April 3: The Middle of Nowhere (45 page)

April was talking to somebody she didn't invite into the call. Freidman looked at Brockman and silently mouthed, bank board? Brockman just looked off at the screen above their tables showing an environmental scene ignoring the aside. It looked to be Oriental from the style of the decorative bridge and the Koi fish gliding along beneath the flowering lily pads. April could still see them even if she was focused on somebody else. Something that simple she might lip read.

Their displays suddenly added a young man, older than April but still maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He didn't look like a bank executive either.

"Hello, I'm Jeff Singh, Senior Partner of the System Trade Bank of Home. Do I understand you have not made any attempt to access your account since you have been at odds with North America?"

"No, we were always afraid if we withdrew cash or paid for something it would bring them right down on us in short order," Brockman explained.

"Very likely, but you don't care if they know you are on Home now?" Jeff asked.

"If we aren't safe here where will we ever be safe?" Brockman asked. "We don't have the skills to create new identities and probably don't have the funds for it even if you know somebody who could arrange it. Yeah, we'll stop trying to hide now that we're on Home."

"That's your judgment if you don't think they want you bad enough to send assassins. Now, our bank doesn't have direct access to the North American banking system. I doubt that we will be welcome to do business in North America for a long, long time, given the political animosities."

"However The Private Bank of Home is grandfathered into that system and they have not tried to toss them out yet. They have a number of very influential Japanese owners they likely don't want to provoke. We have a good working relationship with them. We'll find out if they can extract your funds and then we'll see about moving them where they can't be clawed back. Are you free to meet me over there at the moment?"

"You bet we are. If you can grab those funds it will make things a lot easier for us. What sort of fees do you think will apply?" Brockman asked.

"Why, just the usual wire transfer fee, I believe they charge a hundred dollars USNA at this end to receive it. No charge to open an account with us. That moves it where they can't demand it back. Do you need a card to access it? Or would you like some cash?" Jeff offered.

"What is the currency on Home?" Freidman finally got a word in.

"There is no official currency. The System Trade Bank is coining twenty-five gram platinum coins called Solars, but they are not in wide circulation yet. Most folks use EuroMarks or USNA Dollars. There are some Tongan Pa'Anga floating around because they lift most of our supply. You don't see much else in any quantity. Plastic is the norm except for a few small service businesses and private clubs."

"Then a card for each of us," Brockman at least checked for a visual okay from Freidman, "and a small amount of cash."

"I'll meet you in about a half hour then?" Jeff asked. "It's getting late into first shift and they don't keep their doors open the off shifts."

"That's fine," Brockman agreed.

"See you over there," April agreed and logged off.

"Miss Lewis is coming?" Freidman asked surprised.

"You heard she has an interest. Surely you would like to meet our benefactress?" Brockman asked.

 "Of course. I guess I'm just feeling swept away by events. We have so very little control over what happens to us now. It's scary."

"Ha! Scary would have been going into Jackman and turning ourselves in to the local cop."

"No, might as well shoot ourselves in the head and save them the trouble," Freidman said, then there was an uncomfortable silence, because Freidman had come close to doing just that after he shot President Hadley.

Gabriel was sitting patiently, watching them use the spex. "Are you gentlemen satisfied with the gear?" he asked, smiling.

"Oh yeah, It's nicer than the military grade stuff we used in the Navy," Freidman gushed. "Here," he said grabbing his wallet, "you need something for your time," he insisted.

"Ms. Dixon sent me," Gabriel reminded him standing up and stepping back from the table. "She'll take care of me. She'd be irritated with me if I cashed in on her kindness. You can remember me if you have some other work for me. I'm the only Gabriel on station com. If you need a courier or escort for Earth people, tutor for young kids, a bartender or server at a party, any kind of odd jobs like that you give me a call."

"Bartender?" Freidman asked after he walked away. "He doesn't look old enough to drink."

"Who knows what the law is on that here?" Brockman pointed out. "We really didn't get to research Home like we would have if we hadn't been in hiding. I suspect we should have done so with more diligence when we were on the Santos boat, or even just asked them. I bet they researched Home a lot better than us before deciding to come up."

"We were sort of committed in any case. After all the stress of sneaking around and hiding it was too easy to relax and take a break from constant vigilance. Time to buckle down again."

"Yes and maybe we can hire Gabriel to tutor us on local custom and law after we get done with whatever Santos needs," Brockman suggested.

* * *

Papa-san looked over the rooms they'd just rented critically. He was used to better accommodations, certainly more spacious, on his boat. That and the lack of any natural surfaces like wood or stone was sterile and depressing. He expected better, even for a Holiday Inn.

"It's temporary," Mother reminded him. Not needing to ask what he thought at all. It was plainly written on his face.

"Remove the ability to turn the lights off and this would make a wonderful sensory deprivation cell," he grumbled.

"When we are out I'll find a florist and buy a plant or spray of cuttings for the corner there. We can add a few humanizing touches and take them with us when we move to other quarters," Mother proposed. "I suppose there are probably some prints to be had and surely the big screen there can be tuned to some pleasant environmental channel."

"You make anywhere home," he complimented her. "Good thing I have you to keep me sane. Sort of…" he added after a pause.

"I value much of your craziness," she admitted giving him a hug.

"Let's see if the cafeteria food is as bland as the rooms," he suggested. "If it is let's open our own place and drive them out of business."

"Let me change into something warmer. They keep it cooler here than I expected."

"That's fine, but keep it good for zero G in case they call us for the freight shuttle and you might bring a jacket or sweater too, because it might be cooler yet near the dock."

"Are you going to call the lieutenants?"

"Not until we have a docking time. Let's just have dinner for now and relax."

"Yes dear," she agreed, amused at the idea of him relaxing. Maybe on the surface.

