He sighed. “And even if we can, there are going to be newspeople ready to charge us with a cover-up.”
Gridley looked grim. “The cover-up happened four years ago, when we didn’t go public with Steele’s evidence tampering and the reason for Alcista’s plea bargain.”
“Sealed court records.” Winters shrugged. “It was part of the deal.”
“A deal accepted on the advice of my staff, to keep Net Force from taking a publicity black eye.” Gridley rested one arm against a bookcase. “Looking back on it now, we buried a dirty little secret—and it grew up to be a big dirty tree.”
“More like ‘the weed of crime,’” Winters suggested.
“I’ll be glad when the whole blasted thing is pulled up by the roots,” Jay Gridley said. “We seem to be getting there. The fingerprint lab has promised to give me the full results of their work by tomorrow. And even if we can’t directly link Kovacs and Steele, that college girl up in New York—”
“Bodie Fuhrman,” Matt put in.
Gridley nodded. “Nice name. Anyway, she’s talking her head off to the NYPD and to our local agents up there. We’ll have ample grounds to question Mr. Kovacs about his investigatory efforts for Tori Rush—and his involvement in the demise of Ms. Rush and Professor Wellman.”
The head of Net Force looked grim. “We’re going to take full jurisdiction in this matter. It’s not just the Alcista thing and the destruction of The Fifth Estate’s owner and offices. We’re dealing with one of our own here.”
Both Winters and Matt nodded in silence.
It will really be over once Net Force gets on the job, Matt thought. When they start pulling at any and every loose string, I suspect the connections between the so-called Marcus Kovacs and all the killings will unravel pretty darned quick.
“If all goes well, we should be ready to move by tomorrow afternoon,” Jay Gridley said briskly. He turned to Matt. “Until the results actually hit the media, however, I have to ask you to keep things quiet.”
“Do we expect any more fireworks from Mike-Marc?” Winters looked a little ill, in spite of the deliberately restrained language he used for murder. “I think he…overreacted…when he saw his frame job about to crack.”
“I just don’t want any premature warnings stampeding him into a quick exit,” Gridley said somberly. “Mike Steele is not going to come back and haunt us another time.” Again, he looked at Matt. “Okay?”
“Got it, sir,” Matt said. The mood in the small room seemed to have mellowed now. Both men seemed comfortable in each other’s company. Matt figured it was time for him to butt out.
“I guess I’ll be heading home,” he said.
Jay Gridley nodded, a wry smile on his face. “I’m sure that as soon as you’re out of this door, you’ll face a barrage of questions as intense as any HoloNews interview. Remember what you just said. No one—not even Mark—is to know what’s going down tomorrow.”
“You can count on me,” Matt said. “Kovacs will get no warning from any Net Force Explorer.”
Megan O’Malley sat in front of her computer. She could feel the frown on her face—part of her was not happy with what she was about to do. But she’d made her decision in spite of it.
“Computer,” she said. “Net connection. Voice only—no holographic projection. Vocal filter program, mode choice, ‘gravel voice.’ Route connection through the following nodes…”
She then went on to reel off a list of the most heavily trafficked sites on the Net, while throwing in some random-access evasion programs as well. When she finished, it would be the best anti-tracking effort she’d ever come up with.
Megan allowed herself a small smile. At least this was something she could do. The walls of security around I-on Investigations and Marcus Kovacs himself were too powerful to be breached by her hacking. She thought of recruiting the Squirt—he could get her in to cause havoc in Kovacs’s home or business system. But she didn’t want to drag anyone else in on a personal vendetta.
She didn’t know which was worse, seeing a friend and mentor destroyed by a phantom enemy, or knowing who was doing it, and helplessly watch him not only avoid the consequences, but thumb his nose at justice.
But she did know she wasn’t putting up with it any longer.
Megan had to do something!
She gave the computer the private communications code for Marcus Kovacs. That had been the one useful item of information she’d been able to dig up in all her hacking. Even with the speed of her computer, there was a bit of a time lag as the signal bounced all over the Net, even popping into sites in other countries.
Ah! There was the bleep that meant the connection had been made!
“Hello,” a drowsy voice said. Megan had aimed for a time when most normal people would be asleep.
The voice became more alert. “Why isn’t there a visual? Is there a problem?”
“I know who you really are.” Megan whispered the words, but they were nearly washed out of her own ears by the amplified voice that mimicked her speech. True to its description, it had the hoarse, gravelly tones of an old man.
“Don’t be so sure you got yourself off the hook by murdering all those people,” she went on. “I think you only postponed the inevitable. But I’m not the patient type. So I took a page from the old Iron Mike Steele playbook. When you don’t have evidence to incriminate people, just make it up and plant it on them.”
“What—?” Kovacs’s voice was sharp now. Obviously, he was fully awake. Best of all, Megan could detect a note of alarm in his voice. Time to wrap this up.
“Search all you like. You’ll never know where this little bit of information is hiding. But it will be somewhere, tick, tick, ticking away, waiting for just the right moment to wreck your life.”
