The next day didn't start out well. After getting over the shock of seeing Helen's face again, John busied himself with finding out all about weapons technology as well as getting a rough outline of the last few thousand years of galactic history. He didn't get to sleep until very early morning and then woke up around noon feeling as if he'd been beaten soundly with baseball bats.
John eased himself out of bed and tried not to moan as he stumbled for the bathroom. After relieving himself he realized that, what with everything that went on yesterday, he hadn't eaten at all since munching on a few ration bars after being defrosted. On top of the enhancement busily working away inside him, it was no wonder that he felt like hammered shit.
He ordered enough food for three people from room service. John wolfed down the resulting meal and began to feel better. He neatly stacked the plates outside his door and returned to his research. It was not until late afternoon that he felt knowledgeable enough to try a visit to the armorer.
Persephone wasn't behind the front desk. Instead, there stood a plump human male with receding hair. John exchanged nods with him as he walked out of the hotel. He was both relieved and disappointed that the asari wasn't there. She had clearly been interested in him last night, and from his reading it appeared it wasn't at all unusual for her species to 'consort' with other races. Indeed, it appeared to be the expected thing in their culture. But he couldn't reciprocate her interest.
He knew his reluctance wasn't due to Helen. Above all, she would want him to be happy. It was more because of Viggo's words during their face-off in the church.
People don't change. You know that. In the end, we are all rewarded for our misdeeds. Which is why God took your wife, and unleashed you upon me. This life follows you. It infects you.
John had left Viggo choking in his own blood not long after that little speech, but he had to admit the old Russian bastard had spoken the absolute and honest truth.
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"We recommend Armax Arsenal, sir. They seem to give our clientele the best performance and reliability." The armorer opened a few cases. "We have many more pistols of various sizes. If you are looking for something with more punch or range, we also have an excellent selection of machine pistols, rifles, and shotguns available."
John leaned over the cases spread out on the counter. He examined one of the pistols with interest. The notion of 'calibers' or indeed standard ammunition was now gone; modern weapons used mass effect fields to fire tiny slivers of metal at terrifying speed to achieve the same impact as a standard bullet. Guns now had effectively unlimited ammunition, save for the need to get rid of the incredible amounts of heat generated during firing.
"Let's stay focused on the pistols for now," he said to the armorer. He tapped a mid-sized pistol which should be easy enough to conceal. "Do you have a testing range in the shop for trying this out?"
"Of course, sir. This way."
The entire basement of the shop was a firing range. The light was cold and antiseptic, in stark contrast to the warm and welcoming shop upstairs. John didn't see any ear protection available, and he hoped it wasn't needed. He settled himself in position and raised the pistol at the target at the range's far end. The first shot was much more muted than he had expected; it was a flat cracking noise which almost sounded like a suppressed 'normal' gun. That explained the lack of hearing protection. Other than that difference, the pistol's mechanics appeared to be just as he was used to. He placed a few more shots into the target to make sure he had his eye in.
"This will do nicely." The armorer looked pleased as John continued. "Now let's look at what else you have available..."
The next couple of hours passed in a pleasant whirl of testing and choosing. John eventually settled on one main and one smaller holdout pistol, along with an assault rifle and a machine pistol for more firepower should he need it. The assault rifle was something he really delighted in. When unused, it folded itself into a neat little package which could easily be stowed in a standard briefcase or even tucked under an armpit if necessary. It was a lot less bulky that it had any right to be given its hitting power. And there was another surprise towards the end.
"I'll need something for close-in work," said John. "What do you have in knives?" In response, the man opened up another, flatter case. It unfolded into several smaller trays, almost like a fisherman's tackle box.
"Most of these have the standard ceramic edge with metal backing. We have purely metal blades as well, if you prefer. All are in a variety of shapes and sizes, depending on your desires."
John picked up a double-sided dagger that was close enough to what he liked to use. He flipped it back and forth in his hand to get a feel for its balance. "I like this one. I'll get two while I'm at it."
"Certainly." The armorer hesitated. "Actually, in addition to these we have one other blade available. It may cause...complications with law enforcement, however. And you would need to replace your omni-tool."
That sounded just fine to John, since he didn't have an omni-tool to start with. "It could be something to consider. Please, show me."
