Smash and Grab

By The Lady Razorsharp

Conference Call

The white-haired man dialed a number, knowing that on the other end of the line a phone was buzzing and a hand was reaching to pick it up. Eyes would read the number, one eyebrow would raise, but the call would be answered.

"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"I have a proposition." An irresistible phrase, one that alway got results. Except this time-

"Oh? I have several of those working at the moment."

The white-haired man steepled his fingers. "This will be worth your while, I assure you."

"You have ten seconds to prove it."

"What do you know about International Rescue?"

There was a pregnant pause. Then: "Go on."

The white-haired man tapped a few commands on his tablet and sent a holographic file photo of five young men to his associate on the other end of the line. Two of the young men in the photo were dark-headed, two were blond, and one was a redhead, but all bore a striking similarity to one another. Each young man was clad in skin-tight blue neoprene, bright baldrics bristling with tech slung across their bodies. The photo was clearly a promo poster of some kind, bearing a sleek IR logo in the corner. "These are the Tracy brothers. Don't bother learning their names; there's entirely too many of them. In fact," said the man, warming to his topic, "they're not really our focus, except for how they can get in our way of our objective."

Impatience colored the response. "Which is-?"

"This man." The white-haired caller tapped the tablet in front of him again, and transmitted the photo of a thirty-something man with skin the color of milky coffee and a narrow face framed by electric-blue glasses. "Mr. Hiram Hackenbacker, aka 'Brains.' He's the engineer for the group. He's designed the bulk of their tech, and they'll pay dearly for his return." A smile crept across the man's face that the other couldn't see, but could hear clearly. "Once we make our demands known, they'll be distracted just long enough for us to conduct our business without hindrance."

"And if they won't pay?" The voice asked, ever the devil's advocate.

The white-haired man shrugged; again, the gesture came through in his tone. "Then this 'Brains' works for us. It's a win-win."

"Have you considered just killing him?"

Admittedly, this was an attractive possibility, one that the white-haired man had considered for some long time before discarding it. No engineer meant no new tech, whether the man was dead or in another's employ. Same result either way, though it would be a shame to waste such a valuable resource.

"The demise of International Rescue is not our focus," the white-haired man reminded his associate, then amended it to: "Well, not entirely our focus. If they attempt to retrieve Mr. Hackenbacker and suffer some unfortunate losses in the process, that's just a side benefit." He leaned back in his chair, taking on a thoughtful tone. "There's also the possibility of acquiring International Rescue and its parent company, Tracy Industries, for our use."

"Now that's something I could get behind."

"Let's table that for the moment, though," said the white-haired man. "Time enough to sort that out, if the opportunity presents itself. In the meantime, we'll put the question to Mr. Hackenbacker. Even if he refuses, we have ways of encouraging a change of heart."

"And what of the five boyscouts in blue?"

"As I said: They won't be a problem," the white-haired man assured his associate. "It's a zero-sum game for them." He took down the photo of the bespectacled engineer and switched to a display of a sprawling, multi-level villa nestled into the cleft of a rocky island. "No, International Rescue will be our puppets, and we'll be pulling the strings. Now, to discuss details…"