 
                      --===The Assassination===--
 
A Tough Negotiator
 
_ _
 
    My name is Alex Monroe.  Over the course of my life, I've
done a lot of jobs for people.  My job was what some people refer to as
the last bastion of chaos.  Others called us the last true
individualists.  Me?  I just referred to myself as what I was: an
assassin for hire.  Call me a mercenary, and you might not live through
the day.  I was a contractor, and you hired my loyalty as well as my
services.  So long as I got paid, I would never talk.
 
    Most jobs you do as an assassin, they're no big deal.  One
criminal wants another criminal to disappear, and you make that
happen.  Either it's public, and bloody, or it's done in private, maybe
it looks like an accident.  A couple of times, I had to make a personal
statement in front of a family.  I never liked those jobs, But this is
sidetracking me.
 
    Some years ago, I was contacted to perform a very unique
job.  To me, it was just another mark.  The world, well, they had a
different opinion, but that really wasn't my concern.
 
 
 
...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---...
 
 
 
    The year was 2235.  Back then, the United Earth Government
was still around.  Although I didn't know it at the time, I was about
to bring it to its knees.  Of course, the UEG was already having
problems.  Nobody from the UEG had spoken to South America since Diego
Garza and his troops had beaten them back in 2196.  The United States
was, at that time, considering secession as well.  It seems they
weren't happy with what they saw as the socialist tendencies of the
UEG.  Anyway, that's what was going on at the time.
 
    At that time, I did business through a layered-security Web
site.  The Interplanetary Web was growing, even then.  Of course, in
2235, we hadn't traveled out of the solar system yet, so the Web wasn't
yet interstellar.  Not that it mattered; I wasn't about to work for
someone who wasn't even human.
 
    It was March 6, I think.  I received cell-mail from an
organization calling themselves the Lion Consortium.  I'd heard of them
before, they were into all manner of illegal things.  Anyway, they were
referred by a very good client of mine, so I began checking them out. 
I set my agent programs to work checking their bona fides.  My agent
program was very thorough.  No matter how good a cover was, my program
always managed to find the flaws.  Until... well, that's another story.
 
    The LC checked out, and so I sent them cell-mail arranging
a meeting.  We were going to meet in an old (abandoned, of course)
warehouse over on Congress street.
 
    I arrived early, around 6:30.  The meeting was set for
7:00, and I wanted to scout the place before they arrived, checking for
ambushes and traps.  They were punctual, at least.  They arrived at
five to seven, a thin, pasty-looking guy with black hair and a
briefcase, and a muscular, short guy with blond hair and a scar on his
right cheek.
 
    I quietly walked in behind them and said, "Good evening,
gentlemen."
 
    Both of them seemed to jump about six inches.  The wiry one
gulped a couple of times, I think to restart his heart, and said,
"Christ!  Where did you come from?"
 
    "Not important," I replied.  "Shall we get down to
business?"
 
    "Very well Mis-" he stopped when I raised my hand.
 
    "I do not use my last name.  Call me Alex."
 
    "All right, Alex.  My name is Michael, and I am
representing the Lion Consortium during this transaction.  All further
contact will be through me."
 
    "Michael, there will be no further contact unless you
decide not to pay me.  This will be the only meeting we will have. 
Now, what is the job?"
 
    Michael seemed a little flustered, but carried on.  "Very
well, let's get to it."  He produced a manila folder.  Inside it there
were three pictures of the target, from different angles, just the way
I like it.  "Our mutual associate told us how you prefer your target
information.  On the back of the first photo is what we could put
together of his schedule."
 
    "Uh-huh.  Who is he?" I asked.
 
    "Senator Burl Charleston, the representative for Canada to
the UEG Senate."
 
    "What's he done?" I inquired.
 
    Apparently the ugly one was impatient.  "You don't need to
know that.  You're a hireling, a mercenary, a fucking -" His voice was
cut short when he found a throwing knife embedded in the wall about an
inch and a half from his ear.
 
