by Tom Clancy
Unless, of course, the chimes were announcing an incoming call….
Matt waited a minute. No chimes. Then he hit the button and heard the faint sound. Okay, he wasn’t just standing out here like an idiot.
No, he was. Winters wasn’t answering his bell.
Matt tried a couple more short taps. Then he had it. He stretched out his thumb and just leaned on the bell. The faint sound of never-ending chimes seemed to travel up his arm.
The briefest movement at the window caught his attention. The drawn drapes had twitched. Someone was taking a look outside.
Matt let up on the bell, and a second later the door opened. There stood James Winters, staring at him.
Well, at least the captain’s still shaving, Matt thought. He’d had this wild mental image of Winters turning into a stereotypical hermit, with long hair, a beard, and wild, red-rimmed eyes.
James Winters’s face was thinner, the flesh seemingly stretched tighter over the bones of his skull. There were a few new lines at his eyes and on his brow. His expression was full of surprise as he took in his visitor.
“Matt!” Winters said. His voice had a strange, rusty sound to it.
Not surprising, Matt realized. If the man was staying in his house and not answering the door or the phone, who would he talk to, except himself?
And that might not be a good thing.
Winters seemed to remember his manners. “Come in!” he invited. “Sorry about the door. Last time I bothered to answer, there was some jackass with a camera and an autograph book. Called himself a murder buff. I was almost tempted to let him see how a murder worked — firsthand.”
The captain’s face set in bitter lines. “I mean, it couldn’t do me any more damage than when this travesty goes to court.”
They went into the living room. Matt was caught a little off-guard to see that the computer system had been removed. Then again, why should that be a surprise? It meant the room would be free of incoming calls and network news. Of course, it also meant no entertainment or research. If Winters was doing any preparation for his trial, he wasn’t doing it here.
But there were traces of occupancy. Books lay on various pieces of furniture, several of the volumes resting facedown and open. Matt’s mother hated to see that. “It breaks the bindings,” she complained. “We’re not going to have these things around forever, so let’s not be in a hurry to destroy them.”
Then Matt spotted something familiar on the sofa. It was a large, cylindrical scroll of paper — the statement of support Matt had delivered with the signatures of all the Net Force Explorers. He remembered how clumsy the bulky package had been to carry. Now it was undone, loose, and somewhat crumpled, as if it had been unrolled and read many, many times.
Matt could feel his face grow warm.
Winters came up behind him and followed his gaze. “You’re looking at the relic?” he asked.
“Relic?” Matt echoed.
“A fossil, from the long-lost days when I could say something and people would believe me.”
“We still believe you,” Matt said. “All the Net Force Explorers believe you, Captain.”
“Mister,” Winters cut in. “‘Captain’ is a Net Force title. Another relic.” He shook his head. “All those years on the job, and it disappears in less than a week. People you risked your life for — and with — suddenly don’t know you—”
“I’ve talked to the Squirt — Mark Gridley — his dad believes in you, too. He just can’t speak out—”
“Oh, yes, political concerns. You see a lot of those in Washington. I’m sure I’ve got a personal message from him somewhere in the answering system.”
It wasn’t the words that chilled Matt’s soul — although they were pretty upsetting. Even more upsetting was the bleak, lost look in Winters’s eyes as he spoke.
This wasn’t the James Winters Matt knew — sometimes stern, sometimes sharp-tongued, with a quick sense of humor and a tremendous concern for the young people entrusted to him.
This was a man who’d been dragged through the mud and then kicked a few times while he was down. He was wounded, and it showed.
Matt felt Winters’s eyes resting on him. “So, this situation is most intriguing. My lawyer called earlier today. Counselor Laird was quite insistent on getting me to the phone. He wanted to ask me about one Matthew Hunter. Afternoon comes, and the same Matthew Hunter appears at my door. Coincidence? I think not.”
