by Max Barry
“Hack?”
“The Merchandising Officer who I used for the… Mercurys incident.”
“Um, let me check…yes, he is, John.”
“Huh.” Details had a way of getting away from you when you were dealing with the big picture, John realized. “Fire him, will you?” He pocketed his phone. The agency man raised his eyebrows. “We’ll do the Uncle Sam Wants Your Property series, the Nelson Mandela Freedom series, I want to hold everything that’s anti-T.A. to use later, and…what was the other one I liked?”
“Where Would You Be Without Corporations?”
“Yes. I like the people in caves.”
“Excellent choices!” the agency man said. “I’m really looking forward to working with you on this, John.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. The limo was waiting out front.
Traffic was banked up for half a mile around Parliament. Every second car was a limousine; they lined entire streets. John drummed his fingers on the seat. “You do realize I have to be there in three minutes?”
“Not with this traffic, buddy,” the driver said.
“Fine.” He opened the door. Some people would break the rules to get things done and some wouldn’t; it was as simple as that. John didn’t have much use for the latter.
He started toward Parliament at a brisk walk. It peeked at him between office buildings, looking vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d seen it in a movie once. It was a sprawling, ornate thing, but John bet it was cold as fuck inside. Governments always built for form instead of function.
“Hey!” someone yelled. The Pepsi kid was leaning out of a limo. “John! Wait up!”
He tapped his watch and kept walking. The Pepsi kid knew when he was riding a winner: he’d stuck to John like a burr since the stock exchange. John was getting irritated. The kid was leeching off his credibility.
John trotted up Parliament steps. The lobby was packed with suits and a wave of body heat washed over him. He wrinkled his nose.
“Man, you could have waited,” the Pepsi kid said, panting. “You trashed my Ferrari, the least you could do is wait up.”
There were two main doors from the lobby: one labeled GOVERNMENT and the other US ALLIANCE/TEAM ADVANTAGE COMPANIES. John blew air through his teeth. They should never have let the Government dictate the venue.
“The rental company went nuts, man. I tried to tell them it was good publicity, because you could see their bumper sticker on the news, but some guys are so short-term. They wouldn’t even give me a replacement.”
“What do you want me to do? Call them up, tell them it was official US Alliance business?” He forged a path toward the corporate doorway.
“Would you?” the kid said. “Man, that’d be great.”
“I’m not calling any fucking rental company,” John said.
“Oh.”
The doorway opened into a long corridor. It was less crowded here, and he spotted Gregory Nike. He sighed. He didn’t have much use for Gregory these days, either. But Gregory was already beckoning him. John smiled and made his way over.
“John, we were about to go in. You know everyone here?”
Gregory was talking to a couple of big US Alliance cheeses, including Alfonse, the CEO. “Of course. Nice to see you again, Alfonse.”
Alfonse nodded. Alfonse and John had had several interesting conversations over the last two days. Alfonse had taken a personal interest in him.
The lights dimmed. “We’d better get in there,” Gregory said. “All the best, gentlemen.” He put his hand on John’s arm.
“John comes with us,” Alfonse said.
“Yes, I’m sitting with Alfonse,” John said. He looked down at Gregory’s hand.
Gregory released it. “I see.”
“It’s really quite an honor. For Nike, I mean.”
Gregory said nothing. Then he leaned in close. “You have a bad habit, John, of forgetting where your loyalties lie.”
“Mmm,” John said. “That is something to think about. Excuse me.”
The Pepsi kid attached himself to John’s elbow. “We’re sitting with the big boys?”
“I’m sitting with the big boys.”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you have friends at Pepsi to play with?”
“I thought we were a team, man,” he said, wounded.
“So now you know otherwise,” John said.
They entered the main hall, the quaintly named House of Commons, and it was like walking into a thunderstorm. There were five hundred people seated, maybe more, plus camera crews and clusters of computers. The room was a huge U, with chandeliers and balconies and a thickset table in the center. No one was seated there yet: it sat bare as an empty stage.
Most of the US Alliance contingent took outer seats, leaving just Alfonse, a woman, and John to approach the central table. As the mass recognized them, the noise level rose even higher. John sat and poured himself a glass of water. His hand trembled.
“Alfonse,” someone said. John looked up. Another contingent had arrived: a woman and two flunkies. “I’m Holly T.A.”
The table was too wide to shake hands across. Alfonse rose a fraction from his chair, nodded, and settled back down. “Good morning, Holly.”
She smiled. Holly T.A. had sharp green eyes, John noticed. She said, “Thank you, Alfonse.”
Holly sat, but one of the flunkies, a girl, stayed rooted to the floor. She was staring at John. She made a strange sound in her throat, like a whimper.
“Violet, sit,” Holly said. The girl sat. She turned her head away from him.
It was the girl at ExxonMobil, John realized, who had seen him shoot Nathaniel. But she had been familiar even then… “Ah.” He felt like an idiot. It had been dark, of course, and on the other side of the world, but even so. He never should have forgotten this face. “Now I remember. Hello again, Violet.” He cocked a finger and thumb at her.
