An Eighty Percent Solution

Implement—Phase Five



“When we agreed to this course of action, we knew there’d be a short-term increase in damage for a long-term payoff,” said one of the nine eight-centimeter solidos on the stark obsidian desk. He didn’t know the technology on how these conference calls were secured any more than he thought about tying his shoes. The corps bought security like one would buy a bag of potato chips, and with about as much thought to the purchase.

“That’s all fine for you to say. None of your profits have been attacked. Nanogate, one of the crown jewels in our portfolio, is down seventy-eight percent and falling.”

“It was your plan, Nanogate,” Taste Dynamics said scornfully.

“Probably revenge-motivated,” one of the other solidos stated. “The profile we shared shows a twenty-two percent chance of such retaliation.”

“Nothing showed anything in such scale, however,” offered another.

“The Nanogate Spire represented billions in lost opportunity cost, lost revenue in retained leasing, and redesign costs.”

“Redesign?”

“Our polling shows we can’t pin this one on the Greenies. They haven’t publicly claimed responsibility. The masses think this was a design flaw causing an industrial accident, despite our media blitz to the contrary. They won’t accept the same design. We have to start all over.”

“Seems excessive. What about retaining your current headquarters?”

“We’re already negotiating that point. We aren’t in a strong bargaining position, though, and the owner knows it. He’s holding us hostage with a ruinous penalty and will require us to purchase the current building at a twice or thrice inflated cost.

“But as costly as this is, it’s a pittance compared to the other impacts they’ve been making. We’ve been able to keep the manufacturing plant disasters—all five of them—quiet with some well-placed bribes. The Loihi dome, however, caught the media’s attention because of an ill-timed visit by some maintenance personnel. But the real point is that the cost to repair and replace will likely to be more than all of our combined companies’ profits for this year. Worse, we may have a shortfall of product.”

“Insurance?”

“How many of you buy insurance of this scale? We’re self-insured as a shared risk across our entire corporate umbrella. Even if we did carry such a policy it’d bankrupt the company underwriting the policy.”

“Any other damage?”

“Any other damage?! Of course there is, if that isn’t enough. Nothing of that scale, however. Call it pricey vandalism: rewiring the powering station of our delivery vehicles so the batteries burned up; multiple costly supercomputer crashes despite all the ice we could surround them with; rerouting sewage lines into the fire-suppression system of one of our primary engineering facilities and then setting a small fire. There are more of the same, but they’re swallowed in the larger problems.”

“Total costs?”

“Our current estimate is one hundred forty point three trillion, give or take fifteen percent. Note that this doesn’t cover the public opinion cost nor the stock impacts.”

Even the normally nonplussed group fidgeted at the sum before one finally broke the tableau. “Stay the course. It isn’t as if we hadn’t expected costs. The computer analysis still shows this is by far the best course and it more than pays back in the long run.”

One by one the other solidos agreed. He nodded in assent only because they expected it.

“One other item of note,” ECM stated. “As we expected, the subject has changed his name, and databases have been modified to show the change. I’m sending details by separate carrier. This is the first confirmation that shows the subject is truly part of the GAM.”

“Thank you for that clarification. Anything further?”

“I have one item,” noted OldsTransport. “We discovered unusual market activity on all of Nanogate’s holdings. Specifically, there were massive puts against the stock just before significant pieces of sabotage.”

“Were we able to track the people doing the trading?”

“No. It was all done over the counter, in convenience stores and networked brokers in small amounts. Nothing traceable. Not only that, but innocents are getting involved in the frenzy as well.”

“Does this really change anything?”

“No, except that they’re now no longer poorly funded. We anticipate over six million just in the last week.”

“I do ask that until this item is resolved, we meet weekly.”

“Agreed.”

“Yes, by all means.”

The meeting ended as the communications links broke, one by one, terminating the images like soap bubbles landing in the summer grass.

Nanogate sat quietly for ten long minutes, ignoring the insistent flashing of his door and the neural rasps of his percomm.



* * *



“Jonah, Frances, and Colin, you don’t happen to have your Metro uniforms still, do you?” Tony said, leaning back and picking his teeth after a group potluck.

“Frak, no. I left that life behind,” Jonah said with the relaxed attitude of someone long away from such a painful memory.

“We still have our ballistics,” Frances said for herself and her domestic and action partner. “They lojacked all of the bio-enhancement suits, so those had to go, of course.”

