[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Corporate Archives, but still sharp as a straight razor and smart as a
Coconino coyote."
"He could be perfect. Does he have full data access and command authority?"
"If I authorize it."
"Then do it," 1 said.
"Why?" my father demanded.
"Because I am a horse's ass," I said, and told him the tale of Clive Leighton,
Galapharma mole, including its dismal conclusion.
Simon listened without interruption, then hissed, "Jesus H. Christ, Asa! This
time you really shat in your hat and pulled it down over your ears! Why didn't
you wait "
I broke in firmly. "I need somebody to put a lid on this. If Nazarian agrees
to do it, have him toss Leighton's place for clues to other conspirators. The
guy's data files will have to be confiscated and checked out. His house should
be sealed and the goddamn blue suede shoes taken away. Ultimately, we'll need
a foolproof cover story for Leighton's death."
"Hmph. Karl might just be able to do it."
"I hope to hell you're right." Another bright idea struck me. "Do you think
Nazarian might have old friends on Hadrach, Plusia-Prime, and Tyrins who are
as sneaky and trustworthy as he is?"
"He probably knows every over-the-hill security agent in the Spur. Why?"
"Stop asking why and just listen! Tell Nazarian to get on the encrypt subspace
com right away, before he does anything about Leighton. Have him contact some
of his old associates on those planets people he can rely on absolutely, who
won't stickle at keeping this business outside of the Rampart Central net. We
have to locate three Rampart executives named Mario Volta, Oleg
Bransky, and Tokuro Mat-sudo. They're cronies of Clive Leighton." I spelled
the names and recited the home addresses and phone codes in case the men
weren't in their offices. "These three are to be taken into custody somehow or
other and held incommunicado under suicide watch.
Make arrangements for Nazarian's people to bring the executives to Seriphos on
the fastest ships available even if you have to use the
Mogollon Rim.
Absolutely no one questions the suspects but me. Got that?"
"What am I," Simon roared, "your friggin' errand boy?"
"You were the one who asked me to come here and get involved," I reminded him.
"Who else can I ask to do the errands? Now repeat what I just told you." A
whole lot of cussing ensued, but when he finally simmered down, Simon
reiterated the details in furious mutters. His memory was still eidetic. "You
realize it could take days to find these men?"
"It better not," I retorted. "And tell Nazarian we also need to track down and
hold a woman named Lois Swann-Hepplewhite. No need for secrecy with her. She's
Leigh-ton's girlfriend and she lives here in Vetivarum."
"Dammit all, Asa you should be talking to Karl about this yourself! Let me
have him call you."
"It would only waste time. If he agrees to work with us, I'll see him right
after the board meeting. I may have a whole lot more for him to do." I thought
of one more thing. "Hold on a sec. Is your phone loaded with a blank disk? I'm
going to shoot you some poop." I got the dime out of my wallet, stuck it into
the handset, and transmitted. "Extract the face of the man in the freeze-frame
Page 57
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
close-up at Minute 343:03-07.
Label him John Doe and send the data via public subspace com not Rampart! to
Beatrice
Mangan, BM7366-2ADM, Fenelon Falls, Ontario, Earth. She's an old friend, a
chief inspector in the ICS Forensic Division, and that's her private mail
code. Tell Bea that you're my father, and
I'm calling in my marker and urgently need an ID on the John Doe. Explain that
this individual tried to murder me "
"You actually got the fucker's picture?"
"Simon, shut up. The hired gun probably had cosmetic surgery or quickie genen
work. I want
Bea to run a skull analysis of him through the Galapharma employee mug base,
paying special attention to their internal security personnel. If she gets a
positive match, have her send the man's dossier to Karl Nazarian's private
mail code as soon as possible. You got that? The private code.
It's imperative that we don't let any of this data get into the Rampart
Central net."
"What about having Karl find out if the sidewinder's here on Seriphos?"
"Absolutely not. I'll go after the guy in my own way and I don't want him
spooked."
"Do you intend to discuss this sorry screw-up of yours at the board meeting
this afternoon?"
