by Tom Clancy
Battlin’ Bob rested a clenched hand on the door panel. It was a big hand, gnarled, but powerful.
You could easily see hands like those hefting a heavy barbell and dropping it on someone, Leif suddenly thought.
“What’s the message?” he asked.
“Just that I’m here,” the elder MacPherson said. “That her father will always be there for her.”
His voice dropped to a pained mutter. “Luddie’s dead, and Sabotine won’t see me.”
“I’ll try to pass your message along,” Leif said. “But I can’t promise that Sabotine will see me, much less listen to anything I say.”
The boys got back in their cab. Battlin’ Bob closed his window and sank low in his seat, obviously hoping to be unnoticed.
Leif knew that he and David had no hope of that as their car rolled up to the gates of the estate. Newspeople swarmed around them as David opened the window to present himself to the built-in holo pickup. David blinked as flash attachments flared in his face and microphones where thrust at him.
“Could you tell us who you are, sir?” one reporter asked.
“What’s your connection to the MacPherson family?” another wanted to know.
“Please—” an overwhelmed David began. He was rescued as the gates ahead of them opened. The cabbie sent gravel flying as he floored it onto the estate.
He hit the brakes just as sharply when the gates slammed shut behind them.
Three uniformed security types formed a triangle around the car. Two of the guards held automatic weapons—small, but wickedly lethal-looking Israeli submachine guns. The third held a grenade launcher that looked as if it could double as an antitank weapon.
“The car can stay here,” the bodyguard with the grenade launcher said. “But all occupants will have to get out.”
These guys are tough, Leif thought as he got out and submitted to a thorough search. He noticed that one of the gunners was always in a position to cover them with his weapon.
Once the security guys were sure that they were harmless, the boys were sent on up to the house under escort. Their driver would wait for them in the guardhouse.
He didn’t look too happy, but Leif promised him a large tip. “I should be able to afford it,” he told the man, “After the kickback I’ll get from your boss for getting his company so much free publicity.”
Cameras clicked and whirred, and Leif knew that he and David and the cab were the targets of innumerable holo pickups.
“If I’d known it was going to be like this, I’d have brought sunglasses,” David grumped.
“That wouldn’t have hidden your identity,” Leif said.
“I’m not talking about that,” David replied. “It’s those stupid camera flashes! I think I’ve got little holes burnt in my retinas!”
“It’ll fade,” Leif replied. “Trust me. I’ve got long experience with it.”
The escorts marched the boys up to the front doors, which
opened automatically, and then conducted them to Sabotine MacPherson’s salon.
David glanced around. “Several of Luddie’s high-tech toys are already out of here,” he whispered to Leif.
Sabotine waited for them in a large wooden chair carved elaborately enough to be called a throne.
Almost as large as her male counterparts, but much plainer, was the female bodyguard who stood behind Sabotine, one hand on the grip of the automatic pistol at her hip.
“I appreciate the trouble you took to come and see me,” Sabotine greeted the boys. “Especially you, Leif, coming down from New York.”
The girl seemed almost normal, except for a slightly dazed expression on her face.
But Leif had his suspicions that it was all a front. Does she really think I came all this way to say how sorry I am that Luddie died?
“It was a terrible accident,” Sabotine went on.
“Is that what the local cops think?” Leif interrupted.
“I’m supposed to stop off and see them after our visit,” David explained, giving his friend a glare.
“Hey, you’re in the clear,” Leif said. “You were miles away in Washington when Luddie was found.” He looked at Sabotine. “And they’d obviously feel that you couldn’t handle that much weight.”
She stared at him, mouth and eyes wide open at his manners—or rather, his lack of them.
But he succeeded in shocking a response out of her. ‘ ‘The police said it would have taken a b-big man—someone like my father—”
“He’s still hanging on outside, you know,” Leif said pretending to ignore the quaver in Sabotine’s voice. “Parked on the edge of the media circus, just out of sight from the guardhouse. He said to tell you he was there for you if you needed him. Whatever that means to him.”
Shrugging, David fell in with Leif s tough tone. “For whatever good it does, I don’t think your father had any connection to what happened.”
Leif nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “If Luddie were murdered, it would either have to be an inside job—” He watched the female guard stiffen as if her pistol had tried to bite her —or someone had the resources to get past all the security—both human and automated,” David finished.
“The Manual Minority uses some high-tech stuff,” Leif said. “I’ve been on the receiving end of it. But Battlin’ Bob MacPherson would need a lot more than what I saw to get in here.”
The guard was staring at both boys as if they were crazy. She looked at Sabotine next, expecting to be told to throw them out.
Instead, Sabotine MacPherson was looking at them intently. “If this wasn’t an accident, then who was behind it?”
“Probably the same people behind Nick D’Aliso’s murder— j although they’d have had to work harder to target your brother.” Leif was flying with the moment, talking fast to keep Sabotine’s attention, and maybe get her to reveal something. But as he spoke, even he could see his theory made a certain eerie sense.
