Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 14

A single sharp clap of thunder sounded from well beyond the sedan and I dropped flat as hard little bits of debris moving at high speed showered the parking lot, ricocheting off cars and starring and collapsing windshields for another hundred yards or more beyond me.

  Some of the people who'd stopped to stare at the explosion were hit, some weren't. Those who'd been hit either lay still or made some effort to stop their bleeding. One man slowly went to his knees, fell face-forward, and didn't move again.

  When more than ten seconds passed with no secondary blast, I went to see if the man was alive. He had a head wound and no pulse. A woman sat on the ground nearby, apparently in shock and bleeding from half a dozen small wounds. I pulled her into the small shade of a car and leaned her against it.

  She looked at the front of her blouse and began screaming hysterically. She'd been peppered. Small, seeping holes, but no gouts of blood. I couldn't do anything for her except grab her face and yell at her to calm down and wait for help. She stared at me in silence briefly, then began screaming again.

  I dragged four other people out of the path of traffic and used belts, shoelaces, and neckties to tie off bleeding arms and legs as required, then noticed a plywood sign the blast had thrown across the lot.

  Using the roofs of two cars to support the ends of the sign, I rigged a shelter from the blazing sun for the wounded. One of the guys began tending the other people, so I went looking for more wounded.

  As I was dragging an unconscious man to the shelter, three Marines in a jeep rolled up. They helped me move the guy and briefly checked the others as one Marine asked who I was.

  "State Department,” I said, showing him my ID.

  "Right,” he said, knowing a spook ID when he saw one. Gesturing at the sign, he said, “You're doing great. We'll call in and get some medics out here, so just hang on and hold things together a little longer, okay?"

  They jogged back to the jeep and he got on the radio as they moved on down the line of cars. In the next row over, a car had swerved and hit another car.

  The engine was still running, but as I got closer I saw the driver slumped over the steering wheel. When I tried to open the driver's door, I discovered it was locked. I climbed onto the hood and reached in to turn off the ignition, then checked the guy's pulse. He didn't have one.

  I found two more wounded people in that row—a man and a woman—but both were able to walk to the shelter with a bit of help. She was a nurse and took over caring for the others as I made another trip into the surrounding parking lot.

  Two more dead were all I found. I moved them out of the driveway and looked for my car. My little blue Fiat 124 Spyder convertible had been shielded by a white Ford sedan. Well, almost. There was a fist-sized hole in the ragtop. I looked inside and saw a broken car door handle on the back seat.

  Opening the trunk, I took out my .45 and shoulder rig and strapped it on, then put on my light green windbreaker. As I adjusted the fit of the jacket, I wondered why I'd bothered with the gun.

  If there'd been an assault team ready to follow-up the explosion, they'd have been well past me by now. They'd also have used a more direct route than a side parking lot, more than likely. Still, I didn't take off the .45 before heading back to the little group under the sign.

  Two ambulances arrived with the same jeepful of Marines. Medics checked people in a cursory manner, then loaded them and left me standing with the same Marine who'd checked my ID. He eyed my .45, then asked if I'd been coming or going.

  Moving to take the sign off the cars, I said, “I had a nine o'clock appointment."

  He grabbed the other end of the sign and we carried it to the median as he asked, “An appointment? With who, sir?"

  I didn't correct his English. “Major Cohn."

  The Marine rubbed the back of his neck and swore softly as he looked at the smoking rubble. “He's dead, sir. We found him in what's left of the commo office."

  "I still need to send a message. Who's taking his place?"

  Shaking his head, the Marine said, “I don't know, sir. I can try to find out."

  "Nah. Other people need you guys right now and someone's waiting for instructions. I'll head over to the embassy and send it from there."

  With a salute, he said, “Yes, sir,” and went to the jeep as I headed for my car. The Marine guard saw my local civilian license plate and stopped me.

  As he checked my ID, he studied my car and asked, “Where'd you get this car, sir?"

  "Rented it from a dealer."

  "You're supposed to have US plates, aren't you?"

  "Nope. I don't own it."

  "You got paperwork for that .45?"

