Anarchy of the Mice

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Fabienne stepped out of the holo-chamber and called into the air, "Geoffrey, I need the American president by téléphone."

A speaker on her desk crackled, followed by her manservant's voice. "Of course. What shall I give as the reason for the call?"

Fabienne frowned. "Give nothing."

"Understood," Geoffrey said. "At once, mademoiselle."

Scurrying noises were heard over the speaker. The heiress walked to a four-inch aluminum-oxynitride window, bulletpfroof, and looked out. Beyond the blurred headlights of Boulevard Périphérique lay Paris. The great city was nearly a kilometer away but nonetheless showed the toll of Anarchy. Mortar ash scarred the façades of buildings, some missing gaping chunks. Burning slums upwind had turned the Eiffel Tower black from its usual brown.

Geoffrey appeared at the doorway. "I have the president, mademoiselle. Line two."

Fabienne neither looked at him nor left the window, merely reached back her palm. Geoffrey hurried in and placed the handset there.

"Edward." She said the name like bland bouillabaisse.

The president said, "What's on your mind, Fabes?"

Fabienne Rivard fumed at this folksy nickname, which the moronic Texan had given her at their introduction years ago.

"It has come to my attention," she said, "that an American corporation is plotting to attack Roche Rivard."

"You're kidding," said the president. "Who'd be dim enough to try that?"

Surely as if it had appeared in the holo-chamber, Fabienne imagined the jowly face of Jim Steed.

"American Dynamics," she said. "As we speak, they are drawing up battle plans."

"And how would you know that?"

"Rivard LLC employs a broad, deep portfolio of information-harvesting techniques."

The president, who'd been elected by dint of wealthy supporters and an avowed aversion to complexity, said, "Bet you do."

Then he whistled—a lascivious sound suggestive of some sex metaphor.

Fabienne ignored the misogyny. "I hope my organization can count on your full-throated cooperation in preventing this unprovoked attack."

The president wheezed. "Half of California seceded last week. My national Guard's busy freeing up the Mississippi River from biker gangs. You think I have the wherewithal to go around preemptively policing some US company's attack? Alleged attack?"

"You won't stop them?"

"I can't stop them. No money, no men...hell, there are days I beg Canada to keep an eye on Seattle for us."

Fabienne released a breathy sigh at this answer, which she'd expected. "Then I must warn you that Rivard will not accept an attack on its headquarters. This will be considered an act of war."

"Act of war? Isn't this whole damn mess a war? How d'ya separate the mud from the pig's slop?"

"I don't understand your farmspeak," she said. "But know this. We reserve all military options when a foreign entity threatens our very existence."

"All military options? What's that mean?"

"All means all. In our beautiful French, the word is tout."

She explained that not only the Pittsburgh plant, but American Dynamics facilities in Reno, Pensacola, Mexico City and more would be in scope as retaliatory targets.