In response, the armorer touched his forearm and brought up his own omni-tool. Then he carefully pointed his hand away and clenched his fist in a particular manner. A glowing blade shot out of the end of the omni-tool and projected out over his hand. It looked almost like a large punch-dagger.
"The blade isn't real, of course," said the armorer. "The true cutting edge is a monomolecular filament suspended in a mass effect field. It's pretty much invisible. The hologram is just there to let the user know where the edge actually is." He reached over and picked up one of the physical knives with his free hand. Then he waved the glowing dagger right through the metal blade, which obligingly fell apart. He relaxed his knife-hand and the holographic weapon disappeared. John picked up one of the pieces of the knife. The edge where the weapon had been cut looked almost as if it had been polished.
The armorer smiled at John's look of amazement. "Just be warned, sir. It's very unusual, very illegal, and very dangerous."
"I'll bet. Dangerous to the user as well as to the enemy."
"Absolutely. You could cut off one of your fingers with the blade and not realize it until you slipped in your own blood." The armorer held up one hand and wiggled his pinky with a rueful smile. "I know that the hard way. I had to get this one reattached."
In spite of the danger, John was interested. This had definite possibilities, both as a weapon of last resort as well as a tool with unique abilities. "I'll take it. Along with the other two knives as well. Ah, can you also show me how to set up the omni-tool?"
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John did manage to run into Persephone once more as he was leaving for Barcelona. She was at her usual place behind the front desk and gave him a smile as he walked past. She didn't look angry or regretful, which he was grateful for. He stopped, and told himself to at least say something. The woman deserved more than just a casual nod.
He set his now-expanded luggage down before the desk. "Thank you again, Persephone. You have been very helpful." John paused, at a loss as to what to say to a petite and beautiful alien woman with cheekbones which could cut glass. "I hope we meet again." He almost wanted to say something else, but what could he say? That he was a cursed bastard who tended to get everyone around him killed? That he couldn't let anyone into his life, no matter how much he wanted to?
Persephone smiled warmly. "I am sure we will, sir. We believe that all is one, all is part of eternity. We have met, and therefore we will always meet. So may you find peace in eternity." From her formal manner, it sounded almost like she was giving him a benediction.
All he could do in return was give her an embarrassed smile and a nod, pick up his bags, and head out the door.
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Air travel had become much more civilized. It was pretty much just a matter of renting a longer-range aircar and telling it where to go. John leaned back in his chair and idly glanced out the window at the Mediterranean rolling by below. He then pulled out the dossier and began reading through the information provided by Mrs. Carmichael.
Nathan Prasad was a prodigy. He was a near genius-level polymath with primary interests in the areas of information analysis and artificial intelligence. From what John had gathered, AI research was one of the few research areas that the Galactic Council really put their foot (or claw, or whatever) down on. But there were a few licensed AIs floating around, carefully monitored and controlled, and Prasad worked on one of them for some outfit called Synthetic Insights, Ltd. His official job title and duties at SI had seemed deliberately vague. John figured that meant that Prasad actually worked for some intelligence agency, most likely for the Alliance.
Whoever he had worked for, Prasad had now gone rogue and was apparently holed up in Barcelona. There was some sort of auction that was to be held in four days time where he was going to sell off his knowledge to the highest bidder. The account holder had tasked Organization management (and therefore John) with retrieving Prasad before that auction could take place.
John rubbed his ear as he thought further on the identity of whomever had opened the account. It could be someone who didn't want to pay for the information at auction... that was unlikely, given how much money they had used to open the account. But maybe they wanted something surer than an auction? Or maybe they were Prasad's original employers trying to get their wayward employee back.
For once, he wished that things weren't quite so compartmentalized by Management. It would be good to know just whose hands he'd be dumping Prasad into. Once upon a time, he would not have given it a second thought. But that was before he'd met Helen. And before Daisy.
To distract himself from further dark thoughts, he looked back up at the front of the aircar. There was a control yoke and several pedals visible, but he realized that if the autopilot failed he had no idea at all how to operate this vehicle. John sighed. It was just one more thing he had to learn at some point.
As to the matter of who had opened the account for Prasad, he decided that he would at least interrogate the man after retrieval and get his side of the story before throwing him to the wolves.