  "In my briefcase. In the trunk."

  A car horn sounded behind me and I looked in my rearview mirror. Big black car, diplomatic plates. The Marine handed back my ID and let me pass. I crossed the main road and took a few side streets to get to the embassy, where Eve MacLennie escorted me to the comm center after I cleaned up a bit.

  * * * *

  "...to get up, Ed,” Sue was saying, “Linda's waiting."

  Feeling rather groggy, I glanced around. No Sue in sight. Keying my implant, I said, “Yeah. Okay. Tell her to hang on another minute while I hit the bathroom."

  I took a leak, washed my face, combed my hair, and went back to the bedroom before I keyed up a field screen as I put my pants on and zipped up.

  Linda eyed my upper torso and said, “Glad to see you're keeping fit. I need you in Washington at ten."

  "D.C. or state?"

  "D.C. Get the details from Sue. Gotta run. Later."

  Nodding, I replied, “Yeah. Later,” as she tapped off. The wall clock read eight-thirty. Damn. I felt as if I needed another hour or two in the sack. Coffee time.

  After mixing an instant coffee, I took it to the back porch and sat down on my modified weight bench. When half the coffee was gone, I set it down and did twenty quick presses with fifty pounds on the bar, then grabbed the upper bar—hence the word ‘modified’ before—and did twenty quick semi-prone chinups.

  "Time check, Sue?” I asked.

  Sue appeared beside the bench. “Eight-forty-seven. Why don't you wear a watch?"

  As I got up and headed for the yard, I said, “Gave up on ‘em after number ten or so. They just stop or their batteries die or they get broken. Only ever had one that lasted longer than a year; it was a self-winding Timex they don't make anymore."

  At two strides a second, it takes a bit more than a minute to jog around my back yard. I did ten laps and grabbed my coffee as I went back into the house.

  Sue ran a field around the lid of a can of chicken soup as I entered the kitchen. The lid lifted away and she handed me the can as I took a vitamin pill.

  I said, “Thank you, milady,” then squeezed the can top to make pouring easier as I headed for the shower, eating the soup straight from the can.

  Drifting along beside me, Sue said, “Some people would think eating soup from the can is rather unsophisticated."

  "They aren't here to cook my breakfast."

  "I'd make your breakfast."

  "No need, thanks. You haven't given me a hard time about my canned soups."

  "If I did, would you let me make your breakfasts?"

  "Nope. I like canned soups. They're quick and easy.” Tossing the empty can in the bathroom trash, I added, “And there aren't any dishes to wash."

  Sue gave me a look that said she had more to say about the matter, but she vanished as I turned on the shower. Some minutes later, as I made a coffee refill for the road, I noticed my backpack floating toward the front door.

  "Wait one,” I said, tossing can of chicken noodle soup that direction. “An emergency lunch, y'know."

  The soup can stopped in mid-air and Sue appeared. She put the can in my backpack without comment—in a manner which was itself a comment—then went outside.

  Tiger watched her go, then looked at me as I asked, “Do you want to come with us?"

  "No,” he said, “Ci
ties smell bad. Sue is not pleased."

  "She didn't get her way in something."

  He regarded me for a moment, then said, “I like her."

  I tried to figure out how that fitted into the rest of our conversation for a moment, then ruffled the fur of his face as I said, “I do, too, Tiger."

  "You will continue to bring her home?"

  "She lives here, Tiger. Of course I'll bring her home."

  "No, she lives ... everywhere."

  An odd turn of words, a personal belief, or a mistranslation?

  Patting him, I said firmly, “Tiger, she'll come home."

  He said, “Good. Now you go?"

  "Yup. Now I go.” With a last pat, I said, “Hold the fort,” and headed for the front door.

  As I approached the flitter, I didn't see Sue aboard. Keying my implant, I asked, “You heard what Tiger said?"

  "Yes,” said Sue, appearing by the console.

  My neighbor's beagle was going noisily insane at her laundry room door, but he couldn't get out to the yard. Just for the hell of it, I sent a tendril through the door about six inches above the step to stun him cold. The noise stopped.