    "Listen very carefully.  I am *not* a mercenary.  The Lion
Consortium will have my total loyalty for the duration of this job, and
my silence for the rest of my life.  I am simply an independent
contractor in a particularly tough field.  If we get caught here, all
you get is a $500,000 fine.  I, on the other hand, get the gas chamber,
since assassination is the only remaining crime eligible for capital
punishment.  What that means to you is that I can charge a lot more for
my services.  It also means that I require more information to do my
job properly, and to stay alive.  Now answer the damned question!"
 
    Michael was, I think, still pretty shook by the dagger near
his partner's head.  "Shit, Ricky, keep your mouth shut, okay?"  To me,
he said, "Okay, Senator Charleston and the LC had, shall we say, an
understanding.  Mr. Charleston has now decided to... 'go his own way'. 
The LC is not happy with this decision, and would like all of our other
associates in the Congress, present and future, to be aware of our
methods of handling, 'unacceptable' behavior."
 
    "Fine.  The price will be four million American dollars. 
Don't give me any of that German crap.  Everyone knows that the German
banks are falling apart since the UEG started investigating them."  I
produced an envelope and handed it to Michael.  "Inside you'll find the
account numbers and information you need to make the payment.  Payment
is to be made within 48 hours of successful completion of the job.  Oh,
and one more thing: I wouldn't advise not paying me.  The last guy who
did that took six days to bleed out."
 
    Michael looked a little pale at that, confirming my
suspicion that he was, in fact, a lawyer.  Only a weasel like an
attorney would be involved in something like this without being able to
handle its messier aspects.  He gulped in a little air and replied,
"Right.  How will we know when the job is completed?"
 
    "Watch the news, " I replied.
 
    Ricky finally regained his voice, and said, "How will we
know it's you what done the job?"
 
    "I don't make them look like accidents without a specific
request.  Unless you've hired another person to back me up, about which
you had damned well better tell me, there isn't anyone else gunning for
him."  I stepped right up to Michael, and said menacingly, "Right?"
 
    Michael started sweating profusely.  "Right.  I mean, no,
we haven't hired anyone else."  His tone of voice said otherwise.
 
    I grabbed his tie and tightened ever so slightly.  "Who is
it?  I don't take kindly to liars, Mikey.  Who did you hire?"
 
    "His n-name is Conners," he stuttered.
 
    "Fire him.  If I catch him snooping after my target, I'll
waste him, too, and that will cost you an *extra* two million, just for
the trouble.  I don't need backup.  If I don't complete the job, I'll
either be in jail or dead."
 
    "Whatever you want, Alex, we just thought-"
 
    "Stop thinking, right now.  You don't have the brainpower
for it.  Thinking on this job is my responsibility.  This meeting is
now concluded."
 
    Michael stuck out his hand to shake.  I just looked at him
funny, turned and walked away.  He called after me, "Don't you want to
shake on it?"
 
    I responded, "This deal was sealed when I handed you the
envelope.  Just remember what I said about not paying me, Mikey.  It's
not a good career move.  Good day."  And I left, smoothly, and quite
calm.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    Normally, it would have been difficult to track a target
such as this one, getting to know his routine and firming up his
schedule.  In this case, however, it was ridiculously easy.  The moron
actually posted his schedule to the Web.  I spent three days following
him anyway, just to prove to myself that what he posted was, in fact,
the truth.
 
    After I had finished recon, I decided that the best place
for the hit was the Senate floor.  For the next step in planning, I had
to see it, though.  So, I took the tour.
 
    Back in those days, the Congressional Building was
completely open.  They even gave tours while the Senate was in
session.  The day I went through, Charleston was sitting there in his
seat.  The Senate floor was, stupidly, arranged in a pattern to match
the position of the continents.  Some moron had thought the symbolism
was important, and no one had told him it was impractical, so they went
and did it.  This meant that Senator Charleston sat in the left front
of the room.  After carefully noting his position on the floor, I left
the tour.
 
