Free The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2) by Chris Thrall Page B

short.”
    “I see.” As Penny sipped her coffee, it was as if the
endless procession of waves symbolized the million questions flowing through her
mind. “And the Lögrétta – do you ever get to meet them?”
    “In my lowly role I don’t get to know who they are. I don’t
think Muttley does either – if so, he keeps one helluva secret. Some say they’re
the Concern’s founding members. Others that they’re voted in by theAlþingi
and rotated every so often to avoid the power going to their heads.”
    “So in theory the Logso could be the president of the United
States.”
    “Ha!” The irony made Hans chuckle. “It could be, but judging
by the amount of bombs he drops on behalf of the corporate brat pack, I doubt
it.”
    “Do you know how many people work for the Concern?”
    “Technically none – with the exception of the Lögréttaand
a core of administrative staff, plus a few vital bods, like techies and
consultants, held on retainers. The rest of the network is made up of sleeper
agents – SOs, handlers, enablers, and symps.”
    “Explain.”
    “SOs, ‘special operatives,’ are people like me – folks with
specialist trades who get tasked with the risky stuff. Handlers, like Muttley,
who you’ve met, oversee us on operations. Enablers are the corporate types who
back us with funding or services – like the airline owner who provided the
Learjet we flew in on. Symps are people sympathetic to the cause who can’t
offer significant financial support but who have other services of value, like
Karen for example. There’s no hierarchy to speak of – in fact, we’re kinda
communist in that respect – and everyone plays a crucial part. We all undergo
the same initiation and provide our services for a token fee plus expenses, and
that stops division and hubris and corruption.”
    “Wasn’t it Lord Acton who said power corrupts and absolute
power corrupts absolutely?” said Penny, recalling her student days.
    “Exactly.”
    “And the initiation? Trouser leg rolled up, stand on one
foot, drink the blood of a bat?” she joked.
    “Ha, we’re not the Illuminati! It’s actually quite simple. You
meet with your sponsor and handler somewhere private – mine was in the pool
shed in our backyard. You hold a pebble, meant to represent the Lögberg – what
the Icelanders called the Law Rock, which was the speaker’s platform at their Þingvellirs– and recite the ten pillars of the Concern’s constitution from the Jónsbók , or ‘law book.’”
    “Like?”
    “Like, I promise to always make myself available, as far as
reasonably possible, should anyone acting in the capacity of the Concern request
my services – blah, blah, blah.”
    “No death before dishonor then?”
    “No, just the pledges you’d expect from a weird bunch of
covert do-gooders, followed by the symbolic burning of a scroll listing an operative’s
seven requisite qualities.”
    “Such as?”
    “Courage, loyalty, selflessness, sense of humor in adversity
– that kinda thing.”
    “Now who do I know that possesses them?”
    “I don’t know – it’s not that guy from room service, is it?”
     

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exactly 7:00 a.m. Hans’ cell phone rang. It was Muttley, calling to say he hadn’t
managed to pull any additional intel on Captain Alvarez and to proceed with the
plan, adding that he’d briefed Karen, and she was expecting Hans’ visit.
    Hans called the ambassador to let her know his flight’s
arrival time, leaving Penny in the hotel and taking a car to the airport. From
there a scheduled island-hopper flight landed him in Praia on the island of
Santiago in a little under two hours.
    Although only a hundred miles closer to the equator, Hans
felt the increase in temperature and flapped his shirt as he walked through the
arrivals hall.
    A middle-aged Latino dressed in a cream sports coat and designer
jeans approached.
    “Mr. Larsson?”
    “That’s me.”
    “Enrique Ramos.” He beamed and thrust a hand