Chapter 13

Monday 7:50 A. M. Chicago City Hall

Izzag knew he'd squeaked through the last twenty four hours, by the skin-of-his-teeth.

'Donaldson, you S. O. B., be on time or early for once in your miserable life!' the screaming thought raced out.

"One more hour. That's all I need just, one, more, hour." The whispered plea rose up sounding suspiciously like a prayer.

Monday 7:52 A. M. I-90 Southbound Lane

Henry Donaldson was in a mighty fine mood, for a Monday. 'That fact finding trip to The Dells was just what the doctor ordered', His thoughts ran on with, 'I wonder if Miss. Pallinii has other skill sets that match her bumper hitch chrome removal ones?'

Henry had always been a big fan of multi-tasking. 'Got to admit that trip really did help, first time I've been early in ages. Wonder how many I'll catch coming in late? This could turn into the most fun Monday I've had in quiet a while', he mused, with a silent chuckle.

As he pulled into City Hall and was whisked to his fifth floor office by Joe Buckley, his expansive mood spilled over, even here. With a cheery wave, and "Thanks, Joe," he sprang off the car.

The face of Joe Buckley, peering around the door of his elevator car with eyes the size of tea cup saucers, while watching the retreating back of Henry Donaldson, said it all, 'WHAT THE HECK'S, GOING ON?'

Henry's good mood lasted until he noticed the two, pre-approved re-zoning documents laying on his desk in ambush mode. 'What in the world?' Floated through his mind, 'I don't recall anything, being in the pipes.' Hitting his desk intercom, He said, "Good Morning, Alice. Do we still get our office coffee from that bakery on Van Buren?" Getting an affirmative reply, he said, "Excellent, could you possibly bring a carafe and your PDA to my office for a bit? Thanks so much."

When Henry became upset over anything he also went into 'Uber-Polite' mode. Many folks throughout the years had misread this as something it definitely was not. No one expects the 'Spanish Inquisition', to say "Please, and Thank You". That was the one fact that had made Joe Buckley sit up and take notice. There was a world of difference between; "Thanks, Joe" and "Thank You".

One hour after Henry had been ensconced with his private secretary, the intercom on Glen Anderson's desk buzzed.

There were three things as a general rule, that would make bureaucrats 'duck'. One, was a 'Steamroller' coming up the chain. Two, were lots of 'heads' rolling back down that same chain. And three, was a 'polite, personal, request' from Henry Donaldson.

Glen Anderson felt his stomach hit the soles of his feet, but managed to reply, "Certainly Henry, I'll be there in just one minute." Then the furious brainstorm began, 'What in the name of heaven, could I possibly have done?'

As Henry released the intercom button he looked up at Alice, and a genuine smile cracked through the polite mask. 'Oh this was ... going to be a fun Monday. Wonder how much deadwood I can clear in one day?' ran through his mind.

Monday 8:00 A. M. City Hall, Office of Henry Donaldson

Izzag could feel the bastard enter the building. 'Oh wonderful, his target was in a great mood. This would be a piece of cake.' He coiled himself like a Cobra, preparing to strike.

But at the second that the, 'What in the world?' thought ran through Henry's mind Izzag's back end got hit by six hundred angry hornets. 'WHAT THE... !', and then his screaming began in earnest.

Distracted, he had missed his 'window of opportunity'. The horror of his failure hit Izzag like the fist of doom. He 'knew' down in his bowels, that Alzor would make certain his torture lasted for eons.

In blind terror he fled, for the one hope he still held -- 'The Nexus'.

Monday 8:02 A. M. City Hall, Office of Henry Donaldson

In one of the stranger twists of fate that most of the Elven and other Clans were still puzzled by. Clan Faery - though the smallest of any in physical size - were the branch gifted with the most amount of influence on the Demonic plane. As the time drew close for their part in 'The Plan'. Samron once again checked each and every 'Lance' his troops carried. Turning to face his folk, he intoned, "Honor to you all. Strike True, Strike Hard." The responding crash of six hundred lances on shields and shout of, "Honor to you, My Lord. Lead Us!" nearly made his heart burst with pride, as the tiniest warriors on the planet set out for what could be 'their finest hour'.