The Cold Cash War 7 страница

He was comfortably content with his abilities, or had been until one afternoon when he noticed the young man practicing in the lane next to him was outshooting him easily, snapshooting from the hip. “Instinct shooting” the youth had called it, all the while bemoaning how much his abilities had atrophied since he left the service.

No, Mausier had long since abandoned any hopes he might have once entertained about outshooting the pros. Still, he clung tenaciously to the weapon. It was a chance, a slim chance admittedly, but still a chance. Without it, he would have no chance at all.

He glanced at his watch. Another hour and the workday would be over. He was anxious for the staff to leave so he could return to his hobby. There were two new items on the board today he was particularly eager to start digging on.

One was an information request from the oil corporation linked to the Brazilian branch of his pet mystery. The request was so off-the-wall he almost wondered if they were putting it on the board as a confusion tactic. They wanted lists of any people who had left service with the Treasury Department of any country in the free world within the last year. Special bonuses would be paid for leads on people who had been directly involved with the minting of currency.

Moneymakers? What in the world were they up to? What possible mess could they have gotten themselves into that would require money experts above and beyond those already available to the corporate world? Counterfeiting? If so, why didn’t they simply turn it over to the governments to run down? Maybe the problem was so widespread that they wanted to hush it up by handling it themselves. Maybe it was so widespread they were afraid of an economic panic if the truth leaked out.

Mausier shook his head. He was groping at straws. He’d have to hold off until he had time to scan the files for additional details or related items. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the other new item.

The C-Block had a new information request on the board. This one concerned the Japanese industries which they had been watching. They were asking for a complete listing of personnel taking the newly offered bonus world tour. If possible, they also wanted details as to timetables and rotation schedules.

Tour groups! His Brazilian workspace was getting overloaded with items. Soon he would either have to rent additional computer time or start weeding it down. Tour groups and moneymakers. This whole puzzle was starting to get out of hand.

Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t imagining it all. One of the hazards in the intelligence profession was getting hold of minor data and blowing it all out of proportion. If one tried hard enough, it was possible to take any three newspaper articles chosen at random and weave them into a conspiracy of national or international proportions.

Take as an example those items about the weapon design corporations. Suddenly many of the corporations on his list were inquiring about who the arms designers were building what for. It had puzzled him for the longest time until he finally figured it out. They were exploring another possible lead on the assassin teams. If the teams were, in fact, using special weapons, someone was supplying them. Very clever, actually-an angle the governments hadn’t thought of checking into yet. Now, if he were the overly suspicious and paranoid type, he could build those inquiries into... well, he didn’t know what, but he could build it into something.

But tour groups? Where in the world did they tie into the picture? There was one thing which might be worth looking into. If he recalled the small article he had noticed on the Japanese tour correctly, their first stop on the world tour was Brazil. It was the first time he had been able to draw even the vaguest connection between the Japanese crew and the other groups of corporations on his list. It was shaky and probably purely coincidental, but it was still worth looking into.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ms. Witley, who told him a gentleman was in the lobby who wanted to talk to him about selling some information. Mausier was not enthused over the news and briefly considered stalling the visitor until the morning. Only occasionally did walk-ins have anything really worth selling, and they were always incredibly long-winded about the risks they had run to obtain their worthless bit of trivia. Still, there were occasional pieces of gold among the gravel, and he hadn’t gotten where he was turning away potential clients.

With that in mind, he instructed Ms. Witley to fetch the man back to his office. When he arrived, Mausier’s appraising eye quickly classified him as pure corporation. It was more than the distinctive conservative suit-it was the way he held himself. His shoulders were tense, his smile forced, and his jovial pleasantness almost painful. Definitely corporate, maybe middle management, obviously desperate, probably overestimating the value of his information.

“Nice little layout you’ve got here.” The man took in the screens with a wave of his hand.

Mausier didn’t smile. He was determined to keep this brief.

“Ms. Whitley said you had some information to sell?”

“Yes, I have some information on the terrorist assassin groups everybody’s looking for.”

Mausier was suddenly attentive.

“What kind of information?”

“Say, do you mind if I smoke?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Mausier nodded at the electronic gear lining the office.

“Thanks,” said the man, lighting up. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. I guess I know more about the terrorists than anyone. You see, I’m the one who invented them for the corporations...”

Mausier suddenly realized the man was more than slightly drunk. Still, he was intrigued by what he was saying.

“Excuse me, what did you say your name was again?”

“Hornsby, Peter Hornsby.”

“Tell the driver to slow up. It should be right along here somewhere.”

