Sweet Fortune

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Do you think Susan is helping him produce misleading data?”

  “No.” Alex sounded defensive suddenly. “I think it's more likely she's just inputting numbers that he's given her.”

  Hatch came over to the bed, his expression intent. “Is that Robin?”

  “Just a second, Alex.” Jessie looked up at Hatch. “He thinks he's found Susan. She's on the computer right now, running a climate program.”

  “Ask him if he can communicate with her through the computer.”

  “I heard what Hatch just asked,” Alex said. “Tell him I can do that. Want me to get her attention now?”

  Jessie gripped the phone. “He says he can do it. Hatch, this is so exciting. I'm going to have him try to contact her right now.”

  Hatch shook his head. “No. Tell him to wait until you and I can get over to the office. I want to think this through for a few minutes.”

  Alex spoke in Jessie's ear. “I heard him. See you two in a bit.”

  Jessie heard the phone go dead on the other end of the line. “I can't believe this.” She leapt off the bed, hurling the nightgown into a corner. She grabbed her jeans. “What a break. We can talk to her in person. Come on, Hatch, let's go.”

  “I hope Robin laid in his usual supply of junk food. That peanut-butter sandwich didn't go far.”

  Twenty minutes later Jessie and the two men were crowded around the computer screen. Somehow Hatch seemed to have taken command of the situation, much to her annoyance. Jessie was not quite certain how it had happened. She suspected it had to do with his natural leadership talents and with the fact that Alex, being a man, was automatically inclined to take orders from another male. It was extremely irritating, but there did not seem to be much she could do about it at the moment. The important thing was to make contact with Susan Attwood.

  “Don't give her any idea of who you are or where you are,” Hatch told Alex. “Just let her think that you're a concerned environmentalist who's also a hacker. Maybe someone who's involved in climate-projection programs and who's heard about Bright's calculations and wants to review them. And for Christ's sake, don't give her anything that can be traced back here. Understand?”

  “Sure, Hatch.” Alex eagerly started punching keys on the board. “I'll start by questioning the data she's trying to input. She won't be alarmed, just confused at first. She'll think it's the computer querying the information she's feeding it. When she starts responding, I'll ease into letting her know there's a real person asking.”

  Alex's initial query trickled out across the bottom of the screen. Jessie read it over his shoulder:

  New temperature ranges for arctic quadrant do not match projections. Please explain source.

  “What if the query pops up on someone else's screen?” Jessie asked.

  “There's no one else on-line right now. It's the middle of the night, don't forget. She's working the late shift alone.” Alex studied the response he had gotten from Susan.

  Source is Bright calculation. The words appeared above Alex's on the top half of the screen.

  Calculation not correct, Alex typed.

  Please explain.

  “She's confused, and no wonder,” Alex said. “The program she's working with is not written to be interactive on this level. Up until now it's just accepted whatever numbers it gets and crunched them.”

  “Okay,” Hatch said slowly. “Let her know you're here.”

  Am concerned about projections produced by this program. They don't match my own, Alex typed.

  Who are you?

  Alex hesitated and then typed, Green.

  Are you with DEL?

  No. Concerned about same subject. Wrong data extremely dangerous, Alex typed.

  Show me the differences between your calculations and ours.

  “We're in luck,” Alex said confidently. “She's the naturally curious type, like most computer junkies. She wants to solve the puzzle before she does anything else. Attagirl, Susan. I'd do exactly the same thing, especially in the middle of the night when there's nothing better to do. I think you and I are two of a kind.” He hunched over the keyboard and started typing furiously.

  Jessie glanced at Hatch and smiled wryly. Hatch shrugged and reached for the bag of potato chips that was lying on the desk next to the computer. They both sat there munching while Alex lured Susan Attwood into an extended conversation about data errors and bad projections.

  Have recently been concerned about this myself, Susan finally admitted several minutes later.

  Hatch put down the bag of potato chips. “Bingo,” he said softly.

