the phone.
A thunderclap of a voice erupted out of the speaker. "Dr. Forger! Glad I caught you!"
"Hello, Major Watkins. How can I help you?" Twilight said, positioning the phone a few inches further from his ear.
"Just wanted to thank you for the rigatoni recipe you gave me the other day. Went down a treat with the family," Watkins said. "Double portions all around! I'll have to give you something good in return."
"I'm just happy to hear you liked it, Major," Twilight said, looking over at the still-closed bedroom door. "Is there something else? I was actually just about to head out with my wife."
"My apologies! Don't let me hold you," Major Watkins said. "Say hello to your wife for me. We talked a bit at the PTA meeting the other day."
"Is that right?" Twilight said.
"Sure is! You know, I think she took something away from that conversation we had the other day. One of the other parents started badmouthing enlisted men and I couldn't have conducted a more passionate defense myself."
"Really?" Why would Nightfall do that? It wasn't important for-
"Yep! She can't resist slipping in little compliments towards you no matter what the conversation is about," Watkins said. "Treat that woman right, Forger. She can't hide how much she loves you."