Thomas Hoover - Project Daedalus

Holding it beneath his coat, he continued on up the cobbled pathway toward the front of the treasure house. As he moved into the shade of the portico, he thought for a moment he heard sounds from inside. He stopped, gripping the Llama, and listened.

No, nothing.

Slowly, carefully, he walked up the steps. When he reached the top, he paused, then gingerly stepped in through the open doorway. It was cool and dank inside. And empty. His footsteps rang hollow on the stone floor. Maybe Novosty's dead by now, he thought fleetingly. Maybe his luck finally ran out.

He turned and walked back out to the porch, then settled himself on the steps. In the valley below, beyond the milling tourists, the dark green olive groves spread out toward the horizon.

The protocol. The mind-boggling protocol. Something was afoot that would change the balance of world power. He'd translated the first page of Article I, but it had raised more questions than it answered. All the same, he'd taken action. Today he was ready.

Novosty had to know the score. Had to. But now Vance knew at least part of the story too.

He glanced down at the suitcase. It contained Eva's Zenith Turbo 486, of course, which undoubtedly was why it was such a popular item. But it also had a hard copy of the scrambled text of the protocol, courtesy of a printer Zeno had borrowed from a newspaper office in Iraklion, as well as a photocopy of Vance's partial translation.

They didn't know it yet, but there was another full copy, which he'd transmitted by DataNet to his "office" computer in Nassau. It was waiting there in the silicon memory.

Quite a document. Twenty-eight pages in length, it was the final version of a legally binding agreement that had been hammered out over a long period of time. From the page he'd translated, he could recognize the style. The text referred to the rights and obligations of two distinct entities-the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and Mino Industries Group.

As he seated himself beneath a lone almond tree and took a last look at the olive groves down below, he was tempted to pull out the translation and reread it one more time. But that was unnecessary; he'd memorized it, right down to the last comma. Article I

1. For the full and complete compensation of one hundred million American dollars ($100,000,000.), to be deposited in the Shokin Gaigoku Bank of Tokyo on or before May 1, Mino Industries Group will legally transfer to the USSR full ownership of one operational prototype, this transfer to be executed on the agreed date, May 1, Mayday. At the time of this transfer the prototype will satisfy all technical performance criteria enumerated in Document 327-A, "Specifications." The USSR may thereafter, at its discretion, contract for production models at the price specified in Document 508-J.

2. Upon the USSR having satisfied the terms stipulated in Article II, Mino Industries Group will extend the USSR financial credits in the amount of five hundred billion American dollars ($500,000,000,000.), such credits to be provided in increments of one hundred billion dollars ($100,000,000,000.) annually for a period of five years. These credits will be arranged through Vneshekonombank, the Bank for Foreign Economic Affairs (Article IV).

3. Within one year of the satisfaction of all formalities pursuant to the above-designated credits, the USSR will…

That's as far as he'd translated. The rest was still in Minoan Linear B. He took a deep breath, again trying to digest what it meant in the grand scheme of global strategic alliances.

Most importantly, what was the "prototype"? Something was about to appear on the planet that would make its owner unassailable. But what?

Eva's stumbled onto dynamite. Mayday. That means it explodes in less than a fortnight. No wonder Mino Industries wants her out of the way.

Among the clusters of tourists on the road below, a white limousine was pulling to a stop, followed by a gray Saab. He watched as Novosty emerged from the Saab and glanced up the hill, then started the climb. Nobody got out of the limo.

Vance watched as he slowly made his way along the cobbled path leading up the hill, puffing. He was almost out of breath by the time he reached the top.

"Michael, I'm so glad you could manage to make it." He heaved a sigh as he trudged up the last remaining steps.

"It was the lure of your scintillating company."

"I'm sure." He looked around.

"Is Eva down there? She'd damned well better be."

"She is safe." Novosty sighed again. "It was most unwise for her to have gotten involved in all this, Michael. She is making matters difficult for us all."

"Too bad." He removed the Llama from beneath his coat. "By the way, congratulations on your new clients. Mino Industries. That's a Yakuza front, partner. Guess you know. The CEO was a Class A war criminal. These days he owns the LDP and runs Japan. Alex, you asshole, you're way over your head here. Mino Industries is owned lock, stock, and hardware by the Japanese godfather. His kobun make your KGB look like a Boy Scout troop."

"Michael, please."

"And here I was thinking you'd finished consorting with the criminal element, decided to live clean. Then the next thing I know, your client's gorillas are trying to kill Eva and me. Me, your new partner. Things like that tend to inspire mistrust, and just when we were starting to hit it off so well." He finally stood up, holding the Llama. Novosty was lounging nervously in the sunshine, fishing for a cigarette. "Where's your Uzi? You just may need it."

"Michael, all this has nothing to do with me." His eyes were weary. "I'm operating independently this time."

"Cash and carry. Maybe you should just post your prices, like a cheap cathouse."

"I prefer to think of myself as an expediter. But this time I encountered more difficulties than reasonably could be anticipated. Which is why I need your help now to straighten it out."

"What? The whole shoddy scene? Looks like the KGB's hot on the trail, say maybe about two feet in back of your ass. Or is it your client, who you're about to try and screw out of a hundred million dollars? Incidentally, that's probably a serious miscalculation, health-wise."

"The situation has grown awkward."

"Of course that touching fable about returning the hundred million to Moscow was just the usual 'disinformation.' "

"You are perfectly correct. It will not be returned. But any thought I might have had of keeping it now also seems out of the question." He sighed. "Instead I'm afraid we must-"

"We? Now that's what I call balls of brass." He laughed. "Surely even a fevered imagination like yours can't suppose-"

"Michael, I told you I would split the commission I took for cleaning it. That offer still holds. Fifty-fifty. I might even go sixty-forty. What more can you want? But those funds must be delivered. Given the new situation-"

"Not by me."

"Be a realist, my friend. I no longer have freedom of movement, so now you are my only hope. If those funds aren't transferred within the week, I'd prefer not to reflect on the consequences."

"The consequences to your own neck, you mean." Vance stared at him. "By the way, just out of curiosity, what's the 'prototype'?"

"That's the one thing I cannot possibly discuss, Michael." Novosty caught his breath. "But what if the contract for it is abrogated because of those funds not being delivered, what then? What if the USSR just makes a move to seize it? I fear there could be war, my friend. Bang, the apocalypse." He flicked his lighter. "Even worse though, as you say, both parties to the agreement would probably spend a week devising the most interesting way possible for me to depart this earth."

"If the KGB somehow locates and freezes the embezzled funds before you can finish transferring them, it could scuttle the whole deal. Mino Industries would probably be very annoyed. Not to mention certain parties back home."