This choice: Leave him on the outside • Go Back...Chapter #14Inside Intelligence by: Seuzz   "Sure," you tell Frank. "Taylor's got a partner, a thirty-five-year-old bottle blonde with a hard face but a great body, and they're fucking each other on the side."
Frank's lips disappear. "Can't I be the guy?"
"It's not set up for you, Frank. I got Malacandra too, and this isn't a job for Lurga."
You are camping out in that little tea shop. You're still in Taylor's clothes, of course, but you've hung the jacket in the corner and switched into the face of "Brian Jacobs", a forty-something "surfer dude" who can plausibly hang out near college campuses without looking like a kid.
"We can't have you out there alone," Frank says.
You sip at your tea. "If you want me to partner up, call Rosalie and ask if--"
"Joe's got a baby to look after," Frank says sharply.
"And ask if Hal is free. He's a natural for Fane stuff."
"Fuck! Hal needs to be kept away from Fane. He doesn't have the objectivity."
"Well, I need to talk to Hal anyway. Everything that goes through Koudelka's cell phone gets copied onto government servers. I need a way around it so I can stay in touch. Hal's our techie."
"And once Hal finds out Fane is the target--"
"Just talk to Rosalie. Hal needs to fix up my phone, and I need a partner. She can do the math. But I'll go along with whatever she decides."
"How do I get in touch with you until then?"
You give him the address of the flat you'd finished renting just before meeting him. "Drop me messages there. You know, fliers, adverts, that kind of crap. Tell me how I'll make contact with Hal."
"And robo-Marta?" He's never liked it when you leave a golem behind to play his wife.
"Send her up to brief Kali. Tonight. It'll also be a good lure, nail down the association between Marta and this 'shapeshifting' business."
"Dangerous for Kali."
"She can handle herself. She'll have to send the new kid away, but she should be fine as long as she sticks to her design work."
"And me?" His tone is resigned.
"Hang loose. Even if Rosalie gives me Hal, I'll want you for backup."
* * * * *
"Where's Oliver," you ask as you toss the jacket onto the bed in your team's impromptu headquarters. It's a cramped, four-story hotel squeezed between similar buildings a few miles from the Oxford campus, and the rooms are also cramped and spare. Conniff has swept the lamps from the low dresser and set up laptops and other gear. The room is so small she can sit on the foot of the bed and still reach the keyboards.
"He's tailing the husband," she says.
"Gay," you sneer. "You talk to Anderson yet?"
"I was waiting for you and your report. Find a flat you liked?"
"No, but I took one anyway." You give her the address. "I should buy a sleeping bag. Place isn't furnished."
"We're just watching them, Koudelka. This isn't undercover work."
"Not yet it isn't." You sit next to her but keep your hands to yourself. "You look tired, Conniff. Why don't you take a bath?"
"Why don't you?"
"Hey, I'm trying to be nice. Take a bath, catch a few winks in the tub, and I'll write the report for you. When I'm done you can show your thanks by letting me wash your back."
She wavers before standing up. "Alright. But I'm locking the bathroom door."
You tweak her jacket as she steps past. "Conniff. Please. I'm sorry I've been acting like an asshole. I'm exhausted and I don't believe any of this shit."
"Nice of you to say, but I'm still locking the door."
You smile as she disappears into the bathroom, whose walls are so thin you think you can even hear the sound of her clothes sliding off. Then the water roars on.
You turn to composing a report on the day's events for the chief of the Office of Interservice Coordination, the blandly titled bureau the team works for. That done, you tap absent-mindedly at the keyboard. You spend a few minutes indulging in Taylor's personality--even in quiet moments, when you're alone, it's best to stay in character--and let your imagination dwell on the naked woman in the tub a few feet away. You play a desultory game of Minesweeper that ends in your death. Then, elbow on knee and chin cupped in hand, you log onto the OIC website and peruse the files on Fane.
