Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc. Read online

  Inger looked rather startled, but kept silent.

  I shrugged. “Well, that's devious enough, isn't it? Good. No point in jailing them, anyway. They'd just become martyrs at taxpayer expense and their buddies might try to spring them by taking hostages. This way it'll be harder for them to reenter the US and we're only out plane fare. Could even be that their friends will see them as soiled goods if we hold ‘em for a week or two before we let them go."

  "Soiled goods?"

  "Yup. They aren't a real sophisticated bunch. Separate them during the holding phase here in town. Take each prisoner aside and offer to send him home if he talks. Give ‘em a bus ride to Andrews—the longest way possible—as time to whisper about things, then separate them again. Send a few of them home individually, let them go, and watch them closely. Attribute certain information to each of them in a believable manner and wait to see who gets upset about it."

  Sue cocked her head and gazed intently at Inger as she said, “That's almost exactly what they plan to do. Would you care to confirm that, Mr. Inger?"

  Inger said, “I think I should probably ask how you two know what you've just..."

  "Don't bother,” I interrupted. “We couldn't tell you.” To Sue, I asked, “Got any problems with their plans?"

  "One in particular,” said Sue. “Some of those they release will undoubtedly be killed."

  "Gee. Too bad. A certain amount of risk kinda goes with their chosen career path, anyway, doesn't it?"

  Sipping my coffee, I said, “In fact, the agencies could go one step farther with things if they're willing to push matters a little. Give the baddies a reason to see a doctor. Shot during capture, maybe. An accidental broken arm or leg or a cut on a vehicle door or some little bug that makes their guts knot up. During treatment, they could bone-tag ‘em with trackable isotopes or whatever's state of the art these days."

  Sue's ‘horrified’ expression was much like Selena's, I noted; she wore it for some moments, then let it morph to anger.

  "I can't be part of something like that, Ed."

  "I damned sure can. Tag and release. No harm done. Works just fine for wild animals and people under house arrest who have to wear ankle bracelets."

  In a flat tone, she said, “Applied in this manner, it's illegal."

  "Legal is whatever governments decide to call legal. Are you for letting those assholes run loose in the world?"

  Giving me her best glare, she said, “You know my legal limitations, Ed. I can't be part of something like this."

  Turning to Steph, I asked, “What about it? Can she?"

  "Under existing laws, no. Shouldn't you be asking how agencies of your government can operate illegally?"

  With a short laugh, I said, “They always have, to one degree or other. Rules get bent all to hell all the time. This may be the first time they've been bent for good reasons, though."

  Steph gave me a fisheye look and said, “I have a business elsewhere. You're on your own with this one,” and vanished.

  Inger sounded as if he was choking as I turned to Sue.

  "What about you? Are you gonna ghost out on me, too?"

  "Yes,” she said, “I want no part of this.” Turning to Inger, she said, “Mr. Inger."

  Taking his wide-open eyes off Steph's empty seat, Inger met Sue's gaze as he whisperingly replied, “Yes, ma'am?"

  "Goodbye,” she said, rather theatrically waving a hand with a snap of her fingers as she also vanished.

  "Oh, lord ... ” muttered Inger, staring wide-eyed at the space where she'd stood.

  Steph was gone, but Sue wasn't. I could feel her presence looming fairly near us. Getting out of my seat, I ambled to the back of the flitter and sipped coffee as I keyed my implant.

  "Sue, look up the definition of ‘goodbye’ sometime. You'll find it usually pertains to an actual departure."

  She snickered. “I didn't say I wouldn't watch. Besides, I'm supposed to keep an eye on you."

  "Uh, huh. You made quite an impression, ma'am. Inger looks as if he's still in shock."

  "He'll probably survive."

  "Yeah, likely so."

  Inger cleared his throat behind me. I turned to see him get out of his seat and carefully approach the edge of the deck to peer at the ground below.

  He asked, “Shouldn't this thing have rails or something?"

  "You planning to fall overboard?"

  Stepping back, he said, “Not today. Those women were just holograms, weren't they?"