The rest of the group stopped talking to listen in. Tony had become their number one planner, and if another epiphany struck him, they knew it meant a worthwhile mission.

“Yes, that’s all I mean. So if we did some minor alterations, you could pose, at least for a short while, as if you were Metros.”

“Yeah, but anyone doing a routine scan would find our badges deactivated, and our heads on the wanted list.”

Tony ran his fingers through the thick brush of hair on his chest as he stared off in the distance. “And how do we make people careless?” he asked absently.

“Kill ’em quick?” Several people chuckled.

“Bore them silly. Let Andrew talk to them for an hour. They’d all fall asleep.” Andrew pushed Jonah off the couch with a playful shove to the arm.

“Yeah, thanks for noticing me,” Tolly offered, mimicking an infamous donkey’s droll tones.

“Show them what they want to see?” Sonya offered seriously.

“Exactly. The great part of this plan is that in-depth scouting isn’t necessary. This is a swashbuckling job. So here’s what I’m thinking…”



* * *



“C’mon, you green bitch,” the Metro said, pushing Suet’s form ahead of him into the light of the security gate of Nanogate Storage Facility Sixteen.

“Stop!” called the security guard, drawing his sonic club, his hands already pressing the local panic button.

“We are stopped, you rent-a-cop,” the second Metro said, his own pulse pistol in the green woman’s back. “We found this number playing fast and loose with your fence about thirteen hundred meters down the way. She had this toy on her as well,” the Metro said, tossing the man a small block of explosives.

The Nanogate security guard jumped, but realized, belatedly and a little sheepishly, that the device was little more than a featureless clay-like block without a fuse or detonator.

The facility’s four other guards pelted up almost simultaneously from different directions, wheezing as they ran to respond to the panic button. With Greenies going after Nanogate facilities, they all looked tense, but they relaxed at the sight of the Metro uniforms.

“What the f*ck?” their leader demanded between labored gasps.

“They found this one trying to cut through the fence,” the first explained, poking at Suet, who just looked angry.

“OK, so what? Why don’t you tote this bitch away?”

“Do you have the slightest idea how much paperwork is involved in an arrest?” the taller male Metro offered. “Look, I thought you might be willing to take this punta off our hands for the reward bucks. Make you look good. Hell, we even put a binder on her arm implants.”

“Yeah,” the shorter female Metro said. “This way me and my partner don’t have to spend the rest of the night doing computer entry and booking.”

“You could turn her in yourself. Why the free money?”

“You idiot! Metros can’t get reward money. You a Nil or something? When did you get your private security license? Yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. OK. We got us a detention cell in here. Come this way. Mike, stay here.”

“Y’all see the game last night?” Frances asked as they entered the building.

Suet waited patiently until they were beyond the gate’s monitors and inside the structure. Excreting a lubricant from her pores, one tentacle slipped out of the wrist binder like it didn’t exist. One of her arms wrapped around the neck of one security guard, lifting. The spine snapped instantly. Another arm swept the ground, catching one other guard unawares, taking his legs from beneath him. The first arm now did double-duty, lashing bloodily across the chest of the third guard with speed enough to crush a trough in his ribcage. Colin’s and Frances’s hand weapons, from their Metro façade, finished the standing cripple and the other stunned man.

“Jesus, Suet! Give us a chance for some fun, too.”

“I nuke fas’. No s’ow up for you.”

“Whatever. Let’s plant these charges quickly.”

Five minutes later they all gathered back together. “Can I do the honors?” Frances asked.

“By all means.” Suet nodded.

Frances sent a coded signal. Detonators didn’t need to be visible to work. The supposedly inert explosives in the guard shack vaporized the remaining guard, Mike, as well as a 30 meter section of fence and all the sensing equipment, leaving a gaping hole for the trio to stroll through before the real fireworks began.



* * *



Only a single light shining down on the desk held away the darkness. The corner windows showed only full night outside, one with no moon. Alone, late at night, Mitch Anson leaned back in his leather executive chair dictating a memo, eyes rolled up to the ceiling. His nostrils flared.

“It’s clear that the ubiquitous nature of your failings proves you cannot be trusted at your current rank. Thus it is my duty to inform you that you are demoted two ranks, with a commensurate reduction in pay in the amount equal to eleven point four percent. Sincerely, Mitch Anson.” His breath raced and a flush covered his face.

