The Scarab

by Rhine, Scott

  “Paranoid enough to use some of that listening equipment on us?” I suggested.

  She mouthed a silent no.

  I nodded yes, and said, “The FBI found tapes.”

  Her face took on a look of grim determination as she engaged the Pensatronics electronic warfare device. “Just this once.”

  “That’s my Lady Macbeth,” I said. “We’ll make nice afterward, I promise. But first, we owe them a truly embarrassing kill.”

  “Our cloak is no good going this fast,” she warned.

  “Doesn’t need to be,” I promised. “He still won’t see it coming. Track the X-ray Rainbow with the Pensatronics snoop function, the eye symbol. Then hit the broadcast button; we have an announcement to make.”

  I sent out my trademark snippet of Egyptian music, and a pyramid scene just before the announcement. “The infidel calling himself Frodo has offended all decent Tolkien lovers. He must be made an example of. Within the next ten minutes, his frail front end will be smashed beyond recognition. His ineffective invisibility will be gone, and his wreck will be riddled with my bullets. This kill is a called shot, and I’m willing to wager half my remaining fuel against the outcome.”

  The X-ray Rainbow took us up on the wager. As soon as he replied, we got our lock on him. I put a countdown in the top corner of the laptop. The Feds confirmed and synchronized watches with me. Nigel took the navigator duties while I handled the espionage. “We’ll be in range to fire in nine minutes. Mare, if they so much as twitch, hit them with the blind function, the lightning-bolt. Don’t let them run.”

  Over the next five minutes, several side bets flew around, and we closed over half the required distance to our target. I opened a private link to the Andiron Express. “So far, so good. Speed up by just a little and listen for my signal.”

  About four minutes away, I told Mare, “Slow down by about ten km/h. Engage the cloak just enough to make us look like we’re going the same speed as the Andiron Express.”

  “But then you won’t close in time,” Nigel complained.

  I smiled. “I’ll get him. He just won’t see it coming.”

  About two minutes from the deadline, I said, “On the interface, select a very brief pulse to blind them to satellite for a short time. Hit Exotech with it, then close.” At sixty seconds to the deadline, she zapped them with a type three satellite burst.

  As soon as they went satellite blind, I sent a broadcast message that included all players and the media. Exotech was the only team that couldn’t hear my gloating. “The X-ray Powderpuff can’t see and be invisible at the same time. This is a serious flaw as you will observe.”

  Over the Andiron link, I spoke the single word, “Brake.”

  The Andiron Express was built to semi-trailer specifications, with a sturdy under-tow bar welded to the back end. I’m told the main use was to prevent damage to loading docks. As soon as the Andiron Express slowed, the Exotech vehicle impacted on the iron bar, and its plastic front end crumpled completely. The X-ray spun out of control, slowing to a dead stop as the road abraded away most of their grid.

  “Target on radar,” I announced to the group in the room. We would close the remaining distance in under thirty seconds. “Slow to combat speed. Arm the turret gun. Once you’ve scored your first hit, use the set-it-and-forget-it button. He’s a stationary target and our onboard computer will have no trouble keeping him centered in our sights automatically.”

  The safety features of his vehicle had spared the Exotech pilot’s life, but Frodo didn’t have much left to fly. “He’s putting up active ECM. At this range, he’s over-amping our filters. We can’t take this long.”

  “Open wide. Dr. Hayes has some medicine for you,” I muttered, sending them a special file by mail. “In range now. Strafe them with the paint balls first. Use them all.”

  Soon, they were blinded by blue paint splotches and couldn’t see to aim whatever weapons they might have left. The ECM shut down when we shattered their fragile broadcast array. “I’m taking fire control.” I switched to live ammo at pointblank range. “Initiating the lead fire hose,” I told them, hitting the function key that I had been waiting months to try. Hundreds of computer-targeted rounds sprayed the two meter arc as we passed. Loud sound effects burst from the Sansui. I laughed with evil glee as we knocked the Exotech craft over with the force of the fifty caliber shells. We were now almost out of ammunition for the main gun, but this had been worth it. Under our torrent of machine gun fire, the stealth craft melted away like a snowman drug through a car wash. I was recording this in slow motion so I could show it in the theaters downstairs later. The CD player blared “Another One Bites the Dust” on cue, but I kept the fire hose on till a tiny mushroom cloud appeared on the overhead display. He left a nasty hole in the asphalt, too. “The quarterback is toast!” I shouted.

