3rd World Products, Book 17 (41 page)

“If she does, what’ll you say?”

“Whatever seems appropriate. Prob’ly nothing.”

“Only probably? Why would anything else be appropriate?”

I grinned. “She might be wearing shorts.” Slipping into a Texas drawl, I said, “She’s damned near as purty as you, ma’am. I don’t know how long I could hold out…”

Angie rolled her eyes and snapped, “I do, but I don’t think you’d tell her anything more useful than what you’re telling me.”

“Well, dang. Another smart one.”

“You wouldn’t be happy working for a bimbo. So you aren’t concerned about legal complications regarding Steve Lane?”

“Not very. I’ll target info bombs on all the key players. To drag me into anything, they’ll have to be willing to accept complete exposure of their personal and political sins against the people.”

Her left eyebrow arched. “That could be considered blackmail.”

“Or a public service. Oddly enough, blackmail only works well on guilty people.” I chuckled, “Think it’ll work on that crowd?”

She grinned. “Most of them. But there might be a few idiots.”

I shrugged. “I’ll send them sample publicity kits.”

Angie snickered, “They’ll love them, I’m sure. Okay. I have work to do here. Later, Ed.”

“Bye, Fearless Leader. Sorry they’re making you work.”

Checking the burger bag, I found I’d already eaten all my fries, but I still had half a burger left. Warming it with a field, I prepared to take a bite when I received another ping. Marie.

Putting up a screen, I said, “Hi, there,” and noted she was in Wallace’s office using his datapad. “Where’s Cap?”

Eyeing the scene behind and to each side of the flitter, Marie said, “Looking for something in the front office. I see you’re keeping busy. Why didn’t you come back here?”

“Apparently I needed some time to myself.”

“Apparently?”

I shrugged. “I’m here. I’m alone. That makes it apparent.”

“Alone? What about all those guys in the funny hats?”

“I think they’re just here for the fire, ma’am.”

She met my gaze a moment, then asked, “Do we have a problem, Ed?”

I had to grin as I said, “It’s not about you. It’s me.”

Rolling her eyes at the hoary old cliche, Marie said, “I’d already guessed that much. Are you going to tell me?”

Trying to envision Marie’s reaction to , ‘
I was with another woman last night and she almost used my stuff to make herself preggers,
‘ I settled for, “It involves classified stuff, but you’ve already experienced Amaran medicine. Ask Angie about it.”

She almost bought it. I could see it in her eyes. Unfortunately, I could also see the moment when her mind rejected it.

Her gaze narrowed. “Try again.”

“Just a minute.” I split the screen and pinged Angie. When she answered, I said, “Hi, again, ma’am. Marie wants to know what’s bugging me and she’s pushing for an answer. May I tell her?”

Angie replied, “Sure, if you want to see her taken into custody and have your security clearance burned.” Looking at Marie’s side of her screen, Angie said, “You’re close to Ed, so you might be brought into things later. For now, the answer’s no.”

She let that sink in, then asked me, “Was that all?”

“Yup.” Looking at Marie, I asked, “How about you?”

Marie looked at Angie and said, “Nothing else. Thanks.”

Angie replied, “Later, then. Bye.” Her half of the screen vanished when she dropped the link.

Marie’s narrow, disgruntled gaze held mine for a moment, then she asked, “Did you really think that was necessary?”

“Yup. You thought I was bullshitting you.”

“We could have talked about it.”

“And now you’re trying to bullshit me. Or maybe yourself. Or both, I suppose, but I thought you knew yourself better…”

She cut in, “That’s enough. I’ll see you when you get here.”

With that, she dropped her link. Well, if there’s gonna be friction, best to find out early. I looked around and saw fire guys rolling hoses. A truck left the scene. I called their base for a sitrep. No more fire.

Lifting away, I headed for the house, where I made a fresh coffee and took a seat on the back patio. The day was warm and sunny and I didn’t have to be anywhere else. I toed a plastic milk carton out from under the table and put my feet up, then sipped.

Two squirrels squabbled over something on a branch above the back fence. A raven sat preening itself in a nearby tree. A few cars went by on Northcliffe. Something flashed in a car parked half a block away on Chase. I sent a probe.

The lone guy in the car was on his cell phone, saying, “…walked out and sat down. I don’t know. He isn’t doing anything, just sitting out there.”