“I still haven’t seen the buses.” Clancy scowled through the dust and bug-caked windshield of the truck.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be-there they are!”

The buses were rounding the curve ahead, bearing down on them with the leisurely pace characteristic of this country. Tidwell watched the vehicle occupants as they passed, craning his neck to see around the driver. The bus passengers smiled and waved joyously, but Tidwell noticed none of them took pictures.

The mercenaries smiled and waved back.

“The fix is in!” chortled Clancy.

“Did you see any empty seats?”

“One or two. Nothing noticeable.”

“Good. Look, there it is up ahead.”

Beside the road there was a small soft shoulder, one of the few along this hilly, jungled route. Without being told, the driver pulled off the road and stopped. They sat motionless for several long moments, then Aki stepped out of the brush and waved. At the signal, the driver cut the engine and got out of the car. The two mercenaries also piled out of the car, but unlike the driver, who leisurely began taking off his shirt, they strode around to the back of the truck and opened the twin doors. Two men were in the back, men of approximately the same description as and dressed identically to Tidwell and Clancy. They didn’t say anything, but strode leisurely to the front of the truck and took the mercenaries’ places in the cab. Like the driver, they had been briefed.

The two mercenaries turned their attention to the crates in the back. Aki joined them.

“Are the lookouts in place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You worry too much, Steve,” chided Clancy. “We haven’t seen another car on this road all day.”

“I don’t want this messed up by a bunch of gawking tourists.”

“So we stop ’em. We’ve done it before and we’ve got the team to do it.”

“And lose two hours covering up? No thanks.”

“I’m going to check the teams. I’ll send a couple back to give you a hand here.”

He hopped out of the truck and strode down the road, entering the brush at the point where Aki had emerged.

Fifteen feet into the overgrowth was a clearing where the teams were undergoing their metamorphosis. Nine in the clearing, and one in the truck made ten. Two full teams, and the buses had looked full.

The team members were in various stages of dress and undress. One of the first things lost when the teams were formed was any vague vestige of modesty. The clothes had been cunningly designed and tailored. Linings were ripped from jackets and pants, false hems were removed, and the familiar kill-suits began to come into view.

Clancy arrived carrying the first case. He jerked his head and two already-clothed team members darted back toward the road. Setting the carton down, Clancy slit open the sealing tape with his pocket knife. He folded the flaps back, revealing a case of toy robots.

Easing them out onto the ground, he opened the false bottom where the swamp boots were kept. These were not new boots. They were the member’s own broken-in boots. Clancy grabbed his pair and returned to a corner of the clearing to convert his clothes. One by one, the members claimed their boots and a robot and stooped to finish dressing.

Tidwell had worn his boots to speed the changing process. He whistled low and gestured, and a team member tossed him a robot. He caught it and opened the lid on its head in a practiced motion. Reaching in carefully, he removed the activator unit for his kill-suit and checked it carefully. Satisfied, he plugged it into his suit and rose to check the rest of the progress, resealing the lid on the robot and stacking it by the carton as he went.

Conversion was in full swing as more cartons arrived. The shoulder straps came off the camera gadget bags, separated, and were reinserted to form the backpacks. Fashionable belts with gaudy tooling were reversed to reveal a uniform black leather with accessory loops for weapons and ammunition.

Tidwell particularly wanted to check the weapons assembly. Packing material from the toy cartons was scooped into plastic bags, moistened down with a fluid from the bottles in the camera bags, and the resulting paste pressed into molds previously covered by the boots to form the rifle stocks. The camera tripods were dismounted, the telescoping legs separated for various purposes. First, the rounds of live ammo were emptied out and distributed. Tidwell smiled grimly at this. All the forces’ weapons were ’convertibles’-that is, they were basically quartz-crystal weapons, but were also rigged to fire live ammo if the other forces tried to disclaim their entry into the war.

The larger section of the legs separated into three parts to form the barrels for both the flare pistols and the short double-barreled shotguns so deadly in close fighting. The middle sections were fitted with handles and a firing mechanism to serve as launchers for the mini-grenades which up to now had been carried in the thirty-five-millimeter film canisters hung from the pack straps. The smallest diameter section was used for the rifle barrel, fitted with a fountain pen telescopic sight. The firing mechanisms were cannibalized from the cameras and various toys which emerged and were reinserted in the cartons.

One carton only was not refilled with its original contents. This carton was filled with rubber daggers and swords-samurai swords. These were disbursed to the members, who used their fingernails to slice through and peel back the rubber coating to reveal the actual weapons, glittering and eager in the sun. These were not rigged for use on kill-suits.

