by Tom Clancy
She shook her head, short black hair flying around her like a halo. “Somehow, he even managed to get copies of rare fencing treatises from the seventeenth century.” She smiled self-consciously. “He must have had lots of money.”
“I sense a major but coming up,” Leif said.
The young woman nodded. “He was very … impatient. Among historical fencers, you know, the more advanced students are expected to take the ones with less experience under their wing. Alain-he was so sarcastic-”
She bit her lip. “He mocked my fencing. And that was gentle, compared to what he did with some of the other, more clumsy ones. It was simply unacceptable. Finally Maitre Duchamps had to bar him from the salle.”
Another call, and Leif got a young, muscular guy who looked more like a halfback than a fencer. “Slaney? Brilliant fencer. Knew his stuff, both academically and physically. Too bad the guy had a personality that made Atilla the Hun look like the king of mellow.”
He shook his head at some sort of memory. “I got on his bad side-for what reason, I don’t even remember. Anderson-you’re the guy who won that junior championship? Yeah, saber.”
Leif nodded.
“I compete, too,” the guy said. “And you know how it is when you’re bouting with someone you don’t like? You put out a little extra effort to beat them. In saber, that means beating them up.”
He ran his hands down the sides of his ribs. “Whenever I worked out with Slaney, I would be all black and blue. He would whale away at me, and I’d try to return the favor-but he had the edge on me. We ended up going corps-a-corps all the time. It was more like wrestling than fencing.”
“What happened?” Leif wanted to know.
“Hey, I wasn’t the only one getting the rough edge of Slaney’s tongue-or blade,” the beefy guy said. “In the end they canned him from the salle.”
“I heard that,” Leif said. “Maitre Duchamps-”
“Who?” the other guy said. “I’m talking about San- torelli’s up on the West Side.”
“Oooooo-kay,” Leif replied. “Guess I got that wrong.” _ _ _
Leif succeeded in catching a couple of other historical fencers before they set off for work. They also came from different salles, but they were unanimous about Alan Slaney-he was a primo S. O. B.-talented, but so nasty and overbearing that in the end the fencing masters in charge had to tell him he was no longer welcome.
By this point the office of the Association for Historical Fencing had opened. “Good morning,” Leif said to the woman who answered the call. “I’m inquiring about the credentials of a member, Alan Slaney-”
“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Slaney is not a member of the association.”
Leif didn’t have to fake his confusion. “I-I don’t understand,” he stammered. “I was given to understand Mr. Slaney received his training in New York and belonged-”
“He is a former member,” the association’s representative admitted.
“Is he terribly no good?” Leif asked. “How do you know he’s out of the club? What did he do?”
“Mr. Slaney’s case is unfortunately quite well-known to the administrators of the association,” the woman said carefully. “His expulsion was not a case of academic knowledge or fencing ability.” She looked uncomfortable. “It was a question of attitude. Members complained that his approach was incompatible with the aims and ideals of our group.”
“So he was a real creep?” Leif said.
“Sir,” the woman replied, “we do not comment on Alan Slaney.”
David looked as though he’d been awake for some time when Leif called.
“Cartoon duty,” he explained. “The little guys are only allowed to watch so much holo entertainment. And I get to supervise-you know, make sure it doesn’t get too intense for them. But one of their favorite shows is at the crack of dawn.”
“Can’t you just record it and play it back for them?” Leif asked.
From the look David gave him, this argument was obviously a sore spot. “But then, when they go out to play, the other kids will have seen it already.” He shook his head. “I’m sure that’s not what you called up to talk about. Have you dug up more dirt on Alan Slaney?”
“I’ve talked to some people up in New York,” Leif replied. “From what they tell me, Slaney left town about two steps ahead of a lynch mob. The guy was such a pain in the butt that, despite a bias toward blades, his fencing partners figured shooting was too good for him.”
“Not like the well-known, well-loved Alan Slaney we’ve encountered.” David frowned in thought. “Well, there are some possibilities. Maybe he’s had his identity stolen-”
“By an impostor who just happens to be an expert historical fencer,” Leif said. “Stop yanking my chain, Gray.”
“So I guess you’re not going to buy the pod people theory, either,” David said with a grin. “Have you checked how he traveled down here? I envision an airplane almost crashing, a near-death experience that made Slaney completely reevaluate his life-”
“You are bad,” Leif accused. “Once you start, you won’t stop. But I’m afraid we have to get a little more serious. Here’s a guy who loves fencing, but makes such a nuisance of himself that he has to leave New York. He comes to Washington following his other big interest, politics, but can’t even hold on to an internship.”
David nodded. “He’s got an advanced degree in political science, and he’s dusting computers in some corporate backwater. If I had those credentials and that happened to me, I’d be pretty damned bitter.”
“Instead, he goes around like the male version of Little Mary Sunshine,” Leif said. “I don’t think he’s had some great spiritual conversion. The stuff we’ve seen him pull in Latvinia pretty well contradicts that scenario.”
David raised his eyebrows. “I think you may have put your finger on a motive for why he changed his behavior.”
