"Aphrodite's_Flame_025" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_04]_-_Aphrodite's_Flame_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file html))

Chapter Twenty-two

“How?” Hieronymous demanded. “How can it be that an assignment—no, two assignments—that I was assured would go off without a hitch have yet to be completed?”
In front of him, Clyde again cowered, a rather distressing posture for someone as burly as he was. “Sire—”
Hieronymous held up a hand. “I am tempted to find someone more capable to assist me in these matters. I fear that your success rate lately has been pitifully small.”
A muscle twitched in Clyde’s jaw and his eyes blazed with murder. Good. Perhaps if his puppet was sufficiently fired up and determined to prove himself, he would succeed where once he had failed.
“The girl warned Mordichai,” Clyde explained. “Apparently she realized what was coming.”
“Of course she realized! It was absurd to send someone in to oversee the operation without first slathering him with the empath balm and cologne.”
Clyde hung his head. “Yes, sire.”
Hieronymous turned, his cape whipping out behind him. He inhaled deeply, the air dank and stale in the abandoned station. “And the man? Frost?”
The silence behind him spoke volumes.
“I already know you failed,” Hieronymous said, adopting his most reasonable tone. “What I don’t know is why.”
He turned, watching as Clyde drew himself up to full attention. “Our recruit, sire. He assessed the situation, determined the high level of Protector activity, and made the decision that the mission shouldn’t go forth as planned.”
“He made the decision?”
“Yes, sire. I wasn’t present. I couldn’t—”
“He made the decision.”
This time, Clyde just nodded.
Hieronymous couldn’t answer; the rage in his head was too loud, drowning out even the remotest possibility of speech.
One thing, though, he knew for certain. If you wanted something done right, you simply had to do it yourself.

Chapter Twenty-two

“How?” Hieronymous demanded. “How can it be that an assignment—no, two assignments—that I was assured would go off without a hitch have yet to be completed?”
In front of him, Clyde again cowered, a rather distressing posture for someone as burly as he was. “Sire—”
Hieronymous held up a hand. “I am tempted to find someone more capable to assist me in these matters. I fear that your success rate lately has been pitifully small.”
A muscle twitched in Clyde’s jaw and his eyes blazed with murder. Good. Perhaps if his puppet was sufficiently fired up and determined to prove himself, he would succeed where once he had failed.
“The girl warned Mordichai,” Clyde explained. “Apparently she realized what was coming.”
“Of course she realized! It was absurd to send someone in to oversee the operation without first slathering him with the empath balm and cologne.”
Clyde hung his head. “Yes, sire.”
Hieronymous turned, his cape whipping out behind him. He inhaled deeply, the air dank and stale in the abandoned station. “And the man? Frost?”
The silence behind him spoke volumes.
“I already know you failed,” Hieronymous said, adopting his most reasonable tone. “What I don’t know is why.”
He turned, watching as Clyde drew himself up to full attention. “Our recruit, sire. He assessed the situation, determined the high level of Protector activity, and made the decision that the mission shouldn’t go forth as planned.”
“He made the decision?”
“Yes, sire. I wasn’t present. I couldn’t—”
“He made the decision.”
This time, Clyde just nodded.
Hieronymous couldn’t answer; the rage in his head was too loud, drowning out even the remotest possibility of speech.
One thing, though, he knew for certain. If you wanted something done right, you simply had to do it yourself.