Jennifer Government: A Novel (26 page)

“What do you want me to do? Call them up, tell them it was official US Alliance business?” He forged a path toward the corporate doorway.

“Would you?” the kid said. “Man, that’d be great.”

“I’m not calling any fucking rental company,” John said.

“Oh.”

The doorway opened into a long corridor. It was less crowded here, and he spotted Gregory Nike. He sighed. He didn’t have much use for Gregory these days, either. But Gregory was already beckoning him. John smiled and made his way over.

“John, we were about to go in. You know everyone here?”

Gregory was talking to a couple of big US Alliance cheeses, including Alfonse, the CEO. “Of course. Nice to see you again, Alfonse.”

Alfonse nodded. Alfonse and John had had several interesting conversations over the last two days. Alfonse had taken a personal interest in him.

The lights dimmed. “We’d better get in there,” Gregory said. “All the best, gentlemen.” He put his hand on John’s arm.

“John comes with us,” Alfonse said.

“Yes, I’m sitting with Alfonse,” John said. He looked down at Gregory’s hand.

Gregory released it. “I see.”

“It’s really quite an honor. For Nike, I mean.”

Gregory said nothing. Then he leaned in close. “You have a bad habit, John, of forgetting where your loyalties lie.”

“Mmm,” John said. “That is something to think about. Excuse me.”

The Pepsi kid attached himself to John’s elbow. “We’re sitting with the big boys?”

“I’m sitting with the big boys.”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you have friends at Pepsi to play with?”

“I thought we were a team, man,” he said, wounded.

“So now you know otherwise,” John said.

T
hey entered the main hall, the quaintly named House of Commons, and it was like walking into a thunderstorm. There
were five hundred people seated, maybe more, plus camera crews and clusters of computers. The room was a huge
U
, with chandeliers and balconies and a thickset table in the center. No one was seated there yet: it sat bare as an empty stage.

Most of the US Alliance contingent took outer seats, leaving just Alfonse, a woman, and John to approach the central table. As the mass recognized them, the noise level rose even higher. John sat and poured himself a glass of water. His hand trembled.

“Alfonse,” someone said. John looked up. Another contingent had arrived: a woman and two flunkies. “I’m Holly T.A.”

The table was too wide to shake hands across. Alfonse rose a fraction from his chair, nodded, and settled back down. “Good morning, Holly.”

She smiled. Holly T.A. had sharp green eyes, John noticed. She said, “Thank you, Alfonse.”

Holly sat, but one of the flunkies, a girl, stayed rooted to the floor. She was staring at John. She made a strange sound in her throat, like a whimper.

“Violet, sit,” Holly said. The girl sat. She turned her head away from him.

It was the girl at ExxonMobil, John realized, who had seen him shoot Nathaniel. But she had been familiar even then… “Ah.” He felt like an idiot. It had been dark, of course, and on the other side of the world, but even so. He never should have forgotten this face. “Now I remember. Hello again, Violet.” He cocked a finger and thumb at her.

She jumped in her chair, which was amusing, and the other flunky had to restrain her. Holly whispered to both of them.

John relaxed. Now he didn’t feel nervous at all. He felt ready to do his job.

At first, he thought the trail of people entering the House were common spectators, or maybe journalists. He should have realized: cheap suits and outdated ties were practically Government
signatures. There were maybe fifteen people marching toward the table, and John shook his head. Typical Government, using so many people to do a job the private sector could do with three.

He didn’t know which was the President, but a man emerged from the group and strode forward to shake Holly’s hand. He was weathered and kind of rough-looking, like an old cop. Holly rose and clasped his hands.

There was applause from the gallery, and a barrage of flash photography. John almost snorted. If they wanted an image to capture the spirit of this meeting, shaking hands wasn’t it.

The President spoke a few words to Holly, then rounded the table and shook with Alfonse. More clapping and flashbulbs. “Thank you for coming, Alfonse,” the President said. “I look forward to resolving this awkward situation.”

“As do I,” Alfonse said. “As do I.”

John thought,
What a load of shit
.

The President took his seat at the head of the table. US Alliance and T.A. were facing each other across the sides, which John wasn’t happy about. This whole event suited the Government. But that was okay. John was expecting the balance to tip soon.

There were a few minutes of techs running around to mike everybody up, then the President stood. The crowd quieted, and John supposed this whole sorry mess had begun.

Jennifer had been hoping for some free time after landing in London, enough time to, say, track down John Nike and bust his chops. But it was such a long flight from Australia that she and Calvin were among the last agents to arrive, and they were ferried
straight to a warehouse the Government was using as a staging area. She stood in a long line for the communal bathroom, showered, and met with Calvin to report in.

“Ah, Jennifer,” the administrator said. “You’re a squad leader, yes?”

“Really?” she said.

“Sounds like some kind of mix-up,” Calvin said. “A squad leader? With your people skills?”