Orgasm was the only word to describe Mr. Anson’s demeanor. Mr. Marks thought to himself that sometimes one’s work truly delighted one. He watched as Anson’s respiration slowed to normal.

“Excuse me,” came Mr. Marks’s quiet interruption. Anson, startled, sat bolt upright in his chair. He looked about wildly for the source of the voice, but found none. “Lights!” he demanded insistently.

“Unrecognized voice command,” came a soft feminine voice. “The Portland Metropolitan Police have been notified.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Anson, but I’ve already disabled your computer access.”

“Who are you, you soon-to-be-unemployed Nil? This is not a place for practical jokes or hacking!”

Mr. Marks stepped forward into the arena of light around the desk. Anson’s face lost its color. His mouth dropped open, only exceeded in size by the wideness of his eyes.

“Cancel emergency call.”

“Call cancelled, Mr. Marks.”

“I…er…I’m sorry,” Anson stammered.

“Sir, I’ve come to deliver a message,” he said in silky tones.

“B-but I didn’t do anything.”

“Sir, you needn’t bother with the scatter-pistol built into your desk. This shouldn’t be that kind of message. I do, however, have to inform you that Nanogate won’t be needing your services in the future.”

“What did I do wrong?” Anson demanded, slamming both palms down on his desk as he stood to face Marks. “I’ve given everything to this corporation and now you’re firing me?”

“Oh, you mistake me, sir. I’m not going to fire you. You’re going to resign.”

“What?! There is no way I’ll resign!”

“You will resign, sir, or we’re going to go on to ‘that kind of message.’”

Mitch sat back down. “Why? What did I do? I don’t understand. I’ve done everything our corporation has asked for and more.”

“It’s the ‘more’ that’s being objected to, sir. Your hiring of the bounty hunters to go after Mr. Sammis might’ve interfered with an ongoing corporate operation, had it not been caught in time. I personally removed all four of your hirelings.” Mitch started almost imperceptibly. “Ah, there are more. How many more did you hire, sir?” Marks took only half a step forward.

“One. Only one more.”

“Excellent.” Marks didn’t have an orgasm, but a smile crossed his face nonetheless. “Now, you can dictate your resignation while I watch. Then you will simply disappear. I suggest you remain off the net for the rest of your life. If you ever show up, one of us will pay you a visit…of ‘that kind,’ sir.”



* * *



The group sprawled around a red and white checked linen cloth spread beneath one of the trees in an idyllic park. They carried a picnic basket and munched on fried chicken, even if the real chicken content of their dish equaled zero. As everywhere, protein contents were substituted interchangeably. Since very few foodstuffs still grew on Earth, and chickens never really took to space travel, they were on the endangered species list.

A gentle breeze brought the briny smell of a nearby simulated ocean.

“I always wanted to spend the afternoon in here but couldn’t afford it,” Tony said as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

“This seems obscene,” Suet said clearly.

“It does seem out of place,” Sonya offered quietly from her typical lotus position.

“I know,” Tony offered, “but the best place to hide is in plain sight—purloined letter style.”

“It still seems as if we’re inviting the enemy to our meetings,” Andrew shuddered, looking at the huge Nanogate sign hanging on the side of the building that enclosed the wooded acreage.

“Don’t worry. Our cover as the Beaverton Bomber Bowling League went over perfectly. Many of the bowling leagues have buy-ins just for this kind of thing after the season’s over.”

“But the DNA scanners we submitted to?”

“We be nab’ on the way ou’…”

“Not going to happen,” Augustine interrupted. “With the information Tony supplied about the security on the low-risk areas, I easily rode into Nanogate’s files and switched all our DNA profiles with those of some midlevel functionaries in other companies.”

“Yeah, I can just imagine the visits they’ll receive when this finally unravels, all thanks to our local net jock.” Tony nodded at the elderly woman, his friend. “And before you ask, she’s already masking our conversation—replacing it, actually, with bits and pieces of other groups of visitors amongst the trees.”

“What about eyes?”

“The floating surveillance is also being similarly redirected,” Augustine said in disgust. “You think I’m not thorough?” No one commented into her challenging stare.

“I think we can safely call this meeting to order,” Sonya said. “I’d like to congratulate Andrew, Jonah, and Frances for their rather spectacular destruction of the Nanogate factory in Lusk, Wyoming.”

“Grats!” several yelled boisterously.

