“Roberta, may I have Dr. Kriegel, please?”
The VOSS program recognized his voiceprint immediately, and Daniel thought he could almost hear a smile in Roberta’s voice. “Certainly, Mr. Prentice. You have been away for thirty-seven hours. Are you enjoying your trip?”
“Yes, Roberta. Thanks for asking.”
Daniel shifted on the bed and moved the telephone receiver from one ear to the other. The last few hours had been distracting, but he couldn’t allow himself to forget that business continued as usual back in Mount Vernon.
“Daniel?”
He felt a sudden surge of relief at hearing Dr. Kriegel’s voice. “Professor! How are you? How are things progressing?”
“Fine, Daniel, fine.” A soft beep sounded over the phone line, and Daniel tensed as the professor cleared his throat. “One minute, Daniel, Roberta is signaling.”
A sense of unease crept into Daniel’s mood like a wisp of smoke. Roberta monitored the phone lines as well as the physical building, and that soft beep could only mean that a security breach had occurred. In order to avoid tipping off an intruder, Roberta had been programmed to interrupt quietly and display a warning message on the computer monitor.
Thirty seconds passed, then the professor came back on the line. “Daniel,” he said, his voice thick and unsteady, “Roberta says we’re not alone.”
Daniel sat in silence, digesting this information. Someone was monitoring the phone line? If the bug originated at the office, other lines would be tapped, too. But if it was coming from his end—
He pressed his hand to his forehead. Of course! He was calling from the White House, after all. There were probably fewer than two or three clear lines in the entire building.
“I’m calling from the White House, Professor.” Daniel frowned, perturbed by the lack of privacy. Even though he understood the need for security, the invasion was unsettling.
“Ah. Well, that must explain it.”
“All the same,” Daniel shifted his weight and glanced around the tidy bedroom, “I think I’ll move to a hotel room ASAP. I wanted to see how things were going, but let’s discuss it later.”
“Good idea, Daniel. Take care.”
Daniel hung up, then tossed the rest of his clothes into a suitcase. For Brad’s sake he was willing to volunteer his time and energy to help the government, but he was not willing for some government spook to access and catalog his every word.
He slipped into his coat, closed his suitcase, then tossed a few remaining papers into his briefcase. He’d move out this morning, and he wouldn’t leave a forwarding address with anyone but Brad. He’d take a taxi to any other meetings and save the taxpayers whatever bucks it would have cost to send a limo to fetch him.
Whistling, Daniel picked up his bags, gave the infamous Lincoln Bedroom a final rueful smile, then sauntered out and down the hall, ready to move into more hospitable quarters.
Before leaving the White House, Daniel flashed his ID badge at a couple of security guards and visited the West Wing. One of the guards directed him through the maze to Lauren’s office. Once he found the tiny room, he paused for a moment in the hallway. She was sitting at a cluttered desk, her golden head bent low over a notebook, her hand curled around a still-steaming cup of coffee.
Except for the desk, the rest of the office was as neat as a museum. Daniel glanced at a bookcase lined with leather volumes, then noticed that only two personal pictures were framed for display with the books. One was a casual snapshot of Lauren and Jessica Stedman; the other appeared to be a formal portrait of a fluffy white dog with gleaming black eyes.
“Miss Mitchell?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice but recovered quickly and gave him a warm smile. “Mr. Prentice. I trust you slept well?”
“Probably better than Abe Lincoln ever did in that bed.” Daniel pushed aside his complaints in order to concentrate on the young woman before him. Her gleaming blonde hair clustered in short curls around a perfectly oval face, and he knew that in addition to beauty she possessed wit, directness, and intelligence. Yes, Lauren Mitchell was a very interesting woman. The trouble was, Daniel had no time to pursue other interests.
She had to be keenly aware of his scrutiny, yet she kept her features composed. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Prentice?”
“Call me Daniel. After all, we ate fried chicken together last night. If we were in North Carolina, wouldn’t that mean we were courting?”
