*
The San Francisco Tower’s bellboy rushed enthusiastically to the limousine’s rear door. Although he didn’t recognise the flag on the bonnet, all that mattered was that this was a diplomat’s and that diplomats were generally good tippers. He got the feeling sometimes that they didn’t really understand the true value of things. He had once been given a day’s salary by a Middle Eastern diplomat merely for opening a door. The man who got out of the limousine on this occasion, however, didn’t even look at him.
‘I don’t have any bags,’ the man muttered in some kind of Scandinavian accent. He was tall, the bellboy barely reaching his chest. He strode up into the hotel with large strides, buttoning up his elegant grey suit and glancing at his gold watch. He walked to the receptionist stationed at a desk of black enamel.
‘I am Betz, the Swiss Ambassador, to see Renaissance of the Hurt World.’
The receptionist inputted his features into the hotel computer, which had direct access to the System: it meant that within twenty seconds Betz’s identity had been confirmed and his whole life, including every image captured by surveillance camera and every word recorded by mike, from his first crying at birth to any one of the thousands of electronic ears that might have picked up a stray word on his journey to the hotel. With his identity verified, the receptionist pressed a red button at his desk. ‘The elevator will take you to your floor, sir.’
The Ambassador gave her a half glance. ‘Is it safe?’
‘All the glass in our hotel is ordinance proof,’ the receptionist reassured.
The Ambassador rode the elevator to the twentieth floor and Spiros Pardos was there to greet him.
‘Good evening, Ambassador,’ said Pardos. ‘We appreciate your coming at such short notice.’
‘I trust the matter is urgent,’ the Ambassador snapped.
‘Yes, it is. Now if you’ll kindly follow me.’ Pardos led him down the long corridor. The Ambassador, however, moved at his own pace, for he wanted it to be known he could be beckoned but not herded.
They entered the room at the end of the corridor and Renaissance was waiting. She was standing by a holographic image emanating from the table screen in the centre of the room. She waved a hand through the snow covered mountains being projected to the height of her shoulders.
‘Ambassador Betz, do you find the scene familiar?’ she queried.
‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Betz, moving forward from Pardos to the corner of the table. ‘Par Monten. Named after a long dead poet. Are we here to plan my next skiing holiday?’
‘There might be an opportunity for some winter sports. But not a holiday. The name of the game is apprehending a world class criminal.’
‘That’s why I seek you out at the cocktail parties in Washington. When you talk weather, you talk about super hurricanes. When you talk politics, you talk genocide. And when you talk recreational activities, it comes down to hunting killers. So, who are we talking about now? Your message said it was someone in the FBI top thirty most wanted and it’s had me guessing all the way here.’
Renaissance looked intently to the hologram. ‘Mas, the poacher. She is on that mountain.’
‘What is a poacher doing on the beautiful slopes of Switzerland?’
‘There is a Hurt World operation that has enlisted the help of the Leanov Veterinarian Clinic. Mas is in pursuit of our technician. Leanov has reported gunfire. This is happening in real time.’
‘Shots fired? Should you have let it get this far?’
‘This is just starting. If we lead you to Mas, we will need continued access to the prisoner.’
‘After the dirty work is done?’
‘The Alpine Special Forces are the only people you have with an insurance coverage high enough to go after someone like her. Your regular troops should be given a Too Dangerous to Arrest directive. It is going to be dirty work, but we’ll help even up the contest by taking out her drone.’
The Ambassador frowned. ‘She’s got a drone?’
‘Don’t be so surprised, Ambassador. Surely you should know some of the world’s most dangerous criminals have drones following wherever they go. Rumour has it this one is even armed with nuclear missiles.’ She stepped around the table. ‘Let’s go talk with Rojas Hose. He’s my best analyst.’
They went into the adjoining bathroom where a young man was sitting in an empty spa with a computer tablet on his lap.
‘Ambassador, I’d like you to meet Rojas. He’s been tasked with locating Mas’s drone.’
‘A man working in a bath,’ said Hertz, looking down on him disapprovingly. ‘Should I be impressed?’
‘You should see it is as a good sign,’ replied Renaissance. ‘It means he’s expert enough that I leave him alone to his little quirks.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rojas, touching his face where his fledgling moustache was taking shape.
‘What is the state of play on the mountain?’
‘It seems Kaptu Z has just shot Mas’s pet bird.’
Renaissance frowned bewildered. ‘What?’
‘But that’s not really the important part. A neutron particle discharge blacked out all the drones in a thirty kilometre range of the Leanov Clinic. The rebooting emits distinct frequencies which can be analysed to discern one sort of drone from another. Assuming Mas has a militarised model, it can now be narrowed down to one of four. It’s fantastic because before that I thought we were going to have to blow up ten.’
‘Blow up ten drones?’ said Betz incredulously.
‘Switzerland can afford it,’ said Renaissance. ‘You have super insurance. And besides, you heard what he said, we’re only going to blow up four.’
‘They don’t belong to Switzerland anyway,’ added Rojas.
‘How would you know?’ said Betz. ‘That information would only be contained in classified databases.’
‘That’s where I’m looking.’
Betz shook his head and glanced around the luxurious bathroom. ‘You’re waging war from a bridal suite bathtub.’
‘A war that has come to Switzerland,’ snapped Renaissance. ‘Mas has been unsighted for the past two years and now here she is on your mountain. Cooperate and you’ll have the credit for capturing her. And there will be a lot of people wanting to know about it. Mount Par will be put on the map by all the news reports. That will translate to tourist visits. It means an injection of capital before the last of the snow has melted.’
‘It means even a mountain the size of Mount Par is liable to get flattened in the arrest,’ Betz countered. ‘But I see two reasons to make the arrest. The first is the opportunity to clear the skies above Switzerland of Mas’s weaponry. The second is the opportunity to clear the ground of Mas herself.’
‘Thank you, Ambassador,’ said Renaissance. She looked quickly to Rojas. ‘Fire when ready.’