Jennifer Government: A Novel (23 page)

The NRA soldier looked him up and down. According to his lapel, he was a Lieutenant, but John didn’t know how high that was. “And who are you?”

He flashed his ID. “Nike Liaison.”

“Sir, I have no authority to initiate offensives. My orders are to hold this position.”

“Do you have orders to protect the safety of Liaisons?”

“Yes.”

“Then you better follow me,” John said, “because I’m about to go shoot some people.” He didn’t wait to see if he was being obeyed. The Pepsi kid was at his side, like a puppy. “Give me your keys.”

“What?”

“Your keys,” John said. “I’m driving.”

T
he kid was right: the Barchetta was an animal. They blew through downtown London while the kid scrambled for his seat belt and shouted, “Ohhhhh fuck!” when they got too close to other cars.

“Are they following?”

The kid craned his neck. “There’s an NRA truck about three blocks back! But you’re losing them!”

The lights ahead turned red, and John gunned the engine. It was a typical narrow London street, just a single lane of cars in
each direction, so he jumped the curb, scraped between a pylon and a storefront, and bounced back onto the road. The street ahead was clear. He put his foot down.

“John!
This car has no clearance! You can’t drive on the sidewalk, man!”

“How much further?”

The kid had gotten directions from his cellphone; it was an AT&T service. “Right there! Eight-ninety-nine!”

He saw the logo. It was a tall, cream-color building with a lobby encased in plate glass. That suited John nicely.

“NRA still with us?”

“They’re pretty far back, man. Better wait or they’ll miss us.”

“They won’t miss us. Hang on.”

“Oh, no, no—”

John dropped the handbrake long enough to spin the car ninety degrees, then nudged the accelerator. The Ferrari leapt towards the ExxonMobil entrance.

“
Ahhhhhh!”
the kid yelled.

The car hit the curb and bounced, so they were slightly airborne when they plowed into the plate glass. The kid was right again: they had no clearance at all. He caught a glimpse of people running and diving, then they hit something large and un-movable and he was drowning in an airbag.

He couldn’t see, but he got a hand onto the kid’s chest and found his gun. He unlatched the door and tumbled out.

“Are you all right?” a woman said. “Mister?”

“I’m fine,” John said, and pointed the gun at her. She screamed. It echoed in the lobby. “Where are the top executives in this building? Which floor?”

He heard the passenger door open and the kid get out, coughing.

“The thirty-eighth, they’re all on the thirty-eighth!”

“Thank you.” He walked to the elevators. The kid trailed
him silently. John had finally found a way to shut him up. He pushed for an elevator and waited.

The Ferrari was embedded in a huge reception desk, so far in it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other one began. John wondered if anyone had been sitting there.

NRA soldiers entered the lobby, picking their way through the glass. John spotted the Lieutenant he’d spoken to earlier. “Hey!” he called. “Security cameras!”

“What?”

“Go find where they operate the security cameras. I don’t want to leave evidence.”

“Yes, sir!” the Lieutenant said. He was giving John some respect now, all right. The elevator arrived and John entered it. As they rose toward floor thirty-eight, the car tinkled Muzak at them.

The kid held out for another few seconds. “You just
assumed
there was a passenger-side airbag.”

“Too much planning gets in the way of execution,” John said.

“It could have been
my
execution.”

“You’re fine.”

“
And
you took my gun.”

“You said you’d loan it to me.”

“Yeah, well,” the kid muttered.

John said, “You know what makes a successful executive?”

“Dude, I
am
a successful executive.”

“Decisiveness,” he said. The doors slid open. A man in a briefcase was standing there; he raised his eyebrows. John pointed the gun at the man’s leg and squeezed the trigger. It was louder than he’d expected.

“Holy
shit!”
the kid said.

“Also implementation skills,” John said, and left the elevator.

T
he board room was directly ahead, guarded by a single P.A. at a desk. She rose as John and the Pepsi kid approached. “What was that? Was that a shot?”

John pointed the gun at her. “Sit down.”

She sat. The Pepsi kid took the initiative and pushed open the board room doors. Inside, amongst muted lighting and tasteful paintings, were five men and a girl. They were in such enormous, bloated chairs that it was like they were waiting for John to plug them.

“All right,” he said. “Who’s the big cheese here?” Silence.

“Speak up!” the kid shouted.

“Okay,” John said, and cocked his gun at the girl. She screamed and crammed her fist into her mouth. There was something familiar about her, something that tugged at his memory. “Do I know you?”

