The Infiltrators (15 page)

“Well, what makes you think I know a
darn thing about Smokeless Green?”

“It’s a hunch more than anything.
There’s this guy—”

Harold was about to explain the strange
visitor at the ranch, his talk of a highly trained people
transporting the Smokeless Green into the country, and let Koksun
know he had overheard a conversation or two between him and Tristan
many years ago, where Koksun discussed things—sabotage, combat,
strategy—he had learned while part of an elite
organization.

“No!” he said almost shouting. “You
start talking. Or I leave you here. You can go back to chasing mice
and lounging around all day.”

“All right,” Koksun said, hostility in
his voice.

“Before Tristan downgraded me to cat, I
was a highly trained Varco agent—the elite organization in Metinvur
responsible for sabotage, combat, etc. We use Smokeless Green
sometimes on missions to give us enhanced stamina, strength,
fighting capabilities, energy, speed. But during training we are
forced to learn how to take it in small amounts and then go days or
weeks without it so that we can resist the drug’s strong
addictiveness. That’s why I was so upset to learn you’ve gotten
yourself involved in that. But I’ve overheard Pitkins talking, and
it’s everywhere, so I’m sure it would be spread around even if you
weren’t involved, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why are the Varco doing
that?”

“I’m stunned that they are. It was
often said that introducing it into surrounding countries and
encouraging laws against it would be the perfect way to spread our
secret influence. Addiction would spread like wildfire, laws would
be completely ineffective at stemming the tide, and in fact its
criminal status would send prices through the stratosphere, causing
rich drug barons to emerge, men whom the Varco could befriend or
take out at their whim.

“All that disorder and corruption would
then make it easier for us to secretly increase our influence in
those countries. There are many routes the operation could take
from there. It could be an ongoing money operation—exporting the
drug surreptitiously to other countries. After all, whenever there
was talk of such an operation, it was clear it would only be done
with seedless Smokeless Green. As long as we retained the seeds, we
could end the project at any time.”

“So why was it never done?”

“There were those who pointed out that
it would only take a few seeds getting mixed in with the powder to
lead to men having access independently of us. In fact, there was
sometimes talk of sending out Smokeless Green seeds but that would
create seedless plants.”

“Why would that be
necessary?”

“Those getting the drug directly from
us could ultimately be tortured by the authorities and lead them to
us. Even though any Metinvur supplier would be using a credible
fake identity from a country besides Metinvur, it was always
understood that any supplier getting the product directly from
Metinvur would have to be protected from law
enforcement.”

“Would that be difficult?”

“Not really. But part of spreading
disorder and corruption required that a kingpin completely
unconnected to the Metinvurs be allowed to emerge. By introducing a
large amount of seeds, it would be possible for a man to create his
own crop and become the top of the food chain. Thus, any
investigation into him would have no chance of leading him to us.
That way, he could be made a scapegoat and become the target of law
enforcement. Having a public enemy was always considered to be an
integral part of spreading disorder and chaos on a massive
scale.”

“But wouldn’t that cause you to lose
the ability to eliminate access to Smokeless Green outside
Metinvur?”

“The plan was always that, if seeds
were released, they would be just enough to allow a man to become
wealthy and a credible threat to the public but not so wealthy that
he would become too difficult to take down.”

“And if someone screwed up and some of
the seeds created plants that were also seed-bearing?”

“That was always pointed out as the
danger with that strategy, and it was made clear that before the
seeds were released they would be rigorously checked by Varco
botanists.”

“And if they screwed up?”

“Well, I guess theoretically it would
be possible for the man who got a hold of those plants to create as
big a farm and as many farms as he wanted, giving himself his own
personal money machine and acquiring riches that would rival the
wealth of sovereign governments.”

“You’ve just described my partner,”
Harold said, with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Good heavens,” Koksun shuddered.
“There’s a war coming that’ll make what happened between Sodorf and
Dachwald look like a spat between two lovers.”

Chapter 20

Pitkins felt now was as good a time as
any to go check on Robert’s progress on the store in Sivingdel. He
found him hard at work in a store full of customers. He noticed
several staff members scurrying around helping people find the
tools and hardware they were looking for.

Is this a sign—given that
the facade for my real business runs smoothly while my real
business can never find enough damn bumps in the road to hop up and
down on?

“Sir!” Robert said with a happiness far
more genuine than that which Righty supposed most bosses were
greeted by. But Robert was a man who had reason to stand tall when
his boss arrived, and thus, it seemed natural enough.

“Got a few?” Righty asked.

“For you, I’m always available, Mr.
Simmers.”

“Let’s go to the back.”

They sat down and Righty got straight
to it.

“How are we doing? Can you show me some
numbers?”

“We’re definitely in the black.
Business is going real well,” Robert responded, pushing over a
sheet of figures.

“Those are from last week. I aim to
have this week’s done Sunday night or Monday morning at the
latest.”

“Let’s see some cash,” Righty said. He
felt it was probably unnecessary, but it couldn’t hurt for even a
young man of Robert’s caliber to be left a bit on his
toes.