  “Told you she was bright.” Alex looked proud, as if Susan were his protégée. “Smart enough to know something was wrong.”

  “Ask her if she's ever worked with the financial program,” Hatch ordered.

  “If I do that, she'll know we're interested in the money as well as the climate stuff,” Alex warned.

  Jessie finally took a hand. “Tell her you stumbled over the other program while looking for this one and that you were curious about the projects the foundation is financing.”

  “And tell her,” Hatch added swiftly, “that the money doesn't look like it's going into normal research-and-development costs. See if she's had any concerns about those transactions.”

  Jessie whipped around in her chair to stare at Hatch in astonishment. “You never said anything about the R-and-D stuff looking strange.”

  He shrugged again. “I'm not sure what is happening. I just know it isn't a normal R-and-D spread sheet.”

  “You could have said something.”

  “I'd already told you the whole thing was probably some sort of scam. This is nothing new. I'm just fine-tuning my theories now.”

  Alex broke in quickly. “If you two would stop squabbling, we might get some more answers from Susan. Okay, Hatch, you want me to ask directly about offshore accounts?”

  “Something tells me we should be a little more subtle than that,” Jessie muttered, still annoyed.

  “Jessie's right. Just ask her why the financial-management program doesn't look right and see what she says.”

  Alex obediently typed in the question. There was a long pause before the answer came back on the top half of the screen:

  Who are you, Green? Please tell me.

  “She's getting nervous,” Jessie said. “I think it's time to tell her the whole truth.”

  “I agree,” Alex said.

  “You're liable to scare her off completely if you do,” Hatch warned.

  Jessie shook her head, staring intently at the screen. Her intuition was guiding her now. “No. She's already scared. And not because of us. Let's find out what's really going on here. Alex, ask her if she feels safe working for DEL.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes. Hurry.” Jessie was feeling a sense of urgency. She leaned forward to peer over Alex's shoulder.

  “All right, go ahead,” Hatch said slowly, after giving Jessie a speculative glance. “Start the question with her first name.”

  Susan, are you safe where you are?

  Jessie held her breath and realized that Alex was doing the same thing as they waited for a response. Only Hatch still looked calm.

  I'm not sure. I'm getting scared, Green. Please tell me who you are.

  “Tell her,” Jessie said, “that we've been looking for her and if she wants to leave DEL, we'll help her. Tell her that her mother is very worried.”

  “Tell her that her mother is also scared,” Hatch put in thoughtfully. “That should do it.”

  Jessie nodded. “Good idea. Susan may not know that Mrs. Attwood has been threatened.”

  “Has she?” Alex asked, surprised.

  Jessie nodded grimly. “Yes, I'm sure of it.”

  The response from Susan came immediately. Is my mother all right? Have been told I may not contact her until after my training period is finished.

  “Tell her that Mrs. Attwood will not talk to me about the problem. Tell her I'
m very worried about her,” Jessie said.

  Alex started to type in the words, but before he could get halfway through the sentence, Susan started typing something of her own.

  Clear screen. Someone coming.

  In a stroke Alex wiped everything off his own screen and sat back in his chair with a low groan of frustration. “She's in trouble.”

  “Looks like it,” Hatch agreed quietly. “But we don't have any idea of how much trouble. She might just be getting nervous. Wants to come home. Afraid to admit she's made a mistake.”

  “I think,” Jessie said slowly, “that it's more serious than that. I think she's in real danger.”

  Hatch and Alex looked at her.

  “How do you know that?” Hatch finally asked.

  Jessie shook her head, helpless to explain the sense of urgency that was growing stronger by the minute. “Just a feeling I've got.” She jumped to her feet. “I'm going to go see Mrs. Valentine. With any luck, she'll have recovered some of her ability. Maybe she can tell me if I'm right in thinking Susan's in trouble.”

  “Jessie, it's midnight,” Hatch pointed out.

  “Mrs. V will understand. Do you want to come with me, Hatch?”

