arms dealer went on, “there is a shipment of ‘humanitarian items’ for the poor, suffering children of Oman from the generous people of the EU. The ship will leave Marseille in a few days. If my SRI account has grown substantially, a container full of powdered milk also will contain a crate of ten missiles.”
“How substantially?” the Arab asked.
“That is the question, mon ami .”
Chapter Four
“Marin County, wouldn’t ya know.”
The Frenchman snored like a pig. T hat was a good metaphor , Karen, the American that had majored in English, thought. He had sex like a pig, also. At least he had the decency to turn over and go to sleep immediately afterward.
What I’ll do for money , she thought ruefully. But after graduating from Columbia with a student loan obligation just under the national debt, and the government throwing defaulters in jail, and the old rich man who gave her money for her company because she was pretty and willing…well, she just fell into it.
She slipped out of the Western-style bed. Philippe had made the mistake of keeping his luggage in this room and a short search produced his thin, paperback book-sized computer. She went to the bathroom, stopping for her one bag.
The Baathist enclave was really like a fortified hotel in some respects. That morning, she’d flown out of Tel Aviv to Athens and from there to Damascus. She was greeted at the airport by a greasy little man who threw her into the back of an old Mercedes (it burned gas!) and drove her to the enclave. She traveled the road to Damascus laying on the dirty back seat and climbing into a black abaya .
What I’ll do for money , she thought again.
In the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was smeared by the pig’s brutal kisses. Her negligee was soiled and even torn. Karen gave herself a dirty look. What she did for money was unpleasant, and had a few inherent dangers such as disease or freaks. Still, what she was about to do could get her killed. But SRI’s money was too damn good. When that Morgan woman approached her, told her she was going to be called to Damascus, and offered enough money that Karen could vacation for a few years, she’d jumped at the offer.
She put the toilet seat down–the pig had left it up–sat on the lid and pulled her bag onto her lap. From her bag she removed a makeup kit. Turning it over, she pried off the back with her long thumbnail. The assortment of chips was impressive; four were labeled “hack” and about ten were standard data chips.
She chose one of the hack chips at random, slipped it into the appropriate slot, and turned on the computer.
Nothing happened.
She tried another chip, as Morgan had instructed.
Again the computer refused to boot.
“Damn,” she sighed softly. If none of the hack chips worked, she’d have to steal the computer to get her money, and that was very risky.
But when she tried the third hack chip, the computer immediately came on, its screen lit up and it let out a frightfully loud beep.
The screen displayed “wait” then “insert data chip #1”, and when she did the data chip light glowed a cheerful yellow.
“please remove data chip #1 and insert data chip #2,” the screen read and Karen complied. This continued for six chips and the screen displayed “download complete.”
Karen turned off the device and put all the chips back in the hidden compartment in her makeup kit. She flushed the toilet and washed her hands and face. Back in the room she replaced the computer where she’d found it and slid back into the bed, staying as far from the man as possible. She knew he would expect her to be in his bed in the morning.
***
Charlie didn’t like Tokyo and Mitchel’s request for her to come see him had her perplexed. She thought about it while trying to catch a subway from Haneda Airport. Tokyo was too damn crowded. She’d forgotten how bad the subways were, and missed her stop because she was packed in
“How substantially?” the Arab asked.
“That is the question, mon ami .”
Chapter Four
“Marin County, wouldn’t ya know.”
The Frenchman snored like a pig. T hat was a good metaphor , Karen, the American that had majored in English, thought. He had sex like a pig, also. At least he had the decency to turn over and go to sleep immediately afterward.
What I’ll do for money , she thought ruefully. But after graduating from Columbia with a student loan obligation just under the national debt, and the government throwing defaulters in jail, and the old rich man who gave her money for her company because she was pretty and willing…well, she just fell into it.
She slipped out of the Western-style bed. Philippe had made the mistake of keeping his luggage in this room and a short search produced his thin, paperback book-sized computer. She went to the bathroom, stopping for her one bag.
The Baathist enclave was really like a fortified hotel in some respects. That morning, she’d flown out of Tel Aviv to Athens and from there to Damascus. She was greeted at the airport by a greasy little man who threw her into the back of an old Mercedes (it burned gas!) and drove her to the enclave. She traveled the road to Damascus laying on the dirty back seat and climbing into a black abaya .
What I’ll do for money , she thought again.
In the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was smeared by the pig’s brutal kisses. Her negligee was soiled and even torn. Karen gave herself a dirty look. What she did for money was unpleasant, and had a few inherent dangers such as disease or freaks. Still, what she was about to do could get her killed. But SRI’s money was too damn good. When that Morgan woman approached her, told her she was going to be called to Damascus, and offered enough money that Karen could vacation for a few years, she’d jumped at the offer.
She put the toilet seat down–the pig had left it up–sat on the lid and pulled her bag onto her lap. From her bag she removed a makeup kit. Turning it over, she pried off the back with her long thumbnail. The assortment of chips was impressive; four were labeled “hack” and about ten were standard data chips.
She chose one of the hack chips at random, slipped it into the appropriate slot, and turned on the computer.
Nothing happened.
She tried another chip, as Morgan had instructed.
Again the computer refused to boot.
“Damn,” she sighed softly. If none of the hack chips worked, she’d have to steal the computer to get her money, and that was very risky.
But when she tried the third hack chip, the computer immediately came on, its screen lit up and it let out a frightfully loud beep.
The screen displayed “wait” then “insert data chip #1”, and when she did the data chip light glowed a cheerful yellow.
“please remove data chip #1 and insert data chip #2,” the screen read and Karen complied. This continued for six chips and the screen displayed “download complete.”
Karen turned off the device and put all the chips back in the hidden compartment in her makeup kit. She flushed the toilet and washed her hands and face. Back in the room she replaced the computer where she’d found it and slid back into the bed, staying as far from the man as possible. She knew he would expect her to be in his bed in the morning.
***
Charlie didn’t like Tokyo and Mitchel’s request for her to come see him had her perplexed. She thought about it while trying to catch a subway from Haneda Airport. Tokyo was too damn crowded. She’d forgotten how bad the subways were, and missed her stop because she was packed in
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