Robert went to a vault in the back of
the room, maneuvered a rather lengthy combination, and then
extracted a large bag.

“Divenzoni.”

“Sir?”

“The safe. You’ve got taste, Rob. I
like it.”

Robert blushed. “This is today’s. I go
to the bank once a day. I don’t like letting too much of it
accumulate.”

“Bank deposit slips,” Righty said
calmly.

Robert went through a door, pulled out
a file, and handed it over to Robert.

“I wish people like you grew on trees,
Rob,” Righty said as he looked over the immaculately organized bank
deposits, all with the official seal.

“Here’s for your troubles,” Righty
said, sliding over 20,000 falons in 100-falon bills.

Robert’s eyes nearly bulged
out.

“Now, I want you to know somethin’,
son.”

“Yes, sir?”

“There’s a reason I’m so good with
you.”

Robert was clearly on the edge of his
seat.

“I recognize talent. Not always right
at first, but when I do I try to make sure talent sticks with me.
You’re not only honest and hardworking, you’re smart. And you’ll go
far, if you stick with me. Now, you know your crew, and I don’t, so
you reward them out of that as you see fit. Remember—generosity
brings good luck.”

A quick movement of Robert’s eyes
revealed he planned to store that aphorism away for later
scrutiny.

“But, as with everything, there’s a
catch. Are you ready for a big task?”

“Yes, sir. You name it!”

“I’ve decided to close the store in
Ringsetter. Here, there’s plenty of room to expand, but it’s going
to be a waste of time and money having you go back and
forth.”

“I was thinking that,” Robert said,
then immediately wondering whether he had been too
frank.

“Well, you thought right. You thought
exactly right. I’m too busy right now sniffing out some potential
new locations and negotiating a good price, so I can’t be involved.
Can you take care of it?”

Seeing a hint of doubt in Robert’s
eyes, he quickly added, “If you need to hire more people to keep
the store running here while you go down to Ringsetter and clear
out the store, that’s absolutely fine. As long as you keep this
store running deep enough in the black, I’ll leave the rest of the
details up to you.

“Here’s a sealed limited power of
attorney giving you the right to sell the store in
Ringsetter.”

Righty preempted Robert’s next
question—“Bargain some, but I want that thing sold in a week, even
if you take a loss. You’re too valuable to me to have you dealing
with some relic of the past like that store. This” (he swiveled
around in his chair and pointed around them) “is the future. Here,
in Sivingdel.

“I want to go down as one of the
biggest tycoons this city’s ever seen.”

“I’ll head out today. There’ll be a
skeleton crew while I’m gone, but I’ll leave Jimmy in charge of
hiring some temporary help while I’m gone.”

“As I said, I’ll leave the details up
to you.”

Robert assured him he’d get it done,
and then Righty headed out the door to his horse.

He felt that maybe a horse ride would
be just the thing to clear his mind. He had told Janie he might be
gone for a few days on business. Going to the ranch was out of the
question while Harold and a large chunk of the konulans were out
looking for pholungs.

He had packed some food and a sleeping
bag based on a hunch, and he realized now that he could take his
time and still make it to Pitkins’ dojo for his next lesson. The
time on the road would maybe be just what he needed to clear his
mind.

Once he was out in the countryside, he
whistled and invited a few konulans to join him. Seeing as their
information-gathering capabilities exceeded even that of Harold’s
and that his life depended on their loyalty, it couldn’t hurt to
nurture their friendship a little.

“Anything odd happening in front of
Ethan’s house lately?”

“All’s clear so far. We’ve got twenty
of us taking turns watching it.”

Chapter 21

Pitkins was in a sour mood today.
Koksun had somehow gotten out during the hullabaloo last night, and
Donive had sobbed half the night. Mervin also seemed
gloomy.

Pitkins, aka The Serpent Slayer,
ex-general of the elite Nikorians, had been unable to keep the
house cat from escaping.

But his mood turned downright rotten
when he saw the handwritten note left underneath a rock on the path
he took from his property near the woods.

Dear Pitkins,

Do not fret! Blackie will one day
return. I am his original owner. I have missed him dearly, and I
tracked him here. My wife told me not to return empty-handed, and
she meant it! I’ve heard you’re awful good with a sword, and since
I couldn’t exactly prove Blackie was mine, I thought I had better
just take him.

It wasn’t exactly the most honest way,
but my wife . . . . Blackie is going back to his original home,
where there is much love. I am truly sorry. I will bring him back
one day for a visit. I promise.

Fred

He was seething all the way to the
shop.

When he got there, a curious bag was
left by the door. He opened it, half-worrying he would find
Lookout’s severed head with an apology note from Mr. Fred rambling
about his wife, in which case he planned on making it his life’s
mission to track down Fred and cut him to pieces.

He recoiled in far greater shock when
he saw the bag was stuffed with money, all in large
bills.

Consider this an advance. We’ll be in
touch soon. Keep making swords.

Your admirer

“Well, either Fred’s a guy with money
to burn and an obsession with cats, or this must be National Write
Pitkins A Letter Day!!”