Leif frowned in sheer confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“No, it’s what you were just talking about,” David replied. “Latvinia. Slaney put a lot of time and effort into creating it.”
“His perfect universe, which can only exist in virtual reality,” Leif scoffed.
“It may be his private world, but he wants other peor pie in it,” David pointed out. “So he hooks up with the appropriate local AHSO special interest group, and becomes a professional nice guy.”
Leif slowly nodded. “Okay. But why?”
David shrugged. “It’s like the old saying. You draw more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“I know that, thank you,” Leif said irritably. “I mean, why does he have to have people in Latvinia? What does it prove? In what way could it possibly pay off for a pretty intolerant control freak?”
“You’d have to drill a hole in his head to get any sort of answer-” David broke off his words suddenly.
“What?” Leif leaned forward eagerly. “You just had another thought. Spill it.”
“I thought of one other place where we might get answers,” David unhappily admitted. “It’s a stunt you or Megan might think of. Captain Winters would definitely disapprove.”
“Slaney’s computer system,” Leif said in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we hack into the guy’s personal computer! I can’t believe it! When do we start?”
Chapter 17
It’s not fair that I have to do this, Megan grumbled to herself as she walked to the nearest store to pick up milk, muffins, and other breakfast stuff. The boys devoured it all. Why should I have to replace what they ate?
Unfortunately, she also knew that if she didn’t take care of it, the shopping probably wouldn’t happen. Mom and Dad were both working against tight deadlines to finish books. Her brothers would be tearing out of the house on training runs or heading off to summer jobs. Everybody would be hungry.
So somebody had to get food. And by getting it now, she’d keep the peace at home in a way that would benefit everybody, even her. Still, she sighed as she lugged the bag of
groceries home.
Megan got back just in time. Her father came into the kitchen, apparently moving in slow motion. “Coffee,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Fine, Dad. Just sit down. You know you’re all thumbs when you’ve been up late working.” Megan got a filter-great, running low. Something else that needed buying. She wrote it down, then loaded the coffeemaker, and soon the room filled with the smell of brewing coffee. Dad inhaled gratefully. Megan wrinkled her nose. Everybody in the house was a coffee drinker-except for her.
The boys came thundering through, grabbing cups of coffee and things to eat. Dad sat quietly enjoying his first cup of the day. Then Mom padded in, wearing slippers and a robe. She poured herself a cup and sat down opposite her husband. “You got to bed late,” she said. “How is the book going?”
“I’m getting there,” Dad replied. “Just a few chapters to go. But I’ve got to hit the library. Last-minute research. How’s your project coming along?”
“My editor is acting like a little kid who has to go to the bathroom,” Mom replied with a smile. “I think I’ll have the series done before any real… accidents.”
While both her parents headed for their computers, Megan did the dishes, then went through the house, tidying up. In the living room, she found three books lying on a table-The Illustrated History of the Machine Gun, The Lives of the Saints, and The Book of the Sword.
Dad’s research, she thought, though trying to fit three such unlikely titles together was as much of a mystery as the story her father was writing. Megan skimmed through the third book with some interest. Maybe I’ll read this later.
Then, because it was still her turn, she started collecting dirty clothes for another round of the dreaded laundry. With seven people at home, there was even more than usual. She ran a bunch of loads through the washer and dryer, folded up the clean clothes, and delivered them to the appropriate rooms.
Her final load took Megan back to her own bedroom. She glanced from her watch to the computer-link couch. Then, dumping her fresh clothes on her bed, she sank back against the upholstery of the couch, synching in, giving orders to her computer.
Enough of being a housemaid, she thought. Let’s have some people around to pamper me for a while.
She opened her eyes to find herself in that library/ study on the second floor of the palace, sitting in her familiar seat while the Graf von Esbach came through the door.
“Colonel Vojak and your Texan friend will join us soon.” The prime minister took a deep breath. “If all goes well, this nightmare might be over soon.”
Megan gave him an impish smile. “So, you consider working with me a nightmare.”
“Never in a million years, dear lady,” the normally unflappable von Esbach protested, flustered for the first time since Megan had met him. “But for the colonel and I have had to do our duties under a terrible strain-not to mention you and your friends.”
I certainly won’t mention Leif and David, Megan thought. They would have to bail on us just before things got really interesting.
Colonel Vojak came in, a tightly rolled sheaf of papers in his hand. He was followed a moment later by P J. Farris, who exuded a decidedly cindery smell.
Vojak unrolled the papers, revealing a map and a sketch of a three-story stone tower. “Several of our scouts were set upon as they searched through Grau- heim. Three have not returned. But one of our men spotted a young woman attempting to escape from here.”
“Thank heavens he didn’t recognize her as Princess Gwenda,” von Esbach said.
Megan examined the sketch. “What is this place?”
“It was built as a watchtower more than five hundred years ago,” Vojak explained. “Villagers from the whole area fled there for protection during an invasion. The invaders slaughtered all they caught outside the walls. To deal with those inside, the invaders cut down every tree in the area, creating a pile of wood taller than a man around the base of the tower.”
He paused. “Then they set it on fire. The stone walls served as a gigantic chimney. Everyone within died.”
