3rd World Products, Inc., Book 4

by Ed Howdershelt

  "Duty calls," she said. Pointing at the phone receiver, she added, "Literally."

  I nodded and stood up, as did Jeffries.

  "Thanks," I said. "For the visit and the money, Col. Adair. We'll let you have your office back now."

  She smiled as she said, "Next time call ahead. We'll go to lunch. Or dinner."

  "Sounds good," I said. "Goodbye, ma'am."

  "Goodbye, Sergeant. Sergeant Ellis will see you out."

  Our escort was waiting by the door as we left Adair's office. She was all smiles now, as were the others who'd met us in the outer office. We exchanged pleasantries and handshakes and one of the guys remarked that it wasn't always so enjoyable to meet old hands in "our line of work", as he put it.

  Ten minutes or so later we were back at the elevator, waiting for a ride to the second floor.

  "Well," said Jeffries, "That went much better than I'd expected. Barring the news about Major Mason, of course."

  "Yeah, I guess so," I said as the doors opened.

  The brunette from the lobby started to step out, saw us and stopped, and then edged past us, gazing at me the whole time. She walked to the door of 700 and turned to look back at us as the doors closed.

  Jeffries glanced at his watch, then said, "Let's have an early lunch in the park. By the fountain, where prying ears can't work so well."

  I nodded. "Sure."

  He stopped at his office to retrieve some papers and his briefcase. We stopped at a fish and chips walkup window, after which we took our bagged lunches to a park half a block away.

  Keying my implant, I said, "Steph, Sue, it's time to make an appearance. Pop in where you can't be seen materializing and join us on foot, please."

  Ahead of us, both of them walked out of the public restroom and headed our way. We met by the fountain in the center of the park and chose a nearby bench. Jeffries seemed most impressed with the ladies and couldn't seem to make up his mind which one to ogle. He greeted them most effusively.

  "Ladies, I am at a loss for words," he said, kissing each of their hands in an elegant manner, "Your beauty renders me speechless. You are like angels in human form. Perfection is too inadequate a word to describe you."

  "Speechless, huh?" I asked.

  "I recover quickly," said Jeffries, never taking his eyes off Steph and Sue. "The very sight of them both struck me dumb, but then I realized that I simply had to tell them how lovely they are."

  Opening my lunch bag, I said, "Uh, huh. But, yeah, I know that feeling. What's the news? Did you find a big buyer?"

  "Actually, yes," he said, then he turned to Steph. "Three rather large antiquities dealers have formed an alliance to buy as much of the treasure as you wish to sell. It won't be at the highest possible price, I'm afraid, but you did say you wanted a quick sale. These people are offering weight value plus twenty percent."

  As if expecting an argument from me, he said, "That's really very good, you know. They have to make a profit and leave room for negotiations."

  Stephanie said, "Weight value plus forty percent sounds better and would also leave room for profit and negotiation, especially considering that there will be no shipping and insurance charges or associated transport security costs." She fixed Jeffries with an iron gaze as she said, "Tell them we'll deliver anywhere if the price is right."

  I was so startled I forgot to chew my chips. Where did Miss Hard-ass come from?

  Jeffries seemed to consider matters for a moment, then said, "You're right, of course. Without the usual costs of heavily insured transport, a higher price should be possible."

  He flicked open his cell phone, dialed, and asked for someone name Massmer.

  "Harold," said Jeffries, "I'm with the client. She wants weight plus forty and she'll deliver. Yes, that's right. Of course she has the means. Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't think she'll budge. She's familiar with the costs involved. Good. Fine. Thank you."

  Jeffries smiled as he snapped the phone shut and said, "They'll call us back shortly. He wanted to know if you had the means to deliver immediately. I thought of your flitter and almost laughed aloud."

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  We were halfway through lunch when Jeffries' phone chirped. He checked the incoming number and answered with, "Hello, Harold. What's the good word?"

  After listening a moment, Jeffries asked Steph, "Would you consider weight plus thirty-seven percent? There seem to be some fees to consider..."

