Chapter 35 The Westing Mansion was set high upon a hill with grounds that extended far on every side.

Quaint groves of trees, deliberately placed long ago by Terence Westing's forebearers,

broke the line of the carefully manicured lawns as they ran up the hill to the house.

It was easy to see why Ajay Shah had selected this seat

for his coronation of sorts. There was no route toward the main house that his enemy could

take under cover. The Red Panda could, and almost certainly would, flit from one stand of trees

to the next in a vain attempt to approach unseen, but within each small grove of trees he

would find only death. Within each island of cover there were crouched a dozen men, men of wealth,

men of privilege, men who would shortly pay their final tribute to their new master, but first

they would serve as his soldiers.

Ajay Shah smiled at the thought, his fingers playing about his lips as he did so.

His exceedingly well-dressed army was composed entirely of weaklings, plump, pampered socialites who stood no chance against the skills for which the Red Panda was known.

But Shaw's mind was in theirs, their

will was his will. Each man that lay concealed around the house would fight as a man

possessed, in a frenzied desperation to serve before he faltered or fell. If he who called himself

the Red Panda truly wished to stop the ascent of of the Aege Shah, he would be forced to destroy

those so-called innocents.

Shah would savour that moment still more than he would his enemy's eventual destruction.

And beyond the trees, wringing the house on every side stood the matrons and daughters

of the city's finest families, each staring wrapped into the middle distance

awaiting a sign, and each holding the cold steel of a machine gun in her hands.

Skillless, but deadly through sheer number, they too would fight until they were destroyed.

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