Read Online Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles by Larry Correia - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Larry Correia
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who’d spend the rest of their life a pariah. “Personally, I’ll be damned if I ever wear one of those things. Like cattle with an ear tag.”
“We are all entitled to our opinions.” Drew gave him a forced smile.
“Yeah . . . It’s a free country. For now . . . Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drew. Maybe I’ll give you a call the next time UBF needs another skyscraper.”
“Sadly, I am afraid my time has been too consumed with other altruistic humanitarian projects to bother with any commercialism, but please, I was just leaving . . .” The architect stepped out of the way. “I do not wish to keep you.” And then he was whisked away by the functionaries, and Francis was escorted into the inner sanctum.
Franklin Roosevelt was already seated behind his mighty desk, waiting. “Well, hello, Francis. It has been a long time.” The president extended his hand to shake, but he did not bother to stand. Francis gave him a firm handshake and found himself hoping that his palms weren’t too sweaty.
“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
The functionary hurried out and closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Roosevelt looked like a kindly man, with an easy smile, even a bit of a twinkle in his eye, but Francis had grown up in the brutal knife fight that passed for New York politics, where various rich families played at Machiavellian games, and he knew that this man had been ruthless enough to earn the grudging respect of Grandpa Cornelius, who had been as cutthroat, a rat bastard as there had ever been. That meant Roosevelt was not to be trusted.
“Last time we spoke was at a gala event put on by your father. You were about to leave for Boston for school. How time flies.”
“Yes, it does, sir.” When they had last spoken, Francis’ greatest questions in life had been how to bed the best-looking girls and where to get the best-quality alcohol. Since then he’d been drafted into a secret war, engaged in intrigue, espionage, and outright combat against all manner of nefarious magical forces, lost good friends, been shot, beaten, and briefly imprisoned, and unexpectedly wound up as the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the world. Francis was still a very young man by most standards, but the last few years had been very full. “Yes, it does.”
The president gestured at one of the high-backed chairs which had been arranged before the desk. “We were supposed to have spoken in Miami before the unfortunate events there . . . Please, have a seat.” Francis did. The chair was remarkably uncomfortable. He wondered if that was on purpose. Roosevelt was smoking, and he gestured at a golden box on his desk, but Francis shook his head politely. “You know, I’ve never been able to thank you personally for what you did in Florida. You and your German friend, Mr. Koenig, saved my life.”
“That is no problem at all. We’ve all been very busy since then.” The assassin had already struck before the two Grimnoir could react, but if Heinrich hadn’t Faded the already badly wounded Roosevelt through the hotel steps, the assassin Zangara would’ve finished him with the next magical blast. “Are you well? There are rumors that the Healers weren’t able to—”
Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. I assure you, I am quite all right.”
“Heinrich and I were both glad to help.”
“Of course. Allow me to thank you now. Miami was just another warning of things to come. This has been a time of crisis for our nation. I’ve got a country to get through difficult straits. Things were bad enough as it was, our people low on hope and long on debt, and that’s before the added complication of assassins’ plots and their schemes within plots. The greatest among those plots would not have been exposed if it had not been for your help.”
Yet the Grimnoir were still being painted as the bad guy, as if only they hadn’t been there to be scapegoated in the first place,
“We are all entitled to our opinions.” Drew gave him a forced smile.
“Yeah . . . It’s a free country. For now . . . Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drew. Maybe I’ll give you a call the next time UBF needs another skyscraper.”
“Sadly, I am afraid my time has been too consumed with other altruistic humanitarian projects to bother with any commercialism, but please, I was just leaving . . .” The architect stepped out of the way. “I do not wish to keep you.” And then he was whisked away by the functionaries, and Francis was escorted into the inner sanctum.
Franklin Roosevelt was already seated behind his mighty desk, waiting. “Well, hello, Francis. It has been a long time.” The president extended his hand to shake, but he did not bother to stand. Francis gave him a firm handshake and found himself hoping that his palms weren’t too sweaty.
“Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
The functionary hurried out and closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Roosevelt looked like a kindly man, with an easy smile, even a bit of a twinkle in his eye, but Francis had grown up in the brutal knife fight that passed for New York politics, where various rich families played at Machiavellian games, and he knew that this man had been ruthless enough to earn the grudging respect of Grandpa Cornelius, who had been as cutthroat, a rat bastard as there had ever been. That meant Roosevelt was not to be trusted.
“Last time we spoke was at a gala event put on by your father. You were about to leave for Boston for school. How time flies.”
“Yes, it does, sir.” When they had last spoken, Francis’ greatest questions in life had been how to bed the best-looking girls and where to get the best-quality alcohol. Since then he’d been drafted into a secret war, engaged in intrigue, espionage, and outright combat against all manner of nefarious magical forces, lost good friends, been shot, beaten, and briefly imprisoned, and unexpectedly wound up as the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the world. Francis was still a very young man by most standards, but the last few years had been very full. “Yes, it does.”
The president gestured at one of the high-backed chairs which had been arranged before the desk. “We were supposed to have spoken in Miami before the unfortunate events there . . . Please, have a seat.” Francis did. The chair was remarkably uncomfortable. He wondered if that was on purpose. Roosevelt was smoking, and he gestured at a golden box on his desk, but Francis shook his head politely. “You know, I’ve never been able to thank you personally for what you did in Florida. You and your German friend, Mr. Koenig, saved my life.”
“That is no problem at all. We’ve all been very busy since then.” The assassin had already struck before the two Grimnoir could react, but if Heinrich hadn’t Faded the already badly wounded Roosevelt through the hotel steps, the assassin Zangara would’ve finished him with the next magical blast. “Are you well? There are rumors that the Healers weren’t able to—”
Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. I assure you, I am quite all right.”
“Heinrich and I were both glad to help.”
“Of course. Allow me to thank you now. Miami was just another warning of things to come. This has been a time of crisis for our nation. I’ve got a country to get through difficult straits. Things were bad enough as it was, our people low on hope and long on debt, and that’s before the added complication of assassins’ plots and their schemes within plots. The greatest among those plots would not have been exposed if it had not been for your help.”
Yet the Grimnoir were still being painted as the bad guy, as if only they hadn’t been there to be scapegoated in the first place,
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