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Authors: D. P. Schroeder
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planning.”
“True.” She was curious as to where he was going with this.
“There must be a ringleader of some sort.”
“Right.” Kate shifted her weight to one foot. “Assuming these guys are mercenaries, their leader must be some kind of an ex-military type.”
“And based on what we’ve seen, he must’ve had a high rank.”
“What exactly do mercenaries do?”
“They’re soldiers for hire. Former military, infantry, maybe even Special Forces, independent contractors employed by private interests. Most mercenaries are assigned to guarding important facilities or people. But some participate in active combat, especially in the Middle East and Africa.”
“Like you.”
He shot her a look of surprise.
“Yeah, like me, except I’m one of the good guys.”
“And with mercs and money, the sky’s the limit.”
“It’s a sad thing,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Offer enough money and the best-trained men in the world are available to anyone.”
“If a man is willing to sell his soul …”
“… and he has one to sell.”
James looked at her, saying, “The hits have been so clean. Too clean . Alec Spector has to be the link to his funding.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Follow the money. Hack, tap, beg and borrow.”
James walked over to a built-in desk and taking out a pad and a pen, began making lists covering their respective tasks. Minutes later he tore pages from the pad and handed them to her. It was a list of assignments she would allocate to a band of relentless, professional researchers. She studied it; basically a mandate for unleashing an army of aggressive—and expensive—private investigators in New York City and Washington, D.C.
James walked to the front of the townhouse, opening the windows and closing the wood blinds before turning to a large fireplace made of natural stone. From kindling and logs he prepared a fire to buffer a cool breeze of morning air that floated toward the back of the residence. A pass-through from the living and dining rooms to the kitchen ran the full width of the townhouse and created the feeling of a big open space.
He sank into a chair beside the fireplace as she began the task of coordinating the activities of her network of computer geeks.
“This is going to burn a lot of cash,” Kate said as she looked at her list.
James sipped from his coffee cup. “I figured a million or so.”
“For each task?”
“Right. A million for each of the assignments, plus a half-million for anyone providing a link to the ringleader’s funding.”
“And a million for a direct link to the leader?” she added.
James looked over at her as she stood near the sink. “Right now, that seems like a lot to hope for.”
Kate got situated at the dining table and James returned to his chair in the living room, expecting nothing less than a marathon.
“We need to cover the whole spectrum. The investigators should plunge into Specter’s life,” he said. “Business, personal and family ties. Everything, across the board.”
“How about contacting his enemies?” Kate suggested. “Someone might feel like talking.”
“Good idea.” James studied his notes. “Tell the P.I.’s we’re paying double their standard rate, and cash incentives for useful information. That should get them to dive in.”
James went into the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee and stood beside Kate, pointing to her notepad. “This item is important. The researchers need to dig into his past business dealings; court cases, phone records, travel records. They need to search high and low until something comes up.”
An hour later a team of high-priced talent was beginning to penetrate every crevice and recess of Alec Specter’s life: his first girlfriend, every place he had ever slept, the name of his kindergarten teacher . . .
Kate’s contacts hacked into servers, obtaining the mobile numbers of targeted individuals who were contacted at work, at home, on the golf
“True.” She was curious as to where he was going with this.
“There must be a ringleader of some sort.”
“Right.” Kate shifted her weight to one foot. “Assuming these guys are mercenaries, their leader must be some kind of an ex-military type.”
“And based on what we’ve seen, he must’ve had a high rank.”
“What exactly do mercenaries do?”
“They’re soldiers for hire. Former military, infantry, maybe even Special Forces, independent contractors employed by private interests. Most mercenaries are assigned to guarding important facilities or people. But some participate in active combat, especially in the Middle East and Africa.”
“Like you.”
He shot her a look of surprise.
“Yeah, like me, except I’m one of the good guys.”
“And with mercs and money, the sky’s the limit.”
“It’s a sad thing,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Offer enough money and the best-trained men in the world are available to anyone.”
“If a man is willing to sell his soul …”
“… and he has one to sell.”
James looked at her, saying, “The hits have been so clean. Too clean . Alec Spector has to be the link to his funding.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Follow the money. Hack, tap, beg and borrow.”
James walked over to a built-in desk and taking out a pad and a pen, began making lists covering their respective tasks. Minutes later he tore pages from the pad and handed them to her. It was a list of assignments she would allocate to a band of relentless, professional researchers. She studied it; basically a mandate for unleashing an army of aggressive—and expensive—private investigators in New York City and Washington, D.C.
James walked to the front of the townhouse, opening the windows and closing the wood blinds before turning to a large fireplace made of natural stone. From kindling and logs he prepared a fire to buffer a cool breeze of morning air that floated toward the back of the residence. A pass-through from the living and dining rooms to the kitchen ran the full width of the townhouse and created the feeling of a big open space.
He sank into a chair beside the fireplace as she began the task of coordinating the activities of her network of computer geeks.
“This is going to burn a lot of cash,” Kate said as she looked at her list.
James sipped from his coffee cup. “I figured a million or so.”
“For each task?”
“Right. A million for each of the assignments, plus a half-million for anyone providing a link to the ringleader’s funding.”
“And a million for a direct link to the leader?” she added.
James looked over at her as she stood near the sink. “Right now, that seems like a lot to hope for.”
Kate got situated at the dining table and James returned to his chair in the living room, expecting nothing less than a marathon.
“We need to cover the whole spectrum. The investigators should plunge into Specter’s life,” he said. “Business, personal and family ties. Everything, across the board.”
“How about contacting his enemies?” Kate suggested. “Someone might feel like talking.”
“Good idea.” James studied his notes. “Tell the P.I.’s we’re paying double their standard rate, and cash incentives for useful information. That should get them to dive in.”
James went into the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee and stood beside Kate, pointing to her notepad. “This item is important. The researchers need to dig into his past business dealings; court cases, phone records, travel records. They need to search high and low until something comes up.”
An hour later a team of high-priced talent was beginning to penetrate every crevice and recess of Alec Specter’s life: his first girlfriend, every place he had ever slept, the name of his kindergarten teacher . . .
Kate’s contacts hacked into servers, obtaining the mobile numbers of targeted individuals who were contacted at work, at home, on the golf
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