your balls.”
He chuckled. “You want to wrestle, I got a hundred and thirty pounds and a whole lotta muscle on you, Lewis, plus I’m a trained Navy SEAL killer. You some kinda kung-fu master, you gonna toss me around like a beach ball?”
“Look under the table.”
He bent, looked. Laughed.
“Not much gun,” he said once he’d sat back up. “Little snub-nose like that. Not very accurate.”
“This close, a .38 Special with +P hollowpoints is as much gun as I need. I’d have to try to miss, and that monster piece you carry? By the time you haul it out, I could put five in you, reload, and be halfway through the next cylinder. Even a big strong guy like you would find it passing uncomfortable picking the bullets out of your crotch.”
She didn’t mention that she could shoot well enough with the little snubbie to keep all the bullets on a man-sized target at fifty meters all day long. If he didn’t think the gun was dangerous farther away than under a table? That might be to her advantage someday. A lot of people underestimated how accurate a snub-nosed revolver could be—in the right hands.
“I do like a beautiful woman who talks dirty,” he said. But he didn’t call her “hon.”
This was her show, and if he behaved, he would come away rich, and he knew it. Otherwise, she was pretty sure he’d have already made a move on her. Guys like Carruth thought with their little heads for most things, most of the time. He could blow up a bridge, sink a ship, kick ass, and take names fine, but outside of his narrow range, he wasn’t a thinker. He needed a leader, and he was smart enough to know that much. Which was just what she needed in a lieutenant—not too smart, not too stupid—so she couldn’t complain too much—as long as he knew his place. And that place wasn’t lying next to her in a bed. . . .
“So, what, in the meanwhile?” he asked.
“Stand by,” she said. She stood and dropped a five-dollar bill on the scarred Formica table to pay for their coffee. “I’ll call you on the secure cell.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He gave her a snappy salute, grinning all the while.
He might be a problem eventually, but “eventually” the sun was going to go nova and Earth was going to be turned into a burned-out cinder. Worry about that when the time came.
As she headed toward her car, a politically correct hybrid import, Lewis considered the situation. She had anticipated Net Force’s involvement, of course. General Hadden had co-opted the organization, taking it away from the FBI, for just such problems. And she knew Gridley’s rep—he had been two years ahead of her in school, already the boy wonder, and at this level, it was like playing chess against a master at the top of his game—you didn’t make a mistake and hope it would get by, because it almost never would. But she could handle Gridley. What was important was that they be able to sting another Army base or three, and soon. Once was a fluke. Two or three times, those were selling points. Some terrorist who wanted to make a big statement by knocking over a U.S. Army base and who could get funding? She’d have to beat them away with a stick. . . .
Revenge—and money for doing it? That was as good as it got.
U.S. Army’s MILDAT Computer Center
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
Jay walked down another seemingly endless corridor on his way to see his liaison with the Army’s MILDAT. His escort this time, a buzz-cut trooper with “Wilcoxen” etched on his name badge, led the way. Another boots-on-the-ground reality trip, and why couldn’t they do it in VR? The horse was gone; closing the barn door now wasn’t going to help. You’d think that a computer guy, even an Army one, would be comfortable in VR.
He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, since he was going to have to tell this Captain Whoever that his network had been compromised. There was little doubt that it had been—the military records matched the specs
He chuckled. “You want to wrestle, I got a hundred and thirty pounds and a whole lotta muscle on you, Lewis, plus I’m a trained Navy SEAL killer. You some kinda kung-fu master, you gonna toss me around like a beach ball?”
“Look under the table.”
He bent, looked. Laughed.
“Not much gun,” he said once he’d sat back up. “Little snub-nose like that. Not very accurate.”
“This close, a .38 Special with +P hollowpoints is as much gun as I need. I’d have to try to miss, and that monster piece you carry? By the time you haul it out, I could put five in you, reload, and be halfway through the next cylinder. Even a big strong guy like you would find it passing uncomfortable picking the bullets out of your crotch.”
She didn’t mention that she could shoot well enough with the little snubbie to keep all the bullets on a man-sized target at fifty meters all day long. If he didn’t think the gun was dangerous farther away than under a table? That might be to her advantage someday. A lot of people underestimated how accurate a snub-nosed revolver could be—in the right hands.
“I do like a beautiful woman who talks dirty,” he said. But he didn’t call her “hon.”
This was her show, and if he behaved, he would come away rich, and he knew it. Otherwise, she was pretty sure he’d have already made a move on her. Guys like Carruth thought with their little heads for most things, most of the time. He could blow up a bridge, sink a ship, kick ass, and take names fine, but outside of his narrow range, he wasn’t a thinker. He needed a leader, and he was smart enough to know that much. Which was just what she needed in a lieutenant—not too smart, not too stupid—so she couldn’t complain too much—as long as he knew his place. And that place wasn’t lying next to her in a bed. . . .
“So, what, in the meanwhile?” he asked.
“Stand by,” she said. She stood and dropped a five-dollar bill on the scarred Formica table to pay for their coffee. “I’ll call you on the secure cell.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He gave her a snappy salute, grinning all the while.
He might be a problem eventually, but “eventually” the sun was going to go nova and Earth was going to be turned into a burned-out cinder. Worry about that when the time came.
As she headed toward her car, a politically correct hybrid import, Lewis considered the situation. She had anticipated Net Force’s involvement, of course. General Hadden had co-opted the organization, taking it away from the FBI, for just such problems. And she knew Gridley’s rep—he had been two years ahead of her in school, already the boy wonder, and at this level, it was like playing chess against a master at the top of his game—you didn’t make a mistake and hope it would get by, because it almost never would. But she could handle Gridley. What was important was that they be able to sting another Army base or three, and soon. Once was a fluke. Two or three times, those were selling points. Some terrorist who wanted to make a big statement by knocking over a U.S. Army base and who could get funding? She’d have to beat them away with a stick. . . .
Revenge—and money for doing it? That was as good as it got.
U.S. Army’s MILDAT Computer Center
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
Jay walked down another seemingly endless corridor on his way to see his liaison with the Army’s MILDAT. His escort this time, a buzz-cut trooper with “Wilcoxen” etched on his name badge, led the way. Another boots-on-the-ground reality trip, and why couldn’t they do it in VR? The horse was gone; closing the barn door now wasn’t going to help. You’d think that a computer guy, even an Army one, would be comfortable in VR.
He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, since he was going to have to tell this Captain Whoever that his network had been compromised. There was little doubt that it had been—the military records matched the specs
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