    I headed up to the roof of the Congressional Building. 
There was no security here, either.  These people had no notion of how
vulnerable they were.  I guess it had just been too long since any of
the world leaders had been threatened.
 
    Up on the roof, I looked around, taking notice of possible
sites.  I made a tentative choice, but took pictures of everything. 
Often my first impression had turned out to be wrong.
 
    After getting the pictures, I headed back to my hotel.  I
linked into my system back home, and entered the information.  The
computer took about two seconds to give me a reply.  It turned out I
was right; the Epsilon Indi Insurance Building was the best overlook
site.  Now I could work out a full plan.
 
    An hour later, I had all the details worked out.  It was
close to the end of the day, but I caught the last tour group running
through the Congressional Building.  I hid out in the restroom until
the building was closed up.
 
    Here again, security worked in my favor.  There was only
one roving guard.  After timing him for three rounds, I figured I had
at least half an hour to do my work.
 
    This was more time than I needed by a long shot.  In order
to use a laser-pulse rifle, you've got to drill a hole through the
window so that the first shot will go clean.  The computer had given me
three prime positions, and, luckily, all three could be reached from
the platform running around the Senate floor.
 
    It took me only twenty-two minutes to drill all three
holes.  They were each about a centimeter in diameter.  These were
small enough that they would go unnoticed for a day, probably. 
Certainly they wouldn't have time to fix them before I had my
opportunity.
 
    Having completed my task, I moved swiftly back to the
restroom.  I was counting my blessings so far, since the last time I'd
had to do it this way, I was hanging from the ceiling for an hour.  I
was almost caught that time, too.  Anyway, once I got back to the
restroom, I just waited for the building to reopen, and walked out with
the first tour group.
 
    From the Congressional Building, I headed down the street
to the Epsilon Indi Insurance Building.  I wasn't expecting security
here, and there wasn't any.  I had a clear path right up to the roof. 
And this was where things went to hell.
 
    As I was about to open the door to the roof, I heard
someone shuffling about.  I drew my sidearm, set down my weapons case,
and gripped the door handle.  Yes, back then there were still some
places that had old-fashioned door handles, instead of the modern
sensor doors.  Anyhow,  I quietly turned the handle, thanking the gods
that it had been well maintained, and so it didn't squeak.
 
    With the door open halfway, I could see the target.  He was
standing facing away from me, carrying what appeared to be an old
fashioned firearm.  *What kind of an anachronism is *this* guy?*  I
knew immediately it had to be Conners.  And that I had just made an
extra two million dollars.
 
    I stepped out onto the roof, and let the door slam shut
behind me.  Conners nearly leapt out of his skin as he spun around to
face me.
 
    "You're Conners, I presume," I said.
 
    "That's right.  You must be Alex."
 
    "I told them to fire you.  I don't need backup."
 
    "Hey, look, nobody said anything about it to me.  I've got
as much right to this target as you do."
 
    "Not hardly,"  I said.  "You are way out of your league
here, boy.  I'm going to do you a favor."  And with that, I shot him
straight through the heart.  His body slumped to the ground as his
heart was blowing away in the wind, vaporized by the force of a
laser-pulse pistol on full power.  I built all my weapons myself, and I
was very good at it.
 
    I really didn't need the hassle of disposing of Conners,
but I figured that issue could wait until after this job was
accomplished.  Actually, I figured if I just left the body there, it
would be perfectly fine.  Anyway, back to the hit.
 