  "Are holograms solid? You shook hands with them."

  "So what are they, then?"

  "They're my friends. Back to business. Are we supposed to be doing anything other than hanging around in the sky?"

  Giving me a rather studying look, Inger said, “Not yet. If some intel pans out, we may be called to intercede. Until then, we wait."

  Grinning, I replied, “'Intercede', huh? Can you be a little more specific, or were you thinking of trying to call the shots regarding the use of this flitter?"

  He actually seemed startled.

  "Actually, yes. I was. I was given to understand that you and your flitter had been placed at our disposal."

  "Uh, huh. Well, you weren't given that ‘at your disposal’ stuff by me, so don't call it gospel. If you knew anything about flitters, nothing that's happened since you came aboard would have startled you. It might be better if you just point us to the action and leave the driving to me."

  Adopting a somewhat defensive demeanor, Inger said, “You might want to check with your boss again before you continue telling me how you think things are going to be."

  "Flitter,” I said, “Upside down, please,” and the flitter flipped like a coin.

  Inger shrieked and looked for something to grab onto. He ended up lunging for the nearest flitter seat, which he clung to for dear life as he stared up at the patchwork Earth.

  I walked past him to the pilot's seat and put my feet up on the console, then finished my coffee and set my mug on the deck by my seat.

  "What the fuck are you doing?!” screamed Inger, still wrapped around the seat and staring upward at the Earth.

  "I'm just showing you where you stand in things, Inger. Or, actually, where you can't stand in things. You can't fly my flitter, so you'll tell me where we need to be and who to target for capture. The rest we'll discuss at the time.” Pointing upward at the ground, I said, “Hey, kewl! There's the airport, and there's Ft. Meyer, and..."

  "Get us back upright!"

  Shrugging, I replied, “You do it. If you can."

  Inger yelled, “Flitter! Put us back upright! Rightside up! Now!"

  Nothing happened.

  "All right! Okay!” he yelled, “You've made your point! Just get us back upright!"

  "Flitter, rightside up, please."

  The flitter flipped like a coin again. I requested a few new tunes to replace the CCR album and the Dixie Chicks began singing ‘Long Time Gone’ as Inger unwrapped himself from the seat and stood up.

  Inger was shaking as he hauled himself upright with the aid of the flitter seat. Some of his tremulousness had to be sheer anger, but I'd say most of it was residual terror and adrenaline.

  Looking at him, I said, “I didn't do that to embarrass you, Inger. I did it to cut through all the usual ‘who's in charge’ bullshit. I was asked to work with you, and that's fine, but your job is target acquisition and disposition. Nothing else."

  His legs still seemed a bit shaky. Sitting down, he glared at me for a time as I called up the video to go with the song and restarted the tune.

  The sexy blonde lead singer happily belted out the song in a Mexican pool hall as Inger took a deep breath and straightened his coat and tie.

  Keying my implant, I called up a six-foot field screen to make the video more or less life-sized and studied the blonde dancing before me.

  She was cute, sexy, and generally gorgeous, but so short. Oh, well. The woman who'd played Gabrielle on Xena had been kind of short for my taste, too, but h
er grand little bod had been the main reason I'd watched the show.

  Inger had frozen in mid-tie-adjustment when the full-sized screen appeared. He stared at it for a moment, then his gaze switched to me.

  "You didn't say anything to the flitter to make that happen."

  "Maybe you didn't hear it."

  Shaking his head, he said, “Uh-uh. No. You didn't say anything at all. How'd you do that?"

  "Maybe I'm psychic. Don't worry about it."

  As I spoke, Inger's right hand slipped into his coat.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Intercept all telephone or radio calls to or from Inger and route them through the console."

  Inger's hand stilled, then emerged empty from his coat.

  Gathering moisture from the air, I rinsed my coffee mug and tossed the contents over the side, then refilled the mug and sent a tendril into the water to heat it.

