“If you turn around, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, God, this isn’t happening…”

“Now, this is very simple: It’s freezing out here, so I don’t want to waste time. I want something you have. You give it to me, you live. You don’t, you die.”

“My wallet—it’s in my back pocket. Take it… there’s plenty of money and credit cards…”

“I don’t want your wallet, Mr. Andrews.”

“How… how do you know my name?”

“That doesn’t matter. I need that data crystal you’re carrying.”

“…how the hell do you know about that?”

“That doesn’t matter either. Now, I have no problem pulling this trigger, so you hand over that crystal… or I’ll take it from you when you’re bleeding on the ground.”

“You don’t understand… it’s useless to you. You need specialized equipment to access it and a hundred passcodes even I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about that. Now hand it over, and make it quick. It’s damn cold out here.” 

“You have to listen to me. This isn’t financial information or anything like that… it’s… it’s about nanotechnology, using microscopic robots to… to…”

“To kill people, Mr. Andrews?”

“…yes… yes.”

“To kill anyone, and remain undetected… and programmable by the billions. By the trillions.”

“Oh, Christ—you’re inside this…”

“No, but I work for someone who is, and I’m getting paid a lot of money, which is why I don’t have a problem pulling this trigger. And since we’ve had such a nice conversation, we both know I can’t let you live.”         

“No, please don’t—!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Andrews.”

“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, NO——!” 

        #

“Sorry about that, Mr. Andrews, but I had no choice. At least you’re not worried about the cold … heheh, guess you don’t care anymore… there it is… guess your mother never told you not to walk around dark alleys at night. Heheh… What the—?!”

“Don’t move, pal. This is a kinetic-impact gun pointed at the back of your head.”

“You… you’re messing with the wrong outfit, man.”

“Yeah, I heard your earlier conversation. Sounds like this is my lucky night.”

“Man, these people will kill you—”

“I doubt it, Mr. Bowman. They sent you to do the job. They sent me to do you.”

“…no, please…”

“Don’t like being on the other end of the gun, huh, you cold-hearted bastard?”

“NOOOO—!”

                                                                        #

“…I never drink anymore, really. Ice water is fine, thanks.”

“All the ice you want. So everything went well?”

“Of course. I followed him. He got the crystal, I got it from him—just like you ordered.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Mr. Carter. I can’t tell you how much this means to us—getting the crystal and eliminating those loose ends. That crystal will ensure we’ll use Corporation 44’s own nanobots against them.”

“That’s some mean sabotage. Corp 44 will be hoist with its own petard, huh?”

“Quite, and Corporation 97 will flourish. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’m happy to help, considering the down payment you advanced me. Now, all I need is the balance on the contract, and I’m outta here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What?”

“Well... you see, you’re also a loose end. That ice water you just drank had a little something in it.”

“You… you poisoned me?”

“Not at all. But the nanobots are working on your heart as we speak, Mr. Carter. You should feel the blood cooling in your veins at any moment…”

“You son of a…”

                #

 “Good evening, Mr. Dalton.”

“Sir—a pleasure to hear from you.”

“Is it done?”

“Yes, sir. We have the nanobots. And I’ve successfully tested the first batch.”

“Excellent work, Mr. Dalton, as always.I trust this entire escapade has been kept completely under wraps, yes?”

“Absolutely sir. You know how I work.”

“You’ve always been an exemplary employee, Mr. Dalton. Come up to my penthouse, and we’ll have a drink to celebrate.”

“I’d be honored, sir.”

“I’m on the rooftop patio. Just let yourself in and come on out.”

“Awfully cold night for the rooftop, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. I just enjoy standing out here, watching the snow fall thirty stories below. So come, Mr. Dalton, and we’ll celebrate…”

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Brewer, Maine, whose 40 short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies in the U.S., U.K., and Canada. By day, he's a Special Sections writer for the Bangor Daily News.
Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.