Robert Asprin - The Cold Cash War

Eddie pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

"I haven't heard about that. That's weird. It's like...like..."

"Like we were in a war-that's what I've been trying to say. The big question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Eddie stiffened, his features hardening into a mask.

"Are we going to get into that again, Pete?"

"You're damn right we are. I mean, we are still on a team to submit recommendations, aren't we?"

"Only until we can be reassigned. The project is dead, Pete."

"But..."

"But nothing! It's dead! Marcus has already submitted his recommendations and they've been accepted. The corporation has already sunk a hunk of money into the new weapons, and they won't be looking for new ways to raise costs."

"Eddie..."

"So we are going to sit down and shut up because I don't want to make an ass of myself backing a set of recommendations that won't be followed."

"That's the part I don't buy. I think we'll be making bigger fools of ourselves if after spending all this time and money on our team, we don't come up with anything."

"But the cost..."

"Cost, hell. If there's one thing I've learned in my years with this corporation, it's that there's always money to be had for a good idea."

"And if there's one thing you haven't learned, it's when to keep your mouth shut. If you had, then I'd be answering to you instead of you to me. In theory you're right, but we're dealing with reality, and like it or not, that's the way it is. Now I'm telling you to back down!"

The two men glared at each other for several moments; then Pete forced a deep breath.

"Tell you what, Eddie. I'll make you a deal-no, hear me out. I've got something in my car that I think will change your mind. If it doesn't, then I'll shut up and go along."

Eddie considered him for a moment.

"All right, bring it in. But I honestly can't think of anything you can come up with that will change my mind."

"You'll have to come with me. It's too bulky to bring in."

"Okay, anything to get this thing settled."

He rose, and the two men headed out into the executive corridor. Stepping onto the conveyor, they rode along in silence for several minutes. Finally Eddie cleared his throat.

"Sorry about blowing up in there, Pete. I guess I just don't understand why you're fighting this so hard. There'll be other assignments."

"For you maybe. Oh, turn here, I'm parked on the street. Rolled in a little late and the exec lot was full."

"Okay, but what was that you were saying?"

"Hmm? Oh! Just that I'm not sure how many more assignments will get thrown my way."

"Is that what's bothering you? Hell, don't worry. From what I can see in the meetings, a lot of the decision makers know who you are. That idea you had for using a dummy terrorist group to explain the shootings was a stroke of genius. It really saved our bacon when it came to dealing with the authorities."

"But it didn't go out with my name on it. Oh, out this door."

"Yeah. That was a bad deal. Well, it didn't go out with my name on it either. But don't worry. The people who count know it was your idea. You'll get other assignments. Say, where's your car?"

"Up the block a bit. Can you honestly say you think I'm going to get another assignment from a corporate vp?"

"Well, maybe not directly, but if I get one, you can bet you'll be one of the cornerstones of the team. That much I can..."

The bullet took him in the center of the chest. It was the first time Pete had seen the effects of one of the exploding bullets. Eddie Bush kind of blew up, pieces of his body splashing over the sidewalk. There was no doubt he was dead before he hit the pavement.

Pete waved a hand at the assassin on the roof across the street even though he couldn't see him, then stooped over the body. Moving quickly, he reached inside Eddie's jacket and switched the killsuit controls to the "off" position. Then he stood and smiled down at the corpse.

Wha'dya know, another terrible accident. And Ed Bush wasn't even on the "kill list." Well, it was a risk he ran, wearing a kill-suit. It was only a matter of time before someone took him up on it. Terrible he had forgotten to turn his suit on.

Still smiling, he turned and ran back into the building to report the horrible incident.

Mausier smiled as he read the latest information request on the board. Someone was trying to find out how their security was breached. A hefty sum was being offered as well as immunity from prosecution.

Obviously this client was not as knowledgeable in the field of industrial espionage as Mausier. He briefly considered not even posting the offer, but then decided to go ahead with it. His field agents needed a good laugh once in a while.

Mausier constantly daydreamed about secret agents crawling through the darkness, picking locks, climbing fences, bribing guards, and taking pictures in the dark with mini-cameras hidden in belt buckles. He daydreamed, but he knew it wasn't real. This client had apparently not learned to differentiate reality from daydreams. Agents didn't climb fences, they walked in through the main gate or the employment office-that is, if they walked in at all. A hefty number of his most successful clients were call girls or waitresses. Most of the information holders would be astounded to learn the grateful little girl they impressed with a one-hundred-dollar tip was actually making three times their annual salary.

Secretaries, janitors, and shipping/receiving clerks were all potential key agents, if they weren't already actively engaged in it. But the field was not limited to the "little people." Many of his clients were high-placed trusted executives who felt that seventy thousand dollars a year wasn't enough to make ends meet. Mausier didn't feel this was strange. In fact, his own years in the corporate world convinced him that many of the white-collar spies were driven to it because of the financial pressures of maintaining a social front equal to or better than their job rating. It was a source of vague amusement to him that many executives turned to industrial espionage to be able to afford to keep up with other executives who were already supplementing their incomes as spies.

There were still a few sneak thief spies in the business, but it was unlikely they would disclose their methods either. It would only mean they would have to work around tighter security on their next job.

His whining client was not likely to get an answer to his information request even though the corporate world was crawling with agents. Mausier smiled. In his opinion after years of watching the business, the most successful agents were auditors.

His smile faded as he turned to his doodlescreen. The project was becoming almost an obsession, claiming increasing portions of his time and concentration. The Brazil workspace was so full he could no longer display all items on the screen simultaneously. He thought he had the answer now, but so much of the pattern still didn't make sense.

The screen flickered and displayed a list of names. These were people employed by the nine corporations who had died recently. He sorted them by corporation, then chronologically. There was a pattern here. On one specific day there had been a surge of deaths in the two corporations listed for the Brazilian location. Within a matter of weeks it had spread to the other names on the list, with the exception of Japan. Japan was a misfit in many ways, but he put it out of his mind temporarily and focused on the others.

He tapped the keys, and a series of articles from newspapers and magazines began to display themselves on the screen. Each would show twice for thirty seconds-first the full article, then the portions Mausier had highlighted for summary display.

He watched them idly as they flashed past. He didn't buy the terrorist group story. In all his reading and study, he could not detect a similar increase in deaths in any corporation outside his list of nine-well, eight. He might have been willing to believe the theory of randomly picked target corporations had he not already been studying them as a unit. As it was, it was too pat to be a coincidence. His eight corporations were the only ones to be randomly picked by a mysterious terrorist group? Bullshit. This was a new development of something that had been going on before.