The Paranoid Thief (11 page)

Randolph’s mouth hung ajar.

She walked over to the bed where she patted
his face. “And as we don’t take any medications to render one or the other
incapable of emerging, so there are no lapses in our memories, unless we’ve had
too much to drink. Like last night.” Jill left the bedroom after exposing that
nest of wires, and picked up her shawl lying on the floor just in sight of the
doorway, and headed for the front door calling out, “Oh, uh, do you mind making
dinner tonight?”

“If you don’t mind eating on the couch,”
Randolph called back, reminded of his work scattered about the table.

He put on a robe and moved out of the
bedroom in time to see Jill looking on the cluttered table. “You couldn’t shove
all that into a box?”

“I’d rather not. I've a system in where I
place things so I can put my fingers on something without looking up.”

Jill made a face to his reluctance then
looked at the door, apparently thinking before she made up her mind. “All
right, I’ll have your card keyed into my door. But I don’t want you rummaging
around in my room. And I’ll not have you making any smart-alack remarks,
either. My room is my sanctuary.” With that said, Jill was out the door and
across to hers. “I just remembered
,
I’ve things I need
to get done today, so I’ll be tied up till seven or eight.”

Randolph closed his door after hers closed,
straight across from his. With a shake of his head in wonder, Randolph headed
for the bathroom.
I’ve heard of such
cases, but of course I've never had to deal with one.
He took a shower and
reaffixed his mind on the matter of Mr. Bennett’s payback.

Randolph examined a half-made tool which he
wouldn’t finish out in the open like this, in case of hidden video-cameras in
the walls he had yet to find, and looked up to blink his eyes a few times,
seeing the time above the stove. “Seven?” Randolph exclaimed in disbelief,
“Rats, I should have started dinner an hour ago!” he berated himself. Now
having no time to order up supplies, Randolph rummaged about his kitchen and
improvised with what was on hand.

Later, stirring up a steak sauce on a low
burner, Randolph heard his door open and Jill’s voice calling out to him.

“Randolph, what are you doing in here?
Couldn’t you get in my room?”

Randolph looked over and saw Jill, nose in
the air, enjoying the mingling smells like they were aromatic scents from a
candle.

“Sorry, I lost track of time, and knowing
you don’t cook, I just started it up here.”

Jill approached, now wearing a gray on dark
gray business suit, and took a big whiff over the stove, asking with a smile, “
Mmm
, do I smell real apple pie?”

“That, among other
things.
Come on—every-thing's ready so if you’ll help me carry this lot
and get the doors, we can move to your room.”

Jill did as asked and opened her door, but
then glanced hesitantly sideways at Randolph before allowing him in. If he ever
had any doubts about her being female, they were dispelled at once. For while
Randolph’s apartment was dull browns and white, Jill’s apartment had bright
yellow walls overlooking a medium green rug under a light green couch and chair
set. Still adjusting his eyes to the color change, Randolph saw old-fashioned
frilly white dollies over every armchair and one draped on top an oval mirror
and wooden counter top that stood near the front door. With a quick eye for
wealth out of habit, Randolph estimated this room alone would fetch 50,000
credits easily from an antique dealer, for it was like he’d stepped into a time
capsule of the twenty-first century, all save her holographic videos on the
walls and her very modern but unused kitchen appliances.

“Where in the world did you get all these
antiques?” Randolph couldn’t help but ask, setting his handful of plates on an
all-wood dinette table, protected by two layers of durable plastic sealant.

“Depending on the outcome of our
assignments, Mel grants us a healthy credit account.” Jill glanced his way. She
shrugged, remarking offhandedly, “And why not? It’s not as if he’s losing any
credits.”

Randolph was reminded of what Jill had said
about their life expectancy and understood what she meant without explanation.
After putting her plate down, Jill looked around the room as if she’d never
seen it before and allowed Randolph a glimpse of her true personality.

“Being a military brat, moving every year
or so, I found over time I came to find some stability in my grandmother’s
home, on the rare occasions we were close enough to visit.” Jill smiled with
memories. “I haven’t the room to match the serenity I always felt in her home…”
Trailing off, Jill confided in him with, “It just feels safe to me.” Then
sobering back into her hard as nails personality, Jill gave Randolph a hard
stare, as if to silence any smart-ass remarks, before motioning him to put down
his arm load.

The pair was in the midst of their meal
when Jill’s phone lit up. “Yes, Mel?” she called without getting up.

“Major, I need you and Randolph in my
office.” Mel’s plain-sounding voice fell out of the speaker box.

“Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of dinner?”
Jill said, taking another bite.

For a second or so, Randolph heard nothing
then Mel asked incredulously. “You cooked dinner?”

Jill put her fork down with a sigh of
annoyance. “No, Mel, Randolph did. He’s here with me.”

“In your apartment?”
His tone caused Randolph to look at the phone speaker, then over at Jill.

“Mel,” Jill snapped, “do you need us now or
can it wait?”

“Oh, ah, yes, it’s important. I’ve got an
assignment for you. You’ll need to leave ASAP.”

Randolph looked to Jill, hearing the phone
go silent, and noted she looked worried, biting her lip before wiping her mouth
with a napkin. “Bad news?” he inquired.

Jill pushed her plate aside and became all
business-like. “It means one of the teams has suffered capture, casualties, or
both, and we’re to clean up the mess while finishing their task.”

Without cleaning up, Randolph followed a
solemn Jill out the door to her beckoning, and found himself in Mel’s office
listening to events which he had no control over, and now seamed thrust into without
proper research.

“Mitch and Patrick,” Mr. Bennett was
explaining, “haven’t reported in for some days.” Mr. Bennett handed Jill a
folder, which she opened to inspect as the executive continued without offering
Randolph a similar copy. “Their last correspondence was of normal operations,
as you can see. What they’d been assigned to unravel is why one corporation is
able to sell products cheaper by a third out of China, while the mass markets
are spending twice to triple the amount for the same quality.”

Randolph took note Mr. Bennett refrained
from mentioning China’s new political strives in becoming a world leader by
combining corporations in hostile takeovers and buyouts these past few years.

“So are we to locate the team and continue
on—” Jill started to ask.

“No,” Mr. Bennett interrupted, “you’re to
assume they’re compromised and proceed in another avenue which would benefit
our holdings. You’ll find the new task outlined in basic details, redesigned
for your specialties.”

“What if we come across this other team?”
Randolph inquired, unable to help himself as he was being purposely sidestepped
in these proceedings.

“Let me put this bluntly,” Mr. Bennett said
with ill-patience. “If contact is uninitiated within a certain time frame, I
push a button which sets off a charge embedded within the chip you all have
planted in your brains. If the charge has yet to go off, it’s because you’re
already dead or shielded. The first being because of your incompetence, while
the other is but a matter of time till the signal works its way to you. Do I
make myself clear?” Mr. Bennett must have seen the minute change in Randolph’s
facial expression; he finished with, “Good.” He turned to Jill and ordered,
“Get your clothes—a hover craft is waiting on the launch pad.” With that he
waved the pair on with a dismissive gesture, where by Jill, stiff-necked and
showing tautness in her stance, walked out without comment.

As the pair reached their apartments,
Randolph asked with some trepidation, “Are you all right?”

“Am I all right?” Jill blurted angrily. “Of
course I’m all right! What makes you think I’m other than perfect, just because
Mel has executed two members of our team without a thought and now is sending
us out to do the corporation’s bidding so they can grow in strength like an
untreated cancer?”

She angrily swiped her card to open her
door.

Not liking her mood, he grabbed her arm and
demanded, “If that’s how you feel, why have you been shoving their propaganda
down my throat all this time?”

Jill slapped his hand off her arm. “So you
wouldn’t get me killed!”

Stepping in and slamming her door in his
face, she left Randolph staring at the door a moment before mumbling
obscenities of his own, wishing he’d had time to finish Mel’s surprise package
to give the man a taste of his own medicine should he push those buttons again.
Not having any other choice, Randolph turned, pulled out his own card key, and
opened his own door. Upon stepping in, Randolph took a hard long look on the
scattered electronics on the table and steamed even further. Whatever he was to
do could very well profit from much of what he’d gathered on the table.
But how am I to know what it is I’ll be
facing? And will Jill give me the time to make it?
At this, Randolph grimaced
and looked skyward for help. Then on impulse he snatched up his half-built
tools and supplies, tossing the lot in a brief case he’d found in the closet
some time back. Next, dumping clothes and toiletries in a larger bag without
organization, Randolph moved to await Jill outside his door, stewing. He waited
for Jill’s emergence to continue his earlier comments; some fifteen minutes
later he found her in no better mood than he, carrying a similar suitcase and
an aluminum case specially designed for firearms. It was then Randolph finally
understood their true relationship and why’d he’d been paired off with her.

“You’re an assassin!” he blurted in dismay.