Lauren tilted her head. “All right—Daniel. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Your meeting with General Archer isn’t until one o’clock. He’ll probably want to meet in his office at the Pentagon.”
Daniel cocked a finger at her. “I’ll be there. But I just dropped by to let you know that I’m checking out of the First Hotel today and taking another room.”
Her face clouded with what Daniel hoped was disappointment. “Oh, dear. Was the Lincoln Bedroom that bad?”
“No.” He waved her concerns away. “It’s just that I have a lot of work to do, and there are too many distractions here.”
“Shall I have a car take you someplace? I could arrange another room—”
“No, thanks. I’ll take care of it myself.”
Her velvet blue eyes went wide with curiosity. “How will we reach you?”
Daniel grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you once I’m settled to see if the president wants to take me to lunch.” Her eyes widened further, and Daniel laughed. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Mitchell. That was a joke. But I will call you to see if I’m needed.”
He turned to go, but the sound of her voice caught him in mid-step. “Call me Lauren,” she whispered, her accent soft and sweetly seductive. “After all, we did eat fried chicken together. In North Carolina, that’s practically a proposal.”
He tossed a smile over his shoulder, then picked up his bags and moved away.
Once Daniel passed the security checkpoint at the Southwest Appointment Gate, he walked past the Old Executive Office Building and stepped out to the intersection of Seventeenth Street and New York Avenue. From a concrete island in the fork of the road, he spied the Ambassador Hotel, an aging building that remained aloof to the grandeur and self-importance of its marble-faced neighbors.
Daniel nodded in satisfaction. He’d bet his bottom dollar that the Ambassador was not on Lauren’s list of alternate housing for overflow White House guests.
After crossing the street, he stepped through a brass-framed revolving door into a threadbare but comfortable lobby scented with cigarette smoke and disinfectant. He signed in at the desk, paid with his company credit card, and carried his own luggage up to his room. The oak door swung open to reveal a clean little apartment with sun-bombarded curtains, rather drab furniture, and carpet the shade of gray specifically designed to hide dirt. A shaft of sun angled down from the only window, highlighting slow spirals of dust that shifted in the moving air.
Daniel dropped his luggage and walked to the window. The ancient panes of thick glass blurred his view slightly, but on the busy street below he could see nothing unusual, only throngs of suited pedestrians and taxis moving through the marble purlieu surrounding the White House.
He reached for the bedside phone and punched in his company’s number. A moment later Roberta answered and transferred him into Dr. Kreigel’s lab.
“Daniel?”
“How are you, Professor? I’ve moved to a hotel, so the phone line should be clear now.”
The professor laughed softly. “If it isn’t, we’ll know soon enough. How are things in Washington?”
“A little interesting, a little boring, and very predictable. Have you begun to run the Millennium Code on the First Manhattan project?”
“Yes, Daniel, and the technicians have not reported any problems. Apparently it’s working like a dream.”
“Good. I may have even more astounding news soon. Of course, I’ll expect we’ll have to bid on certain aspects of the job, but—”
; A soft beep sounded in his ear, and Daniel caught his breath.
“One moment, please.” Daniel heard sounds of someone fumbling with the phone, then dead silence. A moment later the professor came back on the line. “How odd. Roberta says we have another guest.”
Daniel blew out his breath in exasperation. No one knew where he was, so how could his phone be tapped? The problem had to lie with the company’s phone lines.
“Has anyone else been visited today?”
“No.” Urgency underlined the professor’s voice. “We’ve been calling out all morning, and Roberta’s said nothing.”
“I have just walked into this place.” Daniel’s thoughts raced. “There’s no way anyone could have time to follow me.”
Picking up the telephone, he moved toward the window, stretching the cord as far as it would go.
“Any sign of a remote?” the professor asked.
Daniel looked up and down the street. The eavesdropper could be stationed in a van, but Daniel couldn’t see one in this particular cross section of the street. But a parking garage stood across the road, and he couldn’t see around the corner.