    I had three hours to wait for Charleston to show up, so I
set my alarm, and sat down to wait.  I must've dozed a little...
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
...Suddenly, I was back in Brazil, snaking my way through the rain
forest on a covert mission.  It was after the South American war was
over, and the UEG was trying to mount an insurrection against the new
government.  I was leading a small band of elite soldiers, moving
against a military installation.  I signaled to the troops to fan out.
We'd advance on them along a wide front.  All of a sudden, all hell
broke loose.  We ran upon a sentry force on patrol, and they opened
fire.  Half of my men went down without firing a single shot.  There
was complete chaos as the men tried to retreat under heavy fire.  My
communications sergeant, not five meters from me, stood into fire from
a MEP cannon, and dropped dead, his body's nervous system completely
shorted out.  The blast was so strong, that I felt the effect of it,
and my left arm was tingling.  I backed away slowly, trying not to be
seen.  It was far too late for stealth.  They were using infrared and
human-detect sensors, so we didn't have a chance.  I turned and ran as
fast as my legs would carry me.  My foot hit a rock, and I fell
headlong down the path.  My head hit another rock, and I was woozy as I
turned over, ready to get up.  There in front of me was the biggest
damned gun I'd ever seen packed by a grunt.  He raised the weapon, and
thumbed the power-up switch...
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    ...I bolted upright with a start.  My alarm was going off,
and it occurred to me just how much it sounded like the power-up of
that gun so many years ago.  I had only twenty minutes before the
senator was due to speak.  Just enough time to get ready.
 
    I set my gun up on its tripod, and used the sights to look
for my target.  His senate seat was empty.  The TV system on my wrist
computer showed he wasn't speaking yet.  So, he must not be in the
building yet.  That was good news.  Things were back on track now.
 
    I waited for him to show up for the next twenty minutes. 
And the fifteen after that.  Finally, I saw him on my wrist computer
heading straight to the podium.  No chance at a shot before the speech,
and I couldn't see the podium from my vantage point.  

    I watched the speech on my TV system until he was almost
finished.  Then I turned it off and focused in on my target area.  But
it was no use.  Senator Charleston walked right back out of the Senate
chamber, never entering my target profile.  I could have shot him in
the foot as he passed, but I'd been hired to kill, not to maim.
 
    *Damn.  Now what?  I've got a still-living target, a
corpse, and some pretty obvious evidence of my attempt.  Damn damn. 
What do I do to clear this up?  How do I handle this?  Damn, damn,
damn, damn, damn.  Wait!  I can use this dipshit's gun.  *I knew how to
operate a firearm from our weapons history classes at Annapolis.  I was
fully versed in using this completely obsolete weapon.  Though I'd
never handled one before, the scope on it was good, and I figured I
could get close enough without too much trouble.
 
    I took his rifle, and lined up the scope with the area of
glass where my holes were.  I knew the bullet would shatter the glass
going through it.  I took careful aim and fired twice in rapid
succession.  I had to shoot twice to make them think it was an actual
assassination attempt, rather than what it was.  I had just woken a
sleeping giant, and I had to move fast, or I'd get caught.
 
    As I packed up my gear, I was rubbing my shoulder.  *How in
the hell did they use those things?  That recoil nearly took my
shoulder off!*  I headed down to the third floor of the building. 
There were empty offices here, and so I slipped into one.  Disabling
the video on the phone, I pulled out my voice-synthesizer.  I could
sound like Senator Charleston with this thing if I wanted to, but right
now I just needed to sound Swiss.  I dialed the military guard command
center for Geneva.
 
    "Watch Center.  Please state ID code for the record."
 
    "DX7-88I24K3Z,"  I replied.  The number was a complete
fabrication, but it followed the proper pattern.  I could only hope he
wouldn't check the number right away.  He didn't.
 
    "State the reason for your call."
 
    "There's been an assassination attempt at the Congressional
Building.  I caught a sniper on the roof of the Epsilon Indi Insurance
Building.  I popped him, but I think he got off his shots first.  I
don't know if there are any casualties."  This little speech, blurted
out as fast as I could go, broke through the Watch Officer's
lackadaisical attitude.
 