Captain Winters responded to the look on Matt’s face with a lopsided smile. “I can still add two and two and get some sort of answer, Matt. And you can tell Laird I’d better not see a bill with your cab fare on it. What can he stick it under? ‘Restoring the client’s spirits?’”
Winters carefully moved the scroll off the couch, put it on the coffee table, and sank down onto the cushions. “Sit. I really am glad to see you. However, since Laird was checking you out just hours ago, I must believe that he didn’t search for you. Which means you came to him. Or to take it further, it means you’re acting as a respectable front for whoever dug up the information that I’m being represented by Mitchell, Liddy, and Laird. So who’s behind it, Matt? The crafty Mr. Anderson or the impetuous Ms. O’Malley?”
Matt had to hide a grin. Certainly, events hadn’t robbed Captain Winters of his investigative talent.
“I’m afraid it’s the worst-case scenario,” he responded. “Both of them, aided and abetted along the way by most of the familiar faces in the D.C. group.”
For just a second the old Captain Winters was present with the quick flash of a grin. “Figures,” he said.
Matt chose his words carefully. “We’ve been trying to help you.”
Matt went into some of what they had attempted: Leif’s penetration of HoloNews, Megan’s talks with The Fifth Estate, and Matt’s own effort to back up Winters’s alibi by hacking into the security camera files.
The captain’s wry expression turned a bit more serious when he heard of this. “Agent Dorpff has a lot to learn about controlling his charges,” Winters said. “Or am I just now learning about how much I’ve failed over the years?”
“Ummm, there’s more,” Matt pushed on. “Things we, uh, discovered about the earlier Alcista case that never made the news.”
“Meaning those discoveries had to come from Net Force records,” Winters rumbled. “Which would get a certain young hacker in severe trouble if his parents and Net Force ever found out.”
Winters was more his old, stern self as he glared at Matt.
“Given the hacker, I think that discovery’s unlikely, sir,” Matt said.
“You’ve been taking quite an interest in my private business, it seems.” Captain Winters looked at Matt searchingly. But then it seemed as though something inside him collapsed.
The captain’s shoulders sank. “But you still didn’t get the whole story,” he said. “There are bits that even Net Force never got into the record. But I’ll tell you everything, if you’d like. I guess sitting shut up in here has put me in a talkative mood.”
Winters leaned back against the overstuffed back of the couch, but his tight muscles belied his casual pose. “Four years ago, my brilliant partner and I were hot on the trail of a piece of human garbage who offered computer services, and then used his access to steal people’s businesses or whatever worthwhile assets they had. We were closing in on the guy, just shy of dropping the net on him. One rather gray April morning my wife’s car wouldn’t start, so she borrowed mine.”
“To go to the doctor,” Matt said.
Winters looked at him, his face as hard — and gray — as stone. “To be precise, she was going to our obstetrician. We were expecting…our son would have been born—”
He broke off, and Matt sat in horrified silence. Captain James Winters hadn’t suffered one loss, but two — Mrs. Winters and their unborn child. Matt couldn’t even begin to imagine what that had been like.
“Mike Steele was supposed to be the godfather. He’d already given us a b
aby present. Cynthia — my wife — had scolded him, saying it was bad luck….”
Winters ran a hand over his face, but he at least looked calmer when he met Matt’s eyes again. “I can understand why Mike did what he did. It wasn’t just because Alcista had placed a bomb in his car. But when I learned the truth about the evidence he’d supposedly uncovered, I couldn’t let the trial go on. I had to turn in my best friend. And let my wife’s killer walk. Alcista’s very expensive lawyers jumped in. By the time they were finished, Steve the Bull got a sentence that was more like a four-year vacation — three years and change — than a prison term. And I ended up with this huge hole where my life had been.”
The captain’s expression softened as he looked at his young listener. “Then came a bit of luck. Jay Gridley had me come in to his office for a talk. I told him I was burnt out as a field agent, and I didn’t want to drive a desk in the administrative section. He said he had a special job that needed doing, and that he thought I was just the man for it. I became the liaison for the Net Force Explorers.”
