The phone rang again. Alexandra Merced stopped in mid-sentence and grabbed the receiver. "Jimmy the Fixer Solutions. Ms. Merced speaking."
Jimmy watched from across the meeting table.
"One moment, please, Mr. Adams," she said as she put the phone on hold. "It's Maxx Adams again. He still wants to talk to you."
"Maybe he'll go away if I do?" Jimmy asked hopefully as he reached out for the phone. As soon as he had it against his ear, Alexandra took the phone off hold.
"Jimmy the Fixer."
"Yes, Mr. Fixer. This is Maxx Adams with..."
"iPulse Magazine," Jimmy interrupted. "Yeah, I know. I've seen your ads on television and damned near every web page I've looked at in the last few weeks. You've called me," he looked over at Alexandra as she rolled her eyes and held up three fingers. "This is the third time you've called me this week. You aren't trying to hire my team, so what do you want, Adams?"
"Isn't it obvious? Mercenaries are the hottest thing going right now in America. Between the ops your team's done in Colorado and that shootout in Florida, America can't get enough coverage. We at iPulse want to get a new angle on the life of the merc."
"And what angle might that be?" Jimmy asked, the disinterest in his voice barely managing to mask the contempt.
"We'd like to document one of your ops."
"Say again?"
"iPulse wants me to accompany your mercenary team on one of their ops. You know, to see what goes in to planning and executing one of your team's missions."
"Are you insane, Adams? You realize this isn't a Hollywood movie these people are living, right? I don't want you to get your panties twisted, but my team does not need some slackjawed journalist running around with klieg lights and microphones while there's bullets flying. They will not babysit you or help your ass out of a bind if you do something stupid. And if you manage to screw up and get someone on my team hurt, I can guarantee you won't be filing any more gossip columns!"
"I understand your reluctance, Mr. Fixer. I can assure you that I can keep up. I was in Army Infantry for four years before I started in on this line of work. I can hold my own."
"Whoopty-fucking-doo, Adams. My admin was an officer in artillery! Just 'cuz you went and played soldier for a few years and quit doesn't mean you have what it takes to keep pace with this team."
"Look, all I'm asking is for you to check with your team. Let me meet them and talk to them. I won't get in the way. If I get in over my head, I'll bug out on my own. Your team will be anonymous. No unaltered pictures, no audio, none of that. Whaddaya say?"
"I'll talk to them. Don't expect them to cream their pants at the opportunity, Adams. Give me a number to reach you. When I have an answer, I will call you. Until then, leave me the hell alone, capiche?"
"Sure. No problem. You won't regret it."
Jimmy wrote down Maxx Adams' phone number and hung up the phone.
"Christ! What a pain in the ass! Maybe the team will say yes and someone will forget to tell Pepper whose side he's on... I wouldn't get that lucky, would I?"
Alexandra didn't say anything as she intently started working on something on the computer.
"Hey, Ellen! Check it out!" Martina yelled across the private dining floor of The Bunker. Ellen put down her fork as she watched Martina practically drag Michael Conti across the room.
Pepper grabbed the chair across from Ellen and turned it around backwards before dropping into it. Michael remained standing, a slightly disoriented look on his face.
"Me and Miguel --" "Michael!" "-- whatever -- we were thinking --"
"You were thinking? Who the hell are you and what did you do to Martina?!?"
"Hey, what are you talking about, Ellen? It's me!"
"No. You're someone else. First you go on an op and don't kill anyone, then you think in the same weekend? You can't be the Martina Vasquez-Ordenburg that I know."
Michael almost suppressed a laugh. He quickly doubled over as Martina's left hand connected with his mid-section without warning.
"Stupid non-lethal... Last time I do one of those, maaannn! It wan't even a grab. Stupid bachelor's party. I can't believe that Pedro Guerrerno guy was so stupid to hire mercs to steal the guy from his own bachelor's party. We could have wasted all them. If I had my way, we would have bombed the stupid island from orbit and said forget it to the completion bonus... Anyway, so we were thinking, and we decided we need to come up with a name for our team. You know, so the TV stops calling us 'those mercenaries' or 'suspected paramilitary people' or something. That way, people don't think we are some terroristas!"