    "What the-  Wait one, I'm logging on my supervisor."  I
knew at this point he'd run the check on the ID, so I hung up.  I now
had about three minutes to get out of the building.  I only needed one
and a half.  By the time the local guards arrived, I was halfway down
the next block.  I calmly turned into the lev-tram station, and boarded
the next transport.  I had a lot to consider, but it could wait until I
was back in the States.  I caught an SST sub-orbital home, and was in
my office not an hour after the failed attempt.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    Back in my office, I ran through the failed operation in my
head.  *Was there anything I could have done differently?  Would a
different position have helped?  Did I leave any clues behind that
could lead back to me?*  This last question was the most critical, and,
unfortunately, the one I couldn't answer.  I hadn't done so
deliberately, and if I had done so accidentally, I wouldn't know about
it until the Investigations Bureau busted in my door.  So, I moved on
to the next step.
 
    "Computer, target is Senator Burl Charleston.  Prime chance
is no longer an option.  List remaining options in order of likelihood
of success, and safety."  I'd written this computer program myself, and
it was capable of doing research and collation a million times faster
than I could.  It took half a minute to pop out an answer.
 
    "No option fulfills both criteria."
 
    *Well, shit.  *"Very well.  List options in order of
safety."
 
    "One: destroy aircraft with target onboard.  Two: Destroy
residence with explosive device.  Three: Rifle shot at residence. 
Four: Anti-personnel explosive.  Five: Close in pistol shot.  Six: Hand
to hand.  End of options list."
 
    *Crap.  I don't like any of those options.  The plane is
out; it's simply too hard to hit one.  I scouted his residence during
recon, and any maneuvers done there are a suicide mission.  Out of the
remaining options, the only one I am likely to survive is the
anti-personnel explosives, so that's what I'm stuck with.*
 
    You have to understand that planting explosives on someone
requires very close-in work.  I hated close-in jobs.  The only thing
that made this safer than a straight shot to the head was that
explosives could be placed on a timer, or triggered remotely.
 
    The question of how to take him out this way plagued me for
a full day.  After running through all the info I had on him, I finally
came up with an answer.  Along with being the distinguished senator
from British Columbia, Charleston was also head of the oversight
committee for the UEG Investigations Bureau.  All personnel connected
to the IB wore a special wrist computer.  The Chronomex Mark 46 Type 4
security clearance device was an integral part of his wrist computer. 
This device was used to allow clearance into restricted facilities. 
When approaching a security checkpoint, the device emitted a radio code
that identified the wearer.  This is useful because the electronic
signal was strong enough to activate a detonator, if it was in close
enough proximity.  This plan would work only because Charleston was
slightly abnormal, in that he wore his computer on his right forearm
instead of the left, like most people.
 
    Once I'd figured out how to detonate the explosives, I had
to decide how to deliver them.  Checking through his schedule, I found
that he had an IB oversight meeting the next day at 4:00 PM in the IB
headquarters building.  There was a "press the flesh" opportunity at
1:00 PM that day as well.  I decided I would be there.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    There was a huge crowd gathered outside the Congressional
Building that day, which is where the photo-op was taking place.  I
struggled to get to the front of the crowd without being too
conspicuous.  This is difficult when you're in Switzerland, and you
stand 5' 4" tall with jet black hair.  However, back then the Swiss
were polite to foreigners, and they let me through the crowd easily.  I
reached the front row, and waited nervously.  *What if this doesn't
work?  What if he doesn't come this far?  What if I get caught?  What
if, what if, what if?*
 
    At 1:00 sharp, Charleston exited the Congressional Building
to the uproarious applause of the crowd.  *Boy are they going to be
disappointed.*  He proceeded down the line, shaking hands and
exchanging meaningless pleasantries with the crowd.  My hand was
sweaty, and I worried that the explosive would slip out from underneath
my fingernail too soon. 

