Tek Money by William Shatner Page B

informants who can tap bank records,” said Jake. “I’ll hit one of them tomorrow. It’ll more than likely turn out that newer, stronger barriers have been put up between us and the information we want—but I’ll give it a try.”
    Gomez tried his nearcaf. “ Ai, muy malo , says our dining-out critic,” he remarked. “Barragray, by the way, assured me that nothing was missing, nobody was on the take and that the late lamented Pedro Traynor was simply one more goofy Tekkie. From what you found out, the hombre was lying.”
    â€œProbably so. Although it’s possible that Dillinger was fed some fake information and that the Tek money never ended up with anyone connected to Gunsmiths.”
    â€œNaw, something has to be going on wrong with those Gunsmiths pendejos ,” Gomez said. “Too many people and mechanisms involved with them are biting the dust.”
    â€œThat’s what—Excuse me a minute.” The band of his wristphone had begun contracting and expanding. “Yeah?”
    â€œIt’s Dan,” came the voice of his son. “I think you’d better get home—if you can.”
    â€œMore trouble?”
    â€œNot exactly, but there’s someone here who’s very anxious to talk to you and pass along some information.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œShe says her name won’t mean anything,” answered Dan. “But to tell you she’s the one who owned and operated Dillinger.”

15
    B EV K ENDRICKS SAID , “About time we had some lights.”
    The windows in her office blanked, light blossomed overhead and at floor level.
    The black young woman sitting on the other side of her desk said, “You were right about Jabb Marx.”
    â€œI really wasn’t sure,” admitted the blonde detective. “That’s why I put you on him, Katie.”
    â€œWell, Jabb is most certainly not working solely for us,” said Katie McTell. “I’ll give you the stuff I got on him by doing a Banx tap in a while. First off, though, jefe , I—”
    â€œWhere’d you pick up that jefe? ”
    â€œJake’s partner, Gomez. He always refers to Bascom that way.”
    Smiling, Bev said, “You’ll pick up bad habits if you hang around with him too much.”
    â€œI certainly hope so,” said Kate. “As I was saying, chief, I picked up some interesting stuff at the hospital. Look on yonder wall for a minute, will you?”
    On one of the large rectangular vidscreens pictures now appeared. It was silent footage, showing the busy lobby of the Santa Monica Emergency Center. The picture froze and zoomed in on a lean, tanned man who had been heading up a ramp.
    â€œI managed, at no cost to the expense account, to get a copy of the secsystem tapes at SMEC.” Getting up, Katie went over to tap the image of the tan man. “This guy visited Jabb and stayed nearly fifteen minutes.”
    â€œI don’t recognize the guy,” said Bev.
    â€œFortunately, I sure do. There’s some doubt as to his true name, but he’s known as Gardner Munsey to the intelligence community.”
    Bev went over to stand beside her operative. “Munsey is somebody I’ve heard of,” she said. “An agent of the US Office of Clandestine Operations, isn’t he?”
    â€œRight, and Munsey specializes in troubleshooting—and, sometimes, in cleaning up after operations get screwed up. Sort of like the guy who follows the elephants in a parade with a big broom and a bucket.” Katie moved a few feet back from the wall-screen. “Troubleshooting, as defined by the OCO, includes arranging assassinations.”
    â€œSo he might be involved in the death of Wes Flanders.” Bev went back to her desk. “As well as Peter Traynor.”
    â€œOkay, but if that’s true, what’s he using Jabb Marx for?”
    â€œTo keep informed on how close we’re getting to