His ID was NIA. I traced the call to the same hotel room, but the people were different.

A guy there said, “Well, at least we have eyes on him.”

Another guy in the room muttered, “For now.”

The phone guy said, “I’ll pass the word. Keep us posted,” and ended the call. After a moment, he pressed a number and waited, then said, “Agent Berens, he’s back.”

Berens? As in NSA ‘Myra’ Berens? What the hell? Following that call to its source, I found Myra at her desk.

She replied, “Thanks, Agent Milner. We appreciate your help.”

Milner said, “Yes, ma’am,” and thumbed the phone’s ‘end’ button.

Myra shoved her lunch to one side, opened her purse, and used a compact mirror to check her face and hair. Taking her datapad from a drawer, she thumbed the hotspot to turn it on, then poked an icon. A password box popped up and she tapped some letters and numbers before the box disappeared and her ping sounded in my implant.

Leaving the probe in her office, I put up a screen and saluted as I answered, “Yewww got me, Super-Secret Agent Berens, ma’am! Oh, wait! Should I have mentioned the ‘Super-Secret’ part? Damn. I’ve prob’ly blown your cover all to hell.”

She grinned. “Hi, Ed. Would you like some company this week?”

“Your leave came through? Who’d you have to kill to make that happen? What about that satellite thing?”

“No, no leave. I’ll be liaising at the Cape Wednesday to Friday. I just thought maybe I’d visit and stay with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Ha! I might even be able to find you a ride to work. Can you stay the weekend, too?”

“I think so. I’d have to head back Sunday night.”

“When do you want me to pick you up? Would now be good?”

Myra laughed, “I wish. How’s tomorrow after work?”

“Agh! That’s like…
forever
, y’know?! What’ll I do until then?!”

She laughed, “As you once told me, ‘suffer gracefully’. Sorry, but I just can’t get away any sooner.”

We chatted another few minutes before her desk phone buzzed. She held up a hand to me, then answered her phone with, “Berens.”

My probe linked into the line and found nothing. Nobody. It was an open connection. Cute trick. After saying, “Uh, huh. No. Just a minute, then,” she said to me, “I have to take this, Ed.”

“Okay. Call me if anything changes. Bye, Myra.”

“Bye, Ed. And thanks.”

She dropped the link. Through the probe, I watched her sigh as she put the phone receiver down, then poked a button. When a light came on, she picked up the receiver again and said, “He’ll pick me up here on Tuesday. I
really
don’t like this, Newberg. He’s a friend and he’s helped us a few times. You know that.”

Again tracing the call, I found a fortyish balding guy in an expensive-looking suit. He sat in an equally expensive-looking overstuffed leather office chair.

Rolling his eyes in a ‘
yeah, yeah
‘ expression, he said, “Agent Berens, you know I sympathize, but I need to know what the hell he and his AI friends are up to. Stan Maxwell himself…”

It was Myra’s turn to do the ‘yeah, yeah’ eye roll. She cut in, “Don’t throw Maxwell’s name into this. It’s your idea and you posed it in a meeting instead of talking to him first. I hope you know he doesn’t forget or forgive underhanded crap like that.”

Newberg sighed, “Agent Berens,
don’t
push your luck.”

Visibly angered, Myra snapped, “Luck?! Let’s not pretend luck has anything to do with it. You’re in that office because someone else is under investigation for damned little reason.”

With that, she poked the button off. Newberg glowered dully at his phone receiver for a moment, then hung it up. Turning his chair, he sat looking out his window. After a time, he let a small grin appear as he got up, slipped into his jacket, and left his office.

Hm. I linked to my core and had a look at Newberg’s 201 file. At a glance, about half his promotions looked as if they’d been due to who he’d known at the time rather than what he’d done to deserve them. Too many too soon in the early years.

A prodigy would have left a trail of accomplishments, but Newberg’s achievement jacket was almost empty. Strictly routine stuff all the way. Sometimes lots of it, but that can be due to pushing subordinates like he was pushing Myra.

And nobody in management gets consistently good reviews. In all but one early recommendation, there were no caveats. No ‘
he could improve this or that
‘. In an outfit like the NSA, that just doesn’t happen; they strive to help create the types of management people they want.

I also noted all but two of his promotions had moved him to new projects before previous projects had been dropped or completed. Maybe they moved him up just to get him out? But there was nothing specifically negative to focus on. Shrug. That just meant more digging was in order.