    When he was about five feet from me, he was interrupted by
one of his aides, who took him a few feet from the line.  *Oh, shit! 
What if he doesn't come back?  Calm down, calm down.  We've done
nothing wrong to this point.  There is no reason for them to suspect
us.  Let's just keep calm, because we'll have another opportunity if
this one fails.*  Whenever I'm under stress, my mind kicks into "we"
mode.  It's a defense mechanism I learned in the Marines.
 
    Anyway, I needn't have worried, for he shooed away the
aide, and came back to the line, shaking hands and spouting drivel.  As
he reached for my hand, I made sure to make eye contact.  I gripped his
hand with both of mine, making sure the pressure in my right hand was
enough to mask the fact that my left hand was quickly placing three
grams of a special-mix explosive inside the band of his wrist
computer.  I blathered something pointless about his chances for
election, and then he was gone.  I looked after him for a few moments,
and then got the hell out of there.  Close in work scares the shit out
of me, and I needed a drink.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    I got my drink on the sub-orbital back to the States. 
Actually, I got three of them, and by the time we landed, I was quite
mellow.  I took a lev-tram back to my office to sit and wait.  It was
now 1:30 in France, where the IB headquarters building is.  The IB had
taken over the old Interpol office in Lyon.  I settled into my chair to
relax and wait for 4:00.
 
    Time moves very slowly when you are waiting for something. 
I spent the next two and a half hours fidgeting, pacing, and drumming
my fingers.  When I'm on a job, actually in the field, my concentration
allows me a surfeit of patience.  However, back in my office, with no
threat around, patience was as elusive as a Martian lobster.
 
    Finally, at five to four, I tuned in PRES-TV, a temporary
comm channel set up to follow the activities of the candidates.  I
focused in on Charleston's section, enlarging it to full screen, and
getting audio.
 
    He pulled up to the UEG-IB HQ at 3:57, local time.  He
stepped out of his car, and used his tardiness to duck questions
relating to changes to the UEG charter he had promised the Americans. 
He approached the security gate, and raised his wrist to type in his
access code...
 
    And promptly vanished.  There was an exceedingly loud
"Wumph", and a brilliant flash of light.  The cameraman for PRES-TV was
out of range of the explosion, but the camera still rocked from the
compression wave.  As the camera steadied, it was obvious that the
senator was no more.  Neither were his aides.  A couple of reporters
also seemed to have gotten it, but that didn't trouble me greatly; they
only made my job harder, anyway.
 
    The job completed, I sent cell-mail to the Lion Consortium
to confirm the job's completion.  Then began the waiting.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    I waited for six hours.  Then eight hours, twelve,
twenty-four, and finally a total of forty-eight hours passed.  I had a
policy that I would wait no longer than two days for payment.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    "Hello?"
 
    "Michael.  This is Alex.  The Lion Consortium has failed to
tender payment for services rendered.  You and I will meet at the
original location to discuss the matter.  Come at the same time, and
bring only one other individual.  This is a recorded message, so don't
bother jabbering at it.  Good-day."  Click.
 
 
 
-----     

    Michael brought Ricky with him.  This was perfect, as I
needed a "message", and a messenger.
 
    "Pay better attention this time, Rick.  Alex snuck up on
you last time."
 
    I dropped quietly down from the ceiling on a grav-line. 
"And I did it this time, too."  Again, both men seemed ready to hit the
ceiling.  "Drop the zapper, Ricky, or you're dead meat."
 
    Having little choice with my pulse-rifle pointed at his
head, he dropped the stun-gun.  *A criminal with a non-lethal weapon? 
What's this world coming to?*  Of course, back then the UEG had made it
so that any crime carried out with a lethal weapon had a much stiffer
penalty.
 
    "The Consortium has failed to follow instructions on two
counts, Michael.  First, you did not fire Conners, and I was forced to
eliminate him.  Second, I have not been paid according to the
instructions you were given.  Why is this?"
 