She cut the connection and pulled out of the Net, bouncing through another set of cutout addresses to foil any chance of a trace.
The computer finished its program and automatically shut down. Megan flopped back against the cushions of her computer-link couch, feeling drained—and a little silly.
It would be great if she could actually do what she’d threatened. But she didn’t know how to pull off such a scam. Not only was it wildly illegal, it was impractical. She hadn’t even managed to get access to the guy’s computers.
Megan sighed, massaging her temples. But even if what she’d done was little more than an elaborate prank call, Marcus Kovacs—or rather, Mike Steele—knew his number was up. He might get away with taking people’s lives, with taking James Winters’s reputation, but he knew somebody was on to him.
At least the scuzz-bucket wouldn’t get away with his own peace of mind.
19
The next afternoon, after classes, Matt came out the side door of Bradford Academy. He was on his way to the bus, but as he glanced toward the parking lot, he saw a familiar figure.
Captain Winters stood beside what just had to be an unmarked Net Force van. Two agents sat in the front seat of the waiting Dodge SUV.
“Matt!” the captain called. “I thought we’d be able to catch up with you here.”
“What’s going on, Captain?”
“These gentlemen are just on their way to I-on Investigations to talk to Marcus Kovacs…and bring him in.”
“So the fingerprint thing turned out okay?”
“Several partial prints were recovered from the silver rattle,” Winters confirmed. “Astonishingly, they don’t bear any resemblance to the impressions in Mike Steele’s files. But they perfectly match segments of Marcus Kovacs’s fingerprints on file with the licensing authorities. That’s pretty odd, since Mr. Kovacs was still supposedly in the Balkans when I got that piece of silver. There’s no record of him ever entering the U.S. until he arrived to take over I-on. And that baby rattle has never been out of the USA.”
Once again Winters looked the very picture of a Net Force agent, every inch the hunter. “Those will be difficult enough questions for him to answer. Adding in what the Fuhrman gi
rl told us about I-on’s activities, I think we’ll be able to put him through the wringer.”
Winters stopped for a second. “Well, not we, exactly. The gentlemen in the car will take care of that. I’m not only too close to the case to handle the investigation, I’m still on suspension.”
A cloud seemed to pass over the captain’s features, but then he smiled. “On the other hand, Jay Gridley offered you and me the opportunity to ride along—as observers, I guess you’d say. You can’t fault the man’s sense of justice. Right now neither of us has any police power. But Jay thought we might like to see the payoff on an investigation where we’ve both made so many contributions…and sacrifices.”
Gridley certainly got that right, Matt silently agreed.
He glanced at the two athletic-looking men in the van. “And it’s all right with them?”
“It’s not as though we’re going to be in at the kill. We’ll just be spectators.” Winters pointed to another car parked in the lot. “That’s mine,” he said. “We’ll just follow along, park in some inconspicuous spot, and watch as the so-called Mr. Kovacs is led off. I don’t intend to wave or call attention to myself at all. I just want to see this case through. And I thought you might like to join me, as well.”
Matt grinned. “How could I say no?” he asked.
The captain introduced him to the two Net Force operatives in the official car, Agents Grandelli and Murray. Grandelli had a face that looked more Irish than Italian, with blunt features and a hint of humor hiding in the quirk of his lips. Murray had a sort of baby face that he tried to counteract with a fierce expression. He looked as though he was working himself up to storm an enemy fortress and kill everybody inside.
They look like typecasting for good cop/bad cop, Matt thought. That was the interrogation technique where one questioner did his best to terrorize the suspect while the other tried to soften him with kindness. These two agents could probably run that exercise in their sleep.
Murray didn’t look very welcoming, restraining his greetings to a nod and a grunt.
Grandelli, however, was more talkative as he shook hands. He gave Winters a keen glance. “After all this guy put you through, are you sure you’ll be content just to stand by and watch while he gets his?”
But Winters simply shook his head. “I don’t want to do anything that will allow our friend—or any smart lawyer he might hire—to squirm out from under the case we’ve built. If that means the best I can be is an audience member for this arrest, so be it. After the events of the last few weeks, I’ll be happy just knowing my old buddy will be going through the machinery.”
“Okay,” Grandelli said. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”
Winters led Matt over to his car while the Net Force agents started their engine. By the time he had the car in gear, they were at the parking lot gate. The captain pulled in behind them and easily trailed them to the Potomac River and the bridge to Reston, Virginia.
Reston had enjoyed a building boom about the turn of the century, and boasted a modest collection of office towers located at just the right distance from D.C.
I-on Investigations had a floor in a fifteen-story building quite close to the Newseum, the museum devoted to print and broadcast media.
I guess that’s bizarrely appropriate, Matt thought. They were making broadcast history in their own weird sort of way.
Taking advantage of their authority, the Net Force operatives pulled in beside a fire hydrant right by the front door of the building. Matt noticed that Agent Murray took the precaution of displaying the Net Force seal in the front windshield.
Nothing more embarrassing than collecting a perp for questioning downtown and finding your car towed, Matt thought.