“In the old tongue the place is called Horiela Kula- the Burnt Tower,” von Esbach explained. “Needless to say, it has a bad reputation. Gray Piotr’s grandfather rebuilt the tower as a hunting lodge. But while he was staying there, he went mad, killing all the servants.”
“Sounds like a charming place,” P. J. muttered.
“I regret to report that Horiela Kula is a strong place,” Vojak replied. “Thick walls, a heavy door, and a guard at the top of the tower would see an attacking force long before it could reach the entrance, much less break in. We would need artillery, and I don’t think there are enough horses in the world to bring guns up that slope.”
“I don’t doubt but that you’re right,” P. J. said, “in the normal course of things.” He jerked a thumb toward the study window. “But we have the equivalent of forty horses sitting in the courtyard outside.”
Megan leaned forward across the table as her friend went on.
“I was with the colonel when this information came in,” P. J said. “In between, I’ve been talking with the palace blacksmith. Suppose we rigged a ram on that Mercedes….”
It was late afternoon when David showed up at the Andersons’ Washington apartment. He and Leif had talked it out and finally agreed to make the hacking attempt from Leif’s system. David was really only contributing his knowledge of creating sims. Leif was the one who had the software for cracking into other people’s systems.
The building’s concierge called upstairs to warn Leif that a guest was on the way. Leif was already standing in the open doorway when David got off the elevator.
“A little eager, aren’t we?” David said as he followed Leif inside.
“We’ve got time,” Leif said, leading the way into the living room. They sank into surprisingly comfortable Danish Retro furniture as Leif went on. “I had a little chat with Sergei Chernevsky. This famous fencing class begins around six, and ends about ten o’clock.”
He glanced at his watch. “We could order something in before we get down to business. My dad called. He’s going to be out most of the evening on another business dinner. We can bet he won’t be home until after ten.”
David nodded. “All right. We have a four-hour window of opportunity to get into Slaney’s computer and get some idea of what he’s up to.”
“If it takes an hour to get in, I will personally eat my computer system-without salt,” Leif said. “How much time will you need once we’ve hacked our way in?”
“Two hours should be sufficient,” David replied. He handed Leif a datascrip that he took out of his pocket. “This is the toolkit I’ll need once we’re inside. Of course, how long the job takes will all depend on what we find.”
“So, in the perfect universe, we’ll have an hour’s grace-more, because we’re not counting Slaney’s travel time to and from the salle-however much that may be.”
“You mean you haven’t been following him with a stopwatch?” David joked.
“I’m afraid I’m not that obsessive-unless it comes to food.” The boys got up and headed into the kitchen, where Leif opened a drawer to reveal a stack of takeout menus. “What do you think?” he asked. “Pizza? Chinese? Mexican? Peruvian chicken? Good old American ribs? I think we’ve even got something from a Corte- guayan place in here…. You decide while I load this into my system.”
The rib place turned out to have more of a selection than David expected. But then, the Andersons were used to getting the best-even if it came to fried chicken. After two platters of specialties, fresh cole slaw, and surprisingly delicious roast potatoes, David was ready for anything-even a foray into a decidedly gray area of Net morality.
The boys decided not to synch into the Net, since that would mean connecting another computer-link couch into Leif’s system. “I get headaches enough with just one couch in the circuit,” Leif said.
David shrugged. “I’d be just as happy to keep one layer remo
ved from what we’re doing,” he admitted.
They seated themselves facing the display of Leif’s system, and Leif began giving orders. The holo display went foggy for a moment, then cleared to show the living room of Leif’s virtual stave house. On the low table in front of the couch was a collection of small doodads.
They looked like misplaced game pieces-except for the unearthly glow around them.
“Looks like you were already sorting through your toys.” David shot Leif a look. “Either that, or you didn’t want me to see where they came from.”
“A bit of both,” Leif said, a bit shamefaced. Quickly he began describing the programs represented by the icons. “The jade ax is something called Cracker-it will get you into a system, but it may leave some damage along the way.”
“So the victim will know he’s been hacked,” David said. “Do we want that?”
“It’s the old trade-off-dependability versus subtlety. The electric-blue bundle of wires with a switch in the middle, that’s Splice, version 122.5-very good if you’re expecting a lot of alarms and stuff.” He glanced at David. “Are we?”
“I wish I could say,” David sighed. “The Alan we’ve been introduced to in public-”
“The Dr. Jekyll version,” Leif put in.
David nodded. “He probably would just have an easily hacked password. But if he’s actually hiding something-a la Mr. Hyde-he’s probably got security up the wazoo.”
“Tripwires, firewalls, encryption-and alarms,” Leif agreed.
David pointed at what he considered the most disturbing of the icons on display. “What’s that supposed to be? The sort of off-green amoeba thing.” The icon had the sickly phosphorescence of rotting wood and kept changing shape, oozing along the surface of the table.
“That’s Amorph,” Leif replied.
David gave him a different sort of look. He’d read about Cracker and Splice. But Amorph was a new hacking weapon. “Is it as good as everyone says?”
“I haven’t tried it yet,” Leif admitted. “Just happened to pick it up recently.”