    "Alex, I tried to tell them-"
 
    "Shut the fuck up!  Gods you are a wimp.  I didn't ask you
what you told them.  I asked why they didn't follow instructions."
 
    "They felt that you had bungled the job, what with missing
the first time, and killing Conners, and-"
 
    "I *told *you I would kill Conners.  As to missing the
first time, that is not in the least bit unusual.  Some jobs are harder
than others.  And ultimately, the target was dispatched.  Therefore,
you may tell your bosses this for me:  they now owe me six million
American dollars.  No, that's not accurate."  I pulled out my pistol,
aimed it at Ricky, and fired.  His heart vaporized just like Conners',
and he slumped to the floor.  "The amount is now eight million
dollars.  Tell them that I will wait twenty-four hours.  After that,
one member of their syndicate dies every twenty-four hours until I get
paid, and for each one I have to kill, I will require an additional two
million dollar payment for my trouble.  Oh, and one more thing, Mikey. 
Just to make sure you're a motivated counselor, you will be among the
first to die."
 
    "For Christ's sake, why?"  He nearly screamed.
 
    "Because I said so, and because it makes me certain that
you will plead the case most effectively.  Good bye."
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    Their twenty-four hours came and went.  No payment.
 
    "Hello?"
 
    "Mikey, it's Alex.  I have not been paid yet."
 
    "I'm sorry Alex, I couldn't convince them.  Please, you've
got to understand-"
 
    "There is nothing for me to understand, Mikey.  The first
target will be dead within the hour.  The price is now ten million
dollars.  Oh, and Mikey?"
 
    "Yes, Alex?" he stammered.
 
    "Don't step outside, okay?"
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    I'd been trailing my first target for the better half of
the day.  He was just a runner for them, but I liked to start small,
and work my way up.  No need to risk my life unnecessarily if they'd
get the point without it.
 
    As the runner came out of the night club he'd gone into, to
deliver drugs, or money, or whatever the hell they were into, he turned
to walk back up the street past me.  I was across the street in my car,
facing the direction he was now walking.
 
    I pulled out my spring-dart gun.  I loved these little
babies.  If I'd invented this puppy, I'd not have had to work like I
did.  Anyway, I loaded a spring-dart into the gun, and took aim.  This
particular dart contained four grams of the same explosive I'd used on
the senator.  I needed more because, while good, spring-darts aren't
all that accurate, and I didn't want to risk a second shot.
 
    The dart left the gun silently, as always, and struck
home.  I didn't need the extra gram.  His body vaporized instantly,
with a sound not unlike the sonic booms coming off the sub-orbitals and
the inbound spaceliners.  Nobody had witnessed the event, and they were
likely to write off the sound.  I boogied out of there anyway, not
wanting to be in the area in case someone did come looking.
 
 
 
-----
 
 
 
    Well, to cut out a lot of repetition, I had to kill three
more people, including one of their operation managers before I found
$16 million American in my accounts.  Along with a note of apology in
my cell-mail.  I guess they didn't want me to hold a grudge.
 
 
 
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    Ten years later, and the United Earth Government has
fallen.  The United States seceded from the UEG when they didn't get
the concessions that Charleston had offered them.  The American
Alliance is now the strongest power on the planet, and soon the Solar
System, when UniSol gets spun up.  That's not my business, though.  I'm
still just an agent in an especially tough field.
 
    My chosen field is a little bit different now, though. 
With the change in political climes, I decided it was time to come in
from the cold.  When the American Alliance declared an amnesty for
those willing to fight against the UEG, and with my daughter just
turning twelve, well, I decided it was time to quit while I was ahead. 
I never did tell them about all the jobs I did; that was part of my
agreement with them.
 
    It's time to go back to work; the Director doesn't like us
to take long lunches.  Me?  I'm Special Agent Alex - that's *Alexandra*
- Monroe, Special Agent, Anti-Terrorism Division, Alliance Bureau of
Investigations.
 
 
 
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