She jumped in her chair, which was amusing, and the other flunky had to restrain her. Holly whispered to both of them.
John relaxed. Now he didn’t feel nervous at all. He felt ready to do his job.
At first, he thought the trail of people entering the House were common spectators, or maybe journalists. He should have realized: cheap suits and outdated ties were practically Government signatures. There were maybe fifteen people marching toward the table, and John shook his head. Typical Government, using so many people to do a job the private sector could do with three.
He didn’t know which was the President, but a man emerged from the group and strode forward to shake Holly’s hand. He was weathered and kind of rough-looking, like an old cop. Holly rose and clasped his hands.
There was applause from the gallery, and a barrage of flash photography. John almost snorted. If they wanted an image to capture the spirit of this meeting, shaking hands wasn’t it.
The President spoke a few words to Holly, then rounded the table and shook with Alfonse. More clapping and flashbulbs. “Thank you for coming, Alfonse,” the President said. “I look forward to resolving this awkward situation.”
“As do I,” Alfonse said. “As do I.”
John thought, What a load of shit.
The President took his seat at the head of the table. US Alliance and T.A. were facing each other across the sides, which John wasn’t happy about. This whole event suited the Government. But that was okay. John was expecting the balance to tip soon.
There were a few minutes of techs running around to mike everybody up, then the President stood. The crowd quieted, and John supposed this whole sorry mess had begun.
52 General Motors
Jennifer had been hoping for some free time after landing in London, enough time to, say, track down John Nike and bust his chops. But it was such a long flight from Australia that she and Calvin were among the last agents to arrive, and they were ferried straight to a warehouse the Government was using as a staging area. She stood in a long line for the communal bathroom, showered, and met
with Calvin to report in.
“Ah, Jennifer,” the administrator said. “You’re a squad leader, yes?”
“Really?” she said.
“Sounds like some kind of mix-up,” Calvin said. “A squad leader? With your people skills?”
“Jennifer, receive your riot gear from dispensary, and meet your team in Area D-21.”
She found the dispensary, which had a longer queue than the bathroom, and received more equipment than she’d seen in five years. There was a flak jacket, a helmet, a nightstick, even a shield.
“You need any help getting into all that, gorgeous?” the man behind the counter said.
“Kiss my ass,” she said, which was her tried and tested response to overenthusiastic Government types. Then she noticed the TV behind him. It was broadcasting live from the Government-corporate conference: the picture showed the three US Alliance members. “Shit! It’s John!”
“What?” Calvin said.
She pointed. “John Nike!” She turned to the dispensary man. “Where’s this happening?”
“The conference? Parliament.”
“Calvin,” Jennifer said, “I feel a sudden urge to modify my mission parameters.”
“Jen, we have a job to do.”
“But he’s right there.”
“If John’s part of the US Alliance delegation, he’ll be there all day. We’ll grab him when we’ve finished the raids. Everybody goes home happy.”
She stared at the TV “Look at him. He’s so smug.”
“We’ll fix that,” Calvin said. “After the raids.”
She met her team: there were five of them and the oldest looked about twenty-three. As the van bumped along a London street they sat quietly and snuck glances at her tattoo. Jennifer wished she had something inspirational to say. She had nothing. She wished Calvin was in her team.
The van halted and the driver banged on the partition. Jennifer opened her mouth and what came out was: “Let’s go!”
They emerged onto a parking lot in front of a gleaming, fifteen-story building. A sign marked it as GENERAL MOTORS. There was even a flag and a wide, green lawn. The sky drizzled light rain. They jogged toward the lobby.
In a way, Jennifer felt bad, busting into such a nice place in full riot gear and scaring the crap out of everybody. But in another, more accurate way, she enjoyed it a lot. She collared a scared-looking receptionist and read out her list of target executives. “Where are they?”
“They’re—different floors. Four, eight, and nine.”
“Three teams!” Jennifer said. “I’ll take level nine. Meet back here.”
“You can’t go up there!” the receptionist said, horrified. “This is private property! You can’t!”
“And yet,” Jennifer said. She hit the stairs. She found her target by striding down the corridor and barking out his name: when a man popped his head out of an office, she cuffed him. It was much easier than she’d expected.
“This is ridiculous! I’m a financial controller! I don’t even deal with US Alliance! You can’t arrest me!”
She marched him down the stairs. The rest of her team were already gathered in the lobby, holding executives. Then she saw that a dozen NRA soldiers were pointing semiautomatic rifles at them, and everything stopped being so much fun.
“You! Put down your weapon!”
“We’re the Government,” she said, just in case there had been some misunderstanding. “We are arresting three people on suspicion of murder.”
“No, ma’am. You are on General Motors property and you will comply with GM orders.”
“Team,” she said levelly, “close your helmets and draw your weapons.”
“Do not draw your weapons!” the NRA man barked. They tensed. There were now a lot of guns looking at her.
“Do it,” Jennifer said, and heard them obey: helmets snapping down, holsters being unfastened.