  “I don't think I've got much choice,” he muttered, standing up reluctantly.

  “I'll keep an eye on things here,” Alex said. “I won't attempt to contact Susan. I'll just monitor the screen in case she decides to try to find me again. If she puts out a query, I'll respond.”

  Jessie glanced back once from the door. Alex was sitting in front of his screen, gazing into the green glow with worried eyes.

  There was another screen glowing in the living room of Mrs. Valentine's sister. A television screen.

  Mrs. Valentine, wearing an old robe and slippers, answered the doorbell on the first chime. “Oh, there you are, Jessie, dear. Come in. I've been expecting you. Hello, Mr. Hatchard. So nice to see you again.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Valentine,” Hatch said. “Sorry about the late-night visit.”

  “Don't worry about it. As I said, I was expecting you.”

  Jessie threw her arms around her boss and hugged her tightly. “You were expecting us? Mrs. V, does that mean you've recovered your psychic abilities?”

  “What little ability I had seems to have begun returning,” Mrs. Valentine said modestly. “Won't you sit down? My sister has already gone to bed. I was just watching TV until you arrived.”

  “This is wonderful, Mrs. V.” Jessie sat down on the old sofa. “Isn't it, Hatch?”

  “It's interesting,” Hatch said coolly.

  “Don't mind him, Mrs. V. He's a born skeptic. Now, let me tell you why I'm here at this hour.”

  “Something to do with Susan Attwood, I imagine.” Mrs. Valentine looked resigned.

  “Mrs. V, you are getting back your powers. This is wonderful.”

  “Simple deduction, I'm afraid.” Mrs. Valentine smiled. “I couldn't imagine anything else that would have you so agitated. Better tell me everything.”

  “Right.”

  Jessie plunged into a full account, including the fact that Alex Robin had managed to contact Susan. Hatch added a few desultory comments on the probability of a scam being run by the Dawn's Early Light Foundation.

  “We're starting to get very concerned about Susan's safety, Mrs. V,” Jessie concluded a few minutes later. “I wanted to consult with you before we did anything else.”

  Mrs. V gazed at the television screen for a long while. Then she turned her head to meet Jessie's anxious eyes. “I think, my dear, that you are right to be concerned about poor Susan.”

  “I was afraid of that. We've got to do something.”

  “Perhaps you should call the police,” Mrs. Valentine suggested. “This sort of thing should be turned over to them, don't you think?”

  “Good idea,” Hatch agreed.

  “I'm not so sure,” Jessie said slowly. “For one thing, we don't have any real evidence that she's in danger. Susan hasn't exactly asked for rescue. I think we should ask her what she wants us to do.” She stood up abruptly. “Come on, Hatch. Let's go. No point keeping Mrs. V up any later. She's confirmed my worst fears.”

  “I do wish you would turn this over to the proper authorities, dear.” Mrs. Valentine looked anxious.

  “That's just it, Mrs. V, there are no proper authorities. Not yet, at any rate. We don't have any proof of a crime or even any evidence of danger to Susan. Don't worry, we can handle this,” Jessie assured her.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Mrs. Valentine trailed after them to the door. She frowned as Jessie walked out onto the old-fashioned porch. “Jessie, dear…”

  “Yes, Mrs. V?”

  “You will be careful, whatever you do, won't you?”

  “Of course. But it's Susan Attwood who's in danger, not me.”

  “I'm not so sure about that.” Mrs. Valentine glanced at Hatch. “You'll take care of her, won't you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes,” Hatch said quietly. “I'll take care of her.”

  Mrs. Valentine looked somewhat relieved. “Oh, well, then, perhaps it will all be okay. But I'm really not certain I like this new aspect of our business. Not certain at all.”

  “I don't blame you, Mrs. Valentine,” Hatch said. “Any way you slice it, there's no doubt but that Valentine Consultations is headed in new directions.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Valentine.

