April 4: A Different Perspective (8 page)

Chapter 10

"OK, take our bags to the car," Pretty Boy ordered Loyal Minion after they watched the same scene on TV as Otis. "I'll pay 'Mr. Duggan' and we'll be headed south from here. Then we'll head east from near San Diego. We have a long drive so use the bathroom if you need to and get us a couple bottles of water from the vending machine." This was the first he'd told the underling what they would do after the assassination.

"Don't you think you should wait for confirmation she's dead?" Loyal Minion asked. The look he got back was not friendly. Pretty Boy didn't appreciate his sudden assertiveness.

"Just asking," he said defensively. "Crap, It's not my money," he reasoned further, holding his palms up in a pacifying gesture.

"You saw her literally propelled through the door by the shot. She was hit badly enough to blow blood right out of her nose so it had to be a chest wound. I don't care if they had the operating table sitting right there to just lift her on to it. A .416 will make such a mess from any abdominal hit she's a goner. Do you want that snake looking at his bank account in a few minutes and thinking we shorted him?"

"No way! That guy scared the crap out of me. That's one stone cold killer."

"Well, the possibility occurs to me
our
bosses might decide to save a big chunk of change by removing the funds now that the job is done. I'd like to finish this up before they can think on that too long and decide to do it," he explained as he worked the keys.  "Because guess who our Mr. Duggan would blame if he gets stiffed?"

"There," he said, hitting a final key. "It's a lot of money. I even thought about trying to steal it myself, but not after seeing 'Mr. Duggan' in the flesh. That sucker was so cold he was yawning, bored, the day before popping the President."

"You don't think the protective detail nailed his ass right there in the hotel room?"

"I won't bet
my
sweet little butt on it. He had maybe ten seconds to get out of the room. You could do it in five or six if you moved. I wouldn't be surprised if that guy beats us to being on the road, headed out of town."

Chapter 11

Otis wasn't quite that far ahead. His server brought his omelet and related, all upset, that something apparently happened to the President just down the street. Otis nodded gravely and agreed what he'd seen on the booth TV looked bad. He took a few bites just for appearance sake and left a good tip. Keith's van was pulling in the parking lot, so he paid his bill on the way out and hurried to meet him before he came in.

He deleted the memories of both cellphones when he got in the van, removed the batteries and chips, before he directed Keith to stop and threw them and the unused envelope in separate trash receptacles.

With both phones gone he directed Keith to the airport. His computer chimed and he opened it. The e-mail was the automated response he'd requested from the Swiss bank. As he watched the amount in the account ran down in steps to just a couple thousand EuroMarks, as the bank followed his instructions. He closed the computer deeply satisfied.

He leaned over and used the clippers he'd requested, first with a number two and then a number one comb. He brushed both head and pants legs thoroughly to leave any loose hair on the floor and looked in the mirror. Damn, he looked like a recruit, but that was how spacers wore it.

When the number of emergency vehicles going the other way got to be too many to ignore Keith turned the radio on. They still were not clear if Wiggen had been hurt or not. There was no clear public announcement and the commentators sounded gravely concerned.

When they neared the airport the turnoff to the domestic terminal and local air services was blocked off by local police cars with flashing lights. A flashing arrow told you to move over and two officers with bright traffic batons urged everyone to pass the sealed off lanes and keep moving. As he hoped when they continued down the loop road, the ramps for air freight and the international/space terminal was still open.

"You don't seem very worried about Wiggen," Keith suggested, not commenting on the buzz cut at all.

"I'm not. Somebody tried something, but those boys on her detail are sharp. I mean we have some good men and we have considerable assets. But those guys play the game at a whole different level. I have every confidence that she's OK. It's just smart of them not to rush to say so. People who can arrange an attempt on the President's life might very well have the means to set it up in depth. A premature announcement she is OK might trigger a back-up attempt, just waiting in the wings."

"You seem to have given it a great deal of thought."

"You bet. I game things out in my head all the time, just like I'd do if we were asked to handle them. We can both be glad we don't have to provide Presidential security. Eventually somebody gets through no matter how good you are. Then there's no excuse good enough. That's why the Navy is handling her security detail now, when the Secret Service dropped the ball with President Hughes, there was no way they'd just get told to try harder next time. When
they
fail the whole agency is going to be replaced. The Secret Service is doing well just to have escaped being disbanded, at least that wasn't their whole mission, they still have counterfeiting and stuff. and you better believe the Navy knows how bad it will damage them if they fail. Lots of other very bright fellows didn't want to be tasked with Presidential protection, when they were looking to stick somebody with it."

"You figure they use outside contractors?"

"Well, sure, but you best believe they'd keep that under real tight wraps." When Keith didn't say anything Otis looked over at him again. "Real tight," he repeated.

"Got ya," Keith acknowledged. "I've forgotten I asked already."

Chapter 12

"Tell me in a general way what you expect your bank to do and what sort of philosophy it is directed by and what sort of business it intends to underwrite," Papa-san asked.

Jeff went on for a long time. To the point April was getting overwhelmed. But she watched Papa-sans face and paid closest attention to which points interested him. Speaking of being late in the economic cycle and favoring capital preservation didn't surprise him. Papa-san just nodded agreement and let Jeff go on. That was no surprise to her either.

Her attention was drifting, but when Jeff said, "As April pointed out when we were discussing the first Global Depression," she came back aware and listening instantly. She just hoped it wasn't a lead in to a joke, but when he finished the thought Papa-san just nodded agreement, she saw with relief.

When Jeff talked about low leverage and reserves, Papa-san slid forward on the edge of his seat and they lost her in very little time. It took them two hours and speaking a utterly foreign language at times, before Papa-san was satisfied. Heather suggested they would need a break and a meal soon, so she offered to prepare supper and feed all of them.