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The Basilica of the Sagrada Familia was actually completed during his long sleep. John had been there many years ago as part of the honeymoon he'd taken with Helen. At that time, the landmark cathedral had been maybe three-quarters complete. But now the grand entrance was done and the massive, almost organic-looking spire representing the Holy Son rose into the heavens. He took a moment to look it over while he stood on the wide, sweeping staircase up leading to the main doors.
Of course, some things hadn't changed. It still cost to get in, but he paid without complaint. The interior had been pretty much finished when he'd last visited, and it still looked much the same. Gaudi's branching and forest-like columns rose up to support the cream-colored ceiling far overhead. The sun was setting, and shone red through the west-facing stained glass windows. It was less crowded that he had expected, although there were still little gaggles of tourists making their way through the vast space. Some of the groups were human, some were definitely not. Each of the groups was led by a bored human tour guide, who pointed out the various features of the architecture as they went through their little litany. John could almost recite it by heart. He could also remember Helen's face when they had visited. He remembered her looking around and laughing in delight at the wonderfully rococo details.
"Hey. You Winston?" The voice was high-pitched and throaty.
John turned to regard the questioner. He..no, maybe she...was about a head shorter than John. They wore tight-fitting leather trousers and a flowing pirate-style purple blouse that looked like silk. They had spiked ash-blond hair and a had generously applied eyeliner. The person also had a slim and androgynous face and figure, so much so that John had to take another quick peek at the crotch of the leather trousers to confirm that 'they' was definitely a he. The newcomer winked at John; he'd apparently caught the extra look.
John met his contact's friendly brown eyes. "Yeah, that's me. Are you Smith?"
"Mackenzie Smith, at yer service. But you can call me Mackie. All my friends do."
John smiled. "So we're friends now?"
"Everybody's my friend, some of 'em just don't know it yet. Besides, with the amount I'm gettin' paid, we can go get married if you want." Mackie gave him another wink. "That is, if you swing that way."
"I'm flattered, but I'm also straight."
"So am I. Straight back to my place. You wanna go?"
John didn't reply and instead looked above the main entrance to the basilica. There was the angular bronze figure of an armored human standing above the doorway. He regarded the statue in silence for a bit until Mackie broke into his reverie.
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"You know, I never did the touristy stuff around here. Who is that?" He pointed at the statue.
John gave Mackie a sideways glance. "That is Saint George. He's the patron saint of Catalonia."
"Oh yeah? What's his claim to fame?"
"He killed a dragon."
"How excitingly masculine of him." Mackie gave him a once-over. "Do you always dress like an undertaker?"
"Only when meeting new friends, Mackie."
"Wow, that doesn't sound ominous at all. So you wanna get this show on the road or what?"
John turned to face him. "Let's not talk here. We need privacy."
Mackie gave a grin. "I'll bet we do, sugar." The smile then fell off of his face. "Oh, shit."
John followed his glance towards one of the other doorways. Among the milling tourists were two men he immediately pegged as potential threats. One was a smaller, scowling man who was bald and looked like he'd just drunk a cup of lemon juice. The other was much larger and definitely the muscle for the sour-faced man. He turned back to Mackie. "Are they going to be a problem?"
"Nothin' I can't handle. Look, you tell me the hotel you're staying at. I'll meet you there. Once I've ditched those two jackoffs."
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Mackie didn't know exactly what to make of the tall bearded stiff dressed all in black. The man seemed polite enough, but Mackie had a pretty good notion of who was paying for his services. If 'Mr. Winston' was one of them, then that politeness was just a smiling mask stretched over the face of a demon.
He sighed. The amount of money getting thrown his way was enough to allay his fears, even though it meant that Karl was now on his ass. The nasty-faced fucker seemed to think that he was owed preferential treatment, no matter how many times Mackie had told him to get in line like everybody else and wait his turn for service.
The streets of Barcelona were getting more crowded right now, but Mackie slipped himself easily through the throng. He'd been here long enough to get a good sense of how to move without drawing attention to himself. Mackie froze as he rounded one of the curving parts of La Rambla. Ahead of him stood the man-mountain of Karl's bodyguard. The huge man was facing the other way, and all Mackie could see was his sloping back. His figured his luck was holding as he eased himself into a side alley. He paced along, hoping that this wouldn't delay his scheduled meeting with 'Mr. Winston' too much.
