Fool's Gold Read Online Free PDF Page B

penny, but delivered from a high-powered special sniper's rifle, that bullet costs much more. It is not the material but what you want to do with it that costs," Wissex said.
    "Right. I got no one worth five million dollars dead," said the generalissimo, handing back the knife. He told the Gurkha who had killed his soldier, "Nice cut, kiddo."
    "You don't want to kill someone, old friend," said Lord Wissex. "You want to capture someone."
    "I don't want to torture no one worth five million."
    "You probably won't have to torture her," said Wissex.
    "Her? I can get any woman I want in Hamidia for ten bucks, two thousand in Hamidian cash, which is— —"
    "Nine ninety-five today," whispered an aide who had one of the few secure jobs in the nation. He could read and count. Sometimes without moving his lips. "The exchange rate down again today."
    "Right," said the generalissimo. "Nine ninety-five."
    "You want to talk to her," Wissex said.
    "Ain't nobody I want to talk to five million dollars worth."
    "Ah, but you do. Talk to her and you may become the richest, most powerful man in the world."
    "God is good," said Moombasa. "How?"
    "The ancient Hamidians that first settled this land were the greatest traders of the ancient world. They created a fortune so vast that in gold alone, they owned an entire mountain."
    "Lots of money in mountains of gold," said the generalissimo blandly. "Nice legend. I like legends."
    "Suppose the legend is true. Suppose it is and suppose there is, hidden somewhere, that mountain of gold. It would make anyone the richest, most powerful person in the world. It's more important than oil because it is so spendable. No market prices being set at conferences. No delivery halfway across the world, like oil. Gold is pure wealth."
    "Who's got this mountain?"
    "We don't know who has it yet, but we know who rightfully owns it."
    "Who?" asked Moombasa. He knew he was going to like this answer.
    "You," said Lord Wissex. "It is Hamidian wealth."
    "God's light shine through your eyes. Your mouth speaks His truth," said Moombasa. Tears welled in his eyes. He looked to his generals and aides. They were all nodding. He would get them new uniforms. Medals with real gold in them. Maybe even the new electronic gear for torture. Every other country in South America had them. And himself? He would be able to live up to the name he had given himself: "the Great Benefactor." And he would be able to stash more gold in Switzerland than anyone else who had ever lived.
    According to Lord Wissex, in America there was a woman who could read ancient Hamidian. An ancient plaque had been found and she had translated it to tell where the mountain of gold was. But she was keeping it to herself. And the evil Yankees were keeping her surrounded so she would lead them to the gold, the gold that was rightfully the natural property of the proud Hamidian people.
    "The thieves," said Moombasa.
    "Exactly," said Lord Wissex. "I'd like to interest you in the knife. The knife is basic. It is classic and, in this case, highly appropriate. Seven knife fighters of the highest quality and training, and guaranteed service by the House of Wissex, the greatest house of assassins in the history of the world. We deliver the girl and she delivers the gold and everything is neat and proper."
    "Good. When I get the gold, you get the five million," said Moombasa.
    "I'm sorry, General President, but we are not in the gold business. We are purveyors of violence and it is the tradition of the House of Wissex that we must be paid in advance, in cash."
    "Five million dollars? You talking about ten tanks. Or the education budget for the next five hundred years."
    "How much do you want your gold?" Wissex asked.
    "I give you two million."
    "I'm awfully sorry, my friend, but you know we can't bargain. It's just not that sort of business."
    "All right, but I got to get some blood too," said Generalissimo Moombasa Garcia y Benitez, President for Life and the Great