“Jennifer, receive your riot gear from dispensary, and meet your team in Area D-21.”

She found the dispensary, which had a longer queue than the bathroom, and received more equipment than she’d seen in five years. There was a flak jacket, a helmet, a nightstick, even a shield.

“You need any help getting into all that, gorgeous?” the man behind the counter said.

“Kiss my ass,” she said, which was her tried and tested response to overenthusiastic Government types. Then she noticed the TV behind him. It was broadcasting live from the Government-corporate conference: the picture showed the three US Alliance members. “Shit! It’s John!”

“What?” Calvin said.

She pointed. “John Nike!” She turned to the dispensary man. “Where’s this happening?”

“The conference? Parliament.”

“Calvin,” Jennifer said, “I feel a sudden urge to modify my mission parameters.”

“Jen, we have a job to do.”

“But he’s right
there.”

“If John’s part of the US Alliance delegation, he’ll be there all day. We’ll grab him when we’ve finished the raids. Everybody goes home happy.”

She stared at the TV “Look at him. He’s so
smug.”

“We’ll fix that,” Calvin said. “After the raids.”

S
he met her team: there were five of them and the oldest looked about twenty-three. As the van bumped along a London street they sat quietly and snuck glances at her tattoo. Jennifer wished she had something inspirational to say. She had nothing. She wished Calvin was in her team.

The van halted and the driver banged on the partition. Jennifer opened her mouth and what came out was: “Let’s go!”

They emerged onto a parking lot in front of a gleaming, fifteen-story building. A sign marked it as GENERAL MOTORS. There was even a flag and a wide, green lawn. The sky drizzled light rain. They jogged toward the lobby.

In a way, Jennifer felt bad, busting into such a nice place in full riot gear and scaring the crap out of everybody. But in another, more accurate way, she enjoyed it a lot. She collared a scared-looking receptionist and read out her list of target executives. “Where are they?”

“They’re—different floors. Four, eight, and nine.”

“Three teams!” Jennifer said. “I’ll take level nine. Meet back here.”

“You can’t go up there!” the receptionist said, horrified. “This is private property! You can’t!”

“And yet,” Jennifer said. She hit the stairs. She found her target by striding down the corridor and barking out his name: when a man popped his head out of an office, she cuffed him. It was much easier than she’d expected.

“This is ridiculous! I’m a financial controller! I don’t even deal with US Alliance! You can’t
arrest
me!”

She marched him down the stairs. The rest of her team were already gathered in the lobby, holding executives. Then she saw that a dozen NRA soldiers were pointing semiautomatic rifles at them, and everything stopped being so much fun.

“You! Put down your weapon!”

“We’re the Government,” she said, just in case there had been some misunderstanding. “We are arresting three people on suspicion of murder.”

“No, ma’am. You are on General Motors property and you will comply with GM orders.”

“Team,” she said levelly, “close your helmets and draw your weapons.”

“Do not draw your weapons!” the NRA man barked. They tensed. There were now a lot of guns looking at her.

“Do it,” Jennifer said, and heard them obey: helmets snapping down, holsters being unfastened.

“Put down your weapons or we will fire on you!”

“You don’t want to shoot six Government agents, slick,” she said. “You really don’t.”

“I won’t ask you again!”

“Team, follow me out the door. Fire only if fired upon. Do not release the suspects.”

“You think I’m kidding, lady? My orders are very fucking clear! If you leave with our people, we will take you down!” He pushed the barrel of the rifle into her forehead. It felt hard and very cold. “This is not an exercise.”

Someone whimpered. Jennifer wanted to believe it was one of the NRA, but didn’t think it was. The soldier’s eyes were locked on hers.

She said quietly, “You’d better be very sure your employer can protect you from the Government.”

“I’m very sure.”

She felt her heart twist. To her people, she said, “Let them go.”

The NRA watched them all the way to the van.

“
W
hat is going on?
” she screamed.

“It’s the same everywhere,” Calvin said on the radio.
“Roaming NRA squads, responding within six minutes to calls for help, faster in central London. T.A. are less defended; we’re doing better. Jen, don’t do anything stupid. We’ve already got two agents in the hospital.”

“This was meant to be a show of force!”

“What can I say? Try to hit your next building in under six minutes.”

But her next building was the NRA: only an administrative headquarters, but still, she didn’t like her chances. She had the van park two blocks away and they squatted against the hedge, checking their equipment as the rain soaked through their clothes.

“Helmets down the whole time. Don’t stop for anything. If we run into armed security, abort immediately. You’re not authorized to fire your weapon except in self-defense. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Go!” she said, and they ran, hunched over, for the NRA building. The lobby was crowded but soldier-free; when they burst in, people scattered. She was looking for security guards first and anyone who looked like they could locate her target executives second, but someone else caught her eye: a young man with a sports bag over his shoulder. He was pushing his way out the revolving doors.