And then, of course, as he came around the corner of another alley intersection he saw Karl right in front of him. The bald fucker gave him a nasty smile and beckoned him forward with one finger. Mackie glanced behind him and saw that, of course, the huge bodyguard was now standing in his only escape route. He glanced back over Karl's shoulder and saw that there wasn't anybody else in view. Mackie walked forward and smiled as he tried to act casual.
"Hey, man," he said to Karl. "Don't worry. I told ya, I'm in the middle of something else-"
His world spun and he suddenly felt the taste of blood in his mouth. Karl's goon had casually smashed him into the brick wall next to Karl.
"Somethin' else?" said Karl, in a high and mocking tone. "You got somethin' else goin' on? I got a crew twiddlin' their thumbs, you fairy. I told ya, I gotta have those alarm system details toot sweet. The job is goin' down on Thursday. And here it is Sunday, which makes it how many days, Renton?"
"Five days," said the muscle in a voice that sounded like it came from hell's basement. He had stood back after his initial attack, and now seemed to be placidly awaiting orders to dispense further nastiness.
"Five days from now," continued Karl, "My boys need time to plan. And I haven't seen shit from your little bitch ass."
Mackie rolled himself around, leaning against the brick wall for support. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. At least the big bastard hadn't loosened any teeth. "I'm an independent contractor. You know that. I have a rush job I'm working on. I'll get you what you need in plenty of time. You just need to wait a bit-"
Karl leaned forward, and Mackie got a good whiff of his halitosis. "Just. Wait?" Mackie didn't respond, and Karl snorted. "You're MY bitch, you fucking faggot. When it comes to sucking dicks, mine comes first. Don't you ever forget that. I don't care who else hires you-"
"Excuse me." It was a calm and deliberate voice. It almost sounded like its owner was going to ask for a cup of sugar. Mackie glanced to the side and saw 'Winston', the stiff in the black suit from the basilica. He stood next to Karl's goon and smiled at them all like he was some kind of game show host. Mackie was bewildered. Where had that fucker come from? It was like he had just appeared there.
"I don't think you're being quite fair to him, sir." continued 'Winston'. "I think we can all-"
Karl's pistol was suddenly out and pressed against the forehead of the man in black. "Is this him, my little 'Mackie'? Is this your 'something else' who's taken your time from me-"
'Winston' slapped Karl's gun away and put two bullets into his chest. In the meantime, Karl's goon was desperately trying to pull his own weapon free, and got it clear just in time to receive two chest shots of his own. The man in black then spun and put two more through Karl's brainpan, spraying red gore over the brick wall next to Mackie. He then casually turned and surveyed the rest of the alley as Mackie hugged the wall in pure fear. There was no one else in the alley, and there was no sound save for the choking whimper of Karl's bodyguard. The goon lay slumped against the alley wall next to Mackie, looking down in horror at the spreading red stain on his shirt. The man in black didn't even look as he put two final shots into the goon's head.
It was the most cold-blooded execution that Mackie had ever seen. He gripped the brick wall with his fingertips and tried to breathe. Somehow he knew that he would be next to die. He'd seen too much, he was about to get shot in the head-
"Mackie," said the man in black. The young man snapped his head up to meet the eyes of 'Winston'. The eyes were dark, but not unkind. "Are you hurt?"
The young man shook his head, and the simple action helped him start to get his equilibrium back. "It's nothing. Bit my lip a little, that's all. Thanks for...Jesus Tap-Dancing Fucking Christ. Sorry, just gimme a minute."
"Are these two going to be missed?" 'Winston' was back to scanning the alley, probably looking for other possible witnesses, but he also appeared to be noting the blood stains on either side of Mackie.
Mackie thought it through, and began to feel more like his old self. "Karl did protection-racket shakedowns, mostly. He was trying to branch out into robbery. His 'clients' sure as shit won't care that he's gone. The only one who'll care is Benton...that's the asshole that Karl was paying tribute to. He's a lot further up the food chain." He pushed himself off of the wall and was pleased that his knees didn't buckle. But then he froze again as he looked down at the bodies on either side of him. "Yeah, Benton is definitely going to shit bricks about this."
"Just breathe, Mackie. I can't have you passing out on me." The man in black sounded almost amused. "How far is your apartment?"
"About..about a ten minute walk."
