Duel Identity nfe-12

by Tom Clancy

  Right now the biggest danger threatening the kingdom was out here in real life. Would Roberta make good on her threats?

  Leif turned to the living room computer console, ordering it into telephonic mode. Then he hesitated. His first choice to talk things over would be David-Leif valued his friend's calm, analytical approach to problems. But David might see Roberta as the solution to a problem. He was obviously not in love with Latvinia. Although it had been a clever idea to make David an Abyssinian prince, that plot device had also made him a fish out of water in the Zenda-like setting.

  P. J. Farris, on the other hand, was having a whale of a time in the sim. It gave him the chance to shed the responsibilities of being a senator's son, kick back, and be as outrageous as he wanted to be.

  And, Leif had to admit, Bronco Jack Farris was pretty outrageous as a rootin'-tootin' courtier. On one occasion he'd seen his friend give roping demonstrations by lassoing Megan's ladies in waiting, and then keep out of trouble by buttering the ladies up with a combination of cornpone humor and cowboy charm. Judging by the ladies' delighted grins, it wasn't the first time he'd tried it.

  Yeah, P. J. would be more concerned about the future of Latvinia. And maybe his political background would help him come up with some suggestion that Leif just couldn't see now to stop the incoming trouble before it got ugly. He gave his computer the order to connect with the Farris phone number.

  P. J. himself picked up, his face breaking into a grin when he recognized his caller. "You feelin' about as bored as I do, champ? I tell ya, I'm hooked. Man, the hours just seem to stretch on forever when there's nothing good goin' on in Latvinia."

  "I'm sure you could always go in there and impress some girl with your Ragtime Cowboy Joe act," Leif shot back.

  P. J. looked pained. "I am basing my characterization on a noted actor, raconteur, and roper-even if he did come from Oklahoma instead of Texas-I'm sure you've heard of Will Rogers."

  "Oh, right," Leif said, vaguely remembering the name. "The burlesque comedian."

  "Vaudeville, not burlesque," P. J. corrected. "There's a difference. The girls didn't wear much in the way of clothes in Ziegfeld's Follies, but they kept them on."

  P. J.'s joking mood vanished when he heard why Leif was calling, however. "Shut down Latvinia?" PJ.'s distress showed in his voice. "Why would anyone want to do that? I'm having the most fun I've ever had since learning to ride a horse. Megan is obviously having the time of her life being a princess. Everybody's enjoying it. Why should some sorehead come along and shut the sim down?"

  In the face of such enthusiasm, Leif decided to keep quiet about his own reservations. Instead, he pointed out, "Maybe that sorehead got annoyed about losing her dress, being dumped in a pile of merde, and then struck by lightning and deported."

  "Oh, come on!" P. J. protested. "That guy who runs the Dominions of Sarxos role-playing game does much worse stuff to people who try to mess around with his sim."

  "Rod," Leif said. "Chris Rodrigues. But Sarxos has been running a long time, with enough paying customers to make Chris rich many times over. Alan Slaney is just getting Latvinia off the ground-and he's aiming it toward AHSO people. If AHSO pulls its members out, Latvinia crashes and burns."

  "We can't let that happen." P. J. leaned toward the holo pickup, his face serious. "I mean, think how upset Megan would be."

  Leif repressed a brief shudder at the thought. "That's why I'm talking to you instead of her. Megan would probably go over to Roberta's and put her in a choke- hold until she promised to lay off. I thought you might come up with a slightly more.. political… solution."

  P. J. just shook his head. "Most politicians I know would probably go for the choke-hold, too." He frowned, looking out at Leif. "Couldn't you just-well, talk to this Roberta person? Make her see how unfair she's being?"

  Leif sighed. "Have you ever tried to get Megan to change her mind?"

  P. J. nodded, wordless. But the look on his face told it all.

  "Imagine that, squared, and backed up by a fortune and an 'I am bulletproof' attitude. Roberta's been given anything she ever wanted by her parents, and it shows in the worst way. She's not going to be rational. Megan's going to expect me to do something about it. And both Megan and Roberta have my phone number and Net addresses."

