Kill Decision(113)
The occupant of the office sat in a brown leather chair, talking on the phone with his back to them as he faced downtown Tampa in the distance. His silver-toed cowboy boots rested up on a credenza. McKinney followed Odin inside, still with no clear idea how she should be acting.
Surprised that someone had entered his office, the man put his feet down and rotated his chair, still talking into the phone. “. . . aged accounts—at least a year. The older the better. And active posters.” He frowned at the office manager, then at McKinney—and then his eyes went wide when he saw Odin. He spoke into the phone. “Hey, man. I gotta take this. Text me when you got ’em. Yeah.”
He hung up and just stared.
Odin nodded. “How are things, Mordecai?”
His office manager frowned. “There’s been some mistake. Mister James is—”
“Get out, Maggie.” When she didn’t hop to it, he shooed her out with ringed fingers. “Now! And close the door.”
She nodded and obeyed, her face taut with humiliation.
McKinney kept her eyes on the man. He was in his mid-twenties, reasonably good-looking, but with the oily presence of a gold-chain salesman in a bad part of town. He wore a denim shirt with embroidery on the chest pockets. His fingers held several rings of similar design. Though he was still young, his hair was thinning, a situation he compensated for with Isaac Asimov–style muttonchop sideburns. He was still staring at Odin with utter incomprehension.
Odin dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “No hello?”
“Thanks for using my real name, asshole. I see you got rid of that bin Laden beard of yours. I barely recognized you. Why the fuck are you here?”
Odin motioned for McKinney to take a seat next to him. “So what is it now—Ryan James? That’s pretty bland for a guy like you.” Odin gestured in their host’s direction. “Professor, this used to be the far more interesting Mordecai Elijah Evans—a very talented member of a U.S. Cyber Command worm squad—part of the Joint Functional Component Command for Network Warfare. Mort here was their pet black-hat. On a short leash under the threat of—what was it again, Mort?—sixty-five years and a two-million-dollar fine?”
“I paid my debt to society.”
“But not your debt to me.”
“You don’t— You’d better not be here for me, Odin. One phone call, and you go away. I have friends now. Powerful, official friends.”
“I need your talents.”
“I don’t work for DOD anymore. I got my package, motherfucker. Legal pardon. A new life.” He gestured to the office. “I’m a legitimate businessman.”
Odin nodded appreciatively. “Yes, very lifelike.”
Evans sneered back at the sarcasm with an intense nasal imitation of Odin’s voice. “Mmm . . . vera lifelike. Fuck you. I’m not the same person I was back then.”
“Not the same name maybe, but I don’t think you’ve changed. You forget how much I know about you.”
“Leave, or I make a call.”
Odin spoke to McKinney, keeping his eyes on Evans. “Morty here sold zero-day exploits to international criminal gangs—helped advanced technology escape to parts unknown. What we’re dealing with right now might be because of him.”
“I got my deal. They need people like me, Odin. It’s that simple. Door kickers like you are replaceable—or should I say disposable? I am not.” He frowned. “How did you get in, anyway?”
“I kicked the door in.”
“Look, this is all moot. You can’t twist my arm anymore. I’m part of the system now. The system wants you to leave.” He swept his arm dramatically to point at the door. “So leave.”
“I need information. You’re going to help me get it.”
Evans just laughed. “Are you deaf? I’ve got powerful allies, and I don’t work for you.” He put his hand over the multiline phone system on his desk. “One more word, and I make the call.”
Odin leaned forward and produced a black automatic pistol from the waistband at the small of his back. He held it up for Evans to clearly see. McKinney noticed a short exposed barrel with threads at the end of its blocky body. The words USP Tactical were engraved in letters large enough to read on its side.
Evans just frowned at it. “What, are you kidding me?”
Odin produced a metal cylinder from his pocket and proceeded to screw it onto the end of the barrel.
Evans laughed. “I feel insulted by this posturing.”
McKinney grabbed Odin’s shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Odin finished screwing on the suppressor. “I’m doing what’s necessary, Professor. I assure you, there’s no other means to secure Mordecai’s cooperation.”