The ever-present rain beaded on the lens of the scope. The crosshairs centered on a heavy-set, bearded man sat at a desk, typing a memo or some correspondence on the monitor of his workstation. He reached across his desk to touch a button, his mouth working at some word or another.

The door opened and another man walked in and sat down. This one was a very thin, almost skeletal, looking fellow. His waxy skin had a film of sweat that glistened in the artificial lighting in the office.

“Rogov, we're on standby. I’ll patch you in on the audio.”

“That’s a go. Waiting for your cue, Sirjihan.”

The ear-piece fuzzed in and out then I heard dialogue that synched in with the lip movements.

The heavy fellow was talking;

“…and you said that you have evidence that someone has been skimming funds from the master account?”

The thin one reached in his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

“That’s right, Mr. Feydrach. The figures here prove that there is a miniscule, yet significant amount taken from each transaction. Only .0020c per transaction. But when we are talking 100,000+ transactions per hour, well…if you do the math, which I have done, it can be a pretty astronomical figure.”

“I see. Well Cox, you’ve done a good job with coming to me about this. Have you told anyone else about what you have found?”

“No, sir.”

The radio chimed in;

“This is it. You’re a go for your shot. Anytime.”

Feydrach casually reached into his desk. The blue-steel glint of a FEN 603 was in his hand as he pulled it out of the drawer. He still spoke as he drew the weapon.

“That’s good, Cox. You’re an admirable employee. I’ll see that you are rewarded for this.”

He began to raise the gun up toward him.

That was all the cue that I needed.

I had the crosshairs trained on his head, drift and windage were compensated for, all that was left…was…to…squeeze…”phifft” …the trigger. Feydrach’s head lolled backwards as a jet of blood sprayed from the front of his neck. He toppled forward and to the right and then slid out of the chair with a sickening shudder.

Cox was splattered with the man’s blood and let loose a scream that shocked my ears through the wire that he was wearing. Sirjihan switched on the over-mike on the wire.

“Mr. Cox. Mr. Ben Cox. Please calm down. You are safe. The danger is past.”

Just then, Sirjihan, Misty and Grandpa walked in. Grandpa began to check Cox over, to make sure that the poor fellow wouldn’t have a heart attack. Misty tagged the body and Sirjihan waved me over.

“Rogov, that’s a wrap. Come on over and we’ll finish up. Over.”

“That’s a go, Sirjihan. Rogov out.”

As I exited the building across from the target location, a small boy with his mom looked up at me.

“Ma? Who’s that man and why does he have such a big gun?”

The woman looked at me and gave a knowing wink.

“He’s an operative, Pete. In fact, he’s a scout.”

“Weren’t you a scout too, ma?

“Yup. I sure was. In fact, that’s how I met your dad.”

The boy looked up and smiled.

“So, that’s why that man looks so strange. Oh, sorry. Hi dad!”

I looked down at my son, patted his head and smiled.

“Strange, huh? I’ll give you strange, you little rascal!”

With that, I grabbed him and tossed him in the air. He squealed in delight and hugged me after I caught him. Sarah looked at me with that wry smile that always makes my knees weaken.

“So, Pytor. When should you be home?”

“Hopefully, in about three hours. Debriefing, paperwork, all that rubbish.”

She reached over and squeezed my upper arm. The warmth from her hand, took away the chill from being in the rain on that rooftop. But then Sarah knew the business.

“That’s good. Sallow called. They have an operation tomorrow night and they need me.”

“I’m fine with that.”

I looked at Peter;

“Pizza for dinner, tomorrow?”

The boy’s face brightened up with glee.

“Promise?”

I nodded my head and smiled at him. “Scout’s honor!”

“Scout’s honor” he replied.

Just then, Misty keyed in on the headset.

“Ah. A sensitive, family man. Where have they all gone? Sirjihan’s waiting for you. Come on. Before you go, give Petey a pinch for me!”

Misty’s a pal and Peter’s “fairy” ebon godmother (her words, not mine), so I obliged her request. She sat with Sarah when she was in labor. Me, I was on a long scout, at a DN safe house, trying to target a cell leader. She pulled some strings at S.A. to wire the whole thing to me, so I got to “sort of” be there. She’ll always have our thanks for that and many other things.

If she wanted the boy pinched, what else could I do?

The boy yelped and jumped visibly.

“Thanks.”

Peter looked upwards and playfully shook his fist at where he thought Misty was.

I walked off of the elevator and strode past the receptionist. Stares from the office drones came at me from all directions. I filtered out the whispers as I walked by, but a few of them overwhelmed my sense of concentration.

“…how many people has he killed with that thing…”

“…always hated Feydrach, that fat bastard…”

“…he’s so hot! I wonder if he’s available…”

“…smarmy bastard. I bet if he didn’t have that gun…”

Damn civilians. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Oh, well we’re paid to do what we’re told.

I walked into Feydrach’s office. Misty had finished up the preliminaries and was getting Cox’s final statement.

He seemed a lot calmer. I guess Grandpa had given him a shot of something good. That old coot’s damn handy as a medic. He met me as I walked in.

“Good shot, there kid. The bullet severed his spine neatly right at the base of the skull. No brain trauma at all. We’ve bagged his brain and it’s already on its way for processing.”

I gave him a thumb’s up and punched his arm.

“Glad to have your seal of approval, sir.”

“I saw you down there with your boy and the missus. Pretty damn fine woman, that Sarah is. Think she’d give an old timer like me a shot?”

