F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 (11 page)

 
          
Her eyes never left his face.
“How?”

 
          
“I’m sure I saw the word ‘SimGen’ on
the side of the van that sideswiped us.
How about you?”

 
          
“Come to think of it,” she said,
touching an index finger to her temple, “I believe I did too.”

 
          
“Of course you did. We’ll make sure
it’s in the police report, and I’m going to mention it in every interview over
the next week or so. SimGen will deny it of course, but a suspicion will be
implanted in the public mind. SimGen will be praying nothing happens to us.”

 
          
“I love it,” she said.
“Turns the tables in a wonderfully underhanded way.”

 
          
“I aced Underhanded 101 and 102 in
law school.”

 
          
“I’ll bet you did.” She pulled a PCA
from her coat pocket.
“Time to call the cops.”

 
          
SUSSEX COUNTY
,
NJ

 
          
“I understand,” Luca Portero said for
what seemed like the hundredth or thousandth time, trying to calm the voice on
the other end of the hard-encrypted line.

 
          
Truth was, he didn’t understand. Not
one damn bit.

 
          
He rubbed his burning eyes. Somewhere
outside this sealed office in the subbasement of SimGen’s Basic Research
building, the sun was preparing to rise. Luca hadn’t slept in twenty-three
hours, but he wasn’t the least bit physically tired. The fatigue weighing on
him like a lead-lined shroud was mental, from hammering his brain for an
explanation as to how such a simple op could go so fatally wrong.

 
          
“Do you understand, Portero?” said
the voice.

 
          
It belonged to Darryl Lister, Luca’s
old CO,
the
man who’d brought him into SIRG. Just like
back in the service, Lister was his direct superior, and the next stop up the
ladder from Luca. Lister was understandably upset about being awakened ahead of
his alarm clock with the news that two of their men were dead. He’d hung up on
Luca,
then
called him back half an hour later—after
checking with the SIRG higher-ups, no doubt.

 
          
“Then maybe,” Lister continued, “just
maybe you can help me understand how six pros go out to process a couple of
soft-shelled yuppies, and two come back in body bags, while the yups are still
walking around. You were running the op. Explain, please.”

 
          
Lister’s tone surprised Luca. He
sounded nothing like the Captain he’d known back in their Special Forces days.
Hell, they’d stalked through
Kabul
and
Baghdad
together; he was one of the
few men in the world Luca respected. Why was he coming on so
managerial
?

 
          
Couldn’t worry
about that now.
Had to give him answers.

 
          
Luca once more reviewed the set-up,
groping for a flaw. He’d handpicked the men, all seasoned SIRG operatives.
Using a bogus identity he’d personally rented the vans from two different
companies—could have used unmarked SimGen vehicles but didn’t want to chance a
trace. Then last night, after weeks of surveillance on Sullivan and Cadman, a
golden opportunity: the two of them together driving through
Westchester
in the dead hours of the morning. A couple of quick calls and everyone was in
position, waiting for it to go down.

 
          
So far, so good.
Not a hint that it was going to go down the toilet.

 
          
He reran his mental tape of what he’d
learned from debriefing the survivors. According to Snyder and Lowery—the wheel
man and his back-up in the first van—the hit on Sullivan’s car had been
perfect: over the rail and down the slope. As planned, they’d driven away and
left their rented van at a body shop that knows how to keep a secret.

 
          
After that the
story murked up.
The two survivors of the wet team, Cruz and Hooper, had
spent too much time recovering from their doses of Mace to see anything. And
they were still limping from the tap dance the Cadman woman had done on them.

 
          
Luca shook his head, torn between
rage and admiration.
Some kind of broad, that Romy.
He
couldn’t help but admire the way she’d engineered the raid on that sim
whorehouse. And then she’d made asses of two of his best men. Maybe they were
still alive thanks to her. He could use someone like her.

 
          
When Cruz and Hooper could finally
see and walk again, they’d found Ricker and Green dead; they’d gathered up the
corpses and hauled ass out of there in the second van.