"I doubt it. Don't forget to notify your floor guards to admit Helmut Icicle
to the hallowed premises."
"Like squat I will!" he bellowed. "You're my son and "
"My name is Icicle until I decide otherwise. Now get busy."
I hung up on him. The phone purred immediately with the belated wake-up call,
and before I
could even make it to the John it went off again. This time it was Mimo,
anxious because of the message left by Ivor. I told him the bad news, which he
received in nonjudgmental silence, and outlined the investigations I had
hopefully set in motion. I warned him that he might have a whole lot of
tedious work to do if Karl Nazarian didn't pan out.
He said, "No importa,"
and then: "I can be at the hotel in a few minutes. Would you like me to
drive you to the board meeting?"
"No, thanks. I'll take a taxi. What I would like you to do is go over to
Ivor's apartment in an hour or so. Pay him. I'll reimburse you. Ask him if
he's interested in a new job that might take him to Tyrins and God knows where
else. Really excellent money, really hazardous duty."
"So! You intend to begin the search for your sister immediately?"
"Maybe. Listen, Mimo, I've got to sign off and get myself pasted together.
Let's meet in the hotel bar around 1830 and I'll tell you how I made out."
"Very well. I'll see you then. Be sure to wear some impressive clothes to the
Rampart board meeting. It will give you an edge."
I laughed wanly. "Clothes? Hadn't given it a thought."
"Well, do so. Remember the immortal words of Epictetus: 'Know first who you
are, and then adorn yourself accordingly.' " He broke the connection.
Huh. Easy for him to say. And who the hell was
I, anyway, at this point in time? Divisional
Chief Inspector A. E. Frost was long dead. Cap'n Helly the devil-may-care
submariner was beached for the indeterminate duration. Helmut Icicle was a
wounded nonentity, even though I'd pushed him up Simon's nose for spite.
I shuffled into the bathroom, took a leak, and then stared at myself in the
full-length mirror.
My sojourn in the dystasis tank hadn't diminished my normal muscle mass. The
tan and the vaguely military haircut and the tropical squint lines around my
Page 58 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
Corporate Archives, but still sharp as a straight razor and smart as a
Coconino coyote."
"He could be perfect. Does he have full data access and command authority?"
"If I authorize it."
"Then do it," 1 said.
"Why?" my father demanded.
"Because I am a horse's ass," I said, and told him the tale of Clive Leighton,
Galapharma mole, including its dismal conclusion.
Simon listened without interruption, then hissed, "Jesus H. Christ, Asa! This
time you really shat in your hat and pulled it down over your ears! Why didn't
you wait "
I broke in firmly. "I need somebody to put a lid on this. If Nazarian agrees
to do it, have him toss Leighton's place for clues to other conspirators. The
guy's data files will have to be confiscated and checked out. His house should
be sealed and the goddamn blue suede shoes taken away. Ultimately, we'll need
a foolproof cover story for Leighton's death."
"Hmph. Karl might just be able to do it."
"I hope to hell you're right." Another bright idea struck me. "Do you think
Nazarian might have old friends on Hadrach, Plusia-Prime, and Tyrins who are
as sneaky and trustworthy as he is?"
"He probably knows every over-the-hill security agent in the Spur. Why?"
"Stop asking why and just listen! Tell Nazarian to get on the encrypt subspace
com right away, before he does anything about Leighton. Have him contact some
of his old associates on those planets people he can rely on absolutely, who
won't stickle at keeping this business outside of the Rampart Central net. We
have to locate three Rampart executives named Mario Volta, Oleg
Bransky, and Tokuro Mat-sudo. They're cronies of Clive Leighton." I spelled
the names and recited the home addresses and phone codes in case the men
weren't in their offices. "These three are to be taken into custody somehow or
other and held incommunicado under suicide watch.
Make arrangements for Nazarian's people to bring the executives to Seriphos on
the fastest ships available even if you have to use the
Mogollon Rim.
Absolutely no one questions the suspects but me. Got that?"
"What am I," Simon roared, "your friggin' errand boy?"
"You were the one who asked me to come here and get involved," I reminded him.
