Читать книгу A Strangled Cry of Fear - B.A. Chepaitis - Страница 5

Chapter 2

Planetoid One

A man in a blue suit sat at a desk inside an office on Planetoid One, staring down at a message on his personal notepad. As he read it, he smiled.

He looked remarkably like any other office worker on the Planetoid in that he was unremarkable. He was an adult white male, tall and bulky, his features not memorable for attractiveness or lack of attractiveness. His suit hid his rather demure tattoos, a series of special codes written small that ran across his shoulders and down one side of his back. Each code named a client whose identity was decipherable through a document left with his lawyer, to be used in the event of his violent death. With each successfully completed job, he had a new tattoo inscribed. All his clients knew that. He was not a man who willingly relinquished control.

But here and now he was just another Planetoid One worker, and those who met him had a hard time describing him once he was out of view. That was due partly to his eminently forgettable looks, and in part to a trick he’d picked up while working with military Psi Ops. It was easy, he’d found, to blur the memory of those who met him. Clowning, it was called. Creating situations that distracted the eye, distracted the mind from the truth. And he was a master Clown.

He’d also earned a reputation as a solid Collector, bringing in information, important objects or, when requested, people. But his primary work was as a Cleaner, tidying up messy situations, getting rid of messy people. He earned most of his money this way, contracting with both government and private sector clients, all of whom referred to him simply as The Cleaner.

His current job required all three skills, and he’d been on retainer for it for a few months, working a cover job while here. So far much of his work involved Clowning, making sure certain procedures within the system remained invisible, but he’d also completed one Cleaning job. He’d been paid well, the money waiting in his very private home planet account, and his cover job was interesting without being onerous. He’d also been able to gather data he knew he could sell elsewhere. All in all, it was a pretty good gig.

Today, when he touched his personal notepad screen and opened the file for this job, it had a new message, which is what made him smile.

A new subject was coming his way and he was to begin a D and D order on her. She needed to be both discredited and dead.

He liked D and D’s much better than straightforward cleaning. They required a subtler approach, a longer set up time. They were almost like writing a script, needing artistry and finesse rather than just brute force, and he prided himself on his artistry.

When he saw the subject’s name, he felt a special thrill. He knew something about her. Quite a bit, in fact, since he kept up with the who’s who of empaths, and she was a big one. He remembered some rumors about her giving the pentagon a hard time, and thought of one of his other clients, one who might be interested in doing some collateral damage, or at least gaining some collateral information on her. That client would also be interested in the data he was collecting in his spare time. Whenever possible he liked to double up on his jobs.

He considered possibilities. He was scheduled to go to the home planet tomorrow as part of his cover job. While there he could check with that client, see if he wanted in on this.

In the meantime, he already had some ideas on how to manage the D and D, and he could start some set up right away. He reached into his desk drawer and removed a small data retrieval unit designed to pick up specific energies of interest to this job. He pocketed it, got up and left his office. He’d walk the halls and check the environment, see what possibilities arose from the combination of subject and scene.

He had a pleasant job ahead of him, and he might as well get to it.