A year later, Lydecker was still growling. He picked up the phone. "Jasen?"
"Deck. Good to talk to you again. I've missed you, and I've been meaning to ask you--what kind of a nickname is 'Deck', anyway? Is it because your mother wanted to remember the night she conceived you with some passing sailor? Or is it because it sounds a lot like 'dick'?"
Two seconds on the phone with him and Lydecker was already fighting for control. It was a ridiculous lapse. Buttons that no one else could even find seemed to glow red-hot when Jasen was involved. He forced an iron wall down in front of his anger. "Get to the point, Jasen."
Jasen laughed. "I see you haven't acquired a sense of humor since our last little tea party. What a shame. I just thought you might be interested in a chat I overheard today between a couple of our brave men in blue." He'd actually been loitering in the same coffee shop for four weeks, keeping to the back, changing his appearance, hoping to overhear something. But Lydecker didn't need to know that.
Lydecker waited, but Jasen obviously wasn't going to continue until prompted. Ordinarily he might have used these dramatic pauses to trace the call, but they'd tried before, and failed. Their last search had resulted in a handful of highly-trained soldiers descending in force on a terrified goat. Closer inspection revealed a cellular phone strapped to the animal's stomach, being accessed by remote--not exactly one of Manticore's proudest moments. Other attempts to recapture Jasen had ended in similar embarrassments. He gritted his teeth. Patience. Control. "And he said?"
"Well, they got to talking over a couple of cups of coffee, about the weather, the kids, the job. And one of them, a real stand-up guy named Jerry, mentioned that one of the toughest things about the job was sorting truth from lies when people are so willing to sell each other out for a few bucks. For example, a few months ago, you had the cops combing Seattle for a certain murder suspect. A young lady."
Max. Despite his annoyance, Lydecker was suddenly listening very carefully. "And?"
"Well, these particular cops work in the same precinct as a detective Sung. During your search--which, may I say, was a glaring example of a good plan with sloppy execution--a man reported to Sung that he was the young lady's boss. And my pal Jerry overheard. He said he remembered the guy real clearly because he was spouting off all this crap about being a concerned citizen and everything, when Jerry could tell he was just in it for the money." Another pause. God, he loved his job sometimes.
Third time's a charm, Lydecker thought, his frustration building again. How had this kid's attitude slipped under the radar of their regular psych evals? He wished he could teach the rest of his kids to lie so well. "And?"
"Anyway, Sung took him off to get his statement and by the time he'd sorted everything out, the real murderer had confessed and been taken into custody. And Jerry thought how unfair it was that this poor girl could have been thrown in jail by her boss for a few lousy bucks." His tone was mocking.
"And did he happen to remember the name of the place of employment?" Lydecker fought to keep the interest from his voice.
Nice try, little fish, Jasen thought, but we both know you're hooked. He laughed. "C'mon, Don. That would be telling. Information can be a significant tactical advantage, right?"
"How much do you want for her?"
"Well, since I don't share Jerry's disdain for a few lousy bucks, and taking into advantage the challenge of the mission, the importance of the target… I'd say fifty large sounds reasonable. And, since she's part of a package deal, I'll give you a discount on the others--you know, your other kids who somehow manage to keep eluding you even though you're the one who trained them? I want fifty for her, and then forty for every one after her. Forty-five for Zack--he might be a challenge, too."
"That's bullshit, Jasen. We made those kids for less than that. We made you for less than that."
"That's the price."
He should have known better, but he tried anyway. "I can only swing thirty for her, and twenty for the others."
Suddenly the casual tone disappeared, and the voice turned to steel. "Don't waste my time. I'm not selling aspirin on the street corner. I'm offering to deliver, on a silver platter, a valuable target you've been too inept to bring in even though she hasn't changed locations in months. You haven't got what it takes, Lydecker, and I do. So I name the price."
"And just what brilliant plan do you have that we haven't tried?"
"That's really none of your concern, is it? Quit fucking around. Have we got a deal or not?"
Lydecker hesitated. No matter how many times he did it, the idea of paying this man for tasks he ought to perform willingly--gratefully--galled him. Still, he reflected, the plan did have its advantages. Of all the soldiers he'd ever trained, Jasen was the most likely to be a match for Max. In fact, he realized, there was a good chance Manticore would come out of this a winner even if Jasen failed. He'd find her, Lydecker had no doubt of that. Combat would inevitably follow. Combat which would most likely leave one or both of them wounded, at the very least. And when they were weakened, his men would be there. To pick up the pieces. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. For the first time since Jasen's desertion, the thought of his AWOL soldier made him smile. But he schooled his face into seriousness, his tone into barely-repressed rage. "I want her alive."
"Of course."
"You'll give us the account number to deposit the funds?"
"I'll be in touch. A pleasure doing business with you. Later, Deck."
Lydecker didn't even notice the dial tone as he gripped the receiver like he wanted to throttle it… and smiled.
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Up next: Chapter 3, "Skirmish"
How's it going so far? Comments/criticisms? Please let me know!