“Agreed. The planning and execution rivaled perfection itself,” Sonya said, adding to the praise. Frances blushed while Andrew just got more solemn. “The results speak for themselves. Our recruitment of operatives and the monetary contributions from anonymous donors is at an all-time high, even though Augustine’s shrewd stock market moves have made the latter less important than ever. But even more impressively, despite the firm lid Nanogate put on all our deeds, their stock has plummeted to nearly all-time lows.”

“As good as this is,” Tony said in a prearranged tradeoff from Sonya, “it isn’t enough. We need more. We need to drive Nanogate into bankruptcy, but frankly I’m running out of targets. Does anyone have any that we’ve missed?”

Augustine offered her opinion almost immediately. “I’ve done thorough research on all of Nanogate’s properties, both those publicly disclosed and those that aren’t. There’s some small off-planet facilities and a few distribution points we might target, but that’s about all. I might suggest we use the noobs on these targets. They’re much higher risk now that everyone’s alerted to our modus operandi.”

“Good idea,” Tony jumped in. “I was afraid Nanogate might be too narrow of a target.”

“Too narrow? You’re the one that told us we needed to narrow our targets,” Linc said, sitting up from his semi-reclined position leaning on one elbow.

“Yes, but many of these companies are linked, if you’ll pardon the pun. Other companies are funneling money to Nanogate to keep them afloat. We need to find these others and target them as well.”

Linc said gruffly, “Want me to tail your cheating wife—fine. Want me to dig up the guy that stole your identity on the wire—fine. Want me to figure out how companies are interlinked—I’m lost.”

“Oh, don’t go being pessimistic, yet.”

“Check other companies’ stock prices against Nanogate’s for correlation over time,” Christine said in her normally empty tone. That she spoke at all kept the entirety of the group stunned and looking at her for several moments. Her eyes still held their near vacant expression. Tony wondered what went on behind those eyes, then decided he didn’t want to know and shuddered visibly.

“I have correlations,” Augustine said. Her surgical link provided nearly instantaneous access to data from the web. Her smile said it all. “Nanogate stock and the stock of seven, possibly as many as ten, other corps fluctuate as a single entity, albeit one to two orders of magnitude out of phase.”

“Gentlebeings, I would say that we have additional targets.”



* * *



Greysky scratched his left arm where flesh met synthetic as he leaned inconspicuously in the steel-irised doorway of the ground level slum. In the eight years since he had voluntarily traded his meat limb for one of plastic and metal, imbalances in the nerve-to-circuit junctions made themselves known as an itching sensation.

As a freelance artist, Greysky had been doing private enforcement work for nearly ten years. That his PE license expired the previous year didn't matter. A license meant eight hundred credits a day, in the wrong direction.

Over the top of his projected solido-paper he surreptitiously watched a tube hotel across the street, its garish pink neon sign at least forty years old.

“Sleeping tubes disinfected daily,” crackled an almost incomprehensible electro-mechanical speaker. “A full half cubic meter more space than chain hotels.” Transient quarters all over the world were the same. Put your credit into the slot and slide into a 2.5 meter long by 1 meter wide cylinder for twelve hours of relative insulation from the outside world. This particular tube sleeper even accepted coins and paper bills, catering to those who didn't even have universal credit.

Greysky snorted softly. He remembered having to resort, at one time in his life, to sleeping in one of those plastic coffins—and that’s what they usually were, too, coffins. People live there and die there. They never lift themselves above a grinding level of poverty and their only purpose is to be insignificant monetary bits in an immense economic machine. Greysky's finances long ago warranted a home far from this place. He was the exception. But then he wasn’t here to sleep—he was here to deliver a message.

Just as he started reading the story, “Pope Vows to Increase Heretic Deportations,” the intended recipient of his current employers' missive walked into the lobby of the sleep establishment. The blond hair, a rare trait these days, gave him away.

Greysky leaned farther into the doorway, striking a coffee stick on the wall next to him and tucking the business end into his mouth. Watching through his magnifying eye, his target put coins into tube 312 and climbed in. The tube end went opaque, making it time for Greysky to deliver.

He angled across the street diagonally, not pushing people out of the way but blending into the rest of the destitute throng. He put his head down and shuffled along, the bulk of his body and the tools of his trade hidden amongst the people and his shin-length jacket. As the pink neon bathed him, he pounded on the end of 312.

“Message for Mitch Anson.”