The label on the empty box was pulled back to reveal another label declaring the contents camera parts, and the skeletons of the cannibalized cameras were loaded in, packed with the shreds of the outer clothing now torn to unrecognizable pieces.

The cartons were resealed and reloaded, and the truck was again sent along its way with a driver, two passengers, and a load of working toys and camera gear.

Tidwell watched it depart and smiled grimly. They were ready.

“Call in the lookouts, Clancy. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us.”

“What’s with Aki?”

The Oriental was running toward them waving excitedly.

“Sir! Mr. Yamada is on the radio.”

“Yamada? “

“This could be trouble, Steve.”

They returned hurriedly to the clearing where the team was gathered around the radio operator. Tidwell grabbed the mike.

“Tidwell here.”

“Mr. Tidwell.” Yamada’s voice came through without static. “You are to proceed to the rendezvous point to meet with the other teams at all haste. Once there, do not, I repeat, do not carry out any action against the enemy until you have received further word from me.”

Tidwell frowned, but kept his voice respectful.

“Message received. Might I ask why?”

“You are not to move against the enemy until we have determined who the enemy is.”

“What the hell...”

“Shut up, Clancy. Please clarify, Mr. Yamada.”

“At the moment there is a cease-fire in effect on the war. The government of the United States has chosen to intervene.”

CORPORATION WARS CHARGED

A federal grand jury was appointed today to investigate alleged involvement of several major corporations in open warfare with each other. The corporations have refused to comment on charges that they have been maintaining armies of mercenaries on their payrolls for the express purpose of waging war on each other. Included on the list of corporations charged were several major oil conglomerates as well as communications and fishing concerns. The repercussions may be international as some of the corporations involved (continued on p. 28)

CORPORATIONS DEFY ORDERS

In a joint press release issued this afternoon, the corporations under investigation for involvement in the alleged corporate wars flatly refused to comply with government directives to cease all hostilities toward each other of a warlike nature and refrain from any future activities. They openly challenge the government’s authority to intervene in these conflicts, pointing out that the wars are not currently being conducted within the boundaries of the U. S. or its territories. They have asked the media to relay to the American people their countercharges that the government is trying to pressure them into submission by threatening to move against the corporations’ U. S. holdings. They refer to those threats as “blatant extortion” being carried on in the name of justice, pointing out the widespread chaos which would be caused if their services to the nation were interrupted. (continued p. 18)

CORPORATE ASSASSIN TEAMS CHARGED

In the wake of yesterday’s television broadcasts in which the corporations explained the ‘bloodless war’ concept they claim they have been practicing, new charges have been raised that they have for some time been employing teams of professional assassins to stalk rival executives in the streets and offices of America. Several instances were cited of actual deaths incurred as a result of this practice, both among the executives and innocent bystanders. While not commenting on these charges, the corporations bitterly denied any connection with the forceable abduction yesterday of state’s witness Peter Hornsby, whose information first brought the corporate wars to the government’s attention. There is still no clue in that abduction, which left two U. S. Marshalls dead and (continued p. 6)

STRIKER PREDICTS WAR

Simon Striker, noted political analyst of the long silent C-Block, has warned that if the new armed might of the corporations is not checked by the governments of the free world, it is highly probable that the C-Block will take direct action. “Such a threat could not be ignored by the party (continued p. 14)

ECONOMIST TO SPEAK TONIGHT

Dr. Kearns, Dean of the School of Economics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, will speak here tonight as part of his nationwide tour soliciting support for the controversial corporate actions recently discovered. It is Dr. Kearns’ contention that the corporations’ proposed international currency would bring much needed stability to the world’s monetary situation. His talk will begin at 8:00 P. M. IN AUDITORIUM A OF THE ECONOMICS BUILDING. ADMISSION IS FREE TO THE PUBLIC.

AFRICANS JOIN CORPORATE OPPOSITION

The League of African Nations added their support to the rapidly growing list of countries seeking to control the multinational corporations. With the addition of these new allies, virtually all major nations of the free world are united in their opposition to the combined corporate powers. Plans are currently being formulated for a united armed intervention if the corporations continue to defy (continued p. 12)

WORLDWIDE PROTESTS SCHEDULED

Protest demonstrations are scheduled for noon tomorrow in every major city across the globe as citizen groups from all walks of life band together to voice their displeasure at the proposed governmental armed forces intervention in the corporate wars. War is perhaps the least popular endeavor governments embark on, and it is usually sold to the populace as a step necessary to ensure national security, a reason which many feel does not apply in this situation. Groups not usually prone to voicing protest have joined the movement, including several policemen’s unions and civil servant organizations. Government officials (continued p. 8)

COURT MARTIALS THREATENED

Armed Forces officials announced today that any military personnel taking part in the planned demonstrations will be arrested and tried for taking part in a political rally, whether or not they are in uniform.