  Once I switched off the guns, Mare accelerated past the Andiron Express. She credited him for half of our fuel profits, as per our deal. Meanwhile, I watched Charon activate and drain what little remained of the Exotech craft’s soul. I used the judge’s interface to scan the Exotech’s mail queue. He hadn’t read my final message. Blast. What kind of rude bugger doesn’t read his own kiss-off message? Angry, I used the judge’s interface to open the message. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, the rattler file was added to the very end of the input stream being sent over the telephone lines to Kali.

  As soon as we were sure the Andiron Express wouldn’t attack us from behind, Mare disconnected the Pensatronics device and recycled the spare batteries, decreasing our payload by another twelve kilograms. The Exotech death registered on the score board two minutes before the leg ended, skipping us ahead a full slot in the rankings. Even if Kali hadn’t been nailed by the Feds by now, her disk drives were certainly destroyed. Everything was perfect. I told Mare to put Ghedra on autopilot, and we did a victory dance.

  “Do not pass Go, do not collect $200!” shouted Steve. “He’s out of there!”

  Suddenly, I knew what Kali had been after all along.

  Chapter 27 – Egyptian Scarab

  As the session ended, the airwaves were awash with the historic Berlin Wall, retrospectives on the Cold War, and a few spy movies. Josie explained that the charity event in the hotel banquet hall would warm up with prepared statements by SimCon Consortium speakers for the first fifteen or twenty minutes. Then, we would make our entrances. Once all the finalist teams were seated, dinner would begin. If we were lucky, we’d be out of there in half an hour. We could even use the extra fifteen minutes at the end to shoot the photos for Car and Driver.

  I took Foxworthy aside and told him, “Nigel, I have a secret mission for you. I need you to contact the team lead for Exotech. Ask them for the tapes they made of our suite between 12:30 and 1:30 yesterday afternoon. Can you get your friends to drop the Senate probe?”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible. Exotech will have to plead no-contest to the charges, but the committee will have a lot of leeway in determining the fine.”

  “Good. Offer them that and some of the credit for slipping the grave robbers a disk virus. Suggest immunity on the eavesdropping if they hand over the tape for evidence in the murder case. Kali admitted to the killing to me on tape.”

  Nigel took a moment to overcome the shock. “What if they deny everything?”

  “I trust your judgment. Offer them anything you want except my slow-motion recording of the kill. That made the whole convention worthwhile,” I said evilly. “I just have one restriction. Tell them the offer is only good till I take my first bite of dinner. I could find several amusing ways to embarrass them further, but I’d rather extend the olive branch. Go! You only have another twenty minutes. Meet us in the banquet hall if you get it,” I told him.

  I pulled Mare and Whitaker into the kitchen to confide my revelation about Kali. “It’s so obvious,” I bragged. “You can name that conspiracy by answering two questions.

  “First, what was Charon the boatman interested in?�
�� I asked.

  Whitaker had the answer “The money. He wouldn’t let the dead into the underworld without it. That’s why the Greeks always put coins on the eyes.”

  “Correct. Her program is after the money. Second, what other way is there to end the race other than dying?”

  Mare handled this one. “Finish, like the Tasmanian Tornado is going to do in another hour.”

  I made a magician’s gesture.

  “The prize money is electronically transferred directly to the winner’s bank account!” she guessed. “If Charon can steal data files while the main program isn’t looking, it can empty the SimCon bank account during the first window. Twenty five million. That’s got to be it.”

  Whitaker nodded. “But how do we stop her? Those judges are really up tight about anyone touching their sacred program.”

  “We don’t have to. The Consortium has a form to request payment by check instead of electronic disbursement. If everyone fills one out, she’ll have nothing to steal. However, the Feds can use the window to trace her bank accounts from the inside. You’ll have enough evidence to hang her by sundown,” I said confidently.