  "That's close enough," said Steph. "Where and when?"

  Jeffries repeated her words and then repeated Massmer's answer.

  "The gold is to go to the CreditSuisse Bank in Lucerne, Switzerland. Upon delivery and verification, you may have either cash or a certified check."

  "I'd prefer a certified check, please."

  "Yes, milady. Harold, she'd like a certified check. The name is 'Stephanie Montgomery'. I'll ask her." He asked Steph, "Do you have a middle name?"

  She shook her head.

  "No, Harold," said Jeffries. "No middle name. We'll finish lunch and be there this afternoon. Uh, I don't know; just a moment."

  He asked, "How long will it take us to reach Lucerne?"

  I said, "We can be there by one. That'll give his people time for lunch."

  Jeffries wrapped up the call and put his phone away. Zap and done. Steph was about to become a multi-millionaire in an afternoon. She seemed unimpressed by it all, as did Susanne, but Jeffries was excited enough for all of us.

  We walked off lunch by strolling to the Thames River, then Susanne brought the flitter to an alleyway and we boarded. Instead of flying above fifty thousand feet as usual, Susanne held us at a few hundred above the terrain and recorded our trip. She seemed to enjoy slithering the flitter among the mountains of the Alps at barely subsonic speed, but that portion of the voyage made Jeffries rather nervous.

  "Don't worry," I said. "There's never been a flitter crash due to malfunction."

  "Never?"

  "Never. Not once."

  He whispered to me, "Is she trying to become the first?"

  Susanne giggled and jinked around a peak so closely that the wind of our passing caused a minor avalanche. Descending toward Lake Lucerne, it seemed to me that something wasn't right. I looked for the covered wooden bridge where my first wife and I had fed swans in 1971 and saw only the concrete and stone pilings where it had been.

  I pulled my briefcase down while Jeffries' attention was occupied and retrieved my passport, then let the case go back to its usual overhead parking spot.

  Jeffries called Harold to let him know we'd arrived and Harold stepped out of the CreditSuisse Bank to look for us. When we were within six feet of him Susanne turned the forward fields transparent and he was able to see us. I thought he'd faint.

  A man who'd been standing some distance away from Harold instantly drew a pistol and spoke into a collar microphone. Two more guards appeared instantly. Harold turned to face them and raised his hands placatingly as he spoke to calm them, then Harold and the first guard stepped aboard the flitter.

  The guard made a hasty report and Harold said a few words, then there was a round of greetings and introductions. After a look at the gold on the flitter deck, Harold directed us to the underground garage, where an armored truck awaited the gold.

  Between the flitter and the truck was a folding table at which sat two men with test kits, large and small scales, laptop computers, and a rather expensive-looking camera. The gold was carefully tested, weighed, and photographed, and all but a very small amount of the encrusted gold was field-cleaned as it was transferred to the truck.

  "You do not wish to sell this gold, as well?" asked Massmer, indicating the remainder of the encrusted treasure.

  "No, thank you," said Steph. "There are only 15,191 ounces of gold for sale at this time. The rest will go to museums."

  Her inclusion of the word 'only' made Jeffries laugh, then he had to explain the laugh to Harold. With a nod, humorless Harold returned to his calculations, then went ov
er the results once before announcing that the gold was worth $5,535,904.20. After some more tapping, he added, "We would also like to make an offer on your silver."

  "I'm sorry, but the silver is also reserved," said Steph, "But I would very much appreciate having it appraised and documented for tax purposes."

  Harold bowed and said, "Of course, madam. We would be delighted."

  By two-thirty the gold was in the truck, the deal had been completed, the flitter had been sent to hover above the bank, and we retired to a fourth-floor office to handle the paperwork, during which Steph used her certified check to open an account with the bank.

  After consulting with the account manager Steph devised a unique signature code to be used for all future transactions. The bank seemed to have no problem at all with either her Citizen of the World passport or the fact that she was an AI.

