David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

"This is Jean-Baptiste Sourriaux," he said when a man answered.

"I am 'Traveler' and I will relay your conversation with Mr. Gaudet." The man had no discernible accent and he spoke quickly, as if from a script.

"He doesn't want voiceprints, I take it."

"That is right."

"I want a meeting."

"We anticipated that. However, it will occur on our terms."

"What are those terms?"

"It will take place in an airplane. You will bring your U.S. double agent. The one working with Sam. We will tell you where to go and you will board a jet and we will leave you off at a place of our choosing. Details through Benoit."

"That will be acceptable if I can be sure of my safe re turn."

"That will not be possible. You will have to trust in our greed and determine that we will be richer by bringing you back safely. After all, a French security officer is of no use to us."

The prospects of female companionship in the Arab state of Quatram were abysmal, so Gaudet imported women. He paid them fairly and found replacements readily for those he hurt more than they wanted to be hurt. Killing the biggest complainers was a program that ensured good referrals and easy replacements. None was as good as Benoit Moreau had been, and that wouldn't change. But Gaudet still sought tall and supple women who reminded him of Benoit.

New York City was another matter entirely. But he could not afford to distract himself even for a few minutes now, which was a pity because there were plenty of women.

Trotsky wore some stubble, which was unusual, and kept quiet, which was normal, waiting for Gaudet to speak.

Gaudet sipped an unsweetened double espresso.

"When all this is over, I'll need a new place. Somewhere they will never expect me-a civilized part of the world. I've had my fill of Quatram."

"Maybe a nice neighborhood in Middle America."

"I'm not into potlucks."

The phone rang and Trotsky took it.

"They want to know if they can buy more art in Spain. They are obviously tired of the smuggling business."

"The store makes money?"

"Seems to."

"Let them, but control it. And put that business on the 'keep' list."

Two or three more calls came in during the next twenty minutes.

"You are growing a small empire," Trotsky said.

"I started with nothing but my bare fists, working for shit." Gaudet took his feet off the hotel coffee table. "Let's call them."

In seconds Trotsky had the Quatram office on the line.

"Get me 'Big Mohammed,' " Gaudet said, referring to the chief of the computer men. Big Mohammed was a short, balding man named Wilbur Hogan. With a noticeable paunch, Hogan was the type who liked big silver belt buckles on his blue jeans. He was divorced and couldn't find a girlfriend in Texas, so Gaudet had hired him one. Although the first and second girls didn't take, the third seemed to be sticking around and Big Mohammed seemed content living in Quatram, for the moment.

Gaudet sipped his espresso while the chief went to find Big Mohammed. It took five minutes.

"Our clients are pushing the timetable."

"Everything seems to be pushing the timetable," Big Mohammed drawled in his dreadful Texas accent.

"Do you have the time from release to complete invasion?"

"About two hours-maybe one. Fifty million Windows- based computers and a few million VN-based computers."

"How about the FAA?"

"We will get on the network, but not through the Internet. You know the old slogan: 'Crispy on the outside, but a gooey, soft center on the inside.' Cordyceps will overload the system and bring it to a halt."

"You don't know how long?"

"If it hits the hardware like I think it will, we're talking weeks, maybe months. Weeks for sure."

"Electrical utilities?"

"Some. Rolling blackouts all over the place."

"I'm counting on the phones. Especially long-distance infrastructure."

"Again I'll predict a significant impact. It will not all be down. But Americans will be writing plenty of letters. A crimp in the e-mail."

"Railroads?"

"Down by thirty-five percent. Just a guess."

"Pipelines?"

"Don't know. Not sure how tech-dependent they are. But don't worry. The stock markets are gonna crash, no doubt about it."

"Have we any chance of getting command and control?"

"Nothing's changed there. They'll still have full military capability, except to the extent that domestic chaos cripples it."

Gaudet hung up without another word and turned to Trotsky. "Make sure our investors aren't the only ones with put options. I want plenty, and well disguised."

"I've been buying for weeks." Trotsky seemed offended.

Gaudet didn't respond to that comment. He checked his watch. "How long?"

"They're strolling. How long we don't know."

"I want to watch the bastard die."

"I think that is a bad idea."

"I don't give a shit."

"Remote revenge is underrated." Trotsky smiled again. Twice in a day. "Think of it as a private jubilation of the imagination."

Grady called Sam, determined that she would go alone with Michael to get the journals and equally determined that she would put up a fight as necessary. There was no way Sam would agree and the odds of convincing him had to be near zero. In order to make the call, she walked down the street because she wasn't going to argue with Sam in front of Michael. They weren't far from the middle of Manhattan and there were plenty of people on the street. She supposed the thing that bothered her the most was that if he said no, she wouldn't go. The cabbie didn't seem to mind stopping as long as he had his meter running.

"Sam, we have to talk about something."

"I can always tell when you're loaded for bear." Grady tapped her foot for a moment and didn't say anything. It pissed her off that he had already put her in a neat, little box. It was the rebellious-brat-employee box.

"I want to go very low profile with Michael and pick up his journals. It's either that or he goes alone."

"You think it's a good idea?"

"It's better that I go than nobody goes. He needs a guide in this country. Surely, you've noticed that."

"If you want to, go ahead. Tell Yodo what you want."

"I want to pick them up halfway between Manhattan and Ithaca. Somewhere remote. And then I want Michael to lock the journals away in a vault when we get back."

"Good plan. Jill can arrange for the vault."

"Anything else?" she asked, unable to believe his re sponse.

"Make a copy of the 1998 journal and courier it to the office. Jill can provide the courier. Also make copies of all the journals and have them locked somewhere else, where only Michael can get them. Jill could probably help you with that as well."

"Sam, are you feeling okay?"

"You're grown-up now. And that means I have to be will ing to let you die."

Grady froze up when he said that. "You never said anything like that before."

"I respect you and, I think, to a certain degree you can act like a real contract agent. I'm not always going to be there to yank your butt from the jaws of defeat."

"This is one hell of a cold fatherly talk." Then she laughed because she didn't know what else to do.

" 'Treat every failure as a new beginning.' My mother said that. I believe in you."

Grady walked back down the sidewalk, feeling frightened… and proud.

"If we hurry, we can be back in time for lunch tomorrow," she said to Michael.

"I already called Rebecca and told her the meeting would have to be put off-maybe for a few days. She was very disappointed, but I have to make it up to her by taking her hik ing in the California mountains. That woman is a negotiator."