“What?” said a voice from beyond the door as it opened. “Who knows—”

Greysky released the tiny spoon of the implosion grenade. “This is a gift from your former employees.” He flicked the fingertip explosive into the oval opening and slammed the door down on the surprised face.

Greysky felt the muffled explosion conducted through the street. He walked calmly away, already mentally spending his commission.



* * *



“So where are we off to this grand morning?” Tony asked brightly. For Portland at ground level, the day positively shined, with the barest of moisture drifting in the air and no clouds to speak of. The near silence of the time after night owls lay slumbering and the day seekers hadn’t quite emerged gave a rare pleasant experience.

As nothing came without its polar opposite, the brightness highlighted the filth. Nearby, a discarded washing machine on its side rusted itself into oblivion as it spilled rotting garbage from its insides onto the cracked pavement. The quiet allowed Sonya to hear several insects vying for the muck. The smell of fresh sewage, free from the rain, wafted up. Sonya sketched a little frown with her mouth, not because of the smell but rather the question. An experienced terrorist wouldn’t have even asked. He or she should trust their leaders and just follow. Despite Tony’s exceptional ideas and directions for the GAM, he still avoided embracing the lifestyle.

“Have I said something wrong?” Tony inquired after she didn’t reply right away.

As they walked along, Sonya ground off the burrs of her short fingernails along the walls of the ground-level masonry like some gigantic emery board. She chided herself for her annoyance. “No. I just sometimes forget. You’re so sophisticated in some ways and so downy fresh in others. Remember the tired old line from the old flaties, ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you?’”

“Yes.”

“Well, whenever you ask a question, you should think about whether you really want the answer.” She watched Tony’s face get thoughtful. He learned well, she thought to herself, when he learned.

It wasn’t as if she ignored the trio of heavily modified muggers lounging in the inset doorway, she just didn’t care. The three marched out, one drawing a modern variation of nunchaku, two short steel bars with a chain between. One sported an ancient police baton and the other a makeshift club. She knew they intended to kill. It didn’t matter. Before Tony even noticed their approach, the trio, as one, found an overpowering urge to head to the local bar for a frosty brew, all thoughts of mayhem erased, for now.

Tony hitched the shoulder pack back up, prompting a plaintive mew from within. “Sorry, Cin.”

“She travels better than most cats,” Sonya said over the rather loud buzz of an ancient motorized bike that rushed by in a cloud of petroleum smoke.

“I guess she’s still young. OK, if you won’t tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me what we’re going to do? I don’t even have so much as a pea shooter with me.”

“Good. Less to be found.” A shiver of happiness ran through her. She took a childish delight in teasing him. Food vendors began to flock the early morning streets, beginning their raucous calls for customers in twelve different languages from Hebrew to Esperanto. Tony frowned. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it. “We’re off to meet the Family,” Sonya said, taking pity on her friend.

“Whose family?”

“The Family, with a capital ‘F’. At least that’s how they stylize themselves again.”

“Got it.” Tony once again opened his mouth and closed it suddenly. He did learn. “Ever been married?”

“Married?” She snorted at the thought as much as the sudden change in subject. “Like any man or woman would have me.” She turned into an arbitrary building and started up the steps. Long ago she learned that in their line of work randomness foiled more mishaps than it caused.

“Why not? You’re attractive, in a lean tigress kind of way.”

“Check six,” she whispered back on the first landing. She felt no one, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. She faded into a doorframe, pulling her cloak tight about her to mask her presence. It didn’t work against cameras, but living people easily let their senses overrule their common sense. Tony continued up the second floor chatting as he went.

“Of course you aren’t my cup of tea. I wasn’t offering myself as a potential mate, termed or otherwise.”

Tuning out her partner as he moved away, Sonya felt the building move gently beneath her feet and through the fingertips that she rested on the doorframe. The white noise of movement which engulfed her included eight different sexual escapades, three couples arguing about credit, one weapons discharge, seventy different breakfasts, a myriad of mice and insects, six aerobics classes and too many other things all too jumbled up to make sense of. What she didn’t feel was someone tailing. No one took the steps coming up behind her. No one dashed ahead to get into a building in front of her. Flowing out of the shadows, she dashed up the stairs to rejoin her comrade.

“So?”

“No one following.”

“No. Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why haven’t you ever been married?”