GOVERNMENT-CORPORATE TALKS SUSPENDED

Negotiation sessions seeking peaceful settlement between the combined corporations and the united free world governments came to an abrupt halt today when several government negotiators walked out of the sessions. Informed sources say that the eruption occurred as a result of an appeal on the part of the corporations to the governments to “call off a situation involving needless bloodshed which the government troops could not hope to win.” It is believed that what they were aluding to were their alleged “superweapons” which the governments continue to discount. “A weapon is only as good as the man behind it,” a high-ranked U. S. Army officer is quoted as saying. “And we have the best troops in the world.” With scant hours remaining before the deadline (continued p. 7)

Lieutenant Worthington, U. S. Army, was relieved as the convoy pulled into the outskirts of town. He only wished his shoulders would relax. They were still tense to the point of aching. He tried to listen to the voices of the enlisted men riding in the back of the truck as they joked and sang, but shrugged it off in irritation.

The bloody fools. Didn’t they know they had been in danger for the last hour? They were here to fight mercenaries, hardened professional killers. There had been at least a dozen places along the road through the jungle that seemed to be designed for an ambush, but the men chatted and laughed, seemingly oblivious to the fact the rifles on their laps were empty.

The lieutenant shook his head. That was one Army policy to which he took violent exception. He knew that only issuing ammunition when the troops were moving into a combat zone reduced accidents and fatal arguments, but dammit, for all intents and purposes, the whole country was a combat zone. It was fine and dandy to make policies when you were sitting safe and secure at the Pentagon desk looking at charts and statistics, but it wasn’t reassuring when you were riding through potential ambush country with an empty weapon.

He shot a guilty sidelong glance at the driver. He wondered it the driver had noticed that Worthington had a live clip in his pistol. Probably not. He had smuggled it along and switched the clips in the john before they got on the trucks. Hell, even if he had noticed, he probably wouldn’t report him. He was probably glad that someone in the truck had a loaded weapon along.

They were in town now. The soldiers in back were whooping and shouting crude comments at the women on the sidewalk. Worthington glanced out the window, idly studying the buildings as they rolled past. Suddenly he stiffened.

There, at a table of a sidewalk cafe, were two mercenaries in the now-famous kill-suits leisurely sipping drinks and chatting with two other men in civilian dress. The lieutenant reacted instantly.

“Stop the truck!”

“But sir...”

“Stop the truck, dammit!”

Worthington was out of the truck even before it screeched to a halt, fumbling his pistol from its holster. He ignored the angry shouts behind him as the men in back were tossed about by the sudden braking action, and leveled his pistol at the mercenaries.

“Don’t move, either of you!”

The men seemed not to hear him, continuing with their conversation.

“I said, Don’t move!”

Still they ignored him. Worthington was starting to feel foolish, aware of the driver peering out the door behind him. He was about to repeat himself when one of the mercenaries noticed him. He tapped the other one on the arm, and the whole table craned their necks to look at the figure by the truck.

“You are to consider yourselves my prisoners. Put your hands on your head and face the wall!”

They listened to him, heads cocked in alert interest. When he was done, one of the mercenaries replied with a rude gesture of international significance. The others at the table rocked with laughter; then they returned to their conversation.

Worthington suddenly found himself ignored again. Reason vanished in a wave of anger and humiliation. Those bastards!

The gun barked and roared in his hand, startling him back to his senses. He had not intended to fire. His hand must have tightened nervously and...

Wait a minute! Where were the mercenaries? He shot a nervous glance around. The table was deserted, but he could see the two men in civilian clothes lying on the floor covering their heads with their arms. Neither seemed to be injured. Thank God for that! There would have been hell to pay if he shot a civilian. But where were the mercenaries?

The men were starting to pile out of the truck behind him, clamoring to know what was going on. One thing was sure-he couldn’t go hunting mercenaries with a platoon of men with empty rifles.

Suddenly a voice rang out from the far side of the street.

“Anybody hurt over there?”

“Clean miss!” rang out another voice from the darkened depths of the cafe.

The lieutenant squinted, but couldn’t make out anyone.

“Are they wearing kill-suits?” came a third voice from farther down the street.

“As a matter of fact, they aren’t!” shouted another voice from the alley alongside the cafe.

“That was live ammo?”

“I believe it was.”

The men by the truck were milling about, craning their necks at the unseen voices. Worthington suddenly realized he was sweating.

“You hear that, boys? Live ammo!”

