Remote Read Online Free PDF Page B

removing human predators.  Eliminate a source of pain and you eliminate much of the pain itself.  Not all, of course—but that’s your area of expertise, not mine. 
 
Jack: You see what you do as necessary.
 
Remote: My motives are not entirely pure—I enjoy my chosen profession, I admit.  But yes, I believe I do fulfill a needed role in society.  Do you watch hockey?
 
Jack: I’m not much for team sports.
 
Remote: I ask because there’s a very similar role filled by certain hockey players; you’ll find them on every team in the NHL.  They call them “enforcers”. 
They are, more or less, thugs.  It is their job to intimidate the more skilled players on opposing teams, and to mete out retribution if their own teammates are attacked.  Their rank is utterly unofficial, and the combat they engage in has no written rules.  They are—by the standards of their own sport—essentially professional criminals.  And how do the authorities that oversee this sport react?
They do nothing.  Because one very simple fact prevents them from attempting to eliminate or even control such behavior:  the fans don’t want them to.   The enforcer fills a particular social niche that his society demands, one that has evolved out of necessity.  He may not receive the accolades a star player does, but he does his job.
As do I.
    Jack leaned back, studied the screen.  “Sure,” he said softly.  “And if someone happens to get caught in the crossfire—a wife, a kid, a bystander—you just chalk it up to collateral damage, right?  It all comes down to numbers with you.”
Jack: We have very different approaches. How do you envision us working together?
 
Remote: I’m glad you asked.  It brings us back to the question of self-termination you brought up before.
I’ve been considering the idea of suicide bombers for some time.  I’ve rejected it until now for several reasons, one of which is the obvious political connotations; the last thing I want is my anonymity breached by an intensive investigation by Homeland Security.
But wouldn’t it be a wonderful way to dispose of one of your subjects when you were done with him?  A fitting end for a monster—using it to destroy another of its kind as its final act.
    Jack blinked.  For a moment, the idea almost seemed to make sense. . . he shook his head.  “Yeah, sure,” he muttered.  “Strap a bomb to an unstable psychopath I’ve just tortured and aim him at another psycho.  No way that could go wrong . . .”
Jack: Intriguing.  But you still haven’t provided me with details on how you operate in the first place; I’m going to need some specifics if we’re going to go any further.  Or don’t you trust me?
    He held his breath, waiting for the reply.  It seemed to take longer to arrive than the others.
Remote: Of course I trust you, Closer.  You and I both do what we do for the betterment of Mankind.  And here’s how I attain my goals. . .
     
    ***
    Tanner had recently acquired a cabin in the woods—sadly, it wasn’t in the same direction as where the balloons came down.  It took him another two hours to get there, but the SUV was big and comfortable, with an excellent sound system.  If he had someone else to handle the driving he could even relax in the back and watch the flip-down TV screen, maybe enjoy some batsu gemu DVDS.  But of course, that was impossible; he knew how to make people do all sorts of things, but a personal chauffeur was an indulgence he couldn’t allow himself.
    Not when there were so many other tasks to be done.
    The cabin was at the end of a long driveway, off a little-used road that wound through the Mount Hood National Forest.  He pulled in beside the modest, one-story A-frame and shut off the engine.
    The cabin looked old and rundown, but there were bars on the windows and the door was steel-cored oak; anyone stumbling across the place would find it more than a little difficult to break into.  He undid the heavy