 
          
“I put Ricker in charge,” Luca said.

 
          
“Good choice,” Lister replied. “I’d
have done the same. But Ricker is dead, and that’s what disturbs me, Portero.
How does Ricker wind up with a cracked skull? Who do you know who could take
Ricker in hand-to-hand?”

 
          
“Nobody.”

 
          
“Damn right. He was a fucking
animal.”

 
          
No argument there. Ricker wasn’t just
big and tough, he was experienced and smart. No one was going to take him down
without a struggle, and not without him taking one or two down with him. But
according to Cruz and Hooper, they never heard a sound.

 
          
And Ricker’s body…his throat had been
crushed—that explained the silence—and his head had been smashed.
Looked like he’d leaned out of a speeding subway and got clocked by
a support girder.
Same with Green.

 
          
In fact, if Luca wasn’t so sure it
was impossible, he’d think someone had grabbed Ricker and Green by their necks
and smashed their heads together…like a bully brother breaking his sister’s
dolls. But who could manhandle two guys as fit and jacked as Ricker and Green
like that?

 
          
An icy length of barbed wire dragged
along Luca’s spine.

 
          
“According to what you’ve told
me,” Lister said, “Ricker
and the team didn’t know where
they were going until less than an hour before they hit the road. Even you
didn’t know. So how did whoever took them out know? Sounds to me like they were
already there waiting.”

 
          
“Or they were followed.”

 
          
“But why follow them at all?
Unless…shit! The Japs! I bet it’s the Japs! That goddamn Kaze Group has been
sticking its dirty fingers deeper and deeper into the biotech pie, and now—”

 
          
“I doubt it’s the Japs,” Luca said.
“They’ve got no reason to protect Sullivan.”

 
          
“Maybe they just want to keep us off
balance.”

 
          
Luca began to feel an unsettling
suspicion. He hesitated, as if uttering the words might turn the possibility
into a reality. But Lister—and SIRG—had to know.

 
          
“I think there’s a new player in the
game.”

 
          
“Where’d you get an idea like that?”

 
          
“A gut feeling.
And the
fact that we’ve never had to deal with a countermove
like
this.”

 
          
A pause while Lister digested that.
“Who on earth…?”

 
          
“I have no idea—yet. But I’m going to
find out.”

 
          
“You do that. But don’t lose us any
more men in the process. Whoever these people are, they play rough.”

 
          
“Rough,” Luca said, clamping his jaw.
“They don’t know rough. Not by half.”

 
          
“And something you should know,”
Lister said. “Word from upstairs is that this was a bad idea.”

 
          
“Bad?” Anger dueled with a sudden
stab of cold fear. “It was approved! What the hell are they trying—?”

 
          
“Careful what you say, Portero. The
wrong people might hear and you could find yourself back where you came from,
living on your pension while pimping for your mother—and happy to be allowed to
do so.
Comprende?”

 
          
Lister’s unexpected attack rocked
Luca. “What? What did you just say?”

 
          
Rage flared through him, making him
want to reach through the phone and kill. He didn’t care about the swift and
inevitably deadly reprisal from SIRG, he wanted to crush Lister’s larynx,
wanted to see his eyes bulge, his face turn purple while Luca screamed in his
ear that yes, my mother was a whore, but only because she had to be and she’s
not anymore, and yes, she doesn’t know who my father was, but…

 
          
“Sorry,” Lister said. “That was
uncalled for. I’m just…you wouldn’t believe the pressure that’s coming down.”

 
          
Luca said nothing. All right, so SIRG
was squeezing Lister, big time. That still didn’t give him the right…

 
          
“Look,” Lister said. “Whatever you
thought they said before, they now say the lawyer is not
key
.
If he goes, he can be replaced in minutes by another lawyer, maybe a better
one, who might cause even more problems.”

 
          
Lister paused, as if expecting a
comment. They’re right, Luca grudgingly admitted. No shortage of lawyers. But
he said nothing.