  "Was that really necessary?” asked Sue.

  With a grin and a chuckle, I hopped aboard, sat down, and said, “Yup. Sure was."

  "Why?"

  "Can't have him passing out only when he's out in the yard barking at me. Consistency, ma'am.” Eyeing her long, lovely, cutoff-clad legs, I said, “Not that I mind at all, of course, but we are on our way to Washington."

  "If necessary, I'll change."

  "Don't do it on my account, please. I like this outfit just fine. Linda said to ask you why we're going to D.C."

  She turned on the console and a picture of a guy in his forties appeared on the screen.

  "We're to work with Jack Inger from the State Department."

  "The State Department that started in 1789, or the one I used to say I worked for?"

  "He has credentials from both at the moment."

  "Well, that's just peachy. What's the job and why've they dropped Inger on us?"

  "We're to place ourselves directly above the city and wait to be told where we're needed. Inger will be our advisor in matters pertaining to international relations."

  I just stared at her for a moment.

  "An advisor? What the hell's he gonna ‘advise’ us about?"

  "As I said, matters pertaining to..."

  "That's blather and bullshit, ma'am. State handles foreign stuff. We're on US soil. Anyone who might try something nasty will also be on US soil when he does it, so where he came from is somebody else's aftermath issue. This setup stinks all to hell. Who stuck us with this guy?"

  "Linda."

  Sipping my coffee, I thought a moment, then sat back in my seat as I said, “Well, okay, then. No sweat."

  It was Sue's turn to stare. “Okay? No sweat?"

  "Yup.” I sipped again and put my feet up.

  Stephanie appeared and smilingly said, “I told you so,” which had to be for my benefit, since she could simply have linked to Sue.

  "Hi,” I said. “Did you have a bet going, there?"

  "No, just a mild disagreement about how you'd handle learning about Inger. Sue thought you'd go ballistic."

  "Nah. Linda has a reason. Can you stay a while?"

  She smiled again and took a seat. I invited her to choose some music for our short trip to D.C. and Laava's ‘Wherever You Are’ began, thumping out a dance beat.

  "Good stuff,” I said.

  Sue said nothing, but seemed thoughtful.

  At 3rd World's building in Arlington, Virginia, we settled to the roof as a Shakira song pounded to a conclusion. I picked up my coffee and handed Steph and Sue off the flitter as three people got out of the elevator.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Shields up and stay where you are."

  When we stepped out of the flitter's field, the people stopped cold as they saw us appear from nowhere on the roof. One was a guard, who motioned the others to stay put and came forward alone to request ID from all of us.

  I showed him mine and told him the ladies didn't have ID's, which seemed to agitate the guy considerably.

  The thirtyish brunette woman in the group behind him stepped forward and said in a slightly chiding tone, “I tried to tell you, Ben. I even used the word ‘unorthodox', didn't I?"

  She stepped forward and said, “Hi. I'm Deana Saunder, communications,” as the other guy came forward. Indicating him, she said, “This is Jack Inger. State Department."

  We all shook hands in a fairly cursory fashion. Inger was maybe forty, had hard eyes and a quick, artificial handshake, and made no comment during the brief encounter.

  After introducing Steph, Sue, and myself, I asked Saunder, “What's on the agenda, ma'am?"

  Saunder deferred the question to Inger, who said he'd prefer to fill us in once we were airborne.

  Wryly shrugging a little ‘he's like that’ shrug, Saunder offered to take us to lunch if the day permitted. I tentatively accepted with thanks and she headed for the elevator.

  "Where's the flitter?” asked Inger.

  I said, “About fifteen feet in front of you."

  Looking very dubious, Inger stepped forward and ungracefully met the flitter's gentle but unyielding barrier field. As he put his hands on the invisible wall, his demeanor seemed to change from terse and aloof to puzzled and irritated.

  As we joined him by the flitter, I told Sue, “For now, milady, he's only allowed aboard when I'm present.” Motioning to Inger, I led the way through the barrier field.

