“Roger that,” Midas said. “The digital scans of Suparman’s retinas are high-definition enough that we should be able to hold up the images on a smartphone. Gavin put together a brilliant little app that imitates the three-dimensional look and flutter of a live eyeball.” He tapped the small green circuit board with the cool end of the soldering iron. “This is just in case we need to upload the files and spoof the system into thinking it’s looking at an eye instead of the code for an eye. It’ll take a bit longer, and it’s a little trickier, but you should be able to do it fine.” He brightened. “Might not come to that, though. We’re talking about a gaming company, not a government installation. They may feel like the retina scans and rent-a-cops are plenty of security.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Clark said. “Suparman just spent twenty-five million dollars on this little piece of gaming tech. And let’s not forget that it also got Ackerman’s throat slit.
“Talk Ding and Adara through the particulars,” Clark said. “We’ll stay nimble.” He checked his watch. “The main thing is to retrieve that software. The President will be on the ground sometime tomorrow. He needs to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Speaking of slit throats,” Ryan said. “Do we have any inkling that the Chinese know about this copy of the software? I’d hate to run into some MSS operatives in the shadows with only one extra mag.”
“We’ll carry an MP5 in each vehicle,” Clark said. “In case the fan gets shitty. But again, remember the objective. Grab the tech and get out. Adara and Ding, you two go straight to the airport. The rest of us will be behind you, scraping off any tails.” He looked sideways at Chavez.
“Okay,” Chavez said. “Now, for the guards.” He took two small derringers out of a plastic case. “We’re using a ketamine cocktail. Should keep them out for a good fifteen minutes, with the added benefit of a befuddled memory. I know I don’t have to tell you, but drugging someone carries with it a good deal of risk. They’ve weighed the risks at higher, and we’ve been ordered to proceed.”
Everyone in the room knew “higher” was the Office of the Director of National Security, and, by extension, the President. They also knew that drugging someone was better than bashing them on the head, or worse — unless that person had a respiratory issue, or some other hidden medical condition that would cause them to stroke out. Lots of things happened in the field; the heat of battle guaranteed it.
Clark said out loud what everyone else was thinking.
“The brass wouldn’t take doping a couple of rent-a-cops lightly. That should put a big fat exclamation point on how vital it is that we grab this software.”
“Right,” Chavez said, gathering up his notebook and tablet. “Adara and I are going to hang back and surveil the downtown store while the rest of you grab your shit and go to the eye doc. We’ll make a plan after you get the optical files, but I’m ninety percent sure what we’re looking for is at the main office.”
It was called Manado Town Square, but the modern shopping area across four-lane Piere Tendean Boulevard was, in actuality, a narrow strip of land jammed between the Celebes Sea to the west and a seemingly endless flow of concrete and corrugated tin homes pushing in from the east.
Chavez and Adara had swung by Suparman Games so he could take a stroll through the store and get a feel for it, then he’d taken the first shift across the boulevard, inside the lobby of the Ibis hotel, drinking strong coffee and keeping an eye on the storefront while Adara went back to the Whiz Prime Hotel to dye her hair.
A man in a green jumpsuit pushed a broom ten feet away, causing Chavez to look up. The man avoided eye contact, sweeping as he walked by without saying a word. In most parts of the world the situation would have called for a head nod at the very least. Conspicuous ignoring most generally meant the person didn’t want you to know they were looking at you. The Indonesians he’d met so far were a gregarious people. There were a dozen different reasons the guy avoided looking at Chavez, but the most obvious reason was that he was watching him. A healthy dose of paranoia had kept him alive this long.
He looked for earpieces, any kind of weapon — besides the broom. Nothing. The guy kept walking without looking back. Maybe he
Chavez took the Moleskine notebook from his pocket and began to make a couple of notes. He enjoyed these quiet times, when he could think, but he preferred the action with the rest of the guys.