Chapter 27

"Pretty expensive looking place," Freidman said while they were still outside. The dark wooden panels and green trim would have looked rich even on Earth.

"Freidman and Brockman," Isaac announced to the clerk occupying the desk nearest the entry. Brockman seemed unusually intimidated. "I believe Mr. Singh should have called by now and set up an appointment for us."

"Yes, the director is setting up in his office and Mr. Singh is on his way. Let me show you in, would you like some coffee or other beverage?"

"Coffee would be nice, just black for both of us please," Isaac still spoke for them.

The office he led them to was an oddity. It was the director's office at one end with a desk and a glass wall into the common area, but behind a short conference table that seated six and had a huge screen on the far end wall. You'd never see them combined like this on Earth. There were two men in traditional Earth business dress working at open computers on the long table.

The front desk minion announced them, but did no introductions and disappeared to get the offered coffee. The older man, Irwin Hall, introduced himself as the director and asked for their identification and bank cards. His associate Dan Prescott just looked up from the computer and nodded when he was introduced.

"I understand we probably have one shot at a wire transfer and then once your authorities have you located there will no advantage to keeping the accounts accessible. It's good you deal with separate banks. We are doubly fortunate both your banks allow you to initiate wire transfers electronically. Only about a third of American banks do so. We're going to try to do both transfers as close to simultaneously as possible. If you'd write out your password it will save seconds accessing the account. I doubt you'll need it again, but if they would leave the account open for some reason you can always change it."

"So you are opening accounts for us to accept the transfer?" Isaac asked.

"Yes, but as soon as it is confirmed we shall do another wire to The System Trade Bank, Mr. Singh's firm and close out your account. If you should care to do business with us later we'd welcome that, but if the Earth banks attempt to ask for the funds back it simplifies it for both you and for us to not even have a current account to debit."

Jeff poked his head in the door. "Ready for us?" he asked Hall. At a nod he came in with his own computer and a stuffed portfolio. April was right behind. They shook the lieutenant's hands, but they'd just met them on com so they didn't waste time on formalities.

"This creates your accounts with the System Bank," Jeff told them. "I need your full legal name and your com code to receive statements. These are your bank cards," he said laying them by the other bank's papers. "They are issued through Standard Russian Bank of St. Petersburg. We automatically debit your account and forward it to the Standard bank whenever you use the card. There is no fee for retail, but getting cash at a machine can have fees so I suggest you come in here and present your card or call me on com if you need cash and I'll have it couriered to you."

"You work with Russians to issue bank cards?" Brockman asked uncertain.

"Yes, they are a large dependable bank with a big card customer base. I don't expect you to have any trouble presenting the card anywhere on Earth or off. I just got our first fifty cards this week and you two are among the first customers. We use a European payment settlement service too, no North American connections at all."

"These are taste lock cards!" Freidman said picking one up. "I've only seen one in movies."

"That's all we got. Don't worry, there is no minimum balance. I could issue one to a fifty buck account if I wanted. We'll absorb the expense."

"And these documents create your accounts at the Private Bank of Home," Hall said sliding his forms next to Jeff's. "I need a dollar each from you to create the accounts before we can wire into them. Then of course they will close as soon as the money is passed on to the System Bank."

Eric and Isaac both produced a dollar and slapped it on the table and scribbled out their passwords.

"I suggest when I obtain a balance we leave a nominal sum in the account rather than close it out. A close out often triggers human intervention and action to freeze an account for ninety days, supposedly to give outstanding debits time to filter in."

"Sure, leave twenty bucks in my account," Freidman volunteered.

"Sounds good," Brockman agreed.

They signed the Private Bank papers and then the System Bank. Jeff signed and pulled a cylinder out of his pocket and pressed it after his name and held a button down on the end. When he lifted it there was a complex seal printed with a rainbow spread of color across it.

"Is that some sort of notary seal? Wouldn't you need witnesses? Isaac asked.

"It's my hanko. Not my personal one, I have one of those, but my official seal for the bank. If you do much business with the Japanese you'll find it expedites things. These are much more secure than the old carved sort. It needs my thumb on it to print."

"We seem to have everything. Are you ready to do this?" Hall asked.

Brockman just nodded nervously.

"Yeah, do it." Freidman agreed.

"And I'm in," Hall announced. "Filling out form. Do those numbers look right to you?" he asked Brockman as he typed.

"Yeah, that's about right. It's crazy, but I think they have been paying me all this time."

"I'm also printing a detailed statement for the past year while I am logged on. Okay, your account with us is transferred to the System Bank and closed out. It's been nice doing business with you," he quipped with a smile.

"No joy here," his underling Dan announced. "This says Isaac Freidman is deceased and your estate was settled by your executor without probate and the account is closed. It's dated almost a year ago."

"They think I died in the Deepwell bunker!" Freidman exclaimed.

"Aren't there eyewitnesses who would have placed you outside the bunker?" April asked.

"I transferred to Brockman's vehicle while the attack was in progress. All the duty records would have been inside the collapsed mountain. The driver of the vehicle I left may have never reported the transfer. He may not have survived for all I know."

"And you didn't see anyone else once you were with Brockman?" April asked interested.

"Uh, basically anyone who saw us after that we shot dead," he admitted.

"That sort of thing happens in war," Hall noted with a shrug. "It isn't all bad. You don't have to worry about them coming after a dead man. I would consider letting your death record stand as a convenience unless you have a compelling reason not to do so."

"No, I have no siblings and my parents are dead. I have no close relatives with whom I want to get back in contact. Just an elderly uncle who never much cared for me."

"Mr. Singh," Brockman spoke up frowning, "Isaac and I have been partners over a year. We depended on each other for survival. He provided the place we sheltered in the Maine woods. I'd like you to divide the funds you were able to recover for me equally into both our accounts."