Double Dealing(57)

Our contact arrived about twenty minutes late, much like I'd expected despite my earlier griping. Looking totally out of place in a hard rock setting, his pink shirt and khakis made him look more like a tourist from Miami than a rock aficionado in a Stuttgart club, but we'd worked together before. "Hey, didn't think you'd be working again so quickly," the American said. He said his name was Alex, I didn't believe him, but his work was quality. "Interesting job, not too many buildings with the requirements you sent me."

"It's a good system for sure," I said. Alex was our computer cracker. He gave us software that allowed us to tunnel into a target's computer systems and reduce the effectiveness of those systems. It didn't eliminate all of the risks, but it at least took part of the equation out of the way. With the physical challenges of the Arab center, we needed even more, a total throttling of the computer-based systems that wouldn't look at all like a takeover. We needed to mask everything in the system and do it without the human guards noticing. "Within your capabilities, I’m sure?"

"Of course," he said, pulling a thumb drive out of his pants pocket and handing it over. "Just get within a hundred meters of the building, turn on your computer, and let this baby go to work. It should take about four to six hours before you're set."

"Thanks," I replied. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the cash we'd agreed upon. “You do good work."

"You pay good money," Alex countered as he felt the thickness of the envelope. We were passed the point of actually counting money for each transaction, as we both knew if we tried to screw over the other, not only would we be losing a profitable partnership, but that the other would engage in reparations. I shivered at the idea of a piece of cyber-dark matter like Alex turning his special blend of hell against us. "And it's a hell of a lot more interesting than my day job. Take care."

He disappeared into the crowd, and Jordan looked over. "That's it?"

"That's it," I said. I could tell she was disappointed, she'd expected something more out of the movies. "He's worked with us in the past." I took a drink of my beer and sat back, sighing happily. We'd trained so hard, we hadn't had a lot of time to just relax and enjoy each other's company in a casual setting. In fact, when I thought about it, it was the first 'date' that Jordan had been on since our first few days in Paris. "Now, sit back and enjoy the music. We can drive to Paris in the morning."

With business completed, Francois relaxed, getting into the spirit of the club. Unfortunately for us, that meant him quickly downing three beers. While that shouldn’t have been too big a problem, Francois forgot a few things. First, German beers are higher in alcohol content than American beer, which he was more used to drinking. Secondly, the glasses were not in British or American sizes, but in metric, so they were larger than what we were used to. Finally, Francois hadn't eaten much that day since breakfast, as nerves and the long drive left him with an empty stomach, and the hot club meant he was dehydrated.

All of that came together to basically make Francois tipsy. He wasn't drunk, I would have cut him off before that, but he certainly wasn't his normal self as the band finished up. "Hey, you guys fucking suck!" he hollered after the light applause died down, his accent stronger than normal under the influence of the alcohol. "My girlfriend can play better than you!"

Now, I'm sure most bands have been jeered before. I doubt you can make it to being a professional musician without someone heckling you at least once. But for some reason, the lead singer of the band took Francois's taunt personally. "Fuck you, Frenchie. You think your side piece can play, then why not put her ass up here?"

The entire club responded to the taunt, confident that Francois's boast would go unanswered. Instead, Francois looked over at Jordan. "Well?"

"I can think of something," Jordan said, giving me a grin. She was being given a chance to be in her element, and she loved it. Shrugging off her jacket, she took to the stage in her leather pants and a tight gray t-shirt. Holding her hands out, the guitarist, who seemed more amused by the whole thing than anything else, handed over his instrument.

"Just a moment guys," she said into the mike, strumming and make a few adjustments. "All right, here's a good classic."

I’d expected something different. In all of her playing for us on the acoustic guitar, she’d done softer things, maybe some lightened versions of hard rock, but nothing really heavy metal. Instead, with a twinkle in her eye and a cocky grin on her lips, she started to play. The first few notes were slow, building, but an appreciative round of applause from the crowd, which was listening with piqued interest, showed me at least they knew what she was playing.