"What then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. Okay, the governments pull their troops out, effectively admitting they don't have the military power to police the corporations. What then?"
22
The crowds of curiosity seekers threatened to choke off the street and probably would have if not physically restrained by the lines of armed government troops holding them at bay in the shadow of the poshest hotel in Rio de Janeiro. Even so, a sizeable crowd gathered around the limousines as they drew to a halt at the curb and had to be cleared back by the bodyguards who emerged from the autos first.
This smaller mob were members of the press who passed unhindered through the lines of troops with a wave of a media card. The troops were under strict orders not to affront the press, who had been adding volume to the already thunderous chorus of public protest against the governments' actions. Even the papers who had earlier supported the governments were now scathingly critical of the armed forces' ineffectiveness and inability to deal with the corporations. The governments did not need any more bad press.
Three men emerged from the limousines and headed for the door of the hotel. At their appearance, the reporters surged forward again and the men stopped, apparently consenting to giving a brief statement.
Several stories up, in a window of the hotel across the street from the activity, a machine was tracking the movements of the three men. Deeper in the room, well out of sight of the window, a small group of uniformed technicians were feverishly processing the data being collected by the combination closed-circuit television-shotgun mike. Their work was being closely supervised by a nervous officer.
"Are you sure, Corporal?"
"Positive, sir. Identification is confirmed on all three targets. A/V tapes and voice prints all match."
The officer squinted at the three figures in the monitor screen.
"Becker for Communications, Wilson for Oil, and Yamada for the Zaibatsu. They actually took the bait." He nudged the corporal.
"Look at them, soldier. Those three fat cats are responsible for the drubbing we've been taking for the last six months. They don't look like much, do they?"
"Some of the men are saying it doesn't take much, sir," replied the corporal flatly, not looking at the screen.
"Is that a fact? Well now it's our turn. Get Command on the phone and tell them the three little pigs are in the briar patch."
"Can I speak to you a moment, Captain?"
"Certainly, Lieutenant, but it'll have to be quick."
The lieutenant stepped into his CO's office and stood before the desk, fidgeting slightly.
"Well, sir, I think we've got a morale problem on our hands."
"We've had a morale problem for months, Larry. Why should today be any different?"
"It's the executions, sir. There's a lot of bad talk going around the men."
"Were they informed the men executed were infiltrators? Spies for the corporations who've been selling us all out for months?"
"Yes, sir. But...well...it's the suddenness of it all. This morning they had breakfast with those guys. Then all of a sudden...well, a lot of the men think they should have gotten a trial is all."
"Lieutenant, it's been explained-the corporation men have communication devices like we've never seen. They could have had something built into their boots or woven in their uniforms. If we took the time to observe formalities, they could have gotten word out. We couldn't take that chance."
"Well, the men think that without a trial it could have been any one of them. Now they've got the feeling that at any moment they could be pulled out of line and shot without any chance to defend themselves against the charges."
"Damn it, Larry, we know those men were spies. We ran everybody through the computers. Their finances, their families' finances-everybody got checked. You, me, everybody. Those men were on the corporations' payroll, either directly or through a front. We haven't been able to move without those guys tipping the enemy. I don't like it either, but that's the way we had to do it."
"Okay, Captain, I'll try to tell them..."
"Wait a minute, Lieutenant Booth. There's more. I just got the call from HQ. Alert the men to be ready to move out in fifteen minutes. We're mounting an offensive."
"An off...but sir, what about the cease-fire?"
The captain leaned back.
"It's all tied in together, Lieutenant. We've got their commanders tied up at the conference tables and their spies are dead. For the first time in this war, we've got a chance to catch those damn mercenaries napping."
"But..."
"Lieutenant, we don't have time to argue. This is coordinated with all the other forces. Our troops are making a world-wide push to try to finish the war in one fell swoop. Now alert the men!"
Wilson was clenching and unclenching his fists nervously out of sight under the table. It was clear to Yamada that the Oiler wanted to speak, but it had been agreed in advance that Yamada would do the talking and Wilson held his peace. As a solid front, the three men sat staring levelly down the table at government representatives facing them, ignoring the guns leveled at them by the guards.
"We cannot help but notice, gentlemen, that there are no civilians in your number." Yamada's voice was, as always, patiently polite.
"Are your governments sanctioning your action or is this a purely military decision?"
The American officer who seemed to be doing the talking for the government forces smiled wickedly as he mimicked Yamada's speech.
"The military is, as always, carrying out the orders of our governments. You may therefore assume that this is the governments' official stance on negotiating a truce with the corporations."
"Then perhaps you could clarify for us what exactly it is you mean when you say we are under arrest?"
"It means you are detained, incommunicado, bagged. It means that we're sick of being blackmailed. We don't bargain with extortionists; we arrest them. When the corporations pull their troops out, we let you go. Until then, you sit here and rot. Only one thing-you don't get a phone call. Your troops will just have to get along without your golden tones."
Even though he kept his face impassive, Yamada's thoughts turned to the transmitter in his belt. By now the news of their arrest would be en route to the home offices...and to the mercenaries.
"Your usual, gentlemen?"
The petite waitress smiled fetchingly.
"Only if you'll join us, Tamia," leered the older of the three men seated at the table, beckoning to her.
The girl rolled her eyes in exasperated horror.
"Oh, nooo! If the boss saw me..." She rolled her eyes again. "I'd lose my job like that." She clicked her fingers. "Then where would I work?"
"You could come and live with me."
"Oh!" She giggled and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're terrible!"
One of the other men leaned forward conspiratorially as she disappeared through the beaded curtains into the kitchen.
"Sir, I don't think it's wise to..."
"Relax, Captain." The older man waved him silent.
"That's why we're in our civvies-so we don't have to keep looking over our shoulders all the time. Nobody recognizes us out of uniform. I've been flirting with that little number for over a month now. Sooner or later she's bound to give in."
"But sir..."
"If anything was going to happen, it would have by now. Look, she doesn't even know my name, so relax."
But Tamia knew his name, and a good deal more. General Thomas Dunn was the main reason she was working at this shabby restaurant, an assignment that ended this evening when she received a phone call. The general stopped here nightly for a bowl of won ton soup, and tonight there would be a special surprise in it. Tonight she would include the special noodles she had been carrying for a month.
Actually, the basis for the idea was Eskimo, not Japanese, but the Japanese were never a group to ignore a good idea just because someone else thought of it first. The Eskimos would kill polar bears by freezing coiled slivers of bone inside a snowball flavored with seal blubber and leaving it on the ice floes. A bear would eat the snowball, and his body heat would melt the snow, releasing the bone sliver to tear, at his insides.