Free Sanctuary (Jezebel's Ladder Book 3) by Scott Rhine Page B

two
board members did the heavy lifting. She asked, “How is Sanjay coming on his
project?”
    The third surviving board member
was busy convincing his native India to weigh in on the conflict. Mori grunted.
“Recent exercises by Pakistan on the Indian border almost guarantee the
alliance, but commitment could take days of posturing. I will fill the gap
between our enemies’ first fumbling attempts and the day we have enough armies
on our side.”
    “You’re not going to tell me how? I
have encryption set to maximum.”
    “The trick is to force the tiger to
reconsider when all you have is a rolled-up newspaper. Timing and surprise are
tantamount. How are our financials?”
    “Brazil might only be the fifth
largest country and economy, but they have enough resources to back whatever
play we decide to make. While people sell corporate shares in panic, our
families and the Brazilians buy. We’ve sold or leased our most vulnerable
holdings. The obvious economic weapons have been blocked.”
    “For now,” Mori cautioned. “But the
price of everything scarce is increasing. People know what war means. Gold and
fuel are climbing already. You can’t protect everyone.” He stopped lecturing
when an icon flashed red.
    When the Chinese Weather Service
dropped equipment off the Tokyo coast to track a potential typhoon, Mori’s
orbiting eyes told him the next phase of the dance had begun. Minutes later,
the strike team landed on his roof. If Amanda had been here, she’d have cut off
their balls, but Mori let them in with minimal resistance to make his point.
    He tracked them every inch of the
way. The moment they reached his floor, he spoke to his computer. “Koku, open
the first of Amanda’s seals. Record everything that happens, and transmit to
other board members and the prime minister.”
    Originally, the Koku had been a
measure of how much rice one peasant could produce in a year. It was the
currency used by warlords to purchase and provision troops. The Koku management
project had evolved from Fortune economic software that was designed to prevent
global starvation and currency collapse. One merely had to adjust the goals of
the expert system to make it useful for more commercial purposes.
    Attempting to appear casual, Mori raised
the receiver on his desk phone. A voice on his badge warned, “Explosives” in
his daughter’s synth voice, standard on every Mori interface. He dove under the
armor-plated furniture to avoid flying fragments of wood and hardware as the
heavy doors he’d salvaged from a Shinto temple blew inward. So much for
promoting serenity.
    Koku activated the fire-suppressant
systems and dropped the clear, bulletproof wall into place. The Chinese Special
Forces soldier in front didn’t shoot the barrier but dispatched his black-clad technician
to subvert the next hurdle. On the desk’s thermal monitors, Mori could see six
men in his secretary’s office before her camera was disabled.
    In fluent Japanese, the leader of
the assault team said, “You will accompany me to the People’s Republic where
you will be tried as a criminal. If you cooperate, you will be well treated. If
not, we will make an example.”
    Mori sneered as he sat in his
custom-made control chair. What kind of moron would volunteer for years of torture
and hard labor? Even with the arc welder, raising his barrier would take at
least fifteen minutes, more time than he needed to make his point. “I think
not. You have already triggered my first reprisal. At my signal, every Mori
chip in Chinese hands, including those you stole the plans for, stopped
working. Planes, trains, and cars are now crashing—military as well as
civilian—all because you violated the end-user agreement.”
    “You’re bluffing.”
    “Your high-tech VTOL on the roof is
scrap now. You’ll have to use my secretary’s phone to call a cab home.” Mori
lit a cigar to celebrate.
    There was a pause while the
soldiers noted the lack of response from their