“Impossible to tell,” he finally said, frowning into the phone. “And I left in such a hurry, I didn’t think to pack my Nokia. Listen, Professor, I’ll email you later with a PGP-protected file. This thing has me bugged—” he managed a choking laugh—“in more ways than one.”
“Take care, Daniel.”
Daniel hung up, then sat on the bed and hunched forward, thinking. Given the speed with which the intruder had followed him and latched onto his phone call, the intruder almost had to be using a laser—not exactly a nickel-and-dime security toy. The technology was state-of-the-art, real bleeding edge stuff. That could only mean government—or one of Daniel’s competitors.
Daniel turned and propped up his back with pillows, then stretched his legs out on the bed. The very real threat of industrial espionage had motivated him to design and install Roberta, a virtually unbeatable security system; but aside from the customary encryption devices for telephones and e-mail, he hadn’t given much thought to the risk of industrial espionage outside the office. Thus far most of his competitors had been content to ignore the Y2K problem and concentrate on software for the broader market of personal computers. Nearly half of American homes would have a PC by the end of the millennium, and the easy money lay in peddling software for household machines. Microsoft and CompuWare had been content to stick their heads in the sand and pray the Y2K Crisis would go away.
But now someone was very interested in Daniel’s work. He had no trouble understanding why, for billions of dollars were at stake. But who had access to the kind of technology that could follow him and clamp onto his phone call in a matter of minutes?
The question hung in the air, shimmering like the spiraling dust motes lit by the window’s slanting light.
TWELVE
10:30 P.M., Thursday, November 12, 1998
KORD HERRICK CHECKED HIS WATCH, THEN MOVED EASILY THROUGH THE smoke-filled bar until he spied Archer’s close-cropped head and unnaturally bright cheeks above a corner table. The general was prompt, and Kord appreciated a man who understood the value of time. A man had only so many hours allotted to his life span, and a wise man knew that when time was wasted, life itself frittered away.
The soulful sounds of some sentimental song from the eighties blared from the speakers, and Kord steeled his nerves as he moved across what passed for a dance floor. He dodged an Asian couple locked in an embrace, skirted a table where a businessman and a woman sat only inches apart, then slid into a chair at Archer’s table.
Archer grunted a greeting, then pushed a manila envelope toward Kord.
“This is complete?” Herrick asked.
Archer caught the waitress’s eye, pointed to his empty glass, then crossed his arms. “It’s complete. I filled in the details after my meeting with him today.”
“The meeting went well?”
Archer fell silent as the waitress approached with another drink, and spoke only after she had exchanged glasses and moved away. “Yes. The man is safe, I assure you. I don’t think you’ll find anyone more trustworthy.”
Kord fingered the clasp of the envelope and wondered if his American host would think it rude if he opened it. Probably. Archer would want him to accept his word; the report could wait.
“What is, then, your overall impression of the man?”
Archer smiled at a pretty brunette who sidled close to the table, then paused to sip his drink. “He’s not a raving patriot, if that’s worrying you. He spent most of his youth in Canada.”
Kord lifted a brow, impressed. Prentice would naturally see himself as a man of the world.
“He’s not religious, not politically partisan, not affiliated with any social causes,” Archer went on. “He gives money to his mother’s church, but that’s probably an act of familial duty, nothing more. His employees have publicly stated that his company runs on the team concept, so he’s no authoritarian.”
“Will he be sympathetic to the coming movement?”
Archer shrugged. “He’s a bit of a loner; I think he would like nothing better than to be left alone to tinker with his technological toys. But he is adaptable, yes. Best of all, the man has no apparent agenda. From what I can tell, he will be content to exercise his gifts to benefit the world—as long as he gets the recognition, of course.”
His mind burned with the memory of Romulus’s words: All you need to know is that he yearns to make a mark on the world. Ambition is his guiding principle; success his personal mantra. As always, Romulus was right.
Kord picked up the envelope and ran his finger over the creased edge. “In the last few days, has he called anyone of note?”