“Put down your weapons or we will fire on you!”
“You don’t want to shoot six Government agents, slick,” she said. “You really don’t.”
“I won’t ask you again!”
“Team, follow me out the door. Fire only if fired upon. Do not release the suspects.”
“You think I’m kidding, lady? My orders are very fucking clear! If you leave with our people, we will take you down!” He pushed the barrel of the rifle into her forehead. It felt hard and very cold. “This is not an exercise.”
Someone whimpered. Jennifer wanted to believe it was one of the NRA, but didn’t think it was. The soldier’s eyes were locked on hers.
She said quietly, “You’d better be very sure your employer can protect you from the Government.”
“I’m very sure.”
She felt her heart twist. To her people, she said, “Let them go.”
The NRA watched them all the way to the van.
“What is going on?” she screamed.
“It’s the same everywhere,” Calvin said on the radio. “Roaming NRA squads, responding within six minutes to calls for help, faster in central London. T.A. are less defended; we’re doing better. Jen, don’t do anything stupid. We’ve already got two agents in the hospital.”
“This was meant to be a show of force!”
“What can I say? Try to hit your next building in under six minutes.”
But her next building was the NRA: only an administrative headquarters, but still, she didn’t like her chances. She had the van park two blocks away and they squatted against the hedge, checking their equipment as the rain soaked through their clothes.
“Helmets down the whole time. Don’t stop for anything. If we run into armed security, abort immediately. You’re not authorized to fire your weapon except in self-defense. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Go!” she said, and they ran, hunched over, for the NRA building. The lobby was crowded but soldier-free; when they burst in, people scattered. She was looking for security guards first and anyone who looked like they could locate her target executives second, but someone else caught her eye: a young man with a sports bag over his shoulder. He was pushing his way out the revolving doors.
“Ma’am! I have the receptionist!”
“One second,” Jennifer said. The man with the bag escaped the doors and sprinted across the grass. She was hoping he would look back at the road, and he did. It was Billy NRA. “Shit!”
“Ma’am?” an agent said. “Our time limit?”
“You’re in charge. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“What?” he said, but Jennifer was already out the door.
53 NRA/Ground
Billy sprinted, sucking cold London air into his lungs. Jennifer shouted, “Billy! Stop, you little prick!” and that encouraged him to run even faster. He crossed the road without looking. A truck’s horn blared and he felt a whoosh of air buffet him. A mall was just up the block, and he pounded the sidewalk. At the entrance he crashed through a group of shoppers, spraying their bags and stumbling to his knees. Then he was up and inside.
He spied an exit across the mall and forged through the crowd toward it. The place was crammed, but he was making such a commotion that Jennifer would spot him as soon as she came in. He had to make the exit. He shoved a woman out of the way and hurdled a child.
“Ow! Watch it!”
“Out of the way!” he screamed. “Coming through!”
“Freeze! Government agent, don’t move!”
Billy stopped. The door was right in front of him. He turned around. Jennifer was at the entrance, a hundred feet away, pointing a handgun at him. He couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been kidding when she said he couldn’t escape her.
“On your knees!”
He almost did it. Then it occurred to him that there were a lot of people between him and Jennifer, and a hundred-foot shot from a pistol was a big call even for a skilled marksman. Billy sucked in his breath, then broke for the door.
He was positive she was going to fire. He hit the door and
rolled through, screaming in anticipation. No shot! He scrambled to his feet. There were alleys twisting off in four directions, lined with crates and garbage. He ran down one at random.
Fifteen minutes later, when he was sure he was safe, he sank to his knees and gasped for breath. He checked his bag. Everything was still there. Thank God.
When he was ready, he stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab.
“Parliament,” he said. “Please hurry.”
Billy just about died: no one had told him Parliament would be crawling with Government. Worse, half the agents were scurrying around in that blue armored getup he’d seen Jennifer in, so he kept thinking he saw her out of the corner of his eye. He felt himself break into fresh sweat. Billy was no longer smelling so good.
General Li was waiting at the top of the steps. “Good timing, Private. Five minutes early.”
It was probably best not to mention the Jennifer Government incident to General Li, Billy decided “Yes, sir.”
Li started walking, and Billy fell into step. He wiped at his forehead. The General would protect him, he thought. No one was giving the General any grief. They entered the great lobby, which was packed, then a corridor, then a side room. There were a half-dozen suits lounging around, smoking and eating lunch from a buffet.
The General stopped beside three men and waited. No one acknowledged him, which Billy thought was kind of rude.
“I told you they’d try this,” one of the men said. “If I hadn’t taken steps, half our goddamn staff would be in Government lockup right now.”
“John is right,” an older, shorter man said.
“You’re overreacting,” the third man said. “So they’re trying to muscle us. That doesn’t mean it’s time to—to do what you’re suggesting. We can’t take that step. It’s illegal, and more importantly it’s bad business.”
“You idiot,” John said. “You want to wait until they come for you? When they raid your house at four in the morning? Things have already gone too far.”