time and trouble to talk to him.
Frederick made his considerable living helping those in trouble. He pressed the call button and waited.
“Hello.” The voice at the other end was mechanically altered. There were no hints as to identity. He couldn’t even tell the sex.
“Hello,” Frederick answered. “I’m listening.”
“I understand you work for Jorge Guttierez.”
“In a manner of speaking,” he hedged.
This was tricky. Was this one of Jorge’s many enemies? Was he going to get an offer to work against Jorge? Frederick had no loyalty to Jorge at all, but generally speaking it wasn’t a good idea to get a reputation as someone who’d betray a client. If this was Jorge’s enemy, though, he wouldn’t play by any sane rules and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Damn. Why did Alfonso go get himself killed?
“This is not about Jorge. It is not even about Alfonso. It is about his wife, Chantal.” Mechanical Voice dropped the little bombshell.
Frederick wasn’t an easy man to surprise but this did.
Chantal?
To his knowledge Chantal had been a beautiful clotheshorse whose only real talent was spending money, and nothing more. What would some Mafioso want with Chantal?
“What about Chantal?”
“She had a jewelry collection. A famous one. Some pieces are designer classics.” The mechanical voice all of a sudden sounded pained. “My wife wants the collection. Badly.”
“I’m sorry,” Frederick answered. He was sincere. He was
very
sorry. If there was money to be made knowing where Chantal’s jewelry collection was, he wasn’t going to get it. “I have no idea where that collection is.”
“Chantal’s daughter does,” the voice said.
Frederick blinked. “Anne?”
“Yes. Anne. Chantal said that her collection was in a safe place and only she and her daughter knew where.”
Ah. Frederick straightened in his seat. This was getting interesting.
“I am actually looking for Anne.” He put that forward cautiously.
“Yes, I know. For that moron Jorge. Jorge wants her dead. I don’t want her dead, certainly not before she has revealed where the jewelry collection is. I don’t know how much Jorge is paying you, but I’ll make it more than worth your while to find her, so long as you remember that a live Anne trumps a dead Anne.”
Who will become a dead Anne as soon as wifey gets her bling.
The subtext was unspoken but there.
“I can’t start right now. I can only start in three days. Seventy-two hours, take it or leave it.”
He couldn’t do anything on the road; it would never be secure enough. He traveled clean and he always worked from home.
At home he could take precautions. His keyboard was TEMPEST-proof. His computer had a firewall that, if it were a real wall, could be seen from the moon.
The walls of his home had a special cladding that bounced any type of electronic surveillance, and the windows had a molecule-thick graphene film coating that protected against laser listening devices.
Essentially his house was what intelligence agencies call a SCIF—a Sensitive Compartmented Intelligence Facility. What happened in his home stayed in his home.
Everything on his computer was saved to a cloud managed in Estonia, guaranteed anonymity for ten thousand USD a year, cheap at the price.
His home was as secure as he could make it, and he preferred to work there.
Long silence. Then finally Mechanical Voice spoke. “Word has it you’re the best.”
Damn straight.
“Yes,” he said.
A mechanical sigh. “All right. But I want results soon.”
“You’ll have them. And now...about the fee.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Not enough for what would eventually lead to a dead body. Frederick didn’t care what happened to Anne Lowell but blood shed was always more dangerous than shifting bitcoins around. The police were more tenacious about blood spilled than money lost. There was a remote possibility that this could somehow boomerang.
“Half a million,” he
Frederick made his considerable living helping those in trouble. He pressed the call button and waited.
“Hello.” The voice at the other end was mechanically altered. There were no hints as to identity. He couldn’t even tell the sex.
“Hello,” Frederick answered. “I’m listening.”
“I understand you work for Jorge Guttierez.”
“In a manner of speaking,” he hedged.
This was tricky. Was this one of Jorge’s many enemies? Was he going to get an offer to work against Jorge? Frederick had no loyalty to Jorge at all, but generally speaking it wasn’t a good idea to get a reputation as someone who’d betray a client. If this was Jorge’s enemy, though, he wouldn’t play by any sane rules and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Damn. Why did Alfonso go get himself killed?
“This is not about Jorge. It is not even about Alfonso. It is about his wife, Chantal.” Mechanical Voice dropped the little bombshell.
Frederick wasn’t an easy man to surprise but this did.
Chantal?
To his knowledge Chantal had been a beautiful clotheshorse whose only real talent was spending money, and nothing more. What would some Mafioso want with Chantal?
“What about Chantal?”
“She had a jewelry collection. A famous one. Some pieces are designer classics.” The mechanical voice all of a sudden sounded pained. “My wife wants the collection. Badly.”
“I’m sorry,” Frederick answered. He was sincere. He was
very
sorry. If there was money to be made knowing where Chantal’s jewelry collection was, he wasn’t going to get it. “I have no idea where that collection is.”
“Chantal’s daughter does,” the voice said.
Frederick blinked. “Anne?”
“Yes. Anne. Chantal said that her collection was in a safe place and only she and her daughter knew where.”
Ah. Frederick straightened in his seat. This was getting interesting.
“I am actually looking for Anne.” He put that forward cautiously.
“Yes, I know. For that moron Jorge. Jorge wants her dead. I don’t want her dead, certainly not before she has revealed where the jewelry collection is. I don’t know how much Jorge is paying you, but I’ll make it more than worth your while to find her, so long as you remember that a live Anne trumps a dead Anne.”
Who will become a dead Anne as soon as wifey gets her bling.
The subtext was unspoken but there.
“I can’t start right now. I can only start in three days. Seventy-two hours, take it or leave it.”
He couldn’t do anything on the road; it would never be secure enough. He traveled clean and he always worked from home.
At home he could take precautions. His keyboard was TEMPEST-proof. His computer had a firewall that, if it were a real wall, could be seen from the moon.
The walls of his home had a special cladding that bounced any type of electronic surveillance, and the windows had a molecule-thick graphene film coating that protected against laser listening devices.
Essentially his house was what intelligence agencies call a SCIF—a Sensitive Compartmented Intelligence Facility. What happened in his home stayed in his home.
Everything on his computer was saved to a cloud managed in Estonia, guaranteed anonymity for ten thousand USD a year, cheap at the price.
His home was as secure as he could make it, and he preferred to work there.
Long silence. Then finally Mechanical Voice spoke. “Word has it you’re the best.”
Damn straight.
“Yes,” he said.
A mechanical sigh. “All right. But I want results soon.”
“You’ll have them. And now...about the fee.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Not enough for what would eventually lead to a dead body. Frederick didn’t care what happened to Anne Lowell but blood shed was always more dangerous than shifting bitcoins around. The police were more tenacious about blood spilled than money lost. There was a remote possibility that this could somehow boomerang.
“Half a million,” he
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