  "So whatcha got here is a delicate decision, as far as you are concerned. Who is it that you really want to tee off? Roberta? Or Megan?"

  Leif gave an unhappy nod. "That's it in a nutshell."

  "I will say, Megan is likely to take it personal," P. J. went on. "And she's formidable. While this Roberta, despite her parents, sounds like the yelling kind. I'd plump for going up against Roberta. Just get yourself some good backup. Have you thought of asking Captain Winters for help here?"

  "I'd have better luck getting the president lined up behind me," Leif replied. "We've got a history, you know. Winters doesn't exactly trust me."

  "Well, I can't get you presidential backup, but I can offer some support from the Senate-at least from a senator's kid." P. J. grinned. "Think that might help turn this honey's head?"

  "Maybe. It's a start," Leif admitted.

  P. J. frowned in thought. "Suppose we get the guy who saved your bacon last night-Sergei. He's the son of the Russian ambassador." That big Texas grin came back.

  "Create a sort of international peacemaking mission, y'know?"

  "I don't know how to get hold of him," Leif said, "except that he's one of Alan Slaney's fencing students."

  "Let me take care of that, then," P. J. promised. "Do you know where we can find this Roberta person? I figure we should get to work on her tomorrow morning."

  Leif gave P. J. the Hendry address. "Just don't make it too early tomorrow morning," he said. "Roberta enjoys her sleep."

  And so do /, he thought, as he signed. It's one of the best parts of summer vacation. And I seem to have missed out on my share of it so far.

  The next morning Leif got out of a cab in one of the quieter side streets of Georgetown-a super-ritzy part of an extremely ritzy neighborhood. It was a few minutes before eleven, the time they'd agreed to meet. But Sergei Chernevsky was already there, waiting by the corner.

  It took Leif an instant to recognize the Russian boy out of uniform and with a few years shaved off his virtual appearance. He still didn't know how P. J. had tracked Sergei down so quickly-or how he'd persuaded him to come along. But the closer Leif came to actually meeting Roberta, the more hopeless their mission seemed.

  "No sword," Sergei said, finally recognizing Leif without his Albrecht von Hengist beard.

  "And no gun," Leif replied with a grin. "Though we might wish we had one if Roberta decides to fly off the handle."

  "Fly off-?" Sergei had to think for a moment to translate Leif's slang. "Oh, you mean she'll get angry.

  Well, maybe P. J. brings one of his six-shooters." He did a thumb-and-finger imitation of a pistol.

  "To change Roberta's mind, you'd probably do better with a thermonuclear bomb," Leif said.

  A moment later, P. J. came walking up the block. Apparently he'd spent the night getting cold feet, too. His grin was all too obviously false as he greeted the other two. "Well, guys. Ready?"

  "As we'll ever be," Leif said. "Prepare to charm the socks off her, Pretty Boy."

  P. J. shot Leif a look. "Don't call me Pretty Boy."

  Leif knew his friend was sensitive about his male- model good looks, especially now that they weren't hidden by his weather-beaten Bronco Jack persona. He also knew that unless he distracted P. J. from his nervousness, their attempt to change Roberta's mind was doomed before they even started. Roberta's car was parked in the circular driveway framing the three-tiered fountain in front of the house. She was home, apparently. It was to time to try their luck.

  P. J. leaped up the steps of the house and rang the bell. He stood there for a moment as the others climbed up to join him, then rang the bell again.

  No one answered the door. Nor did any faces appear in t
he curtained windows.

  "You'd expect to see a mess of servants in a place like this," P. J. said, irritation entering his voice. "Think the bell is dead?"

  The walls of the old house were too thick to let them hear anything, and heavy drapes muffled the windows. P. J. made a fist and began rapping on the door. "I know you said she slept late," he told Leif, "but this is overdoing it."

  Sergei only shrugged. "I do not believe she is jacked into Latvinia," he said. "I checked just moments ago."

  "Maybe she decided to join her folks in Europe," Leif offered. "With Roberta-"

  "Excuse me," a voice interrupted him. Leif turned around to find a short, stout, gray-haired woman walking up the steps looking him up and down.

