by Alan Brudner
"Cardinsky was too long," Kord said.
"But Harry, what about Cindy and Mindy, your daughters?"
"That's all true, Clifford," Harry said. "They're pains in the butt, if you really want to know. But I love them like daughters. Because they are. I can't think of too many other reasons."
"But you didn't even mention Avery Kord!"
"Hey, my son's a big success, so why talk about him? Then you wouldn't listen to me complain about the things that really bother me. You'd tune out. You'd want to know all about my son. His company. You'd wonder about all the stupid rumors. Ever since Avery became this major megillah, nobody wants to hear about Harry. And some people—not you, Clifford, but there are bad people out there—they might ask me for money. Or worse. Try to kidnap me. You think I can just share every personal thing with every guy I sit next to on a bus? We live in a crazy, confused world."
"But don't we, Dad." Kord got up and walked over to a small cube-style refrigerator. He removed a pre-packaged ice cream cone and asked if I wanted one. I declined. The fridge was filled with them.
"When my father had his heart surgery, I came down here to visit," Kord said between licks and bites of his cone. "I liked the area. We needed a place in the southeast anyway, so I bought this cigar factory. It was a losing business in a building that was way too big. At first I was going to reconfigure the whole thing, but then I decided to keep a little bit. The old sign and all that. Sort of a souvenir. So all the stuff you see, the cigar machinery, that's only on the first floor. The upper floors are booming with software designers, systems architects. Geeks of every color and nationality." He smiled and bit off the entire chocolate-coated head of the cone in a single bite.
"But nothing says Cybronics anywhere. It's not even in the Tampa phone book."
He chewed and slurped loudly for a minute before continuing. "It's kind of a secret factory, Mister Lightman. A lot of my top people come through here. Not locals, by and large. A few, but not many. We design some of the test software here, special projects. Star Wars missile defense systems. Foreign intelligence. Space flight software for NASA." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm trusting you because of your son. Please don't advertise this location."
"I don't plan to," I said. It was true. I just wanted my son back. "So you say you know Schuyler."
"How could I not?" He unraveled the paper from the cone, then bit the bottom and sucked leaking ice cream out of the hole he had made. His hands started getting messy, so he tossed a few cone crumbs into the fish tank and the rest into a metal garbage can. The eel was too busy swallowing one of the neons to notice.
"Sky and I interface almost every day in Portland. He's been one of my top employees since he joined us." Kord turned to his father. "Mr. Lightman's kid is one of the smartest people on the planet, Dad. He's way out on the right side of the bell curve."
"But he's missing, Harry," I said. "I'm looking for him."
Kord nodded. "So are we, Mister Lightman," he said. "I was terribly upset when I was informed he disappeared."
"You were upset?" My voice rose despite my efforts to stay even-tempered.
Kord cut me off. "Apart from liking him, Mister Lightman, your son is worth a lot to me in the future. Needless to say, we're all a bit mercenary." The way he smiled at me made me feel like a cockroach.
"Good at the mercenary stuff, too," his father injected. Kord didn't laugh.
"So of course I'm upset," the richest man in the world continued. "And I guess you know Schuyler was scheduled to testify in Congress soon. On Monday, I think."
I nodded as if I did.
"One of the last witnesses before next month's big vote on our business practices. Sky's so smart and knowledgeable about the company, and so presentable, I figured he'd win the whole thing for us."
I looked right into his eyes. They didn't waver. But his voice snapped and crackled so much I wondered if it would pop.
He continued. "I've had Sky's picture and prints electronically broadcast on police web sites worldwide. In case anyone spots him. And I've had computerized target maps printed up and sent to the Portland Police to help them search."
I wanted to believe the man. Something about him was amiable, childlike. But I thought of how he threatened Katie just a few days before she turned up in a coma. And Scarlett's suspicions about Justin Webb rung in my head as well. Still, I wasn't really sure of the facts—or of anything.