Archer drew his lips into a tight smile. “He called his company a couple of times. Got off the phone quickly, though, because he detected our tap. He’s implemented some kind of advanced security system, and it caught us each time.”
“He’s as clever as they say.”
“Yes.”
Kord turned the envelope in his hands. Romulus would be pleased, and so would the council. Daniel Prentice seemed tailor-made for the task they had in mind. But, of course, Romulus had known he would be.
Kord tucked the envelope under his arm, then slid out of his chair. “My compliments, General.” He extended his hand toward Archer. “Your people have done excellent work. After I let my employer know, I’m certain he’ll want to demonstrate his gratitude.”
“There’s no need,” Archer replied in a gruff voice, but Kord knew that automatic response was totally meaningless. A man in Archer’s position couldn’t accept lavish gifts without getting snagged in a mountain of bureaucratic red tape, but if a Swiss chalet or a house in the Azores just happened to be available for a month-long, expense-paid vacation, the general would be happy to accept.
Just as he had hinted he’d be happy to accept a position in the coming world community.
“Good night, Archer.” Kord shook the general’s hand, nodded in farewell, and left the bar.
On Friday morning Lauren Mitchell informed Daniel that his third day in Washington would be spent in a series of meetings with cabinet members who had asked for further clarification. The prospect of long hours in the White House conference room brought Daniel little joy, but as the day passed he sensed a growing enthusiasm for the Millennium Project. Despite the initial reluctance voiced by several of the president’s advisors, by Friday afternoon the cabinet members’ questions had shifted from “if we do this” to “when we begin to move.” By the time night had spread her wings over the White House lawn, Daniel realized the Millennium Project was well on its way to becoming reality.
As he exited the conference room Friday night, Daniel impulsively asked Lauren Mitchell to spend Saturday with him. “Sorry,” she said, pushing a limp curl off her forehead, “but there’s a dog show in Vienna tomorrow, and I’m handling Tasha. It’ll pretty much take all day.�
� Daniel felt his face stiffen but kept gallantly smiling when she tilted her head and looked at him intently. “Of course I’d hate for you to be bored in some hotel room. You’re welcome to join us if you’re looking for something to do.”
“No, thanks.” He lifted his hands and took a half-step back. “I’m really not much of a dog person.”
“Are you sure?” Her eyes softened with concern.
“Quite sure.” Her quick refusal had stung his pride, and he wasn’t about to accept a counteroffer motivated by pity. She would probably have felt sorry for any stranger in town, but Daniel didn’t need either a babysitter or a tour guide. “I’ve actually got a lot of work to do, so I ought to hibernate and log some hours on the laptop. Good luck, though, in the dog show.”
Before she could utter another word, Daniel spun on his heel and moved down the hall.
As Daniel Prentice moved away, Lauren retreated to her office, then shut the door and slouched against it. “That was not very diplomatic,” she muttered, chiding herself. “Why didn’t you just tell him to take a flying leap off the Washington Monument? He probably thinks that’s what you want him to do. You should have been slower to say no; you could have at least acted like you were disappointed that you couldn’t spend the day with him.”
She opened her eyes and caught sight of the photo of Jessica Stedman on her bookcase. Jessica had never had a problem with men; even in college she’d had a real knack for knowing how to keep a guy interested without revealing too much. Lauren’s problem was that she spoke too quickly, too often, and too openly. The tact and diplomacy she’d learned to use when dealing with bureaucrats and politicians seemed to fly out the window when she faced an attractive man . . . particularly one she was personally attracted to.
“Stop it, Mitchell.” She straightened and moved quickly to her desk, then dropped her notebooks on a pile of correspondence she’d spent the day ignoring. Daniel Prentice had occupied entirely too much of her mind and imagination in the last three days. She was a competent woman with an important job to do; she had no time for romance, intrigue, or even innocent flirtation. The president would need extra help in the next few weeks as his administration launched this Millennium Project, and Lauren would need to be on her toes.
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