  "We-ah, were hoping to find Miss Hendry in," Leif said. "But when we rang, we didn't get an answer, either from her or the staff-"

  "Well, now, you wouldn't, since Mr. and Mrs. Hendry gave most of the staff the summer off," the stout lady replied with a faint trace of Irish brogue. "I'm only in to do the day cleaning and to take care of Miss Roberta."

  She frowned. "I've no idea why she shouldn't be answering the door, as I expected her to let me in. She should be up and hungry for her breakfast by now." The woman began rummaging in her purse and produced a key ring. "But I'll certainly be getting an answer for you gentlemen after I see her."

  The three boys stepped aside as the cleaning lady swept past with all the presence of a duchess going to court. Sergei began pointing out the obvious. "Maybe Roberta just doesn't want-"

  Now his words were interrupted-by a scream. Leif flung himself at the door, which swung wide open-the cleaning lady hadn't fully closed it. Banshee screams echoed off the marble walls and floor of the reception hall. Toward the rear of the house rose the central staircase, where the cleaning woman huddled, still screaming.

  Then Leif realized the woman was huddled over another figure lying on the floor, a pale, still figure with great legs peeping out from under a frilly nightgown. It was Roberta Hendry, and she was unconscious- Or worse!

  Chapter 11

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing!" Megan stared in shock at Leif's image on the holo connection. "You mean Roberta fell down the stairs answering the doorbell while you were pressing it?"

  "No, that's not what the doctors think," Leif replied. "It's something to do with bruises having formed already, and her skin showing how dehydrated she was. The emergency services people weren't talking much- they were busy rushing her over to George Washington University Hospital. But they did tell me she was most likely collapsed at the foot of the stairs for hours- maybe all night."

  "Sounds like she's lucky to be alive," Megan said numbly.

  "If you call being in a coma with a cracked skull lucky." Leif's muttered response was half-drowned out by an ambulance siren in the background.

  He must be calling from the hospital, she realized.

  "Beats a broken neck," Megan finally managed.

  That got a ghost of a smile from Leif. "Maybe. You don't think that string of bad luck she had in Latvinia leaked out into real life, do you?"

  "Don't be silly," Megan replied, her voice a little sharper than she'd intended.

  "At least they've got Roberta stabilized, but they have no idea when she'll come out of this. Her parents are coming home from Europe-" Leif grimaced. "And all I want to do right now is get the smell of hospital out of my nose."

  He hesitated for a second, then said, "I'm down here with my dad, but he's busy with some big deal or other. You free to do anything?"

  Megan shook her head. "I'm stuck here. It's my week to do the dreaded laundry-and with a family as large as ours, it really is the dreaded laundry. Then Alan asked me to link in early-what?" she asked at the look on Leif's face.

  "You're going back into Latvinia after this?" Leif's expression was definitely disapproving.

  "You make it sound as though we should establish a day of national mourning," Megan said. "I'm sorry for what happened to Roberta, but it's not as if she died or anything. And there's certainly no link to Latvinia. Why shouldn't we go on with the beta-test?"

  Leif shrugged, but Megan knew she hadn't changed his mind. For that matter, why was she feeling so defensive about this?

  "I know you'll do whatever you intend to do," Leif finally said. "I just feel it's… inappropriate. Wrong, somehow. Oh well, have fun with the laundry. I'll see you later."

  Megan said goodbye and hung up the phone, vaguely disquieted by the conversation. Or maybe, she thought, it was the thought of the laundry she now had no excuse to put off that was bothering her. Shaking her head, she went off to deal with it.

  Coming home to an empty apartment only intensified Leif's bad mood.

  Nothing like being turned down when I ask someone out to make me feel lousy, he thought. She'd rather do laundry than see me! And sitting around alone afterward-that's just the icing on the cake.

  He went to the living room computer console and put in a call to David Gray.

  David picked up in the hallway of his family's apartment. Judging from the hooting and hollering in the background, his little brothers were busily inventing another of their weird games. When Leif filled him in on what had happened to Roberta, David shook his head. "Nobody deserves to have that happen to them-even if they are a pain in the butt."

  He gave Leif a sidewise glance. "Although I might have a little more sympathy for her than a few other people would."

