Bubblegum Crisis: Stage Three

Part Twelve

Quincy R Rosencroitz studied the data logs, the old man's expression oddly neutral as he watched remote footage of the bomb going off. He had already called and berated Jeena Malso, demanding how the security breach could have been possible.

While 'only' the vice-president of Genom now that Sylia had taken up her job, Quincy still had tremendous power and influence, which he used now. The ADP was called, the Commissioner quickly agreeing that Genom's internal security could handle the attempted bombing. He then called up several editors at several major news outlets, burning up a few favors to make sure the attack wouldn't make the news, or if it did it would be buried in the back pages.

Finishing his work Quincy sat back with a sigh as he considered the situation. Despite what some might say, he had always been loyal to Genom and Mr. Stingray. They had built this company from a simple microchip manufacturer to one of the biggest multinationals, with fingers in nearly every pie. And there was no way in hell that Quincy would let anything ruin that.

"Computer, activate interface," Quincy ordered as he sat back in his chair, data connection cables sprouting to connect with sockets implanted in the back of his neck.

Instead of appearing in the office Quincy found himself in a virtual space, one he quickly recognized as a replica of the manufacturing site for modern Boomer secretaries. He watched a moment as the waldos and robots built the core of the Boomer, then it was shuffled away to get it's synthetic 'flesh' added to the robotic skeleton.

Growing impatient Quincy called, "Are you there?"

The shadowy figure materialized almost as soon as he called, the man's stance slightly apologetic as he said, "Sorry, I was monitoring the creation of a new batch of secretarial models when I lost track of time."

Quincy wasn't terribly comfortable knowing his ally could monitor that, as it implied he had even more access than Quincy thought. Shaking off his discomfort he asked, "Do you know who is behind the attacks on Sylia Stingray?"

"No," the shadowed figure answered, "but I have my suspicions it's someone high up in the company, with equally high level computer access."

"Mason," Quincy quickly decided, his expression bleak.

"He has the access," his adviser agreed, "and the programing skills. I don't know what his motive might be, however."

"We can discern that once we dig through his files," Quincy growled. He considered, "Is Reika Chang or Jeena Malso a possible suspect?"

"Malso lacks the skills required, as does Chang," the man answered calmly, "they could hire someone, of course, but it makes it even more likely they would be caught."

"Three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead," Quincy quoted grimly. He shook his head as he sighed, "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," the man smiled slightly as Quincy logged out.

Quincy disconnected, wincing at the wet noise of cables unplugging from modified flesh. He sat for a moment letting the headache fade even as he considered what he knew. Quincy didn't entirely trust his mysterious ally, despite what might be said, but he had to admit that the man made sense. Someone appeared to be reprogramming Boomers, and there was no way to do that without the proper passwords and authorizations.

'Mason and I are two of the few people with that kind of access,' Quincy mused, 'and I'm certainly not doing it!'

Sitting back in his chair Quincy massaged the back of his neck as he considered what to do. Turning over Mason to the police was impossible, of course. The only way to prove his crimes would be to allow the ADP unfettered access to their computer systems, and there was no telling what they might find snooping around. No, this would have to be handled discretely.

Quincy dialed the number, one he didn't commit to paper or any electronic files. "Yes?" Fargo answered calmly.

"It's Quincy," he answered flatly, "I need to see you."

"Got it," Fargo answered briskly, "the usual place?"

"Yes," Quincy nodded and gave a time.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Fargo did not think of himself as a mercenary, rather as a facilitator. A person would contact him with a job they needed doing, and he would put them in touch with people who could do the job. What happened next was none of his business, and in truth he didn't want to know.

So he listened without comment as he and Quincy stood in the old parking lot on the edge of town, taking in his requirements. The old man leaned on his car, wincing as his leg braces helped take the weight and coldly plotted the death of his subordinate.

"How covert does this need to be?" Fargo asked after a moment, carefully not mentioning the word 'murder' or any other similar terms.

"I would prefer that there be no implications of foul play," Quincy answered carefully.

"Understood, I'll get a team on it," Fargo answered briskly. They dickered over fees, then he asked calmly, "Time frame?"

"Within a week," Quincy said, "but please don't provide me with any further details."

A faint sneer crossed Fargo's lips, but he got his expression under control. "We'll get the job done," he said, leaving Quincy and walking back to his car.

Gibson, his diver, was sitting behind the wheel, the younger man tapping the wheel impatiently. Some years ago he and his wife were assaulted by bikers, injuring him and putting his wife in the hospital. Fargo had helped provide... closure for him, and in return he worked as a driver.

"So what's the job?" Gibson asked as Fargo climbed in, starting up the car while Fargo belted himself in.