  Whitaker left to begin the sting operation. I would send Steve to get enough copies of the form for everyone. He would turn ours in and give copies to LAS, HEO, North Ameri-Car, and Porsche before the press conference. I would handle BW and Muramatsu, teams that had not been our closest allies.

  Steve was glued to the TVs when I asked him to run the errand. “Why me?” he asked. The announcer from ESPN was stressing that this was the first time that dead teams had a chance for prize money. Depending on how well the survivors did, several companies already out of the action could win big.

  “Mary Ann is going to need the time to slip into her Cleopatra outfit, and she’ll need Josie to do her hair,” I lied. The real reason was that I didn’t want his feelings trampled if the next phase didn’t work out. I didn’t want to accuse his new girlfriend of being a spy in front of him. However my plan worked out, I didn’t want him to blame me for the heartache. “I need to print off some schematics, and I already sent Nigel away. It would mean a lot to me if you could swing this. We’ll be able to tell you more after the arrest.”

  The hint about the arrest pushed him over the edge; he wanted to help his sister get ahead. “Sure. I’m not here to be a couch potato.” He grabbed a black bag with a red cross on it.

  “What do you have in there?” I asked him.

  “The usual first aid gear, bandages, and coagulants. I had the Feds get it for me. With you around, I’ve got to be prepared. Just tell me one thing. Why do we have to go to a costume party? I mean, this costume isn’t much more than a loin cloth and mascara.”

  “Two reasons,” I explained. “It always makes the news. The costumes are ten times more interesting than the dinner. I suppose it draws more guests and media people. The vendors in the arena might even sell more. Why do they have Marti Gras?”

  “And the real reason?”

  “We have to make some sacrifices if we want the women to dress up in slinky clothes.”

  “Team DeClerk!” he said on the way out.

  I put on the rest of my costume, including the flack vest, and a shepherd’s crook with an amber orb on the top, while watching the ladies prepare. “You did a great job, Josie. Where’s my mask?”

  “Under the sink where it won’t get crushed. It’s a hawk’s head. I made you Horus, the Avenger, and slayer of serpents. I would have made you Osiris, Lord of Death and Resurrection, but I couldn’t find a decent jackal’s head on short notice,” she apologized.

  “Quite alright. I wouldn’t want to be known as Lupo, the dog-faced boy. These convention fans can be pretty brutal.” I watched Miss Valencia put peacock blue eye shadow on Mare as I approached the delicate subject. “Ladies, did you hear the good news about our ranking?”

  Both said no.

  “We’re virtually guaranteed fourth through sixth place if we stay joined as one unit. But if we split up, we could take third and fourth with the sleds,” I said. She didn’t know that the left sled was crippled, and we didn’t have the interfaces or pilots for three independent vehicles.

  Josie remained impassive, arranging Mare’s hair-do around tight golden coils. The white tunic Mare had on was stunning, accentuating and revealing in all the right ways. I whistled appreciatively and fetched my mask.

  When I returned, Josie said, “If you decide to split up Ghedra, won’t the main unit fall behind? LAS and Andiron Enterprises would probably pass you. You’d drop to eighth place for your final vehicle, that’s if no one decided to shoot. I’m no mathematician, but you get less prize money by 125 grand if you split up. Doesn’t sound too good to me.”

  “Ah, but the increase in team points would get us 125 grand for the team award. If we splashed the Muramatsu vehicle, maybe the main unit would only come in seventh. I see your point, though, the money’s the same either way. How should I break the tie?” I said, avoiding the fact that we were nearly out of ammunition for the guns, and couldn’t make the kill without great risk.

  Mare kept quiet, letting the pressure build. Josie was having trouble getting the last bit of hair to cooperate in the tiara. “What sort of incentive would you consider?”

  I grinned while I tried on the hawk mask. The mask was covered with real feathers and had a realistic beak that came out of the forehead, leaving the mouth region uncovered so I could still eat and talk with ease while wearing it. The effect reminded me of the old Hawkman comic. Josie had included some dark brown makeup to conceal the top of my face and complete the superhero theme. Putting a stripe across my eyes, I pretended I was an Indian brave putting on war paint.

