Net Force - Tom Clancy [55]
One unfired bullet remained. He had to use it before they got too close. He already knew his target. Plekhanov swung the rifles barrel to the right. The Siamese commander held a pistol; he fired it wildly. He would not be able to hit Plekhanov at this distance, save by accident, even if he could see him, which he could not. Still, it paid to be cautious. Plekhanov recalled the last words of the American General John Sedgwick, speaking of the Confederate sharpshooters during the Civil War Battle of Spotsylvania: They couldnt hit an elephant at this distance-
Plekhanov grinned.
Aim. Squeeze-
The Thai Prime Ministers collection of personal pornography, most of which showed recognizable images of him in sexual congress with women not his wife-and some of which showed him in such congress with her, too-somehow uploaded itself from his home computer and into the mainframe of the Southeast Asian News Service. Then, two of these pictures went into the hourly edition of SEANS NetNews in place of scheduled images.
Plekhanov raised his face from the Mauser. An oily wisp of smoke drifted from the muzzle, the smell of burned powder entwined with it. Below and still a hundred meters distant, the enemy soldiers milled around in panic, then dropped prone, looking for targets. Some of them returned fire, but none of the bullets came close to where he was.
Enough damage for one day. He shouldered the rifle by its sling and headed for the towers steps.
Monday, September 27th, 8:11 cum. Quantico
Everywhere Jay Gridley drove on the net, sirens screamed. The virtual highways were full of fire engines, ambulances, police cruisers, a whole shitload of activity as people went to repair the damage and to haul away metaphorical bodies. Within a few minutes, there had been major wrecks in at least three or four supposedly secure systems internationally, maybe more.
Jay drove the Viper at speed and got to the spots as best he could, legally when they allowed it, illegally when they didnt; what he saw was not good. It was the same guy dropping sharp spikes on the roads. The pattern was there, the same blurred and unidentifiable footprints as before, leading away and quickly dead-ending. Maybe the local operators couldnt see it, but Jay was sure of it. He couldnt ID the terrorist, but he knew it was one guy.
He pulled the Viper to a halt on a long and relatively straight stretch of the new Thailand-Burma Highway. A reporter stood next to a smoldering limo with a bunch of cops, making notes on a little flatscreen. Jay knew the guy slightly; he was a distant cousin a couple of times removed.
Hey, Chuan, hows it goin?
Jay? What are you doing here? Something I ought to know about?
Nah, just cruising.
The other man looked around, seeming to shift his gaze as he blinked. Ah, your highway metaplay. I see youre still driving that bomb on wheels. I disremember what its called, some kind of lizard or snake?
Viper. It gets me there. He looked at the limo. So whos the cookie in the shake-and-bake portable oven there?
A mess, isnt it? Behold, our beloved Prime Minister Sukho. This is whats left of his career, anyhow. Somebody got past the OS security wards on his personal system, and then became very clever with the nasty pictures hidden therein. Gave them to my bosses. My service somehow managed to accidentally send a pair of them out with the feed-or so the editors say. I know a few would have happily done it on purpose.
So, on the sports screen, instead of the photo of the Indonesian football team winning the World Soccer Cup in Brazil, we got our beloved Prime Minister being attended to by an enthusiastic professional girl well known in Bangkok as Neena the Cleaner. And two jumps later, on the international screen, instead of Malaysian Prime Minister Mohamad doing a nice ribbon-cutting with a bunch of dignitaries for a new rec facility at Cyberjaya, we gave our