"Go there now. Don't run, but don't dawdle. Gather everything you can't live without, and don't take more than thirty minutes doing it. You can never go back to your place afterwards, do you understand? After you get your things, head over to my hotel. We'll plan our next steps there. Don't worry about anything else, just keep moving."
"Okay," said Mackie, feeling a little like he was on automatic pilot. He walked off on slightly shaky legs as he heard 'Winston' make a call behind him.
"Hello? Yes, this is Winston. I need a dinner reservation for two. Standard place settings, a little extra cleaning may be required..."
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Mackie set his backpack down and looked around in envy at John's hotel suite. "I guess I'm moving up in the world. This place is bigger than my apartment."
John shrugged. "It will do." Unfortunately, this wasn't a hotel owned by the Organization. As extensive as they were, they didn't have hotels everywhere. But at least they did have cleaning crews everywhere.
"Um, so, about Karl and Renton. Did anyone find them yet?"
"Nope. And no one ever will. As far as anyone knows, they just dropped off the face of the earth. It's time to get to work."
Mackie looked relieved yet frightened. "I see. Right. Thanks, Mr. Winston."
"Call me John. I think we're past formalities, don't you?"
"If you say so...John." Mackie opened his pack and pulled out a datapad. "Here you go." He held it out to John, who took it with some relief as he sat on the large couch in the suite's main room. He was still getting used to holographic displays, and having something tactile to operate was a nice break. However, he realized that he wasn't sure which file icon was the one he should start with.
"Maybe you should walk me through it."
Mackie didn't show any outward surprise as he sat next to John. He noticed that the young man made sure there was plenty of space between them as he reached over and called up the first file.
"Okay, so your wayward egghead is holding his auction in the evening, four days from now." The first picture was of Nathan Prasad. It had apparently taken as the man was getting into an air taxi. He was of average build, and clearly had a little bit of spread around his middle. Prasad also had a mop of untidy brown hair and a hunted look in his eyes.
Mackie continued. "He got here ten days ago. Then six days ago word went out about the auction. No details on the information he's selling, but given his line of work there wasn't really a need to."
"I didn't realize AI research was that sought after. My understanding was that the Council banned it."
The young man snorted. "It's not about his official research, it's about who he's really working for. If you dig even a little bit, you realize that he's a spook. It's just a question of who he's a spook for. I'm sure he's got lots of juicy little secrets in that noggin. Based on how much interest there is, I guess everybody else thinks that too."
"Do we have an idea on who's bidding?"
"The batarians seem to have a real hard-on for him. I know there's a small delegation here in Barcelona. Not actual batarians, of course, but some nasty types who are speaking for the Hegemony. The four-eyes probably hope he's an Alliance intel weenie. The other heavy hitter I know of is Cerberus."
"Cerberus...I'm not familiar with them."
"Reeeally. I'm surprised. They're...well, terrorists is what they're officially tagged as. Cerberus would say they're fighting for humanity against the alien menace, or some shit like that."
"It sounds like they have deep pockets, if they're bidding against the batarian government."
"They do like to throw money around, that's for sure. There's a couple of other information brokers who will certainly be there, but it's really going to boil down to a bidding war between the Batarian Hegemony and Cerberus."
John leaned back and began scanning through the other files. "What do you have on the auction itself? Is it online?"
"Nope, it will be a strictly meatspace affair." Mackie reached over and called up another file. The next picture was of a heavyset, almost toad-like man with short hair and jowls that spilled over his collar. "This is the guy who's acting as the auctioneer. Larson Benton. He's also the one Karl was paying tribute to. I have to warn ya, Benton is a real piece of work. He makes Karl look like an angel."
John studied the face for a bit. "I'm assuming that you haven't been able to locate Prasad himself."
"Yeah, I tried. But, wherever he's stashed his ass, he's got himself good and hid. He's not coming up for air until the auction."
"So our play has to be during the auction itself. Do we have an idea of where it'll take place?"
"I've got it narrowed down to a couple of nightclubs that Benton runs. They both have extensive basement areas for 'private entertainment' and such. The layouts and security details are all there for both places."
Mackie leaned back as John kept reading. Finally he looked up. "Good work, Mackie. This is very thorough."
"Your people paid for the best." It looked like Mackie was going to say something else, but he got up off of the couch.
"So that's my bit done," he continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go run for my life. I hear Poland is nice this time of year. You think that would that be far enough?"