"Quincy needs a problem fixed," Fargo said as he sat back, his expression thoughtful. "Head to the office, I need to do some planning."

"Got it," Gibson agreed as they took off.

The office was in a old building, the whole neighborhood run down and decrepit. Of course that also made property cheap to buy up, and at this point Fargo owned a good chunk of the block. He sent Gibson home and went inside, the suspiciously new door asking for his passcard. Swiping it he went down the dingy hallway to his office, a somewhat renovated room that still looked rather seedy.

"Welcome back, boss," Madigan nodded stiffly, the former corporate mover and shaker now working as his aide and secretary. Once upon a time Madigan had been a rising star, until a rival framed her for corporate espionage. Or at least she claimed she was framed. Anyway, Fargo helped extract her from a kill-squad, and after dealing with the squad's employer gave her a job.

"Madigan," Fargo nodded, "we've got a job involving a old friend of yours."

"Oh?" Madigan looked curious as Fargo hung up his battered trench coat on the coat rack and sat down at his desk.

"Mason at Genom," Fargo said, booting up the PC built into his desk.

"Really?" Madigan poured them both a coffee, despite how late in the evening it was. "Did the bastard finally get caught?" she asked, carrying a cup over and putting it on Fargo's desk.

"Quincy seems to think so," Fargo said, "he wants steps taken."

Madigan nodded, knowing that was code for 'killed.' Thoughtfully she asked, "He wants something clean?"

"Nothing that can splash back on Genom," Fargo agreed, sitting back and frowning as he considered the tactical situation.

Brian J Mason was protected by security Boomers, as were most officials at Genom. An assault on Genom Tower was out of the question, considering the layer security there, unless they got inside assistance there was no way to stage a operation there.

'And I don't think Quincy would be happy with me snuffing Mason in Quincy's back yard, so to speak,' Fargo mused.

Mason's home would be a similar hard target, Fargo knew. He would have Madigan do some research to be sure, but he strongly suspected that someone who did the kind of crap Mason did would have a home like a fortress. Which meant they would need to hit Mason on the road to or from work, or to lure him into a trap.

"Madigan," Fargo said thoughtfully, "dig up whatever you can on Mason's home, it's security and so on. I need the information tomorrow."

"I'll do what I can," Madigan cautioned, "but a day isn't enough time to do a in depth search."

"I know," Fargo nodded, "I'll be working on a plan b too."

"Do you want to scout him out a bit?" Madigan asked even as she quickly went to work on her own researches.

"Good idea," Fargo agreed, reaching for his phone, "I'll call in Sylvie and Anri."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was nearly exactly a week later when Quincy read the short piece in the newspaper about Brian Mason's death at the hands of small time hoods, apparently in the middle of a drug deal. Evidence had been found in his home of a long time habit, but one he successfully hid from his coworkers. Police felt certain they'd catch the shooter shortly.

Quincy put the paper down, shaking his head ruefully. He had no idea that Fargo could do this, in fact he wasn't entirely certain Fargo had done it at all. The evidence in Mason's home was terribly convincing, and from his contacts in the police the crime scene was quite credible.

This, Quincy hoped, would put to a end the strange goings on at Genom, and allow them to move on in their projects. His only concern now was that Malso might continue to look into the situation, and he felt certain he could handle that.

Worse came to worse, Quincy could always call in Fargo again.

Shaking his head Quincy began to compose a notice to send out to Genom staff about what had happened to Mason. He wrote in a regretful tone about Mason's accomplishments and how much the man would be missed, carefully not mentioning how he died. He urged Genom's staff to carry on, to strive to better the memory of their former leader. It was a fairly rousing speech, and Quincy felt proud of his efforts.

Quincy knew he needed to find someone to promote to Mason's place, but that could wait for awhile. Besides, it wouldn't look good to fill his place too soon. No, it was better to publicly 'mourn' the dead man, and he could always use the extra time to find the best candidate.

With a weary sigh Quincy sent out the notice to all the staff of Genom, then closed down his terminal. He got up, groaning a bit at how still his old body was, then made himself walk over to the window. He looked out at the city, a city that Genom controlled in all but name, and thought about the sacrifices that had brought them this far.

Quincy closed his eyes as he remembered a younger, innocent Brian Mason and thought of everything they had done for this company He remembered loyalty and courage, along with a willingness to get his hands dirty, and Quincy sighed tiredly.

"I think I'm getting too old for this," Quincy finally sighed, packing up his desk and going home.

To be continued...

Notes: I wanted to use Fargo from original BGC, and I thought it might be interesting to expand on his role a bit. Instead of just being a informant he's a PI slash Operative who takes on any job for a price. I populated his staff with other minor BGC characters too, just for fun.

May revise this chapter later, we'll see.