Agent G: Infiltrator by C. T. Phipps

Author:C. T. Phipps
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Amber Cove Publishing
Published: 2017-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

It was about an hour past sundown when we arrived at our target’s location. As we pulled up to a large line of cars in front of his mansion, a valet opened the door for Lucita, and the two of us stepped out onto the finely tended walkway leading up to the front doors.

Luigi’s “fundraiser’” was already in full swing and honestly was one of the more impressive gatherings I’d attended. Everything from the surroundings to the guests was a remarkable sight. The estate was, in simple terms, a palace. Lucita hadn’t been understating things when she’d called it that. The front doors alone were at least four times the size of a normal mansion entrance, emphasizing the sheer scope of the palace. There were hundreds of guests as well, perhaps as many as a thousand.

Walking in, arm in arm with Lucita, I immediately noted that security was being provided by J5R securities. The world’s largest PMC had public agents stationed at every entrance and interspersed among the guests and staff. My IRD conjured little golden circles in my vision that identified the make and model of their armaments as well as which ones were wearing body armor.

While useful information, it was rather distracting, and I wondered how long it would take me to engage and disengage scanning mode. I was also a little put off by knowing plenty of information about the people around me that hadn’t been included in my briefing—they were just things I knew. I had the suspicion I was a guinea pig for Fourth Generation cyberware, and I did not appreciate it one bit. Not that my opinion mattered to the Society.

The estate’s interior was just as disgustingly opulent as the exterior, with a grand marble staircase heading up the middle of the front hall, polished gray flagstone floors, statues of Michelangelo-inspired angels along the corners of the ceiling, and an enormous crystal chandelier.

“It seems a lot of people want to see him become president,” I said, watching a security guard scan the barcode inside Lucita’s embroidered invitation. She’d been keeping it in her purse the entire time and I was surprised there wasn’t blood on it.

“Most of them, yes,” Lucita said, causally scanning the crowd. “The rest are here for the tax write-off.”

“Tax write-off?”

“Speak Russian. Few people understand that here,” Lucita said, switching languages. “Luigi is officially raising money for the refugee crisis. He’s getting his final push into office by trying to get private enterprises to donate hundreds of millions in Euros to construct housing for the poor brown people on territories well away from proper Italians.”

“Ah.”

“Not that most the money will ever be seen by them.”

“All for an election that’s already fixed,” I replied in Russian.

“Italian politics are much more honest than American. There, they do some truly despicable things.”

“You’re right,” I said, sucking in my breath. “I’ve done some of them.”

It seemed Marissa hadn’t been understating things when she said Luigi Mondo was dirty. Stealing millions meant to buy food

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