“I guess I’m attractive in my own way, but I’m a hermit. Having someone around me all the time would send me off the deep end. My personal privacy is too important. I don’t want anyone to have control over my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

Sonya snorted again. She stepped around a wino living on the fourth floor landing. “And you’re an expert?”

“Well, no. But my parents managed to make it work.”

“Without getting in each other’s way? Without integrating themselves in each other’s lives? I don’t believe it,” she snapped as shrilly as Tony remembered ever hearing her.

“Wow, the way you say it makes it sound like a virus or parasite.”

She took the time for a cortico-thalamic pause, that brief moment between stimulus and response. In her case it took five floors, and two building transfers. Finally, she replied in her normal, mellow tones. “Sorry, but you hit one of my soap box topics,” she explained, jabbing the call button of an old-fashioned elevator with particular vehemence. “I like my life. I don’t want to change my life. Anyone I add to it would change it. I’ve watched friends get married and in almost all cases become miserable, or change into someone I wouldn’t want to call a friend.”

To her surprise, Tony said nothing. She entered the elevator and pressed the combination for the eightieth floor. “Like most witches, I suppress my urges for domesticity or other entanglements with the companionship of my pets.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” Tony finally offered, somewhere around the forty-fifth floor.

“You didn’t. It’s just that assumption that someone has to have someone else to be a full person—well, it drives me crazy sometimes.”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

She really didn’t even hear him. “If I have one regret, it’s that I won’t have anyone to pass my gifts to.”

The elevator door opened onto two imposing men in bodyguard yellow before Tony could continue digging into even more uncomfortable territory. One stood like a white, weathered mountain with an obvious Russie heritage, the other his polar opposite, slight and fast, with the cast of the southern Asians.

“Hi Greg, Tuan. We’re here to see the Jamie.”

“You’re supposed to come alone,” one barked. “You know the rules.” The other guard stood at attention, holding his flechette gun in a perfect diagonal cross of his bare chest.

“Pish and tosh.” Only one as massive and tall as Greg could stare down at Sonya. She locked eyes with him and didn’t let them go. It took only a minute. She felt Greg must be slipping.

“Well, give us some warning next time,” the guard said finally, giving up the staring contest.

“If you didn’t have us spotted at least ten minutes ago, I’d be surprised.”

“Whatever. Climb in,” he said, pointing at the portal of a scanning machine like they use at spaceports for carry-on luggage. The entrance on this end fed into a blank wall and came out somewhere beyond. Sonya jumped up onto the conveyor belt and lay down without a second thought. She remembered her trepidation the first time and hoped Tony handled it well.

In the space of seven deep breaths, practiced with a calm meditation of the soul, the makeshift scanner dribbled her back out into the light. She rolled off the end of the belt to her feet with the grace of one of her cats. Tony, carrying Cin in his arms, provided a new definition of gracelessness as he fell hard onto his backside, his legs flailing in the air. Adding insult to injury, his head flipped back and banged against the scanner supports, drawing a scathing oath in a language Sonya didn’t know but determined by its invective. Cin, on the other hand, landed on all fours on Tony’s stomach as if this happened daily.

Sonya silently offered Tony a hand up. As he took it, not without a scowl, Sonya took the opportunity to examine his head. Just enough blood leaked from the scalp to eventually create a scab. It wound up in the category of painful and annoying, but nothing more.

She registered the new rich red paint since her last visit. It flowed in with the rest of the décor. Real crown molding and wainscoting in a style not seen for nearly a century accentuated the dark green velvet and the carved marble columns in the corners. Few countries on Earth or its colony worlds could’ve afforded even two of the six Maxfield Parrish paintings mounted to the wall. Yet only the Mob’s reputation, and a few bodyguards such as Greg and Tuan, protected the art.

Invariably, any newcomer found themselves in front of “Daybreak.” Sonya, on the other hand, preferred to immerse herself in “White Birches: Winter” at every opportunity. Placing Cin on his shoulders, Tony gawked at each painting in turn. Sonya sensed that Cin appreciated the works herself.

“Dian!” said a lean, red-headed woman in a long, blue velvet dressing gown to Sonya as she came into the room. Her long, well-toned legs, clad in stockings, garters and blue Pintera pumps, parted the gown and carried her over to Sonya. She gave her a pair of French-style air-kisses now regaining popularity with the effete. “I see you brought a pair of toys with you.” The woman unabashedly examined Tony like a prize cow on the auction block, but with barely a fleck of interest in Cin.