“It would take deep corporate pockets to pay for a high-tech, professional hit person. We know there’s at least one company involved in this whole leak mess who doesn’t mind using … let’s call them extreme measures.” Leif leaned forward. “Corporations don’t usually get accused of murder. They’ve got high-priced lawyers to threaten libel suits and keep people shut up. And, if worst comes to worst, those same lawyers can recruit any number of experts-for-hire to exploit any possible ambiguities.”
He looked Sabotine in the eye. “Accident? Murder? Suicide? Their legal department would have a field day.”
“A corporation.” Instead of responding to his verbal thrust Sabotine’s gaze suddenly became faraway. “Yes,” she murmured. “I can see that.”
Briskly she rose to her feet. “Not many people around here would have the nerve to say what you just told me,” she said. 4 ‘I appreciate that. And as I said, thank you very much for coming.” She shook hands, and then was out of there.
The guard who’d brought them up to the house appeared to lead the dumbfounded boys back to their cab.
“What happened there?” a bemused David asked as they headed down to the guardhouse.
“I believe it’s called being dismissed,” Leif answered. “But I thought it was only supposed to happen to servants.”
chair, Mom took one side of the couch, and Leif took the other. David was left fidgeting in the middle.
They talked about the world of business and about politics. Dad filled Leif in with what he could about the investigation into the murder of Slobodan Cetnik. David wondered if they would move on to the case of Luddie MacPherson, but the conversation swerved off in a different direction.
Leif looked at his watch. “May I ask a favor?” he said. “My dad’s been—how can I say this?— encouraging me to watch the HoloNews evening business report. It’s coming on in five minutes—”
“Why not?” Dad said. “Although just about all I’ve got invested is my pension fund.”
“It only runs for half an hour,” Leif went on. He glan
ced at David’s mother. “Unless there’s something else you’d prefer to watch, Mrs. Gray.”
Mom shook her head. “No, my programs come on later. Turn on whatever you want. David, why don’t you do the honors?”
“Thanks,” Leif said, rising with David. 4k When I call in with my dad later, I’ll be able to answer his pop quiz.”
David set the system for holographic projection, then tuned: in the HoloNews channel. They were just in time. The opening credits, set against real-time stock quotes from the Tokyo market, were just ending. The show’s theme music faded, and the’ image of the commentator appeared.
Funny, David thought. Business reporters don *t have to be as pretty as news anchors—just authoritative. This guy looked as if someone had stopped an image-morphing halfway between a human and a bulldog. The reporter had a big jaw and firm lips, balanced by intense brown eyes which seemed to glare out of the display.
“Our top story is still developing, as we attempt to obtain confirmations, denials, or answers in general from several major corporations, their lawyers, and law-enforcement agencies.”
Behind him a logo appeared—a cracked water pipe, with ; deluge coming out, flooding a bunch of stylized people suits.
“For the past couple of months corporate secrets have been leaked onto the Net—some technical, some embarrassing, some nonsensical. On the whole these leaks were considered”—the newscaster shrugged—“an irritant. But in the last few hours this trickle of information has become a deluge, threatening to wash away the executive positions of several giants of industry.”
As the commentator went on, giving names, companies, and details, Leif and David stood frozen in front of the display. David finally realized that, and pulled his friend to the side so they weren’t blocking his parent’s view.
The cases the commentator ran through were really damaging, enough to cost people their jobs—and many of them years in prison. Bribery, insider trading, stockholder swindles, willful, orchestrated perjury … David glanced at Leif when he heard which company was involved in the last charge. It was the Forward Group.
“In the case of the earlier revelations, certain injured parties blamed the leaks on Hardweare vests which executives had been wearing. Since these wearable computers cannot be examined, the charges cannot be affirmed or denied. But the market has apparently come to its own verdict. Hardweare shares have plummeted since this afternoon’s disclosures.”
The commentator’s image grew larger. “Whatever the fates of the executives accused in the latest spate of leaks, punishment is already raining down on Hardweare. Suspicions over the company’s connection to the leaks started a credit crunch. Now the death of Luddie MacPherson, Hardweare’s founder and main driving force, coupled with the stock crash, seems to spell the end for the innovative company.”
David turned to his parents, who sat very still.
Dad turned serious eyes toward his son. “David, I’m very glad you’re out of there.”
Leif hardly heard a word of the rest of the broadcast.
From what the commentator said, the companies mentioned in the lead story were only the biggest victims of leaks—the tip of the iceberg. Leif didn’t like that image—if the leaks continued, they could sink a lot of companies—and hurt the whole country’s economy.
From a minor story, something of interest only to a relatively small audience of business freaks, the leak problem had become big news. So had Hardweare. Luddie’s death had spurred the interest of the media. The blizzard of incriminating leaks insured more interest—and more coverage.
It wouldn’t—couldn’t—help HardWeare. But then, the last time they’d spoken with Luddie, he hadn’t been interested in helping his company, either. He’d threatened to blow it up. So what was going on? If the company went under, who stood to benefit?
Leif thanked the Grays for dinner, and said he’d be heading back to his dad’s apartment.
David walked him downstairs, obviously eager to talk.’ “This is what you call an unexpected development.”