"Who else can I ask to do the errands? Now repeat what I just told you." A
whole lot of cussing ensued, but when he finally simmered down, Simon
reiterated the details in furious mutters. His memory was still eidetic. "You
realize it could take days to find these men?"
"It better not," I retorted. "And tell Nazarian we also need to track down and
hold a woman named Lois Swann-Hepplewhite. No need for secrecy with her. She's
Leigh-ton's girlfriend and she lives here in Vetivarum."
"Dammit all, Asa you should be talking to Karl about this yourself! Let me
have him call you."
"It would only waste time. If he agrees to work with us, I'll see him right
after the board meeting. I may have a whole lot more for him to do." I thought
of one more thing. "Hold on a sec. Is your phone loaded with a blank disk? I'm
going to shoot you some poop." I got the dime out of my wallet, stuck it into
the handset, and transmitted. "Extract the face of the man in the freeze-frame
Page 57
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
close-up at Minute 343:03-07.
Label him John Doe and send the data via public subspace com not Rampart! to
Beatrice
Mangan, BM7366-2ADM, Fenelon Falls, Ontario, Earth. She's an old friend, a
chief inspector in the ICS Forensic Division, and that's her private mail
code. Tell Bea that you're my father, and
I'm calling in my marker and urgently need an ID on the John Doe. Explain that
this individual tried to murder me "
"You actually got the fucker's picture?"
"Simon, shut up. The hired gun probably had cosmetic surgery or quickie genen
work. I want
Bea to run a skull analysis of him through the Galapharma employee mug base,
paying special attention to their internal security personnel. If she gets a
positive match, have her send the man's dossier to Karl Nazarian's private
mail code as soon as possible. You got that? The private code.
It's imperative that we don't let any of this data get into the Rampart
Central net."
"What about having Karl find out if the sidewinder's here on Seriphos?"
"Absolutely not. I'll go after the guy in my own way and I don't want him
spooked."
"Do you intend to discuss this sorry screw-up of yours at the board meeting
this afternoon?"
"I doubt it. Don't forget to notify your floor guards to admit Helmut Icicle
to the hallowed premises."
"Like squat I will!" he bellowed. "You're my son and "
"My name is Icicle until I decide otherwise. Now get busy."
I hung up on him. The phone purred immediately with the belated wake-up call,
and before I
could even make it to the John it went off again. This time it was Mimo,
anxious because of the message left by Ivor. I told him the bad news, which he
received in nonjudgmental silence, and outlined the investigations I had
hopefully set in motion. I warned him that he might have a whole lot of
tedious work to do if Karl Nazarian didn't pan out.
He said, "No importa,"
and then: "I can be at the hotel in a few minutes. Would you like me to
drive you to the board meeting?"
"No, thanks. I'll take a taxi. What I would like you to do is go over to
Ivor's apartment in an hour or so. Pay him. I'll reimburse you. Ask him if
he's interested in a new job that might take him to Tyrins and God knows where
else. Really excellent money, really hazardous duty."
"So! You intend to begin the search for your sister immediately?"
"Maybe. Listen, Mimo, I've got to sign off and get myself pasted together.
Let's meet in the hotel bar around 1830 and I'll tell you how I made out."
"Very well. I'll see you then. Be sure to wear some impressive clothes to the
Rampart board meeting. It will give you an edge."
I laughed wanly. "Clothes? Hadn't given it a thought."
"Well, do so. Remember the immortal words of Epictetus: 'Know first who you
are, and then adorn yourself accordingly.' " He broke the connection.
Huh. Easy for him to say. And who the hell was
I, anyway, at this point in time? Divisional
Chief Inspector A. E. Frost was long dead. Cap'n Helly the devil-may-care
submariner was beached for the indeterminate duration. Helmut Icicle was a
wounded nonentity, even though I'd pushed him up Simon's nose for spite.
I shuffled into the bathroom, took a leak, and then stared at myself in the
full-length mirror.
My sojourn in the dystasis tank hadn't diminished my normal muscle mass. The
tan and the vaguely military haircut and the tropical squint lines around my
Page 58 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]