  Pulling my little jar of instant coffee from my backpack, I eyeballed about a spoonful in the jar lid, dumped it into the hot water, and turned my back to Inger as I stirred the mix with a field tendril and dropped the jar back into my pack.

  As I sipped the brew Inger pointed at the deck and said, “We could have stopped at a Starbucks down there. They're all over the place in Washington."

  "It isn't too late. Want to go downstairs and find one?"

  He nodded. “Yeah. Sure."

  "Flitter, take us to the nearest Starbucks, please."

  We dropped straight down, still in granny mode. Inger took it well enough, gripping his seat and watching the ground rise to meet us. He moved my backpack as he swiveled his seat for a better view.

  Parking was a problem, of course. I directed the flitter to a nearby construction area and told Inger I'd wait for him. He looked dubious about getting off the flitter.

  "Just go get your coffee,” I said, eyeing the construction activity around us, “I may have to move, but I'll stay near here or have the flitter call your cell phone with directions."

  He nodded and hopped to the ground, then started walking toward the coffee shop on the corner, looking back once for a long moment before entering the shop.

  Standing up, I moved around the flitter examining the seats and console, then knelt by my backpack. Rather than dump it out, I said, “Flitter, I think Inger may have placed one or more listening devices aboard. If so, bring them to me, please."

  "There is only one,” said the flitter, as a dime-sized black dot floated up from my backpack.

  As the dot settled into my hand, I said, “Thank you. Disable it, please, and tell me when you've done so. And in the future, let me know through my implant if anyone else places or brings an active listening device aboard."

  The flitter said, “It is now disabled."

  Placing the dot on Inger's former seat, I said, “Thanks,” and refastened my backpack's closures. “That ought to make his phone ring fairly quickly."

  It did. The console came on and I heard coffee shop noise before Inger answered his cell phone with, “Yes?"

  A man's voice asked, “Where are you?"

  "Getting a coffee so I could get away to call you. He's routed all calls through the flitter."

  "He did what? You're sure?"

  "I've seen enough to believe it. If you call me while I'm aboard, assume it'll go through the flitter console."

  After a pause, the man said, “He found your bug and disabled it the minute you stepped off the flitter. Does he seem to be cooperating?"

  Inger hesitated slightly, but said, “Yes, he seems to be."

  "Good. Latest word is the Butler building, but that hasn't been confirmed yet. We'll keep you posted."

  The caller hung up and Inger turned off his phone. I called up a picture of the Butler building on the console. It was just another big-assed box with sixteen floors, flat walls, recessed windows, parking underground, and offices for a dozen or so government agencies.

  "Huh,” I muttered, “I wouldn't try to bring explosives into a building in downtown D.C. these days. I'd have installed them some time ago and wouldn't have to do more than push a button to set them off. Flitter, send probes into the Butler building. We're looking for explosives and toxins. Mark the locations of whatever you find on a schematic diagram, please. Explosives red, toxins green."

  As indicators began blanketing the picture of the building, I muttered, “Jesus! What the hell..?” and poked one of the reds for further info. A view of a pistol on a guard's belt popped up in a separate window.

  "Flitter, disregard handgun and rifle ammo inside weapons and vehicle fuels and lubricants that are in use in vehicles."

  There were still a hell of a lot of indicators. I poked a green one and a can of Lysol spray appeared on the screen.

  "Verify the contents of all spray cans and other containers. If they're commercial cleaning products or products that can be bought in a grocery store, disregard them. We're looking for explosives that could equal or exceed the force of a military hand grenade and toxins that appear to be packaged for deliberate dispersal in some fashion."

  Inger was walking past the flitter with two coffees, looking around the lot. I stood up and stepped to the ground to change his direction. He held a coffee out to me as he approached.

  "Thought you might like some real coffee."

  "Not espresso?"

  "Nope. Plain ol’ coffee. Sugar and cream in the bag."

  I thanked him and led him aboard the flitter. He saw the diagram on the console and asked what I was doing.

  I told him about the probes and he asked in an odd tone, “No shit?” and sat down to study the screen.

  "The flitter's doing the searching? Really?"