“Jamie. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Always a pleasure, for the right price, of course.”

“Naturally. Let me introduce Michael Durant, a new but very valuable member of my team.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael,” Jamie said, offering one of her manicured hands, complete with fingernails that changed color to contrast to whatever they lay against. Sonya watched Jamie’s hard eyes, completely at odds with her pin-up body, as Jamie evaluated “Michael’s” response. He gallantly took her hand in his and bowed deeply over it, but didn’t kiss it.

“Oh, I see Dian’s already got you under her thumb, and other places,” the woman said with the faintest of smiles.

“No, not exactly, Jamie. I’m just not partial to redheads.”

Sonya flipped Tony a glittering stare. A short silence filled the room.

“Touché. Well played, Michael, or whatever your name is.”

Tony bowed again in acknowledgement.

“So enough games. Shall we sit and have some tea while we talk business?”

“Very well.” Jamie snapped her fingers, and a small army of servants brought in an antique double-trestle table carved from a solid piece of granite, plus matching chairs, a silver tea service, and scones, perfect for a midmorning snack. Just as quickly as the servants appeared, they disappeared. Jamie poured generous servings for each, even a small saucer of milk for Cin.

“Dian, I remember you like yours with just a touch of milk.”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“And you, Michael?”

“I like mine sweet.”

“Let’s say two sugars, then. So what brings you here today,” Jamie asked, proffering each their refreshment in turn. Tony let Cin down onto the table at her dish. Cin sat patiently as Tony pinched a small blueberry scone from the tray.

Sonya sensed Tony’s decision to remain quiet and be subservient. A good choice, as he didn’t know why they were here. “We’re after a backdoor into any of these major corps’ data-nets,” Sonya said, sliding a small scrap of plastic onto the table. In one continued movement she lifted her cup and took a dainty sip.

Jamie didn’t even bend over to look at the plastic or what it carried. “Really? Sure you wouldn’t like some SLSA rockets? Maybe some Gunnison gauss guns? We also just recently got a shipment of Black Marionettes.”

“Sorry, no. Information this time, not hardware.”

“What you’re asking for isn’t trivial. I honestly don’t know if we can deliver to any kind of timeline.”

“What kind of price would be associated with this?”

“I couldn’t even apply a price to such information,” she said with the civility of a garden party. “Probably more than you could afford. It would be well into the millions.”

“Please don’t assume our financial status is burdened with the problems of the past.”

“There were words on the street to that effect, but one can’t always believe what one hears.”

“Well, you can believe it this time.”

“In that case, how about I investigate and provide you with a quote and a timeline?”

“That would be perfectly acceptable. This is excellent tea.”

“Darjeeling. We have some being grown illegally in India and brought over. Another cup?”

Cin lifted her face from the bowl and proceeded to clean her face contentedly. “No, thank you. We really must be moving on. We have many other stops to make.”

“Yes, we thank you for your hospitality,” Tony offered.

“Well, Michael, if I’m not stepping on Dian’s toes, I’ll offer you even more hospitality,” Jamie said in a voice both sultry and low.

Tony shook his head just a fraction. “Thank you, no. We do really have to be going.”

“A shame. But come back any time.”

Fifteen silent minutes later, Tony and Sonya walked side by side, back to the decay that was ground level. Both tried to speak simultaneously.

“Why didn’t you take her up on it?”

“Why did we go there?”

They both laughed. “You first,” Sonya insisted.

“Why did we go there? We didn’t get anything out of her. And if you think she’s going to come up with a quote for us, you’re crazy. There’s no way she can get that info for us. Despite her serene hostess façade, her inability to deliver was written all over her.”

“Of course it was. That’s what I was testing for, actually. Normally, she just quotes a very high price for something and we politely dicker. Even she didn’t think she could get the information. And if she can’t, no one can. That’s what I needed. No backdoors for Augustine.”

“Too bad. We could use the direct information.”

“Yes, she’s been asking for years. This is the first time we’ve had the resources to even pose the question. By the way, don’t let her vamp attitude make you think less of her. She runs the most pervasive Mob family around.”

“She did seem a bit casual.”

“It’s a defense mechanism. No one initially gives her the credit for her intelligence and her ruthlessness. Be that as it may, I had two other reasons for my visit. The easiest was to convey that our financial wherewithal has improved. That will get us better service and attention in the future.”

“And the other?”

“To introduce you to her, of course.”