I smiled and tapped him right between the eyes.

“Yup. Right there.”

“Ouch.”

Grandpa; a seventy year-old doctor, who decided late in life that he wanted to be an operative. So, he went to Karma, got a series of muscular and neural implants and then went to Meny for combat medic training. I don’t know what’s more amazing. The fact that he went in or the fact that they took him.

The one thing that I thought was real cool about him was that he doesn’t look like an old man with a young man’s body. They visibly aged everything, so he looks like a 60 year old…a very well preserved 60, who can throw a man my size across a room.

He says that it makes it easier for him to carry a patient out of the line of fire to where he can work on him, safely.

Right. I know better.

Grandpa has and always will have a taste for the young, sweet things. The side effect of the implants was the ability for him to keep up.

The dirty old coot.

I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my innards. He always flirts with Sarah and is always playing magic candy with Pete.

Sirjihan walked over as he was closing a conversation with somebody on the phone. He had a “cat that ate the canary” smile and glanced back at the body.

“Good shot, Rogov. That was necro-vox division on the phone. They got an exceptional reading off of Feydrach’s brain so, we’re going to get a bonus for it being intact. Seeing as it was your shot, you’ll get 25% off the top. You can thank me at the tavern.”

Sirjihan was a small fellow. Very typical I&I sort of guy. Black trench, ear-piece in left ear, oyster always in hand, and able to carry on two conversations at once, without appearing to be distracted by either one.

When he’s on the clock, he’s all business. When he’s off, he’s a rowdy sort. Easily, one of the most randy people that I’ve ever seen. He always has a piece of fluff on the side, stringing them along.

The flavor of the month was this red-headed fashion model for Sigerson AirWair. Nineteen years old, bouncy and curvy and all those other flavors. Legs that would make a pair of wooden blocks tied on with string look sexy. She was a sight to see, the way she hung all over Sirji. Still, he kept ‘em happy.

He continued and spoke louder so we all could hear. “I just got off of the line with Pogue. He logged this one completed and is on his way over for our next one. This time, we all get to do some work.”

He smirked at me, needling me about getting the bonus. Still, fair is fair. He got the last one for finding a lead that netted us a major raid on a skin trade holding location.

The idea is, whomever makes the move that will secure us the BPN, gets a 25% off the top slice of whatever bonus that we got for the job. It’s not always a lot, but it sometimes makes a difference. I’ve got a growing boy at home, so I’m not going to say no to extra money.

Speaking of growing boys;

“Sirji, I can’t do much tomorrow night. It’s my turn with Peter and Sarah’s on a mission.”

“No problem, Rogov. I’m guessing that it will be at least two days before you are needed anyway. Huang, Cherpas and I will handle the first part. Cherpas will be undercover as usual, with me as backup and Huang Il will be doing research.”

“Thanks, Sirji. By the way, Sarah and Petey said ‘hi’.”

Just then, two berks from building security walked in. “Excuse me, Operative Mahandas?”

Sirji looked up;

“Yes, that’s me. What did you need?”

The goon tried to look assertive, determined and firm and handed him a form.

“I need you to sign this form for the damage of the window. This is a violation of the building’s strictures on the use of firearms on company property. In addition, your man there is carrying an obvious piece of lethal weaponry on his person that also violates that stricture.”

Sirji shook his head in trepidation. Useless paperwork almost angered him as much as petty bureaucrats. He reached in his form clipboard and took out a light blue form and stuck it in the berk’s face.

“This, my friend is a DR-43408c form, dated yesterday and signed by…Michael Fordyce, Barton Building, Head of Building Operations and Security…in other words, your boss.”

He then walked closer to the poor idiot. I saw where this was heading. Slaughter of the innocents….

“Now in this section of the form, is a part titled; ‘Proposed action and form of execution.’ This is where I detail what we are going to do and how we plan on doing it. The next line explains what might be damaged in the course of the operation. Note where it says ‘one window pane.’”

He now got in the guy’s face and prepared to drop the boom. Poor sucker.

“Under here is the cost for said ‘pane of glass.’ And next is a line with the box checked saying, ‘expenditure approved.’ And, look at this, it’s initialed ‘MF.’ That’s your boss again, right?”

The guy tried to stutter a response. Sirji wasn’t having it. He began poking the guy in the chest with the clipboard. The “pokes” were driving the berk back against the door jamb. He’d have a nasty bruise in that spot. As for him, his eyes were wide open and he was pretty much in a state of shock over Sirjji’s assault.

“Now, you come in here waiving a form, talking about strictures and pointing at Mr. Pytor Rogov about lethal weaponry. Let me inform you about something, my friends. That rifle in his hands is not a lethal weapon. Mr. Rogov is the weapon. Mr. Rogov can kill you with a stray glance. That rifle is only a pittance of his power. He has performed a valuable service for the people who sign your paycheck. I think that you owe him an apology. Do you agree?”

He then grabbed the poor sap’s chin and moved his head up and down.

“Now, be a good fellow leave us be, will you.”

Sirji turned his back on him and continued with his briefing. Note, he did all of this without once, raising his voice.

Sometimes, it’s fun to be an operative….

Next

"HEED THE WORD OF THE BROTHER!"
Comments to Beryl Turner
Freelancer for hire and Chairman of the El Lefé Cartel.
Fiction, technical writing, and Game-Related writing my speciality. I also swing a mean sword and I'm a damn good shot, to boot.
www.enteract.com/~milenko/cartel.html
www.chicagogamecon.org

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