Hostile Takeover Read Online Free PDF Page B

I was upset," continued Buchanan. "Yet another problem for me to deal with. And the world is so full of problems. But then I realized, this one isn’t mine."
    "No, sir."
    "It's your problem."
    Buchanan stood. Smiles inadvertently took a step backward as the fat man heaved his bulk out of the chair.
    "I don't care how you run your agency, of course, but a suggestion: The problem is not the puppet. The problem is the puppet master." On-screen, the Cromoglodon swatted a wall away with a piece of steel I-beam. "He is not the problem," Buchanan said. "If he was on our side, he would be a solution. He's just a tool. Do not make the mistake of attacking the tool. Remember that Windsor is the problem.
    "With some men, you win by breaking their spirit. Other men, by breaking their hearts. But with Edwin Windsor, I suggest hitting him in the wallet."
    As his aide placed a thick file on Smiles' desk, Buchanan said, "This is the complete FBI workup on Edwin Windsor and his front company, Omdemnity Insurance. This is the only string I'm going to pull for you, Smiles. You can lock it down or hang for it. But from here on, it's on you."
    And then he was gone. Leaving the Director to stare at the computer screen filled with scenes of destruction. In the background he saw the tiny figure of Topper, cheering his head off.
    The wallet, thought Smiles, that’s one way. But as he stared at Topper, he thought of other ways. Little things are so easy to overlook. But if there was any sure thing Smiles knew it was this—even small men harbor great ambitions.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The next morning, Topper tried telling himself that he wasn't going to go in to work at all. He thought he might barricade the doors, or hide in some other part of the city, so that the Adjustors would not find him. Of course this was a fantasy. The Adjustors had been created as precisely the kind of men who find what they seek. So Topper, in his strange logic, decided that he would settle for not going in with his chauffeur. But when Stevie hadn't shown up, Topper began to worry.
Did Edwin not want him there? Was he trying to do an end run around him? Did he think that Topper was so small and inconsequential that he could just ignore him? With that thought came a flash of anger that got him up and out of bed. Fine, thought Topper. If Edwin didn't want him there, he was just going to quit.
    Topper thought a lot of passionate thoughts in any given day. So he didn't pay much attention to them. But as he stood underneath the shower, he was shocked to discover that he was serious about quitting.
    "Ugh," he muttered to the shower, "this day is gonna suck."

    Topper hated a lot of things. He hated rules. He hated responsibility. He hated work and almost everyone who was taller than he was. Most of all, he hated the suburbs. Why Edwin had seen fit to move his office out here, he would never know. Windsor Tower had been beautiful. Right in the heart of the city. A place where they shoveled the sidewalks in the winter. Where they employed men to open doors for you. Where you didn't have to dress like an Eskimo. The only thing Topper hated more than the suburbs was winter.
    He preferred to be chauffeured (while drunk) wherever he went. But when that wasn't possible, or when he needed to blow off some steam, he liked to drive fast. Very fast. Winter ruined that. So it was that he was babying his custom-built, massively supercharged Mini through the icy roads.
    He loved his car, complete with special seat and pedal modifications for his size. His only disappointment was that the chassis wasn't big enough to mount machine guns, flamethrowers or oil slick dispensers.
    Topper cursed as wheeled his car off the boulevard and into the entrance to Omdemnity's Corporate Campus. What an awful sight. How well-manicured. How controlled. How depressing.
    Once, businesses built structures as medieval men built cathedrals. Testaments to beauty, progress and civilization. Like the Empire State Building,