"When I asked about my son out at Cybronics, Mister Kord, they said they never heard of him."
"You mean at our Portland campus? I got a message that you stopped by."
I nodded, thinking it was pretentious to call it a campus since it wasn't a school. "They checked the computer. No employee by that name."
"Right," Kord said. "They would say that. I ordered that all your son's files be deleted."
"Deleted—?"
"Security precaution," he said, not missing a beat. "Our safety net software detected a break-in. Someone—a hacker using a digital agent of some kind—got past the firewall and rummaged through your son's files."
"So you erased them?"
He nodded. "For several reasons, Mister Lightman. Primarily, for his own protection. Someone unknown may have wanted access to personal info about him. Maybe others would come looking for the same data. Addresses. Social security info. You name it. And you never know what their motives might be."
"Why would someone want that stuff?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't explain why some people go bad, Mister Lightman, but my industry unfortunately seems to attract some of the worst. Geniuses sometimes have a vicious streak. Others get depressed, turn inward." He paused, looking for a response. I sat stone still. "Reason number two: to protect Cybronics. I'll give you a for-instance. There's this computer virus called a Trojan horse. It's like a land mine. Some have called it a logic bomb. It waits until you step on it, until you open a file that contains it. Then the virus spills out and corrupts all of your software. Erases files. Transfers or alters data. And it can spread. When we were just starting out, a logic bomb shut us down for two weeks. The hacker went to jail for a year or so, but set me back more than two million bucks. Nowadays, with more sophisticated programs, a good hacker could do a lot more damage. Could potentially close us for good. My doomsday scenario is some smart programmer who works for us goes p ostal, so to speak. Internal sabotage."
"But why would someone break into my son's files?" Now I was sweating. Cybronics had detected Eliza's moves, and I wondered how much else Kord knew.
"How well do you know your son, Mister Lightman?"
"How well?"
"I've been in this business a long time. I've seen a lot of these computer geeks get into cults and what have you. Some just go in for the crystals, the vortexes in Sedona, Arizona, that kind of stuff. But others take it further. Devil worshipping. The Jim Jones, Heaven's Gate, mass suicide kind of stuff. Scary stuff."
"So you're saying—" I immediately started to wonder about Sky's group meetings, about Schuyler's defensiveness when I asked about them.
Kord shook his head. "Not necessarily. But anything's possible. He was fooling around in the holography lab before this happened; who knows what kind of thing he was trying to create in there? And the security breach in his files occurred right after that. Just before he disappeared. I hate to think the worst." His tone of voice became reassuring in a way I found false and arrogant; yet he was telling me far more than I would have guessed if he really had something to hide.
I was tempted to say something about Katie Wilnot, about the subliminal suggestion program, anything to try to push the guy's buttons. But I knew I'd get nowhere. If he was being honest, it would be useless and insulting to bring up matters irrelevant to Schuyler. And if he was the calculating psychopath I believed him to be, it could further jeopardize my son's life. So I tried to keep a few cards close to the vest.
But he was too smart even for my thought-out silence.
"A tragedy," I said.
"A shame," he agreed. "God knows what the public will think."
"What do you mean?"
"She also had a subpoena. It's going to look awful that an employee who was about to testify—" He cut himself off and shifted to defense. "We employ 60,000 people, Mister Lightman. We're at the forefront of the Information Age. We have the luxury of choosing among the country's—the world's—best and brightest. So fortunately, the number of tragedies that befall us is a tiny percentage. We're on every top ten list of best companies to work for. Heck, I'm sure Schuyler's told you so as well. But she's a nice kid, that Katie. Smart beyond her years. One of my best. I hope she pulls through, but it's not the first time this kind of thing has happened. And I guess it won't be the last."
I wasn't sure I'd ever meet Kord again, so I decided I had to play one more card.
"Sky was pretty upset recently," I said.
"Yes?"
"Well, he kind of worships you, Mister Kord—" I tried to look sheepish—"and, well, he was devastated when you kind of yelled at him."
