Robert Asprin - The Cold Cash War

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.