Net Force - Tom Clancy [63]
He lowered the weapon.
Eight minutes later, the door to the restaurant opened.
Ruzhyo put the silicone earplugs into his ears. The sound of a high-powered rifle shot inside an automobile could easily destroy unprotected eardrums.
Six men emerged, talking, laughing, taking their time.
Ruzhyo raised the rifle. He took a deep breath, let half of it out, held the rest. He clicked the safety off, lined the glowing crosshairs up on the second man in the group, put the sight picture on the mans forehead, right between the eyes
He squeezed off the shot.
With a rifle, you dont hear the one that kills you.
The man was dead before the sound of the bullet reached him.
Ruzhyo put the rifle down on the floor of the car and started the engine. He pulled out of the travel agencys parking lot and drove away. Traffic was light this time of the evening. He was half a mile away, at the entrance to the elevated freeway, when the first police car flew past, lights flashing, siren wailing, going toward the restaurant.
He did not look back. There was no need. Nobody was following him.
20
Thursday, September 30th, 8:01 a.m. Grozny
You have another call, Dr. Plekhanov, Sasha shouted from the outer office. The intercom still operated only sporadically, but that hardly mattered now. Mr. Sikes, from Bombay Municipal Systems.
Plekhanov smiled. The phone had certainly been busy the last couple of days. Exactly as hed expected it would be.
The plantings were beginning to bear fruit. After the computer foul-ups had killed hundreds of people in Bombay, those in charge would have called Bertrand, the second-rate programmer who had installed their security system. And while even Bertrand was skilled enough to see what had been done, he would be unable to offer a guarantee that he could stop it from being done again. So they had called Plekhanov-whom they should have called originally-and why, yes, he could most assuredly guarantee them that no such security breach would happen if he installed a new protective system. Of course he could make that assurance: There were only a handful of programmers expert enough to slip his wards, only one who would bother, and that ones interests-his interests-would best be served if the system stayed unbreached.
Given how people worried over such incidences, it would take only one or two more assaults on the stoplights and buses of big cities before most-if not all of them-came running to Plekhanov for his help. So by the time the movers and shakers of the municipal transportation systems for all of Asias major cities met for their annual get-together later this year in Guangzhou, China, most of them would be in Plekhanovs camp. He would, after all, do excellent work for them, at better than reasonable prices. They would all owe him. They would all want to keep him happy, so as to avoid suffering fates similar to those unlucky enough to be the victims of what had to be terrorists. Who would bother to rascal a transportation computer save a terrorist? Where was the profit?
Hello?
Vladimir? Bill Sikes, Bombay Transport.
Ah, Bill, how are you?
Not so good. You heard about our problem?
Yes, I am afraid so. A terrible thing. I am so sorry.
Yes, well, that milk is spilt, but we dont want to lose any more. Can you help us out?
But of course, Bill. Of course Ill help.
Another call! Sasha yelled from her desk. From Korea!
Plekhanov leaned back in his chair. His smile was truly a happy one.
Thursday, September 30th, 8:15 a.m. Washington, D.C.
Tyrone Howard met his friend Jimmy Joe in the strip club called Big Boobs. It was off-limits to boys their age, and neither of them were within years of being old enough to be there, but they wore adult personas and had enough skill to pass a casual scan. Slipping into an R-rated VR room in a public newsforum was something anybody with half a brain could do. All you could see was naked women here; the XXX-rooms were