Matt cleared his throat. “We always suspected it was more than a job for you.”
Winters nodded. “It was a lifeline during terrible times. You guys were so young, so enthusiastic, so…spirited.”
“You mean out of control, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Matt seemed to see his mentor through completely new eyes. Now he understood why the captain was so tough when the Net Force Explorers bent the law in the cases where they’d become involved. Matt also understood why Winters took every Net Force Explorer so seriously when they came to him for advice. In a very real sense, he treated them like family. Maybe they were his family, the only family he had.
The captain gave Matt a surprisingly shy smile. “It’s like that guy in the old book. I didn’t have one child — I had thousands.”
Then the captain’s smile faded away. “But I’ve lost even that. I can almost laugh at how things turned out…almost. Just before the toilet flushed on me, Net Force asked me if I wanted to go back full-time on active duty. I turned the offer down because I was happy doing what I was doing. Now, even if by some miracle I beat the charges they’re preparing against me, I’ll be finished in Net Force. Which means I’m finished with the Net Force Explorers.”
Slowly James Winters got control of his face and became the apathetic stranger who had answered the door. “I guess I feel betrayed.” He sighed. “What goes around, comes around. I still remember the look in Iron Mike’s eyes when he realized who had turned him in. Now I can understand it better.”
His lips curved in a bleak smile. “You know, if anybody could have done this job on me, it would have been Iron Mike Steele…. Of course, he’s not alive. But he’s the only person it would make sense would be responsible.”
Moving almost as though they had a will of their own, Matt’s fingers went to the pocket that held Leif Anderson’s datascrip.
“What—” Matt had to clear his throat to get the words out. “What if Mike Steele were still alive?”
“He died down in the Caribbean, on his boat.” Winters shook his head. “Mike loved his boats. I used to kid him that that was why he stayed single — he couldn’t afford a boat and a family, too. The baby gift he gave us — it was a custom-made sterling silver rattle in the shape of an anchor.”
“Let’s go to a room that still has a working computer system,” Matt interrupted the flow of reminiscence. “Leif has worked up a file that I think you should see.”
After a brief explanation as to who Marcus Kovacs was, and why he was a factor in James Winters’s life, Matt ran Leif Anderson’s dog-and-pony show. At first Winters shook his head, unbelieving. But as Leif continued fighting for his case, Winters’s face subtly changed. By the time the file finished its run, the tough-minded Net Force agent that Matt knew well was looking out of James Winters’s eyes.
“This theory of Leif’s is by no means conclusive,” Captain Winters said. “It could be wishful thinking. On the other hand, it’s the first explanation I’ve heard that works for this nightmare I’ve been living. And I’ve been racking my brains for any reason that made sense.”
With spare, determined movements, Winters retrieved the datascrip from its system port. Then he engaged the holophone to call the offices of Mitchell, Liddy, and Laird. Stewart Laird was still at work.
“Stay there,” Winters crisply told his lawyer. “We’re going to reroute the cab you sent to bring Matt here. I want to show you something the Net Force Explorers have uncovered.”
“What?” Stewart Laird asked, staring. Obviously, he was unable to believe the sudden change that had come over his client.
“Better you see it in person rather than over a phone line,” Winters replied.
Matt could see a darker, more tactical reason for a personal visit. Whoever had set Winters up for a murder charge would surely have a tap installed on his victim’s phone.
Winters smiled at the expression on his lawyer’s face. “And cheer up! I was going to contest the cab fare you spent sending Matt to come and see me. This way it becomes a legitimate business expense.”
16
Matt could see that the waiting driver was surprised to see two people coming out to his car. He was more surprised — and somewhat dubious — when James Winters told him about the change in destination.
“We’re going to the offices of Mitchell, Liddy, and Laird,” the captain announced. When he saw the look on the driver’s face, he said, “Check with your dispatchers. And have them check with Mr. Laird.”