  Jeffries, Massmer, and a woman bank officer disappeared into her office for some five minutes or so as Steph set up her new account. When they returned, the bank officer's secretary offered us refreshments from a well-stocked bar.

  I suggested that all six of the key personnel involved in the transactions take a quick flitter ride around the city and only one begged off claiming other responsibilities to take care of before day's end. Jeffries also opted to stay and talk with someone, probably about his finder's fee.

  As we passed above where the covered bridge had been I asked about it and was apologetically told that an arsonist had destroyed it, but that people were raising funds to rebuild it.

  When we returned to the bank, I deposited fifty Euros into the fund in my first wife's name. She'd loved that bridge and would undoubtedly enjoy receiving a picture-postcard thank-you note from the fund's agency.

  By three we were on our way back to Britain. I called Krista at Citizens of the World and arranged an afternoon visit. She said she'd call Andrew -- her father -- and make dinner arrangements at a nearby restaurant.

  Five hours of sleep enroute to Britain hadn't been enough; I excused myself and napped for the rest of the flight. When Sue woke me we were about two minutes from London. I stretched and looked to see if there was any coffee left in my mug.

  Yup, but not much. I warmed it up, swept a little moisture from the air to thin it a bit, and sipped it as I quelled my not-enough-sleep jitters.

  We dropped Jeffries off at his building, then headed for Krista's office. The street in front of Krista's building was too busy, so Susanne dropped us off in the alleyway behind the building and Steph materialized in the lobby to let Krista know that we were out back.

  After introductions and greetings, Krista and her secretary Marlene pulled extra chairs into her office and offered everyone tea. I opted for a visit to the washroom, where I made myself a fresh cup of coffee, then returned to the group.

  Steph and I generally outlined the AI-run clinic idea and Krista seemed to take a cautious view of it at first, but we assured her that we would prove the capabilities of AI doctors well before the effort began.

  "All right," she said, "Setting that issue aside, it would seem to be a marvelous plan and one that we could integrate into our own refugee efforts with little difficulty."

  "There's something else," I said, "Steph's invented a gadget called a Personal Field Manipulator. PFM for short. It has certain features we think should be available to everyone and we'd like to distribute them through the clinics."

  Krista immediately went on guard and asked, "So this is to be tied into a commercial venture?"

  "Don't panic yet," I said. "The PFM units distributed through the clinics would be free or damned cheap. Tax write-offs. Let Steph give you the info and show you some of what the PFM's can do first."

  My words in no way dispelled Krista's look of suspicion. I stood up and walked to the center of the high-ceilinged room, then said, "Glider on green."

  My kite popped into being and Krista's mouth fell open, as did her secretary's. They and Andrew rose to come touch the glider and examine it more closely.

  "Now would you be interested in seeing the rest of the show?" I asked. "How about a personal field that would stop or turn a knife or bullet and stop chemical and biological agents?"

  Andrew gazed hard at me for a moment.

  "That's a lot to believe, Ed."

  Nodding, I said, "Yeah, I know it is. Five suit on."

  Once my field was in place, I used my open hand to push flat a paper spindle on the secretary's desk. The point of the metal staff pushed hard against my field, but the spike abruptly bent in the middle and the point was pushed downward.

  "Well, I'll be goddamned," said Andrew quietly.

  Krista smacked his arm and said, "You will if you keep saying that, dad."

  Her comment made me slightly nervous. Religious beliefs could keep her from cooperating when she found out about the contraceptive feature of the protective field. I glanced at Steph, but she didn't seem to understand why. Oh, well. Finish the pitch first.

  After watching Steph's screen-displayed "footage" of the p-field standing against gunfire, chemicals, and fire, Krista and her father seemed well convinced. It was then that Steph dropped the other shoe.

  Steph explained why we thought the protective fields shouldn't be available until most people everywhere had a PFM, then explained how the protective field function would be conferred by satellite transmission.

  After a short pause, she told Krista about the contraceptive properties of the p-field and the reason for it. Krista's left eyebrow went up and she eyed first Steph, then me.