"Okay, what do you have?"
"Well, you know how we keep leaving those Post-It Notes on the bad guys -- you know, so the police know which ones are bad guys and stuff? Check this out. Do it, Miguel."
"Michael," he switched to a news announcer-like voice, very mock serious, "'And in the news, the Post-It Note Posse wiped out the Columbian Drug Cartel in a vicious firefight in Bogota. They left their trademarked Post-It Notes on the bodies of the jefe of the drug cartel and several of his aides. With these vile criminals out of the way, it looks like America has won the war on drugs.'"
"Cute. Post-It Note Posse? I guess it could be worse. Why don't you see what everyone else thinks."
"I did, eh? They all told me to see what you think about it. I dunno, man. I think they were just trying to get rid of me or sometheeng."
"Well, Martina, we can bring it up before you meet with that Japanese businessman about babysitting his sword. Everyone will be there then."
"Hey, yeah. That's a good idea," Martina said as she quickly stood up and grabbed Michael's wrist. "Come on, Miguel --" "Michael" "-- whatever!"
"Father, do you think it is wise hiring these American mercenaries. They are vicious animals! Look at how they slaughter their enemies!"
Toshiro Yamaguchi continued to stare out the large plate glass wall of his office. The Tokyo skyline glowed in the dark twilight. He continued to look out the window as he answered his son.
"Yes. They are vicious animals. But you know as well as I that I can not trust even my own internal security for this mission. We don't know how far the Yakuza's influence has spread into my company. We are far safer entrusting our family's katana to gaijin then entrusting it to a traitor in our midst. I will fly to America tomorrow to meet these mercenaries myself. They have questions about my request, and I want to see for myself if they are worthy of trust. I believe I have waved enough money at them to convince them to behave."
Special Agent Wayne Norton sat at his boss's desk. He had presented the latest update on his investigation of mercenary operations to her earlier in the day, and she wanted to ask him a few questions.
"Norton, did I read this report correctly?" Carla Simons asked as she lifted the manila folder and waved it slowly.
"Ma'am?"
"Isn't this report substantially the same as last week's? You've found nothing new about these lunatics running around blowing people up?"
"Ma'am, these mercs are pros. They must have figured out they were getting lazy, so they started screwing around with us. The ID we recovered from that rental was for a Martin Bond. Same person rented that helicopter. The guy at the Hollywood Rentals business gave us a description that would be the perfect description of the fiftieth percentile white male."
"What've you done about that place?"
"Like the report said," Simons shot him a glare, "I turned the BATF loose on that place. They shut it down in no time. The plane and that helicopter are now impounded in their hangar."
"When will they be moved to a secure site?"
"We weren't planning on moving them. There's no way in hell the mercs can steal the F-5; there is no airport in Colorado they can fly it to where someone won't notice. We can have the local and national news talking about it before they can even find a place to land that thing. The helicopter is in military green and has a three-foot ball above the rotor. It's about as nondescript as a flashbang going off in this office."
Carla shifted in her seat and set down the report.
"Do we have anything going on right now?"
"Those mercs have settled down over the last couple weeks. I think they might have gotten a little bloodied taking out the drug gang. I have Rourke checking out this New America group. It seems there may be a cell operating here in the Denver area. Only excitement we've heard about is the shootout in Florida. I guess the tourism industry down there got tired of subsidizing the local pick-pockets and thugs."
"Great. Who needs cops when you can hire mercs and save the time and trouble of a trial?"
The phone rang before Norton could reply. Carla picked up the phone.
"Simons... Yes, I know. We have people looking into them right now... No, I don't know yet. One moment." She looked up at Norton. "We can finish this later."
Wayne Norton walked out of the office and closed the door behind him as Simons returned to her phone conversation.
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Last Updated 12 Mar 2000
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