Page 16 - Unlikely Stories 5
P. 16

On His Own Petard


          Leon Minsk, given to grand gestures and fits of pique, had moved
        his  entire  operation  to  another  state  following  several  unpleasant
        showdowns with local officials over tax incentives and unionization.
        It  was  a  costly  exercise  in  machismo,  not  easily  justified  to
        shareholders—but fifty-one percent  of Minsk  Unlimited  was in  his
        hands. Now, concentration shattered by the urgent five-note theme
        of “Ride of the Valkyries”, he was flinging papers in all directions,
        digging  out  his  very  private  and  totally  secure  cellphone  from  a
        shallow grave of blueprints, proposals and contracts.
          It was Hoffmann, Chief Security Officer, his eyes and ears to the
        annoying  outside world of people blind  and deaf to his ambitions.
        One percent of the company’s ownership had sufficed to ensure the
        man’s loyalty and give him the confidence to speak to Minsk bluntly.
          “Boss,” he said quickly, “Bad news from my source: they did it. All
        tests completed and passed. Just a few more formalities and they’ll
        announce a date for the first ascent. The news will break in a matter
        of days.”
          Minsk did not hesitate.
          “Call Roznop. 804-376-4402. Got that? Repeat it. Good.”
          He disconnected and erased the call log. Hoffmann had the codes
        to unlock his instructions; they in turn would give him the alias and
        passwords  for  his  next  call,  and  so  on  down  a  short  chain  of
        command,  each  link  responsible  for  initiating  actions  the  full
        implications  of  which  would  not  be  evident.  Minsk  checked  the
        launch  schedule.  His  bread-and-butter,  dropping  communications
        satellites into orbit, was one of the revenue streams upon which his
        future depended. It also provided a regular calendar of launch dates
        for his Corsair 3 rockets from the Gulf Coast. The next one would be
        sacrificed for the greater good of humanity; and, he reflected, in the
        short  term  not  jeopardize  his  business.  No  one  expected a  perfect
        series  of  launches.  But  this  one  had  to  fail  in  a  very  precise  and
        undetectable way.
          His desk was a mess. Division heads would be dropping by with
        progress reports. He tidied up, but not too much: his image as the

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