F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 by The Portero Method (v5.0)

not
convinced SimGen was behind what happened here, but just in case it was, I’m
putting them on notice.”
                 Her eyes never left his face. “How?”
                 “I’m sure I saw the word ‘SimGen’ on
the side of the van that sideswiped us. How about you?”
                 “Come to think of it,” she said,
touching an index finger to her temple, “I believe I did too.”
                 “Of course you did. We’ll make sure
it’s in the police report, and I’m going to mention it in every interview over
the next week or so. SimGen will deny it of course, but a suspicion will be
implanted in the public mind. SimGen will be praying nothing happens to us.”
                 “I love it,” she said. “Turns the tables in a wonderfully underhanded way.”
                 “I aced Underhanded 101 and 102 in
law school.”
                 “I’ll bet you did.” She pulled a PCA
from her coat pocket. “Time to call the cops.”

           11
     
                 SUSSEX COUNTY , NJ
                 “I understand,” Luca Portero said for
what seemed like the hundredth or thousandth time, trying to calm the voice on
the other end of the hard-encrypted line.
                 Truth was, he didn’t understand. Not
one damn bit.
                 He rubbed his burning eyes. Somewhere
outside this sealed office in the subbasement of SimGen’s Basic Research
building, the sun was preparing to rise. Luca hadn’t slept in twenty-three
hours, but he wasn’t the least bit physically tired. The fatigue weighing on
him like a lead-lined shroud was mental, from hammering his brain for an
explanation as to how such a simple op could go so fatally wrong.
                 “Do you understand, Portero?” said
the voice.
                 It belonged to Darryl Lister, Luca’s
old CO, the man who’d brought him into SIRG. Just like
back in the service, Lister was his direct superior, and the next stop up the
ladder from Luca. Lister was understandably upset about being awakened ahead of
his alarm clock with the news that two of their men were dead. He’d hung up on
Luca, then called him back half an hour later—after
checking with the SIRG higher-ups, no doubt.
                 “Then maybe,” Lister continued, “just
maybe you can help me understand how six pros go out to process a couple of
soft-shelled yuppies, and two come back in body bags, while the yups are still
walking around. You were running the op. Explain, please.”
                 Lister’s tone surprised Luca. He
sounded nothing like the Captain he’d known back in their Special Forces days.
Hell, they’d stalked through Kabul and Baghdad together; he was one of the
few men in the world Luca respected. Why was he coming on so managerial ?
                 Couldn’t worry
about that now. Had to give him answers.
                 Luca once more reviewed the set-up,
groping for a flaw. He’d handpicked the men, all seasoned SIRG operatives.
Using a bogus identity he’d personally rented the vans from two different
companies—could have used unmarked SimGen vehicles but didn’t want to chance a
trace. Then last night, after weeks of surveillance on Sullivan and Cadman, a
golden opportunity: the two of them together driving through Westchester in the dead hours of the morning. A couple of quick calls and everyone was in
position, waiting for it to go down.
                 So far, so good. Not a hint that it was going to go down the toilet.
                 He reran his mental tape of what he’d
learned from debriefing the survivors. According to Snyder and Lowery—the wheel
man and his back-up in the first van—the hit on Sullivan’s car had been
perfect: over the rail and down the slope. As planned, they’d driven away and
left their rented van at a body