  "You're serious? This... PFM thing can function as a contraceptive?"

  I said, "We thought you might have a problem with that, so we left it for last."

  Andrew laughed and said, "A problem? Hardly. The birthrate is the reason for most of the problems of the world." He laughed again and said, "Especially the parts of the world that most of our clients come from."

  "Dad," said Krista, "A lot of people aren't going to accept this little caveat."

  Andrew looked at his daughter, "'Little caveat?' You haven't been there, daughter; to the world they come from, that is. You've only seen those who make it to our door, and those tiny few are the hardiest, smartest, and luckiest of the whole damned lot of them. They're killed in wholesale lots by disease, starvation, and mistreatment. Two begets ten in their world because that's the only way they can count on having help around the farm or someone to care for them when they're ill or injured. Many live only forty or possibly even fifty miserable years and leave nothing for their offspring but more of the same."

  He turned to me and said, "You're saying that there'll come a day when anyone who wears one of those things will be invulnerable to all but the worst possible weapons. You're saying that everyone who wants one will have one. Is that the absolute truth of it, Ed? Upon your honor, is that what you know to be the truth?"

  "Yup," I said. "To put it plainly, Andrew, Steph's not screwing around. She's going to do this, one way or another. CW can be in or out, but it will get done."

  Andrew nodded and turned to face Krista as he said, "Only the fools will turn down PFM's, daughter. Only the fools will choose to perpetuate lives of grinding poverty, filth, and danger, and such people should be allowed to do so until all the goddamned fools of the world are bloody well extinct."

  As Krista stared at him in mild shock, he said, "Every so often some would-be messiah promises to end mankind's suffering. Every damned one of them has been a failure or a charlatan. Even the sincere ones were often opposed by the very people they were trying to help. For the first time there's a real chance to improve the lot of humanity, daughter; to give it a future other than simply more of the bloody same."

  He turned to Steph, stuck his hand out, and said, "I have to be part of this."

  Steph shook his hand as they grinned at each other, then he turned to me and shook my hand as he said, "By God, life just became really interesting again."

  Krista waited until his celebratory moment died do
wn a bit, then said, "Excuse us for a few moments, please," and took his arm to try to pull him toward the door.

  Andrew resisted her briefly, then looked at us as if to say 'I'd better humor her' and allowed her to lead him to the outer office. Marlene rose as if to follow them, then seemed to think better of it and stopped as she neared the door.

  For all her apparent desire for privacy, Krista seemed unable to keep her voice from becoming sharply audible.

  "...and I'm telling you, dad -- yes, as usual, and as necessary, also as usual -- that something doesn't sound right about this. Why does she anticipate difficulty with the authorities? I'll tell you why; there's something hinky about the whole thing!"

  "After all the times we've had to circumvent some demented, syphilitic dictator in one of those piss-pot countries...? Daughter, you know who runs the world. Hell, you've had six years of university; you probably even have a pet bloody theory about why the bastards want to run the world, and I'll bet it isn't very flattering. In fact, as I recall, you've always been quite the anti-authority activist. How many times have I bonded you out of some damned jail? That was the biggest reason you wanted this position. What happened, daughter? When did you change sides?"

  Krista's tone was icy. "You know I haven't! Why won't you listen to me?"

  "Because you're not giving me reasons, daughter; only blind suspicion. Why? Because he used to be a mercenary?" Andrew laughed. "Don't forget, Krista, so was I! At least he was a medic; something other -- or more -- than just another war dog. Your own dear father can't claim even that distinction. I was there simply for the money."

  "Really?" she returned acidly, "Is that why you got yourself shot up while single-handedly trying to save two native families from being slaughtered? They paid you? How, may I ask?" Her voice rose dramatically as she yelled, "With what? Bloody beads and trinkets?!"

  I rapped my knuckles on the desk and yelled, "Hey! You two wanna hold it down out there? That's supposed to be a private conversation!"