"I what?" His emphasis would have made his question seem genuine to someone who was uncertain about what had happened. But before I could respond, he seemed to remember.
"Oh, that," he said, almost to himself. "Your son has good motives. He was trying to help me, actually. But he was hacking. You know what that is?"
"I have a pretty good idea."
"It's like trespassing on somebody else's digital property. Invading their privacy. Seeing data they thought was private." He glanced over at his father, who tilted his head almost imperceptibly. "Can you imagine the kind of press we'd get if one of our top employees were implicated in something like that?"
"I thought young computer guys always do it," I said.
"Not at Cybronics, Mister Lightman. Next thing you know, the government would be saying we crack into our competitors' systems to keep them out of the market. We just can't tolerate it, as a matter of policy. I'm sure you understand."
I could, and I didn't know what to believe.
"I appreciate your help, Mister Kord," I said, rising slowly from my chair. "And I never thanked you in person for the financial support. It changed our lives. Put Sky through college. So thanks."
"Hey, Sky's the best darned software architect I ever had. So it is I who should be thanking you."
"Let's not get all silly now," Harry said, getting up and shaking my hand. "There's a lot more to life than just money. We have more money than most countries, Avery, and what good is it?"
"What do you mean, Dad?" Kord's voice cracked.
"Well, it didn't buy me a new heart when I needed one. I had to wait until the last minute like everybody else. It got so bad every time I passed a car wreck I prayed the driver had my blood type. One of them finally did, otherwise I'd be hamburger."
"Some things are beyond monetary reach, Dad," Kord said. "That's why I keep almost all of it in Cybronics stock." He looked at me. "Okay, I have about fifty million in real money. But the rest, what puts me number one on the Forbes list, is all my stock in the company. Keeps me loyal. We were up even when the market tanked. But if the company ever goes bust, I have to get a real job."
"About as much chance as the sun failing to rise," Harry said. "As much chance as Cindy and Mindy and their good-for-nothing husbands making me a happy old man."
"Come on, Dad. I have to fly out of here in a few more hours. Let's lighten up."
I wondered whether this was all too easy, whether they were hiding something. I asked for a look at the factory, fully expecting Kord to refuse my request. I was already planning a break-in after midnight.
"No problem at all," he said. "Dad, would you mind—"
"A tour? No problem at all," Harry echoed as I shook hands with his son.
We started on two and worked our way up, sometimes taking the stairs and sometimes the elevator. Except for Tampa Bay outside the windows, there was little to distinguish the glass-walled offices and glowing computer monitors and space-suited employees from those at the Cybronics facility in Portland.
"Be sure to watch 60 Minutes on Sunday," Harry said as we strolled past a series of glass-walled offices and gray workstations on the eleventh floor. "It will feature My Son The Rich Dork and his new fifty million dollar house. It's got all the latest technological stuff."
"Like computerized pictures on his walls that he can change at the push of a button? I think I've read about those."
"Pictures? He's got computerized walls, Clifford. So he can keep changing around the layout whenever he feels like it. Capture a burglar by building a prison right around him until the cops arrive. Not to mention building me a little live-in apartment in a corner, which he will be able to remove by pushing a button the day after I drop dead. I was there, so I know. Believe me. I have to shit, I push a button and a robot pushes a toilet under me. And wipes my behind when I'm done."
I looked at him with a brow I knew was knitted.
"That's not really true, is it?" I asked.
Harry chuckled. "No," he said. "Only the part where I said, 'I have to shit.'"
He stopped in the men's room and left me to roam around. Nothing seemed suspicious—although I wasn't sure what to look for. But the unconcerned freedom he allowed me made me think I wouldn't find anything in the place. They sure weren't afraid I'd find Schuyler here. While I waited, my gaze was drawn to a flat computer monitor just outside the men's room. Horizontal banners of stock prices, sports scores and weather data flowed across it hypnotically.