She looked at April like she expected her to volunteer to help. April knew her kitchen, but had no desire to miss a single word of this conversation, even if it veered outside her grasp occasionally.

"April is also an officer of the bank," Mama-san pointed out. "I think you should have at least two of your board at this talk. I am a little lost to parts of this, but I am very competent in a kitchen. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to help? I realize that one's kitchen is a private matter, but I offer it with every respect."

"I'd be delighted to have you," Heather agreed. April knew her voice and face and she meant it, which was a great relief to April. When you have valued friends meet there is always the worry they won't hit it off.

"Thank you," Jeff piped up, "because I have had April doing economic research for me and I'd like her to hear this."

Yeah, right, April thought and worked at keeping a straight face.

"My little brother Barak will be coming home soon and joining us for supper," Heather told Mama-san," he makes a good scullery maid and can give us a hand."

"Barak taught me to make pancakes," April said, defending him automatically. "I fear he's still a better cook than I am."

"And he has a sweet crush on April," Heather added. "He isn't shy to say so."

"Then he is a young man of taste," Papa-san declared. "with Life Extension Therapy I think we are going to see that such minor age differences don't mean much anymore."

That was a very interesting idea. April had never considered it from that perspective before. Barak was smart and fun and could cook, give him six years to mature a bit and he might be very interesting indeed.

Chapter 13

The airport had a well stocked wireless toy shop and he got the most expensive set of wrap-around spex they had, with all the memory it would hold. They were de rigeur for spacers. He transferred everything from his computer using a different encryption scheme. He also bought the loudest bright Aloha shirt he could find and changed into it in the men's room. Nobody in their right mind would wear such a thing if they had any reason not to call attention to themselves.

A kiosk was better than dealing with a live agent and he bought a lift ticket direct for Home in thirty-five minutes. There was another in twenty minutes for New Las Vegas, but he could save fifteen minutes at this end and get arrested in USNA territory waiting for the Home shuttle at the other end.

He used his Safety Associates card because it was a numbered card requiring no ID. It was unrevokable, so people accepted it with just a number on the face. He'd simply have to pay John back when he informed him he was quitting. He had enough to pay cash, but that too raised a huge signal now that would get him scrutinized.

He killed time until near boarding and then assumed the correct body language, hands held a bit away from his body, very light on his feet like a dancer with his weight forward and a face masked with utter arrogance.

"ID," demanded the security agent at the gate.

"I'm going to Home. That is not subject to question or restriction."

"What ID do you have, sir?" the man asked. He made 'sir' sound like an insult.

"I have no need of ID," Otis assured him. "Free people have no need of ID to travel, except in so-called free Earth countries."

"Did you destroy your USNA identification already?" the man asked grinding his teeth.

"Not everybody on Home was a Norte Americano," Otis assured him. "I was a citizen of the Principality of Monaco," he informed him. "A relatively enlightened Earth government, but one with which the question of dual citizenship has not been settled, so I don’t carry or use their passport until we get a proper ruling on the matter."

When the man looked like he was going to speak again Otis held a restraining finger up and looked in the upper right corner of his spex and then quickly in the left upper corner.

"I'd appreciate it if you gave me your undivided attention and didn't entertain calls while I'm speaking to you," the man said angrily.

"I'm not
taking
a call," Otis bluffed him. "I logged onto HomeNet, because I don't care for your
attitude
," he growled, "You people
know
better than to impede travel to Home. I want my friends to know if you break our treaty by refusing to let me board. I can't stop your nation from arresting me, but I can see to it they get reprisals, like China just experienced."

"You people are fanatics," the agent accused him, but he waved him through the gate and there was a visible sheen of sweat beading the man's forehead. He
had
heard about China then.

Otis made a point of lingering a heartbeat to look at the man like examining a particularly disgusting garden slug. Not hurrying to move on in relief at the man's wave. He let his mind have free reign and thought several truly evil thoughts about exactly how the agent should die.

If the biometric sensors read anything off him, he wanted it to be rage and not fear. Then he went up the tunnel unhurried, haughty as the King of the World. When he finally made his seat he ran out of adrenaline. His knees were shaking so bad he was amazed he'd made it this far. He belted himself in with quivery hands and leaned back, a look of irritation still painted on his face to cover the turmoil.

He kept his eyes closed all the way through the roll out and climb on the carrier jet. Even when it separated and they made the shaky transition to hypersonic flight, he was aware they could still abort. When the orbital started its final burn however he finally relaxed. He was free and relatively well to do, even by Home standards and had a whole new life in front of him.

Chapter 14

Headed south out of LA, State Highway Patrolman Jesus Rodriguez listened to the radio chatter about the situation unfolding around the President. Traffic was flowing nicely about four over the limit, the most the public auto setting would accept without scolding them. At ten over it refused the command unless they declared an emergency. He eased his cruiser along just a little bit faster, looking each car over as he passed. Quite a few people were uncomfortable under his gaze.

Not a few adjusted their settings guiltily and eased off back to the speed limit as he passed. It tended to slow traffic a bit, but not as badly as actually stopping someone. Then far too many stupidly kicked it off auto approaching his lights, as if the computers didn't see a traffic stop far ahead of them and adjust. The public safety spots always told them not to, but it never convinced all of them, especially the older drivers. That always slowed things down well below the limit.

He passed a car with three kids in the back seat. Kids were easy to read. These were belted in properly and you could tell from their open faces nothing bad was going down in the car. Their dad was not as easy to read. Who knows, maybe he had a history with the police. Not a few had grudges and sometimes they were reasonable grudges, Officer Rodriguez knew.