“Bought and paid for by your local
government,” Jill admitted without evasiveness, noting with distaste, Randolph
had disinclined to change his clothes. She pushed him toward the elevator,
flippantly remarking, “Discarded like yesterday’s trash and now recycled by
Global Rift Supply and Demand, just like you.” She emphasized her last words,
getting Randolph into the elevator. Jill hit the top floor button then stabbed
her finger into his chest angrily, saying bitterly, “And it’s your job to get
me past all those be-dammed-able security measures so I can take out the
target, got it!”

Randolph stood next to Jill in the
elevator, trembling, and knowing how useless it was, he still had to tell her,
“But that’s against my religious beliefs! I can’t do that!”

Jill became even more enraged and slammed
Randolph up against the wall, taking him totally off guard. She hissed in his
face, “Get with the program, Randolph! Neither of us has any choice. We either
do the job we’re given or we’re dead!” She let him go and stepped back to
straighten out her gray suit, commenting cynically before the doors slid open
to the outside noises, “Besides, whether it gives you any comfort or not, you
can be damn sure the hands of our target are bloodied many times over from the
countless bodies he or she buried in helping to build the corporation’s
foundation.”

Jill walked off the elevator first, spine
straight and
chin
held high, looking for all the world
like an overpriced executive. Randolph stood in the elevator chewing on her
words as Jill handed over her cases to one of two baggage handlers without even
a courtesy nod then mounted the stairs and the awaiting hover craft. Absolutely
hating it, but absent of any choice as yet, Randolph followed after Jill
cleared the stairs and gave a polite, “thank you” nod to the baggage handler
before boarding the craft. The noise level out on the roof top was near on
deafening. Once inside, he heard the hydraulics kick in as the door
repositioned and sealed shut, cutting off ninety percent of the engine sounds
and all the ambiance of a prospering metropolis.

“As soon as you’re buckled in, Ms. Wander,”
a flight attendant was saying, “we can lift off.”

Jill settled in a dark blue swivel chair,
showing she understood the words without acknowledgment, then buckled herself
in and crossed her legs, expressing no emotions to the situation or task.

Randolph took his own seat across the aisle
from Jill and watched as the attendant made sure his buckle was secured before
walking up front and settling herself behind a wall built behind the flight
cabin. When the pilot announce a four-hour flight time, Randolph laid his head
back and felt the powerful turbines pull in volumes of air before it sent the
flow below the craft for lifting off. Once aloft, the craft shifted, angling
into the atmosphere.

Regardless of the appearance he was free of
Mr. Bennett and the button that would set off the charge in his head, Randolph
wasted no thoughts on a vanishing act once aground. For if Mr. Bennett had not
lied, that chip in Randolph’s head meant he was still a prisoner no matter his
location or surrounding. Besides, he was still chewing on his new realization
once the craft was level and very tempted to reopen the argument he and Jill
were having in the elevator when Jill got up stiffly and disappeared behind a
curtain to the rear. But upon seeing the stewardess, Randolph realized he might
not want to air out certain matters, lest the woman become a liability to the
company. So Randolph clamped his mouth shut as she approached and inquired in a
polite voice, “Mr.
Arlington,
would you like a drink?
We have a very nice Chamblee that goes well with the Peking duck, or perhaps a
glass of sherry to go with the chicken and dumpling?”

With only a modest hesitation upon hearing
himself addressed by a new name, having lost the mood to send anything with
flavor past his taste buds, Randolph inquired, “You don’t happen to have a
plain old beer, I suppose?”

“We do, sir,” she smiled.
“
Hinkles
or
Donlley
?”

“Just hot coffee for the both of us,” Jill
called out from behind the curtain.

“Hey,” Randolph complained, turning in his seat
to argue.

Jill pushed aside the screen and moved back
to her seat, having changed her blouse and donned a gray and white vest. “We’ve
no time for dull minds, Randolph. Now get back there and change.”

Still wishing to argue but doing as told,
Randolph grumbled under his breath and closed the curtain to discover a small
open compartment with a complete set of business clothes. Still of a mind to
split silicone chips, Randolph changed into the overpriced blue-black suit and
vest, designed for snooty executives, complete with ruby cuff links, and sat to
finish the ensemble with
ArgonBell
black shoes,
guaranteed to shine without polishing for two years.

Once dressed, he pulled back the curtain
and saw Jill’s eyes travel about his fame before she gave him a whistle,
evidently trying to lighten his mood. “You look good enough to eat.”

“You may think so, but I think it’s a
complete waste of good credits.”