“Fine by us!”

The lieutenant opened his mouth to shout something, anything, but it was too late. His voice was drowned out by the first ragged barrage. He had time to register with horror that it was not even a solid hail of bullets that swept their convoy. It was a vicious barrage of snipers, masked marksmen. One bullet, one soldier. Then a grenade went off under the truck next to him and he stopped registering things.

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to the unfortunate nature of the incident. For one thing, one of the men in civilian clothes sharing a drink with the mercenaries was an Italian officer with the Combined Government Troops who corroborated the corporations’ claim the action was in response to an unprovoked attack by the convoy.

The fourth man was a civilian, a reporter with an international news service. His syndicated account of the affair heaped more fuel on an already raging fire of protest on the home fronts against the troops, intervention in the corporate wars.

Even so, the corporations issued a formal note of apology to the government forces for the massacre. They further suggested that the government troops be more carefully instructed as to the niceties of off-hours behavior to avoid similar incidents in the future.

An angry flurry of memos did the rounds of the government forces trying vainly to find someone responsible for issuing the live ammo.

The mayor of the town was more direct and to the point. He withdrew the permission for the American troops to be quartered in the town, forcing them to bivouac outside the city limits. Further, he signed into law an ordinance forbidding the Americans from coming into town with any form of firearm, loaded or not, on their person.

This ordinance was rigidly enforced, and American soldiers in town were constantly subject to being stopped and searched by the local constable, to the delight of the mercenaries who frequently swaggered about with loaded firearms worn openly on their hips.

Had Lieutenant Worthington not been killed in the original incident, he would have doubtless been done in by his own men-if not by the troops under him, then definitely by his superiors.

The sniper raised his head a moment to check the scene below before settling in behind the sights of his rifle.

The layout was as it had been described to him. The speaker stood at a microphone on a raised wooden platform in the square below him. The building behind him was a perfect backdrop. With the soft hollow-point bullets he was using, there would be no ricochets to endanger innocent bystanders in the small crowd which had assembled.

Again he lowered his head behind the scope and prepared for his shot. Suddenly, there was the sound of a “tunggg” and he felt the rifle vibrate slightly. He snapped his head upright and blinked in disbelief at what he saw. The barrel of his rifle was gone, sheared cleanly away by some unseen force.

He rolled over to look behind him and froze. Three men stood on the roof behind him. He hadn’t heard them approach. Two were ordinary-looking, perhaps in better shape than the average person. The third was Oriental. It was the last man who commanded the sniper’s attention. This was because of the long sword, bright in the sun, which the man was holding an inch in front of the sniper’s throat.

The man behind the Oriental spoke.

“Hi guy! We’ve been expecting you.”

The speaker was becoming redundant. The crowd was getting a little restless. Why did the man insist on repeating himself for the third and fourth time, not even bothering to change his phrasing much?

Suddenly there was a stir at the outer edge of the crowd. Four men were approaching the podium with a purposeful stride-well, three men shoving a fourth as they came. They bounded onto the platform, one taking over the microphone over the speaker’s protests.

“Sorry, Senator, but part of the political tradition is allowing equal time to opposing points of view.”

He turned to the crowd.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve been very patient with the last speaker, so I’ll try to keep this brief. I represent the corporations the Senator here has been attacking so vehemently.”

The crowd stirred slightly, but remained in place, their curiosity piqued.

“Now, you may be impressed with the Senator’s courage, attacking us so often publicly, as he has been doing lately, when it’s known we have teams of assassins roaming the streets. We were impressed too. We were also a bit curious. It seemed to us he was almost inviting an assassination attempt. However, we ignored him, trusting the judgment of the general public to see him as the loudmouthed slanderer he is.”

The Senator started forward angrily, but the man at the mike froze him with a glare.

“Then he changed. He switched from his pattern of half-truths and distortions that are a politician’s stock in trade, and moved into the realm of outright lies. This worried us a bit. It occurred to us that if someone did take a shot at him, it would be blamed on us and give credence to all his lies. Because of this, we’ve been keeping a force of men on hand to guard him whenever he speaks to make sure nothing happens to him.”

He paused and nodded to one of his colleagues. The man put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Immediately on the rooftops and in the windows of the buildings surrounding the square, groups of men and women stepped into view. They were all dressed in civilian clothes, but the timeliness of their appearance, as well as the uniform coldness with which they stared down at the crowd, left no doubt that they were all part of the same team.

The man whistled again, and the figures disappeared. The man at the mike continued.

“So we kept watching the Senator, and finally today we caught something. This gentleman has a rather interesting story to tell.”

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