Fire With Fire

“Well-” Careful now: just the way you rehearsed it. Use as much truth as possible: that’s how you’ll get away with the lies.

“Yeah?”

“I know this family. I’ve worked for them before.” True. “And now the father’s dead and the mother’s back on Earth and they didn’t have anyone else to turn to.” Also true. And now the lie. “And yeah, the money’s good.”

“Good enough to risk your life?”

“Good enough that I’ll never have to risk it again.”

The kidnapper with the machine pistol became thoughtful, only looking up when his partner returned from outside, carrying an aluminum briefcase. “How’s it look?”

The other put the briefcase down, popped his helmet. “As advertised. All clear, as far as I can tell.”

“What the hell does that mean, ‘as far as I can tell’?”

“Look, man, you wanted me back quick, right? Well, that means I can’t go wandering around behind every hill and big rock within five klicks. But the buggy’s where he said it is, and empty.”

The one with the machine pistol was about to open the case, halted, thought a moment, reached out and put it on Trevor’s lap. Then he walked behind Trevor, his arms coming around from behind to prepare to undo the clasps.

“You mind being a human shield?”

Trevor shrugged. “Fine by me.”

The clasps snapped, and the briefcase opened without incident. “Good: we’re off to a promising start. No tricks.”

Trevor nodded, thought: No tricks that you can see. But the concentrated CO² canister in the false bottom has started dumping its contents-which will trigger the atmosphere alarms soon enough.

The kidnapper had pawed through the bills in the attache case. “One hundred K?”

Trevor nodded.

“Light, man; way too light.”

“Don’t worry: there’s plenty more where that came from. This is just a taste.”

“Just a taste, huh? Well, I’m ready for the full meal. But how do I get it? You don’t get to leave until she does-and I’m not going to let in any more visitors.”

He had taken the bait-which all but proved that they weren’t from a group of religious or political fanatics. And they’re not seasoned professionals or they’d have already debriefed-and then greased-me. That’s the problem when you don’t use professional operatives; always the greed factor.

“Getting the rest of your money is easy. It’s on my bomb-rigged buggy.”

“Bomb-rigged? How did you get explosives? Even the black market is tighter than nun-pussy on those.”

Tighter than nun-pussy? If you took a course on how to talk like a tough guy, you should get a refund. Out loud: “The family has some clout. But you know that already.”

“Yeah,”-he was a bad actor-“I guess I do.”

No, you really don’t. Someone sketched out the basics, but didn’t fill you in on the reasons for taking the hostage. You’re just hired muscle, following orders. Good for me now; bad for the follow-up investigation. Because when the authorities start checking into these guys, it’ll be a dead end: they’re on the outside of the operation. Way outside.

“So, now you give us the information on how to disarm the bomb.”

“No, because the second I do that, you put a bullet in my head.”

The wiseguy considered for a moment, then waved listlessly with the machine pistol. “Ah-you’re right. So how do we do this dance?”

“You get a spacesuit for the girl, we all walk-”

“Nope. Not happening, hero. She stays here.”

“Until?”

The wiseguy frowned, got agitated. “Until I say so, asshole. Listen, I call the shots here.”

No, you don’t. You were told to sit on her and await further orders. Kill her if someone tries a rescue op. And you’re starting to realize that that may have been your employer’s plan all along: they want her dead, and you dead, and a lot of chaos and worry in the bargain. It’s only a matter of time until someone comes looking, you start shooting, and it all goes to hell.

“The way I see it, you might need the buggy as much as the money. More.”

“Yeah? And why the hell do you think that, asshole?”

“Because whoever hired you to do this hasn’t told you how the whole show ends, has he? And the radio he gave you is quiet-and he didn’t tell you how to signal him, did he? ‘Don’t call me; I’ll call you’?”

The wiry man’s face became very red and he stuck the gun straight out, quivering, the muzzle half a foot from Trevor’s forehead. “Listen, asshole-”

Trevor waited. The gun trembled, wavered, was yanked away.

“Shit! Shit, shit!” The wiseguy put his other hand to his own forehead, as if trying to still it.

The big sleepy-eyed one crooned, “Hey, Mingo, man-we just need to wait. We just need-”

“Shut up-just shut up! And don’t use my name-not even my street name.”

“Okay-but listen, man. He’s just messin’ wif you. We got a deal we can trust, a deal-”

“Yeah? We do? Why? ’Cause they said they want to keep her anyway? That’s bullshit, man-and we were bullshit to believe it. We were doing too much ice, man: they messed us up, messed up our heads so we wouldn’t think it all the way through. Shit, man-” And then he spun back toward Trevor, gun up and steady. “You. Hero. Why are you here? You lie, you die.”

As if you’d know whether I was lying. “I’m here to get the girl. The family was smart enough to know that if they went to the cops, they were as good as killing their daughter themselves: by the time a rescue team got to her, you’d have killed her.”

“Damn skippy on that, hero. Okay, so you’ve got a buggy, and we’ve got the girl. How do we do this?”

“We all go to the buggy together.”

“How big is it?”

There’s an open door for me to gather some tactical intel. “How big does it need to be?”

“I got eight-and her.”

“And me.”

“You can ride on the outside, hero.”

“Okay. And you’ll need to put one other out there. I’ve got six seats, room for two more as cargo.”

“Fine. So we’re at the buggy. Then what?”

“We drive to another outpost-I know you won’t accept going back to Syrtis City.”

“No shit, genius. So we’re at another outpost.”

“She walks away. You have the money and the buggy. And me.”

“And then?”

“When she’s safe, then I disarm the bomb. And you drive away.”

He brought up the gun quickly; Trevor let himself flinch a little.

The wiseguy smiled. “Not so brave after all, huh, Mr. Hero? So tell me, how do you know I won’t grease you as soon as you’ve pulled the plug on the bomb? And how do I know you haven’t bugged the vehicle-a hidden radio, a transponder?”

“You’ll know the vehicle isn’t wired the same way you knew I wasn’t-your friend’s RF signal detector. And as for shooting me-you might, but right now, she’s just an unreported missing person. And she can stay that way. And you don’t have to be accused as kidnappers. But you shoot me, and now there’s a crime that can’t be ignored or unreported: the law gets involved. And you don’t want any news getting out of how you got away, do you? Because if your employer finds you, that will be worse than the police. Right?”