  "Tell me about it," Leif said sourly. "Megan's flying right back into Latvinia-after she finishes the family laundry."

  "From washerwoman to princess-you can see why the place has its attractions for her." David shook his head. "It's not quite the same for me."

  "Or for me," Leif agreed. "You think it's any fun having my rump handed to me whenever I cross swords with someone? I can understand why Roberta finally got hit with lightning-she was really trying to stand the sim on its head. But-"

  "You really want to see something?" David interrupted. "Go to your computer link and jack in. I'll meet you at your room in the palace."

  A little surprised, Leif got up, went to his room, and set up his computer-link couch. He lay back, closed his eyes, gave the command… and found himself in Latvinia. He was glad that the program usually integrated arriving role-players in neutral settings-walking down a palace hallway, for instance. It was a lot easier than opening his eyes to find himself on a horse-or fighting a duel.

  This time Leif found himself at the writing desk in his apartment at the palace. He was biting the end of an old-fashioned dip-the-point-in-the-ink pen, looking over a letter covering the events at court-including a couple Leif personally hadn't been present to see.

  At a knock from the door, Leif put down his pen and went to answer. David stood in the doorway, wearing distinctly more European clothes than he usually wore as Prince Menelik.

  "So, what's up?" Leif asked.

  Not exactly what you'd call old-fashioned eloquence, he thought critically. In fact, it's almost babbling. Leif felt weird, linking in to Latvinia after giving Megan a hard time about her decision to visit the sim.

  "Just follow me," David said, wearing his most impenetrable poker face. "I thought we'd just take a stroll through the streets of Herzen."

  "Sure." Leif hadn't really had a chance to explore the capital. It might be interesting to check the city out.

  Starting from the mansion district around the palace, they headed downhill to the city's ritzy carriage-trade stores. Leif walked along, taking in the various architectural styles of the buildings-and looking at the occasional pretty chambermaid sashaying by. So far, Herzen reminded him of one of those historical theme parks-just not quite so shiny and pastel. There were touches of reality; for instance, horses relieved themselves in the street frequently enough to make you watch where you were stepping.

  Leif recognized the street where they'd chugged up to the palace in their vintage Mercedes. The boulevard wasn't as crowded as it had been during th
e impromptu parade. But there were plenty of citizens-busy burghers-moving around to shop or complete errands.

  It's like watching an old-time photograph come to life, Leif thought as a carriage clattered by. Or rather, one of the colored illustrations in an old book.

  They were perhaps halfway down the street when he noticed one of the coachmen turning away, flicking his hand in an odd gesture. The forefinger and pinkie seemed to point at them for a second, the two fingers in between held down with the thumb.

  As the boys proceeded along to the less prosperous section of the shopping street, down the street, Leif caught more and more of those quick, surreptitious hand-flicks.

  David glanced at him. "Beginning to notice, huh?"

  "What-" Leif began.

  David cut him off. "Do me a favor," he said. "Walk on ahead for a block or so." He turned away, apparently fascinated by something on display in a shop window.

  Leif walked on alone, glancing around, using windows as mirrors. None of those odd signs.

  A couple of minutes later David rejoined him. They continued along. As the neighborhood got shabbier, more and more people shot them the hand gesture, some more overtly than others.

  David stopped, thrusting out an arm. "The train station is over that way, along with the warehouse district-a perfect setup for dens of thieves, or headquarters for conspiracies."

  What Leif noticed however, was how passers-by avoided the pointing hand-even across the street.

  Abruptly turning away, David led them in a different direction. "Over here, we have a case of urban decay-a neighborhood that would have been nicer once upon a time. They still have a park in the middle of this square."

  The houses had probably been minor mansions once upon a time, and were now cut up to provide homes for several families. The trees in the square could have done with pruning, and shoots of grass thrust their way through the thin gravel on the walks. But young mothers were taking advantage of the nice weather to take their babies for a walk. Often they were accompanied by older women in head-scarves-babushkas. No one seemed to meet their gaze-but almost everyone was shooting that odd sign. If they weren't doing that, mothers and grandmothers were rearranging the kids' clothing.