  Mary Ann smiled at how distracted I had suddenly become. “You could ask for a favor, like entrance to the Japanese market,” Mare suggested, continuing to bait Josie.

  “Naw,” I said. “The FCC would never let us export this stuff, too hush-hush.”

  “A vote,” Mare suggested conveniently. “We might need someone on our side on another petition, and not have time to bargain. A guaranteed vote for our side could come in handy.”

  Josie put down the hair-spray and comb. “I’d be careful about raising this issue with the Muramatsu team. Yamoto-san, their manager, doesn’t take kindly to threats.”

  “What could they do?” I laughed, taking off the bird head. I ignored the warning, partly because her orange hair and harem suit made her seem harmless.

  “Oh, just for an example, did you know that the name of your vehicle, Ghedra, is already trademarked by another company, which is probably owned by someone in Japan. Nobody has sued you yet. But if word got out that the name was being used by someone who hated the Japanese people, and worked for the same government that bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that would change,” she threatened with as much enthusiasm as she used elsewhere. Her brown eyes were hard and unyielding. It amounted to a Mexican standoff.

  “Let’s say I wanted to extend the white glove, a truce,” I said, with more respect.

  “Hmm. I can’t speak for their team, but that’s what they have already. You might get an abstention at best. You know, neutrality for neutrality,” Josie replied.

  “What if I had a piece of valuable information which could save them hundreds of thousands of dollars,” I tried.

  “Again, I’m no authority, but that might get you permission to use the name. Not North Ameri-Car, though. Too much bad blood and slander in the press for that. No, they’ll have to make their own deal, and I wouldn’t want to be on the negotiating team,” she said, finishing Mare off while I stewed.

  “There, what do you think?” Josie said when she was done.

  “That will do.” I said, meekly. “You wouldn’t happen to know how a guy could contact Yamoto-san, would you?”

  She pulled a gold makeup compact out of one of her many veils and handed it to me. “Stop being clever. Hit recall on the last number I dialed. And don’t mention this to Steve, or the deal
’s off.”

  I tinkered with the tiny, high-tech device in admiration. It appeared to function as a handset for a video link. The actual transmitter was probably hidden elsewhere in her purse. Josie couldn’t afford these gadgets on her royalties alone. I wonder what she did when she wasn’t spying at conventions. “A girl’s got to make a living,” I said, perhaps too harshly.

  The ladies proceeded downstairs while I did some quick haggling. Yamoto-san had been expecting a call, and the deal was made in about three sentences. He didn’t understand why the form was necessary, but I gave him my word.

  Despite how quickly I finished, I didn’t get to ride down with the ladies. Half the FBI guards went with them to secure the route, and I had to wait for the next elevator car. Maybe Mare thought I was being too harsh as well. I used the time to phone BW on the compact and made a similar deal, the white glove for an abstaining vote. I threw in the form for free to smooth over any bad feelings about Mare scoring their forward observer.

  The compact phone was handy and it smelled nice, too. A couple guards stared at me when I sniffed it. What was I thinking? An engaged man shouldn’t be sniffing another woman’s phone. I put it away, picked up my bird head, and stepped into the elevator as if this happened every day.

  On the ride down, Whitaker pushed the button for me, and I caught a glimpse of his weapon. It was one of those power hand guns, the ones that used caseless ammo and fired with electronic ignition. The clip on that sort of gun held about twenty rounds and could empty in ten seconds. He had a funny-looking scope on it, not the usual laser kind. I asked him about it.

  “Infra-red sensing. Unless you hit the override, it only fires when you’re going to hit a human being. If you preprogram the sights with a specific person, it can discriminate.”

  “So it can’t be used against its owner?” I asked.

  “Normally. Right now, your pattern is locked in. If you get taken hostage, I won’t need to worry about killing you when I open fire. The surprise will give me the second or two I need to drop the perp,” he said with clinical detachment. I swallowed hard, and decided not to talk to Whitaker when he was working anymore.