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Captain Machsler had to get used to dealing with the Devil, had to get in deep
enough not to kick when the. real bite came. They had tested him by asking for
confidential documents. Troop dispositions along the Rio Grande.Wall, the
codenames and cover identities of some military intelligence personnel
inManagua , the routes of some nuclear waste convoys. It was stuff Seth had no
interest in, but Duroc had cast an interested eye over the material, and
disseminated it on the underground nets. A minor gangcult took out one of the
convoys and, for thirty-eight hours, were in possession of enough
weapons-grade plutonium to win them a seat at the United Nations.
Turner-Harvest-Ramirez put them out of business, but the raid served to
convince Captain Machsler that he was deep into Seth's pocket. Since then,
they had been blinding him with silly requests, for almost random information.
Having been forced to dredge up a lot of barely-classified documents about
long-abandoned plans for military intervention inCentral America and rejected
designs for long-range missile transportation, Machsler was thoroughly
confused. He must be putting his current commission down to the same quixotic
interest in military ephemera, which was just what Seth wanted. There would be
a few more blind requests over the next year, just to keep the soldier in the
dark, but this was the important leak. Duroc was taking personal receipt of
this briefcase.
He slipped the cashcard out of his pocket, and laid it on the coffee table.
The hologram shimmered in the light. It was real gold. Machsler whistled
unconsciously.
"A pay rise?"
"You do good work, Ronald. Elder Seth thinks you deserve it."
Machsler reached, and then froze. He put his hand back on the briefcase. He
flushed. Underneath his bee-fuzz crewcut, his scalp glowed red.
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Duroc raised his drink in a toast. The soldier goggled at the bug slowly
revolving in the glass.
Machsler got up, and put the briefcase down by Duroc's chair. Then he took
the cashplastic, slipped it into his back pocket and sat down.
Duroc tapped the access code into the lock, and opened the case. The file was
brittle cardboard, full of yellowing papers. He cast an eye over the top few
sheets. There were some wiring diagrams and, essentially, a page of
deep-buried codewords.
"Are you sure you won't have that drink?"
"Positive."
There was an embarrassed moment. Obviously, Machsler wanted to leave, to get
as far away from the hotel as possible, but felt he had to stay for form's
sake.
Simone got out of bed and walked across the room to the fridge. Machsler's
eyes followed her, but Duroc could not tell whether he was fixing on her body
in general or the marks on her back in particular.
"You play rough, eh?" he said, with a weak smile.
Duroc was offended by the soldier's presumption. He sipped his drink.
"Sometimes."
Machsler got up, and edged towards the door. "1 have a gondola waiting," he
said. "I have to be back in base by nineteen hundred hours."
"Goodbye, Ronald."
"Goodbye, Elder. It's a pleasure doing business with you."
"Likewise."
Machsler closed the door behind him, and Simone poured herself another
tumbler of mineral water. Her body was finely sheened with perspiration. She
was displaying herself to him, as she had been taught. She was a good little
indenture girl.
Duroc was more interested in the papers Machsler had brought him. He would
have to supervise the reconnection. Fonvielle was too far gone to be much help
in that department The Church had its experts on call, but Duroc would have to
oversee the project.
"What are you reading?"
Simone was standing with her hip cocked, weight on one leg, a red-nailed hand
idly scratching her flat lower belly. She was obviously posing, a private
pornosnap for the customers.
"These are the instructions for a machine we've just bought. They tell me how
to light the blue touch paper and retire..."
That was over the girl's head.
He had an idea. "Simone," he said, "have you ever been toFlorida ?"
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"Izumi took me toDaytona Beach for a convention once. We stayed in the hotel
most of the time. There was a kumite contest, one of those to-the-death
pyramid games. Gen Tech were sponsoring a fighter they'd tricked out with
bio-bits. The fighter won, but was too damaged to appear in the teevee ads.
Izumi was furious."
She ran her finger along her thigh, outlining a barely visible scar.
"When Izumi was furious, he was a beast."
Regular as a digital watch, it started to rain outside.New Orleans was a
monsoon zone. It was something to do with the Winter Corporation's chemical
synthetics plant, Duroc had heard. From three till five every afternoon, thick
sheets of scalding, corrosive rain fell on the city. Everyone had worked the
indoor siesta into their lives. Duroc wondered if Machsler's gondolier was
caught in the downpour.
"How much would it cost to buy your indenture contract from Mink Hat?"
Simone looked frightened. "I don't think he wants to sell. I'm new in the
stable, and I bring in..."
Duroc finished his drink, stranding the dead cockroach in the melting
icecubes. "He'll sell. The Church is persuasive, and rich."
"Do you want to..." she couldn't get the word out... "to buy me, m'sieu?"
Duroc nodded. "I'm moving toFlorida for the next few months. I would be
honoured if you would come with me?"
"Are we going to Daytona?Miami ?"
"No. We're going to a little place you may not have heard of. It was quite
famous once, before you were born. It's a little place called..."
V
"...Cape Canaveral?"
"It's inNorthern Florida ," said the smart, sharp-suited young woman.
"I know where it is," snapped the Op. "I just haven't heard the name for a
long time. That's the place where the moon rockets used to take off, right?"
"Yes."
Elvis looked at Krokodil, and found her as inexpressive as a statue. She was
young, pretty and dressed in a conservative skirt and jacket, dark grey with a
fine pinstripe. Immaculately made-up, her only really distinctive feature was
the eyepatch half-concealed by a wing of raven-black hair. She was attractive,
but there was something hard, almost scary, about her. Elvis had known cyborgs
in the services, and there was something of the biomechanical about Krokodil.
Her handshake had been a bone-crusher, he wondered how much of her was real,
how much from the lab? She spoke perfect English, like an amnesiac who has had
to relearn everything as an adult, but there was an occasional NoGo twist to
her vocabulary. Krokodil hadn't been born to the style she was sporting.
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The man was easier to take. Dressed in dusty denims, with a weathered face
and a black pigtail, he was a Navaho. He had introduced himself as
Hawk-That-Settles. Elvis had had a Cherokee great-great-great grandmother.
Morning Dove White. As a teenager, watching Western movies from a pickup in
the Tupelo Drive-In, he had been torn between his loyalties to the cowboy
heroes all the fellows tried to imitate in speech and manner and his yearning
for the Indian's life. One of his few regrets about quitting the movies is
that he never did get to play the half-Kiowa hero of Flaming Star, the only
decent script that got past the Colonel to him. John Saxon had been okay in
the picture, but Elvis knew he would have been better.
Hawk was the talker, but Krokodil put over the punchlines.
They were meeting in a diner in Whitehaven, a Southern suburb ofMemphis .
Elvis knew the place well, and often used it as an office for the Hound Dog [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]