“No! No.”

He thought she was probably lying, but didn’t have time to pursue it. “Who’s the CEO?”

“I am,” a man said. “I’m Nathaniel ExxonMobil. Let’s talk about compensation.”

“I thought you might be in town, Mr. CEO. I had a feeling.”

“Why don’t you let these people go? You and I, we’ll discuss it like businessmen.”

“Here’s a question for you,” John said. “Did you or did you not commission an assault on the computer network of Shell, a US Alliance company?”

Nathaniel’s eyes didn’t waver. “Yes.”

John shot him. The force rolled Nathaniel and his executive chair back two feet, like a display. The girl started crying.

“Okay,” John said. “Now you fuckers will cease hostile action toward US Alliance. You will acknowledge that your company and your Team Advantage has no ability and no right to
compete with us. This is the new economy, and in it you can’t hope to fuck with us and get away with it. Do you shitheads understand that?”

One of the men closed his eyes and began mouthing a prayer. John almost clocked him just for that.

“Good,” he said. The Pepsi kid held the door open for him.

Jennifer slipped out of Buy’s bed at five, trying to sneak out. When she came out of the bathroom, his eyes were peeking over a pillow, reflecting the light.

“Jennifer?”

“Hey.” She sat on the bed. “I gotta go.”

“Oh.”

He looked cute: all disheveled and disoriented. On impulse, she stroked his hair. “So you want to see me again, or what?”

“Hmm…” he said. “You know, I think I do.”

“You sure?”

“You want me to prove it?” He threw back the covers.

She looked at her watch. She looked at Buy.

“You know you want to,” he said, and she couldn’t argue with that.

T
he house was spotless when she returned, and the babysitter was curled up on the sofa. She really was good value, Jennifer thought. She would have to start tipping her more.

She tiptoed down the hall and peeked in Kate’s bedroom. Kate was asleep, snuggled up to a giant frog. Jennifer crouched down and kissed her. “Morning, sweetheart.”

Kate’s eyes opened, then squeezed closed. “I’m tired…”

“It’s time to get ready for school.”

“I don’t want to.”

“And yet,” she said.

Kate screwed up her face. “Mommy, I hate it when you say, ‘And yet.’”

“Come on, sleepy. Today’s the big day, remember? We hit the kennels tonight.”

Kate’s eyes opened. “Really?”

“Yep. I promised, didn’t I?” She kissed her cheek.

A
t work, she spent half an hour trying to find someone to talk to in the L.A. office before she checked her e-mail and found a message. It read:

She hit the top of her desk, then kicked the table. That didn’t help, so she grabbed the monitor and shook it.

“Whoa,” Calvin said, entering. “Bad time?”

“He’s gone to London!”

“Who? John?” He sat beside her and read the e-mail. “Ah, crap.”

“How are we going to get to London?”

“I don’t know. I wonder…” He looked at his watch. “The brass called a briefing this morning. Something happened in the British Territories, some kind of corporate dispute. Maybe it’s related.”

“A dispute?”

“Let’s walk and talk. Oh, and I called you in to attend this, okay? That’s why you’re here, not because you’re too pigheaded to stay home.”

“Mmm,” Jennifer said. “Okay.”

They entered the canteen, which was already full of agents, and took a couple of seats at the back. Elise was up front with more top management than Jennifer had ever seen in one place. Their uniforms gleamed.

“Maybe John
was
involved,” she said. “Maybe he got hurt.”

“I have to say, you’re looking much perkier,” Calvin said. “One day of rest, you’re a new woman.”

“I guess you were right about me needing time off,” she said. “I guess you really nailed the source of all my problems.”

He looked at her.

“Or,” Jennifer said, “maybe I got lucky.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Jen! Good
work
. Anyone I know?”

Elise said, “Let’s get this moving, please. First, let me introduce our guests from Head Office…”

“A lady never tells,” she said. “But it was Buy Mitsui.” “Well
done.”

Elise said, “If we can have
everyone’s
attention.”

People turned to look at them. “Sorry,” Calvin said.

A man had taken the podium; he had slides. “Thank you. The thing we want to get across here is that this was a measured, blatant violation of law. They knew what they were doing, both T.A. and US Alliance. They decided they could get away with it. We’re going to prove them wrong.

“Team Advantage has already admitted it sent a strike team into Shell. They say it was ordered by Nathaniel ExxonMobil, who is now deceased, without the company’s knowledge or approval. The Government doesn’t consider this explanation acceptable.