It's an octopus. No, it's a shoal of octopuses: a multi-bodied behemoth, each body a multi-limbed organism. There is the American conglomerate, and the British conglomerate, and the European conglomerate, and even a Chinese conglomerate. There are shell companies, and independent companies controlled from secret holdings. There are foundations and endowed universities and at least one African country whose potentate takes orders from Zurich. They all seem to move independently, and yet an overview suggests a single will in back of them all.
Anderson, the brain of a very small octopus hiding inside the US government, has noticed the pattern. But he hasn't shared that pattern with his underlings. He's only told them that he's interested in Fane, and only a little bit about why.
It was nickel-and-dime corruption in military procurement that first caught the OIC's attention; then money laundering and illegal technology transfers to rogue states. The information came from several different agencies, and for coordination purposes had settled into the OIC for review. The juicy stuff had pointed back toward something called Project Cowcatcher, for which Fane had also done work. You click through links, trying to find more on it, and land on a log-in screen that Koudelka can't access.
And IMS? That's the software company Kali is doing work for. It's an odd coincidence, but maybe Hal put her onto them. You search of the website for everything on IMS, and follow each hit. One of them leads back to that log-in screen that baulked you earlier. Is IMS mixed up in Project Cowcatcher?
You're still chewing over this when an email comes from Anderson: a curt acknowledgement of your report, concurrence with the caution you showed in the Hardesty house, and approval for a subsequent meeting with the woman.
After acknowledging receipt of his orders, you turn to the "spookier" Fane stuff that Koudelka is more familiar with.
First, there's the Republic of Cabinda. Fane arranged for its secession from Angola a few years ago, and their Swiss branch had moved heavily into the hardwood business. A large base camp had been established in the interior--and then gone silent. A relief expedition had also disappeared. The OIC became interested when Fane-Powers and Fane-Lustdorf arranged for a Franco-American special ops team to investigate. The OIC had gotten a copy of their report, and you review it again, sharpening Taylor's own goose bumps with some of your own. The photos are the worst: Things of vaguely humanoid shape, but composed entirely of twisted vines and evil-looking pods.
And then there's Fairview, Colorado, where an infectious outbreak had incapacitated every varsity squad at the tiny town's high school. Most of them were the children of military families transferred there only a few years before. Again, Fane seems implicated, since one of their medical companies operated the health clinic that serviced the school.
From your point of view, though, the worst is the one associated with Fort Suffolk. That's the research station located in your old home town: Saratoga Falls. You've Taylor's memories, and he's reviewed the files, but there are apt to be details that will worry at you more than at him. You feel a slight tremble as you slide your thumb over the tracking pad, to open up the "Fort Suffolk" link--
Conniff's phone rings. "Koudelka," you answer.
"Oh, it's you," Oliver says gruffly. "Put Conniff on."
"She's in the tub. Talk to me."
"Right," he sighs. "Hardesty just showed up at their office."
"What do you mean? I thought you were tailing him."
"Apparently he left the office and I missed him. But the missus showed up there a little while ago, and now the mister's there too."
"So where was he?"
"I don't know," he snarls. "I thought he was already inside and parked myself on the curb to watch. If you want both of them tracked, come out here and help."
"I'm busy. I'll tell Conniff when she's dried off."
"Do that. I'd rather have a pro along anyway."
"Yeah, it'd be nice to have one pro watching them."
"You listen to me, cowboy, I was in the field when you were still in diapers--"
"And if I was in diapers I'd've still gotten in to see if the husband was inside the office."
"If you're so certain of yourself--" he starts shrilly.
"Is there a point to this, Oliver, or are you just bored? Why did you even call?"
"Conniff wanted real-time updates."
"Well, you've given your real-time update, so hang up if you've nothing to add but nostalgia for the days when you could still dream about being a real James Bond. You got anything else?"
No, he hasn't, except some curse words before the line goes dead.
You snort as you put the phone down. "Who was that?" Conniff calls from the bathroom.
"Oliver. You want me to come in and tell you about it?"
Water sloshes. "You still offering to wash my back?"   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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