  Having already encountered the field, he didn't simply start walking. He put a hand into the space in front of him and eased forward a pace, then another. We heard him gasp softly as the flitter became visible to him, then he stepped aboard with us.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Steph sat on my left and Sue sat on my right. Inger was silent as he took the seat beyond Sue's and glanced around the flitter yet again, his gaze eventually coming to rest on Steph.

  I asked, “Ever been on a flitter before, Inger?"

  He tensed slightly as he said, “No, but I read up on them when they told me I'd be on one today."

  "Flitter,” I said, “Granny mode is on for now. Take us up to ten thousand feet, please."

  Granny mode is sixty miles per hour, decided upon as a speed even the most nervous of passengers could handle. Inger held himself together well enough as we ascended, but I could see the vein in his temple pound as he stared over the side.

  Sitting up, Inger quizzically said, “Uh ... there's no noise..."

  "Sorry,” I replied. “What kind of noise would you like?"

  His quizzical expression got worse. “What?"

  "Noise. You want some? No problem."

  Inger's expression quickly became neutral and he said, “Never mind,” as he returned to looking at the city below.

  "Well, I want some,” I said. “Flitter, play the Creedence Clearwater Revival greatest hits album, please."

  'Green River’ began playing. Inger sat straight again and looked around the flitter, then asked where the speakers were.

  "No speakers,” I said. “Fields do it. Why are you here?"

  Eyes change when subjects change. Inger's pupils contracted instantly, although nothing else about him reacted.

  Turning to Sue, I said, “Aw, hell. He just went three feet deeper into spook mode."

  Inger responded, “Now, wait just one damned minute..."

  As we all looked at him, he seemed to give the matter some thought, then leaned his elbows on his knees in a ‘just us at the campfire’ posture and said, “Okay. I can see you aren't the kind of people who need ... um, ‘alternative explanations'."

  Uh, huh. That meant we'd likely get exactly that.

  "The fact is,” he continued, “Threat levels have been revised sharply upward since yesterday. People from all agencies have been put on alert teams. Some of the usual rules are being circum
vented by interagency personnel loans in order to have enough people in enough places at once."

  He stopped talking and glanced over the side again before returning his gaze to us.

  I said, “That doesn't tell me why you're on my flitter."

  "I'm sure you were briefed about..."

  "Pretend we weren't."

  Inger frosted over and said, “Maybe I should talk to your superior officer before we go any farther with this."

  Keying up a field screen made Inger sit bolt-upright in his seat and stare as I poked Linda's flapping lips icon.

  "What the hell is that?"

  "Just watch the screen."

  "Yes, Ed?” Linda answered, then said, “Hi, Steph and Sue. I see you managed to locate Mr. Inger."

  "Yes'm,” I said, “Deana Saunder saved us the trouble of looking for him. He thinks he ought to talk to you before he tells us anything useful."

  Although it didn't last long, Inger's shocked, ‘you work for her?!’ expression was fairly priceless.

  "Ah ... Good morning, Ms. Baines,” he said, “I was just ... ah ... being careful. I wasn't told he'd have company."

  "He had the same company in Iran yesterday, Mr. Inger. They're cleared for any 3rd World operations. You may meet someone named Elkor later. He's cleared, too."

  Nodding slightly, Inger said, “Oh. I see. Well, then, I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, ma'am."

  "No problem. Ed, a number of agencies have pooled personnel resources to try to capture terrorist prisoners in a clandestine manner. Should you acquire any, Mr. Inger will make arrangements for them. That's about it."

  "Thought it was something like that. Thanks, Ms. Baines."

  Grinning at my use of her last name, Linda asked, “Is there anything else?"

  Inger said, “No, ma'am."

  "Guess not,” I said.

  Saying, “Later, then,” Linda tapped her screen off.

  After a moment, Inger relaxed and said, “You could have told me who your boss is. Anyway, that's about the size of it. If we catch any bad guys, I'll make arrangements."

  Sipping my coffee, I waited for the inevitable, and it didn't take long at all to arrive.

  Sue stood up and turned to face us, then said, “Ed, they're going to gather prisoners at Andrews AFB, interrogate them, then send them back to their home countries."