“To put it mildly,” Leif agreed. “I was especially interested in that bit about the Forward Group executives lying to the grand jury.” He shook his head. “In a weird way, it shakes up a lot of what I believed I knew about the whole leak thing. Everyone’s blaming the leaks on Hardweare vests. But that leak couldn’t have happened that way.”
He ran his hands down his torso, the area where a vest should go. “Remember? I was in their offices. Hardweare vests—nobody wore them. I’d bet they were forbidden ob-j jects in the little world of the Forward Group. There’s no; way someone could have tapped into their corporate councils | in4 vest’-igatively.”
“Ughhh! The pun is the lowest form of humor,” David groaned. “But you’re right. Suppose they tapped into the counsels for the defense,” David suggested. “There were probably outside lawyers involved in the case. Can we be sure none of them ever wore a Hardweare vest to a meeting at the Forward Group?”
Leif gave his friend a look. “You are not making this any) easier,” he accused.
David grinned. “Just engaging in a little creative paranoia Have you ever worn a HardWeare vest?”
“Once,” Leif admitted. “I wanted to check out what it was like.”
“You didn’t think anything incriminating while you were wearing it, did you?” David asked. “I have to admit, I’ve been going over what went through my mind the one time I wore one.”
“Creative paranoia?” Leif said. “This sounds more like paranoia taken to the red line—and past it.”
“Really?” David asked. “How many people store incriminating evidence—stock frauds, decisions to lie in court—on their personal computers?”
“That information is supposed to be personal and private,” Leif pointed out.
“Do you keep all your dirty secrets on yours?” David asked.
“Ahm—” Leif opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a snap. “That’s the kind of question a wise man would decline to answer, on the grounds that it might incriminate him. However, if hypothetical dirty secrets existed—no. I’d have to be crazy to trust them where any determined hacker could dig them out.”
David nodded. “If you won’t leave something on your computer that will get you grounded, can you imagine storing something that could land you in prison? For years?”
“So you’re saying the secrets didn’t come through the vests’ stored memory?” Leif said.
“I think it might have come out of the users’ minds,” David said slowly.
“Slow down your train of thought, pal! We’re about fifty miles past rational.”
Leif was trying to joke, but David looked deadly serious. “Remember that download I got? The chase through the alley? We knew it must have been a message from Nick D’Aliso. But how did D’Aliso know he was going to be chased down that alley and shot? He didn’t!”
Leif stared at his friend. “You’re saying the download wasn’t a recording.”
David nodded again, even more grimly. “I was with Nicky for his last minutes, channeled through the vest he was wearing— and downloaded through a system he had in place, a system he was familiar with.”
“So D’Aliso was using Hardweare to spy,” Leif said.
“Or he was spying around Hardweare because some third party was aware of the design flaw—or built-in trapdoor,” David added.
“Which brings us back to the Forward Group,” Leif said unhappily. “For a brief moment there, I thought that maybe we could get rid of them as suspects. Instead, now they loom larger than ever. They’d love to control the source of so many leaks. And with Luddie out of the way, who’s going to stop them from taking over Hardweare?”
“After the beating Hardweare took in the stock market, it would be like buying the skeleton of a company,” David said.
“More to the point, all this publicity may finally scare people out of wearing the vests.” Slowly Leif shook his head. “Now, that would be pretty ir
onic. The very twist that makes Hardweare a cheap buy for the cannibals at Forward kills its usefulness as a conduit into other executives’ brains.”
They reached the downstairs door in silence. But when Leif stepped through, he suddenly turned back. “You know the person we’ll have to check this with. I think it’s too late to catch him at the office, even with his usual awful hours. You | free tomorrow morning?”
David didn’t even argue. “I’ll make time,” he said.
Early the next morning Leif tracked down Captain Winters at his Net Force office and made an appointment to see him. But he was told the appointment would have to be later—much later—in the afternoon. As the time approached, he stopped by and collected David. “Net Force, here we come,” he said.
The echoing halls of the building were humming with people and purpose as the boys headed for Captain Winters’s office. They were held at the door as he conferred with someone via hologram. At last he waved them in.
“I’m afraid this will have to be brief,” the captain apologized. “I’ve been busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest today.”
Winters gave the Net Force Explorers a less-than-nice smile.
“Usually I enjoy this job,” he said, “but today I’ve been torn, boys, torn. I’ve had to handle the incoming calls. Executives— CEOs, CFOs, the whole alphabet soup—screaming and yelling for Net Force to protect them from leaks that will get their butts fired.”
Winters’s smile faded. “If I hear the phrase we’re taxpayers one more time …” He shook his head grimly. “And the information we’re getting seems to show that these same titans of industry have been working hardest at underpaying those taxes they now claim to be so proud of.”
The captain shook his head. “No, right now, I wish I was a full-time line agent again. The rest of Net Force—and law enforcement in general—is having a field day. They’re all tracking down the leads that have appeared on the Net—the leaks the companies want stopped. What we’ve got now will end up in arrests for a lot of corporate scuzzballs who thought they were above the law.”