Even when the okay came through, the driver kept shooting his two passengers quizzical looks in the rearview mirror. It couldn’t be the change in destination — that wasn’t that unusual. No, it was probably that the driver felt he knew Winters’s face from somewhere, thanks to all the news coverage. Or perhaps he even recognized the captain. But if so, he didn’t say anything. Nobody spoke. Matt was so glad to see Winters shake off that frighteningly lackadaisical attitude he’d shown during their visit — and so shocked by what the captain had told him — that he really couldn’t think of anything else to say. As for Winters, the captain seemed downright impatient to get to his lawyer and discuss a defense.
From the continuing looks in the mirror, Matt suspected that the driver really had finally identified Winters as the unwilling star of so many recent news items. The driver’s silence was one of suspicion, although that turned to a broad smile when the captain gave him a fat tip on their arrival at the downtown offices of Mitchell, Liddy, and Laird.
Matt and Winters strode through an impressive lobby and rode up in an elevator. All along the way the captain held Leif Anderson’s datascrip, tapping it repeatedly with his forefinger.
Steward Laird must have been just as eager. He almost flew into the reception area when they were announced and all but hustled them into his private office. “What have you got?” the lawyer demanded.
“Some information — and a possible description — of someone with the motive and means to create the mess I’m in,” Winters replied crisply. “And we have this young man and several of his associates to thank for it.”
He took Laird through the original Alcista case — not mentioning why Cynthia Winters was using the car — and the aftermath, explaining how his partner had fabricated evidence to put Alcista away — and how Winters had found out and blown the whistle.
“I’m aware of that much,” Laird said. “Michael Steele was cashiered and died soon afterward.”
“Perhaps,” Winters corrected. “Take a look at this presentation and tell me what you think.”
After seeing Leif’s show-and-tell and hearing how I-on Investigations made its amazing profits, Laird got on the phone. “We keep a private investigator on retainer — a somewhat more ethical investigator than the ones I just heard about. I want him to see this and start looking into Marcus Kovacs. This isn’t enough to convince a jury on its own, but it certainly strikes me as a fruitful
line for investigation.”
The lawyer’s conversation with the private eye was brief and to the point, requesting a detailed background check on Marcus Kovacs and I-on Investigations.
Winters interrupted. “You don’t know how secure this line is,” he said, putting a hand over the holo pickup. “I suggest you don’t transmit the datafile electronically or put the file on any networked computer. Use a dedicated machine only. Make a copy of the finished file and have it hand-delivered.”
Laird looked incredulous at first. “We have our lines checked—”
“Remember who we’re dealing with,” Winters warned.
A new expression came over Laird’s face as he remembered all the trouble Winters was in. He nodded and completed the call.
“Now that you have an idea who did this to you, does it suggest anything about the way it was done?” the lawyer asked.
Captain Winters nodded grimly. “Iron Mike Steele was a specialist agent at Net Force. His job was figuring out how the bad guys got into computers, so he had a lot of knowledge on how to do just about anything to a computer.” Then, as he paused, if anything, Winters became more grim. “He also had a knowledge of the Net Force computer system that any outside hacker would envy.”
Matt was abruptly reminded of Hangman Hank Steadman’s mocking words. “If someone could infiltrate our systems like that, I’d hire them immediately as a specialist agent.”
That was precisely Mike Steele’s job description. Matt began to feel hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, the seemingly airtight case Internal Affairs had compiled was beginning to spring leaks.
Winters shook his head. “Mike was very good at his job. When it came to cooking evidence, he’d create a sort of baloney sandwich, slipping false data between a few slices of truth. It almost always passed muster.”
Matt thought back to the records Mark Gridley had accessed — the story of how Steele had planted the fake evidence on Alcista. The Net Force agent had used what seemed like an innocuous phone call to sneak a program onto the gangster’s system. That program had initiated the incriminating calls, then erased the records — but not so well that Net Force techs couldn’t find traces of them.