"Not yet. I still need your services." John was making a list on a sheet of paper as he spoke.
"Mr. Winston, or whoever the hell you are, get one thing straight. I was only paid to get you what's on that datapad. If you need a couple of clarifications or whatnot, then I'll help with that. But I already had a pretty good idea of who you work for. After that shit went down in the alley, I'm damn near certain what you really are. And I want no part of whatever you're gonna do, starting sixty seconds from now."
"You'll be well paid, I assure you."
"Sugar, you are adorable. Normally, I'd want nothing more than to hang out with you in your hotel room and paint your toenails and earn some cash. Money does give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. But so does breathing." Mackie put his hands on his hips and glared. For a moment, John was reminded of a young David Bowie. "Benton will find out that Karl was using my services, if he doesn't know already. Sooner or later he's gonna ask me where the hell his little bald piece of shit got to, and he won't ask nicely."
"I do need your help, though." John tried to look desperate. With a little bit of surprise, he realized that he actually was. "I'm...not very good at this tech. And I don't know people in this city. We're going to need at least one other person for this. If this was a simple retirement, I could probably pull it off by myself. But this is more complicated."
Mackie rubbed his forehead. "And if I say no?" He sounded forlorn, like he already knew the answer.
"Then I'll ask you to give me a list of people who can help me, and show you to the door."
"Really? You'll just let me go? Unless 'show me to the door' is a euphemism for..." Mackie pointed a finger at his own head, mimicking a pistol.
John stood. "No, it isn't. You can trust me, Mackie. If you stay, I'll do my best to protect you."
Mackie looked around, almost as if looking for another opinion. "I do owe you a solid for helping out in that alley. Karl was gonna give me at least a good ass-kicking. And sometimes he could get carried away. I heard he killed a couple people by accident." He sighed. "I should get my head examined, but okay. I'll stay and give you a hand. On one condition, no more bullshit between us. You're one of them, aren't you?"
"Them?" John felt a little ghost of amusement. Apparently the Organization had managed to keep up its reputation in the underworld.
"You know, the...the people who use the coins."
He paused a bit, then figured that Mackie wouldn't believe him even if he denied it. "Yes, I am one of them. Is that a problem?"
"Not really, it's just...good to know for certain." He took a deep breath. "Okay. So what do you need?"
John handed him a handwritten list. "We need this. Or as much of it as we can get together in the next twenty-four hours."
Mackie looked it over and let out a silent whistle. "Holy moly. Are we going to war or something?"
"After that, we need to hire a driver. Somebody who is reliable. We need to have that set up within the next thirty-six hours."
He was pleased to see Mackie's face relax. Now that he had a task, the young fixer was all business. "Yeah, I got a couple of leads on that last one. With this short of a notice, though...it won't be cheap. I figure I'll need about a hundred grand to get somebody good."
While Mackie was speaking, John had opened one of his cases. He pulled out a credit chit and slapped it into Mackie's hand. "Here's two hundred grand. Get me somebody really good."
Mackie stared at the chit in his hand with a dazed look. "Just like that?"
John gave him a little grin. "Sugar, I am on an expense account that would blow your fucking mind."
The young man laughed, and relaxed even more. "Yeah, I'll bet. Okay, if we're throwing this kind of cash around I know exactly who to go to. I'll work on that, plus getting the other stuff." He paused a bit. "Do we have a plan? Or do we just smash our way in and grab the dude?"
"That's not my first choice of strategy. It'll be too well guarded. I'm sure the other bidders have thought about doing a smash-and-grab as well. So Benton's people will be scanning for weapons, not to mention that at the first sign of a problem our target will vanish again. No, we have to get into that auction by pretending to be an interested bidder. But I can't pass as an information broker." He regarded Mackie a little bit. "Does Benton know you personally? I mean, did you ever do work for him or his men?"
Mackie shrugged. "A little here and there. We never met face-to-face. Am I gonna pretend to be a broker?"
"This close to the auction...probably not. We'd need to not only set up an identity, but also a reputation. They're not going to let just anybody in there." John thought some more. "I have an idea, but I'm going to need to call it in to make sure Management is okay with it."
"And what if they are?"
"Then we get to find out if you clean up nicely."
"Hey man, I don't know if you noticed? I'm already drop-dead gorgeous."