"You watch 60 Minutes this Sunday," Harry said, poking my shoulder to catch my attention when he rejoined me. "It's going to be interactive. That mean's he's going to send some kind of computer stuff to everybody with a computer and a modem. Kind of a present. A surprise. He may be the richest boy in the world, but I'm still proud of him. I think this time he's even going to tell the world who his father really is."
"He doesn't usually?"
Harry shook his head, resignation in his eyes.
"He was once just a little buck-toothed kid who needed braces and orthopedic shoes. There isn't anything in the world I wouldn't do for him, believe me. I was a big help to him when he got started. Gave him a big push. But now he always leaves me out of it. For my own protection, he tells me."
His reference to when Avery Kord got started was an opening I couldn't resist.
"Harry, what do you think about those old Justin Webb stories?"
He grinned as if he thought it a funny subject.
"Justin was a good friend of Avery's, Clifford. He used to come to our house for lunch when they were schoolboys. They played t-ball together, dissected frogs. Would have double-dated, if Avery could have gotten a date. Founded Cybronics together, with a little financial backing from Yours Truly. There's no way my son would have had anything to do with it."
"I read that Avery was on the radio that day. And was shocked when he found out."
"A talk show. I knew the host, I got him the slot. Cybronics was a little nothing back then, and so was my son. The show would be good publicity, I figured. Nobody had ever heard of Cybronics. Well, lots of people knew the company by the end of that day. Unfortunately, not because of the talk show."
"But why have all the rumors persisted?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Because they never caught the guy that did it, that's why. Besides, what else are they going to talk about in Portland? The weather? It rains."
We finished touring the eleventh and twelfth floors. By the time we finished twelve, I wasn't in the mood for much more of Harry Cardinsky. The elevator showed that only thirteen and fourteen remained. He noticed me looking at the lit-up numbers.
"Just two more, Clifford," Harry said. "We still have to hit the unlucky number. Most buildings don't even have a thirteenth floor, but Avery's not superstitious."
"Seems to have worked for him," I repli
ed. "You got a few four-leaf clovers around for me?"
"You'll find Sky." Harry smiled and nodded.
"Maybe. But not here." I decided to skip thirteen and pushed the button for fourteen. When the door opened, I peered out quickly without walking around. Then I stepped back in and pressed number one. I felt my stomach rise toward my neck as the elevator descended at an uncomfortable speed. "Let's call it a day."
"You sure, Clifford?" he asked, engaging me in a handshake that felt cool and reptilian. "You're such a good listener. And you understand fatherhood."
"I wish I did, Harry," I said. "Maybe I wouldn't have a missing son to go find."
Chapter 28
The pre-mixed margarita didn't help. Or the Dewar's. I tossed and turned so much that the sheet pulled free from the bed and was wrapped around my waist like a toga. I missed some of the ways Eliza used to help me relax. Her computer image didn't quite suffice. She again reminded me that the virtual reality headset and full-sensation bodysuit would be a trip to the past. She wanted it too, she said. I planned to buy them as soon as I had the chance. I didn't even know who sold that kind of stuff.
The immediate problem was, I didn't know what to believe about Schuyler's disappearance. Kord seemed unfazed by my visit to the factory. I dealt with stockbrokers and their complaining clients every day, and I thought I had the training and experience to recognize lying. Now I wasn't so sure. He had a rational explanation for the deleted files, he didn't hide his connection to Katie Wilnot or his argument with Schuyler, and he let me see the whole plant. He mentioned the subpoenas. I began to second-guess my instincts.
I took a quick morning shower. As I walked out of the bathroom past the room door I noticed that a complimentary USA Today had been slipped under it. A three-inch header caught my eye:
SIX DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE
The paper shook visibly in my hands as I read about three men and three women found dead out on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. They all lay face up and wore t-shirts that read, "Whoever has the most things when he dies, wins." They had apparently mixed a lethal dose of cyanide into a gallon of Gatorade; a cracked glass pitcher was found nearby.