 
          
Lister went on: “The sims—this particular
group of
sims—
are key. No other group has come forward
looking to unionize, only these. Why, we don’t know. Why, we don’t care. Point
is, SIRG wants the focus of your efforts from now on to be the Beacon Ridge
sims
. Are we clear on that?”

 
          
“Completely.”

 
          
Calmer now, Luca already was
germinating an idea.
A simple plan.
A
one-man job.
And he knew just the man.

 
          
This time there’d be no slip-ups
because he’d take care of it himself.

 
          
Because this had
become personal.

 
          
Romy Cadman had made him look bad.
Hurt his reputation. Now she was going to hurt.

 
          
WESTCHESTER
COUNTY
,
NY

 
          
“I’m fine, really,” Romy said.

 
          
She stood in an empty ladies’ room
speaking to Zero on the secure PCA he’d given her. It was clear after last
night that she was under surveillance, so she’d picked a spot at random and
wound up in a coffee shop not far from the federal district courthouse in
White
Plains
. At this hour—10:32A .M.—the dining area
contained only a handful of late breakfasters, and the ladies’ room was empty;
she’d checked all the stalls before calling.

 
          
“You’re sure?
Absolutely
sure?”

 
          
The concern in his voice touched her.
“Absolutely.
Those martial arts lessons you made me
take came in handy.”

 
          
“I never thought you’d be in physical
danger, but I felt it best you be prepared for it.”

 
          
“If nothing else, it’s helped me keep
my cool.”

 
          
Relative cool, she thought. Her
nerves were still jangled. She’d tried to rest at the motel—in her own room,
much to Patrick’s dismay—but sleep had remained steadfastly out of reach; so
she’d compensated this morning by drinking too much coffee, which did nothing
to settle her nerves.

 
          
She caught sight of herself in one of
the mirrors.
A little haggard looking, but not half bad for
someone who’d ducked an attempt on her life just a few hours ago.

 
          
“But murder?” she said. “Somehow I
don’t see the brothers Sinclair sitting around and deciding to have us killed.”

 
          
“That decision was reached elsewhere,
I’m sure. By someone connected to the company but with his own best interests
at heart.”

 
          
“Someone also connected to Manassas
Ventures, perhaps?”

 
          
“Perhaps.
Our investigation into that little company keeps coming up empty. It seems to
exist in a vacuum. We’ve avoided direct inquiries, keeping everything back door
because we don’t want to let them know anyone’s interested. But if nothing pans
out soon we may have to arrange a little accident.”

 
          
“Accident?”

 
          
He went on without elaborating. “In
the meantime we want to keep you and Patrick alive and well. Connecting SimGen
to the vans was a brilliant stroke.
Your idea?”

 
          
“No.
Patrick’s.”

 
          
“Clever fellow.
The Beacon Ridge sims could do a lot worse.”

 
          
“I’m beginning to see that.” After
last night, despite his tough talk, she’d half expected him to wake up this
morning and run off with his tail tucked between his legs. But he was in court
now, arguing motions. “What I don’t see is how you managed to be down in that
ravine with us.”

 
          
“Iwasn’t there.”

 
          
“I don’t mean you personally—the
organization.”

 
          
“We had a tail on Portero.”

 
          
That startled her.
“For
how long?”

 
          
“Long enough to see
him rent a couple of vans.
After that, we kept an eye on the vans. When
some mercenary types became attached to the vans, I suspected strong-arm
tactics were in the works. Some of our people followed one van to that ravine
and you-know-who intervened.”

 
          
“I’m glad.”

 
          
“So am I. I’d never forgive myself
if…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the gloves are off, I’m afraid. The
organization is going to mount its own surveillance on you and Patrick. The
Beacon Ridge
barrack
as well.”

 
          
Romy’s stomach turned.
“Oh, no.
You don’t think—”

 
          
“Anything is possible. And we must be
prepared for it.”