  Jessie dialed Alex's number just before she climbed into bed. It was answered on the first ring.

  “Heard anything more from her, Alex?”

  “No. I think she's lying low.”

  “When's her next shift on the computer?”

  “Tomorrow night. If she maintains her present schedule.”

  “Maybe she'll talk to us then,” Jessie said.

  “Unless they've gotten so suspicious they've removed her from the job,” Alex said glumly.

  Jessie put down the phone and turned to look at Hatch, who was lying back against the pillows, his hands behind his head. He was naked to the waist and the covers were bunched around his hips, exposing the broad, smoothly muscled expanse of his chest.

  “I'm really worried, Hatch.”

  “I know you are.” He gave her a small wry smile. “Come to bed and get some sleep. There's nothing more you can do tonight.”

  Jessie went over to the bed and crawled in beside him. The heat of his body enveloped her as he pulled her close.

  “Hatch?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I'm glad you're helping me out on this case. I get the feeling I'm in a little over my head.”

  “You think you're in over your head now? Just wait until this is all over and I bill you for my services.”

  “Hatch, are you serious?”

  “I'm always serious.”

  At one o'clock the next afternoon, Hatch grabbed his jacket and started for the door of his office.

  “I'll be out for the next couple of hours,” he said to his secretary as he went past her desk.

  “Yes, Mr. Hatchard.”

  Twenty-five minutes later Hatch was waiting outside a classroom at Butterfield College. David Ringstead sauntered out of the room behind fifteen other students. He looked startled to see Hatch.

  “What are you doing here?” David demanded. Then he frowned in sudden alarm. “Is anything wrong? Is Mom all right?”

  “Nothing's wrong. I wanted to talk to you and I figured this would be the easiest way to do it. Can we go someplace where we can get a cup of coffee?”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. I want to talk to you.”

  David shrugged. “All right. There's an espresso bar across the street.”

  “Fine.”

  “Mind telling me what this is all about?”

  “It's about money,” Hatch said easily.

  “Shit.” David shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You're here to tell me the old bastard won't finance grad school, right? Why you? W
hy didn't Jessie come?”

  “That's a lot of conclusions to jump to without knowing any facts. But I guess that's what philosophers are trained to do, isn't it? No wonder they have a hard time finding jobs outside the academic world.”

  “Shit.”

  Hatch sighed as he pushed open the door of the espresso bar. “Look on the bright side. I'm buying.”

  A pale, lanky-haired young woman behind the counter smiled wanly at David.

  “Hi, David. How's it going?” she asked.

  “Fine. You?”

  “Okay, I guess. What will you have?”

  “Latte,” said David.

  She turned in mute question to Hatch.

  “Coffee,” Hatch said. “Plain coffee.”

  They stood in silence while the young woman went to work at the gleaming espresso machine. When she handed them their cups, Hatch led the way to a corner table in the nearly empty café.

  “Friend of yours?” Hatch asked idly, nodding faintly toward the wiry woman who was now busy cleaning up around the machine. Her washed-out blond hair swung forward, shielding her bad complexion.

  “Not exactly. Met her when I was asking around for information on DEL.”

  Hatch slid the young woman a second glance. “That's Nadine Willard?”

  “Yeah.” David sipped the foam off his latte. “Now, suppose you stop messing with my head and just tell me what all this is about.”

  “No problem. It's real simple, David. I don't want you pressuring Jessie to go to her father for money for grad school. Got that?”

  David scowled. “What is it with you, anyway? What do you care about something that's just between Jessie and me?”

  “I want Jessie out of the loop.”

  “The loop?”

  “Right. The loop. From now on, anyone who wants something from Vincent Benedict can go and ask for it himself, directly. You don't use Jessie anymore.”

  David's expression tightened into a sullen frown. He sat back and stuck his legs out under the small table. “Jessie's never minded handling the old bastard for the rest of us.”

  “I mind.”

  “No offense, but who the fuck cares if you mind?”