  "Yup. Just touch the screen to see what the red and green marks are about."

  Reaching to the screen, he touched a red spot and a window popped up that identified the location as containing a box of .40 caliber pistol ammo.

  "Probably for a guard's Glock,” I said, tapping the window closed and touching a green spot.

  A window showed us a bottle inside a desk drawer. The toxin indicated was alcohol; vodka in a fancy bottle.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Verify contents of commercial liquor containers. If all they hold is booze, disregard."

  Roughly a quarter of the green spots disappeared.

  "Buncha drunks,” I muttered, “Now disregard commercially packaged cigarettes, cigars, and other tobacco products."

  Most of the green spots disappeared. Tapping the remaining green spots revealed insecticides, deodorants, and so on.

  Long red lines suddenly appeared in the basement and parking regions of the schematic.

  "Flitter, what are you currently finding?"

  The flitter's impassive voice replied, “Plastic explosives in metal tubing."

  "Oh, good God,” muttered Inger.

  I put a finger on one of the red lines and said, “Show me video of this location."

  A window popped up that displayed a blank concrete wall.

  "The explosives are built into the walls?"

  "Yes,” said the flitter.

  "Locate the detonator mechanism and disable it, please. Let me know when you've done so."

  "I've done so."

  "What kind of detonator is it? Mechanical or radio?"

  "Radio."

  Inger had his phone out. He tapped a number and I heard him say, “Ingers here. Get me Kiest,” as I said, “Flitter, display the details of the detonator for Ingers, including the radio frequency or frequencies it uses."

  The schematic was replaced with a picture of the detonator and various details on a sidebar.

  "Great job, flitter,” I said, “Now send Linda a copy of all the Butler building data. If anyone attempts to set off those explosives, track the signal to its source and hard-stun whoever's trying to set them off. If he or she isn't alone, stun everybody within twenty feet. If they're in a moving vehicle, don't stun the driver, but disable their engine and take us there as quickly as possible. And stay subsonic, please. W
e don't want to break any windows."

  Turning to Inger, I asked, “Linda Baines will ship copies of the info to your offices. Think that about covers things?"

  Nodding and grinning, he said, “Oh, hell, yes!"

  "There's always somebody who won't think so. What have we forgotten?"

  "Damned if I know. This is gold!” He turned his attention to his phone as a man said, “Kiest. What've you got, Inger?"

  "Jim, confirm the Butler building. You'll get the details from 3rd World in a minute or two."

  "Jack, I don't know..."

  "Well, by God, you will soon, I promise you that! This stuff's gold, Jim! Just stand by for the 3rd World feed. Out."

  He snapped his phone shut and eyed me for a moment.

  "How the hell did you know to look in the Butler building?"

  "I told the flitter to feed your calls through the console. You received a call in the coffee shop."

  "But I wasn't on the flitter."

  "I didn't say ‘only aboard the flitter', did I? By the way, you're sitting on your bug."

  With a certain degree of startlement, Inger realized there was something on his seat and leaned forward. Picking up the bug, he examined it as he said, “Sorry, but I had to do that."

  "Uh, huh. Well, I fried it.” When he looked sharply at me, I fed his words back to him. “Sorry, but I had to do that. Flitter, take us back up to ten thousand, please."

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was almost four in the afternoon when the flitter abruptly began to descend. “Granny mode off,” I said, and our descent became a hair-raising plummet toward the ground.

  Inger let out a half-shout of startlement and gripped the edges of his seat as I told the flitter to put our destination on the console screen.

  A white Chevy sedan had stopped in the middle of the street, a block from the Butler building and smack in front of the Smithsonian's ‘Air and Space’ building.

  Inger flipped his phone open and hit a button, then began a running report as we watched a man with a pistol open the driver's door and get out, repeatedly pushing a button on something in his left hand as he held it above the car.

  Perhaps upset that the Butler building didn't explode on cue, he yelled something that sounded nasty, threw the device in his hand at the pavement, and ran around the front of the car toward the ‘Air and Space’ building.