“Since he’s doing one of the very few things our government would frown on, he can’t. If he were selling drugs, or pimping widows . . . ”
“Exactly. All legal. But exploitation of minors, espionage or acts against the Freehold, which this is, are proscribed.”
“What do we do?” she said.
“I send a message to the boss and we wave bye-bye to his bank account. I wanted him stressed. This should help.”
So, was he getting less than I thought he was? Failing to save enough? Having a lot of overhead for his gimmicks?
Likely money was not his major motivator. A means to an end, and he’d want a pension. He probably was doing it for the thrill, hence the risk-taking on the jobs.
There was only one way that could end. If he was at all rational, he knew that.
So I guessed he was living for the day. Whatever he enjoyed was the finest he could afford. The savings were to tide him over between jobs only. He didn’t expect to retire.
I understood it, at least. I’d made my career increasingly challenging and exciting. I’d retired because I had a daughter to raise who, despite being an accident, was the most wonderful thing that ever happened.
He didn’t have that. We’d all been loners and social misfits. We barely got along with our own type, and the more we advanced, the less we had in common with others. Those of us on that mission really were in it for the sheer challenge. Most had died, a few had lived.
I needed to find out who else had survived and what they were doing. That would give me insight into Randall.
I could easily see, though, that someone would want to maintain that rush as long as possible. Randall had that type of personality. They’d been trying to admin him out over some silly stuff when I found him. He was loyal in return for fair treatment, aggressive against attacks on his persona—his pride, his intellect, his capabilities. Always edgy and wanting to prove it. Now he was proving it.
I felt sorry for him.
Covering our DNA trace was messy and nasty, but just business. We both used the bucket for urine, brushed our hair over it, chopped up underwear into shreds over it, then snuck out with bottles and tubes to splash it over every tire and front deck in the parking lot, along with the exhausts of engined vehicles, so the heat would help disperse the material. She took one side of the lot, I the other, and we wandered around looking foolish whenever someone walked through the area. I should have thought ahead and dressed like scapers.
I had one close call as I bent over and started to spritz the tires on a Mercedes. Someone behind me called, “Excuse me!”
I looked up, feigned confusion, scanned through my memory and said, “Oh, sorry. Mine’s over there. I wondered why the tire looked clean.”
It worked. He assumed I wasn’t a thief, and he was correct. He drove off as I went to vandalize and contaminate another vehicle.
In short order, we could be traced to this lot, and then all over the capital. Our actual location should be lost among the noise, or too dim to place easily. He could verify our instantaneous location if he were in the immediate area and we were outside, but he’d have to get there first. My plan was not to let that happen.
I nodded to Silver when I was down to some puddles in the bottom. A quick look confirmed no one else was within view this late. I slung the bucket underhand into some bushes, where the real scaper could dispose of it later. We walked out of the lot and down the road. Cars passed us, disturbing the fresh air with exhaust or hints of ozone, which also disturbed hints of residue on us. We took hands and strolled as a couple into a Rabbit Hut restaurant. An hour later, we’d scrubbed, ordered, eaten and returned to the room. To the best of our knowledge, we were clear.
Next was to egress the area and get more discreet.
As soon as we were inside, Silver hit the comm to reserve two other rooms elsewhere. I packed our stuff. Tools, gear, the other comm, my basic slacks, kilt and shirts, shoes and boots, her tunics, unitards, blouses, lingerie. I treated it as any professional task, but I knew it would be a reminder later. I don’t have a problem not treating a female sexually. I do have a problem pretending to be intimate with a sexy, sensual woman while actually being a monk.
I cleared drawers, beds, curtains, for anything incriminating, hosed out the shower and wiped the tub and commode to minimize any traces.
Silver suddenly announced, “Hello.”
I stuck my head into the main room to look.
There was a banker on the news. It seemed someone had spooled the axles of his vehicle with monomolecular wire, even while it was parked in his secure compound. As the car drove, the wire wrapped around its special drum and sliced right through the undercarriage, the seat, and well into him. They noticed when he fell into several pieces and screamed as he bled out.