Or maybe not. Maybe a big sidestep was in order. I pinged Myra and when she answered, I told her I wanted to speak to Stan Maxwell.

“Mind if I ask why, Ed?”

“Nope. Ask away. But I won’t tell you unless you’re in the office when I talk to Stan.”

Giving me a fisheye, she said, “Again… mind if I ask why?”

“Sure. I don’t want Newberg to grab the credit. That seems to be all he’s really good at.”

That raised both her eyebrows.

She asked, “When do you want to have this talk?”

“Now’s good.”

Myra got to her feet and began walking. I didn’t bother with a probe view. She stopped at Maxwell’s secretary’s desk and tapped her pad as she said, “It’s an incoming call for Mr. Maxwell.”

The secretary craned to see the screen. I grinned and said, “She’s right, ma’am. That’s what it is.”

“Ah… Yes. Of course. May I ask who’s calling?”

“No games, please. Just see if he has a few minutes.”

Looking a bit frosty, she did so and shortly ushered us into Stan’s office. He blustered a greeting as he took the pad, then seemed puzzled that Myra was still standing there.

I said, “She’s with me, Stan.”

Looking moderately enlightened, he said, “I see. Well, then, may I ask the reason for this call, Ed?”

“Well, that depends. Can you keep a secret?”

Myra let out a nervous snort and grinned. Stan gave her a glance, then said, “I guess that would depend on the secret.”

“Close enough. Myra’s coming down here for a week to ‘liaison’ with NASA, so she can do some liaising for us, too. You guys have been wondering about those wandering satellites. Well, they and a lot of other debris are going to clump together in two big balls, one on each side of the Earth. The balls will be smelted and the metals will separated so they can be used to make inner and outer hulls. At least, that
was
the plan, but it occurred to us that NASA might have some ideas of its own for space stations.”

Motioning for Myra to pull up a chair as he took a seat at his desk, Stan replied, “Ah… I see. May I ask why you’d need Myra — or anyone else, for that matter — to be your liaison with NASA?”

“Sure. She’s going to be here anyway. She has a datapad. After they know what’s going on, she can deal with the suits and egos and call me if there are any questions or suggestions.”

After a glance at Myra, Stan asked, “Ed, had it also occurred to you that most nations will be — shall we say, ‘very upset’ — about losing their satellites?”

“Yup. They were already lost. Irretrievable, uncontrollable, dangerous obstacles in space. We’re just salvaging junk, Stan, and nothing else. I won’t ask anyone’s permission for that.”

“What about your own government’s permission?”

“All the junk’s already in motion. The stuff
will
be clumped at two points in space in about forty-seven days, so the question is really whether my government wants to be involved.”

“Ah… I see. And by ‘involved’, you mean what, exactly?”

“I mean they can take the lead. Once the balls are in place, turn ‘em into labs, crew quarters, whatever else. Other nations can help by sharing setup expenses. The right orbits could make getting to the moon a milk run. Hell, they could haul tourists. We don’t care, as long as nobody tries to install weapons.”

With a glance at Myra, Stan asked, “Who is ‘we’, Ed?”

“AI friends who help when they can spare the time.”

Sending a probe to ring my door bell, I said, “Great. That thing only rings when I’m busy. Stan, that’s the whole story. It was just a spur-of-the-moment idea that became a project and now I’d like to hand it off to NASA. Myra, I’ll see you Tuesday. Bye, guys.”

I dropped the link as Stan began a protest and Myra smilingly said, “Bye, Ed.” Sipping coffee, I considered whether to call Lori. Yeah, prob’ly should.

When she answered my ping in her BOQ room, I filled her in and offered to send her a recording of my chat with Stan and Myra.

As she watched, she laughed, “He’s trying so hard to stay cool!” Then something seemed to occur to her and she asked, “If you’re telling them, why is it supposed to be a secret?”

“That was a joke, ma’am. Well, unless they decide to make it a secret, I guess. Hey, if you drop by, you can go to NASA with us.”

“Uh… no, I can’t. I have classes all week.”

“Oh. Well, okay, then. I just thought you’d like to know what was going on with the space junk.”

Lori nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” Looking away from the screen, she nodded again and held up a ‘
just a minute
‘ index finger. Turning back to me, she said, “Speaking of classes, I have one in ten minutes, so I’d better get going.”