Captain Winters had to circle around a bit, finally finding a legal spot across the street. By the time he and Matt were settled, Agents Murray and Grandelli were already inside the building.
Matt noticed that Winters remained slightly crouched behind the wheel of the car, scanning everyone on the street. “Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.
“More like preparing for the unexpected,” the captain replied. “The first time I went to nab a corporate big shot in his lair, my partner and I were held up by his receptionist while Mr. Big ran down the stairs.”
“So what would you do if you saw Marcus Kovacs running out the door?” Matt asked.
“Stop him,” Winters said briefly.
From the way his fingers gripped the wheel of the car, that seemed to translate into “Run him over.”
Matt decided this was not the time for idle conversation. They spent several long minutes in silence, until Winters burst out, “What’s keeping them?”
That was when Agent Grandelli pushed his way out through the revolving doors…alone.
He strode over to the unmarked car, opened the door, and spoke briefly into the microphone hooked under the dashboard. Then his eyes swept the street for a moment, looking for the captain’s car. When he spotted Winters, Grandelli hustled across the street.
The captain already had his window down. “Problems?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Grandelli admitted. “We buzzed right past the firm’s receptionist, but Kovacs’s secretary told us he’d called in this morning, saying he was taking some personal time. Kovacs’s office was empty, and his absence seemed to be for real. The executive staff is running around like proverbial headless chickens. There were supposed to be some big client meetings today, and it was clear they were failing miserably to do things right without the big man in place.”
“What now?” Winters asked.
“I left Murray upstairs to make sure no warning calls get out—he’s good at that,” Grandelli said. “Then I got on the horn to send another team over to Kovacs’s home. See if we can catch him there.” The agent hesitated for a second. “We didn’t see him as a flight risk. He shouldn’t have known this was coming.”
Matt realized that two sets of eyes were turning on him. “Hey,” he said. “Nothing came out of my mouth.”
“Yeah,” Grandelli said, a little embarrassed. “Well—I’d better get back to the radio.”
Matt and the captain sat in silence again. This time it was even more tense than when they’d been waiting to see Kovacs led out.
Pretending to shift in his seat, Matt stole a quick look at his watch. It felt as if sundown should be coming soon. Instead, only a few minutes had passed since Grandelli had spoken to him.
Matt noticed the agent was inside his car, speaking into the microphone again. When Grandelli emerged, he walked slowly across the street, a puzzled frown on his face.
“Mr. K wasn’t in his lovely condominium at the Watergate,” Grandelli reported. “In fact, nobody seems to have any idea where the heck he might be.”
“Hey, folks!” Megan O’Malley called out as she came in the door. “I’m home!”
Since both of her parents worked as freelance writers, she could usually depend on one or both of them to be around when she got back from school. A brother or two might also turn up, back from college classes.
So it was odd when she got no response. It was possible that research of some sort might have sent Mom and Dad venturing out, although the in-house library had an amazing variety of resources. The last time she’d looked, her father was simultaneously researching immigration of the 1890s, the suffragette movement to win votes for women, ghosts, and the Norman invasion of Sicily in the 1080s. What amazed her was that these were all supposed to tie up in one book.
So nobody was home? The silence was almost eerie.
Still, the situation was a little weird. The weather outside was warm, and the house air conditioners were running full blast. The folks would have turned them down, Megan knew, if they planned going out for any amount of time. Megan decided to check out the kitchen.
“Mom?” she called tentatively. He voice seemed to echo oddly in the air.
“Where’d everybody—” Her sentence broke off in a bi
g gasp when she saw her mother on the floor. Schoolbooks tumbled from Megan’s hands and crashed on the floor tiles. She rushed in and dropped to her knees.
Thank God, she’s breathing.
No blood, Megan thought. Nor bruises, or any sort of burns or welts. It was almost as if Mom had gently lay down on the floor, curled up, and gone to sleep.
“Mom?” Megan gently shook her. “Hey, Mom!”
Her mother didn’t wake up.
Megan’s heart was thudding so hard, it was the only thing she could hear. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm as she checked her mother’s neck for a pulse. It was there, strong and steady. She needed to call for help.
Acting on a hunch, she popped out of the kitchen, and headed down the hall to the room Dad used as an office. She heard a faint beeping as she came into the room. A second later Megan staggered back, clinging to the door frame. No need to search for her father. He was home, sacked out in his computer chair. Not merely online and virtual, but completely unconscious. The noise she’d heard was a complaint from the machine, because his hands were mashing down on several key computer controls at once.
Megan’s heart was hammering away as if she were running the fifty-yard dash, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Spinning away from Dad’s office, she spotted one of her older brothers in the doorway of his room, on the floor—out cold.
What to do?
Three family members had keeled over. That didn’t sound like the result of bad tuna salad. Megan took a step toward the kitchen. Should she start dragging Mom out? Should she go to the living room and call Emergency Services?
No, to both questions, she decided. If this was a gas leak, or carbon monoxide, she was breathing the stuff herself. The thing to do was get out, then call for help.
She dug in her shoulder bag for her wallet-phone even as she dashed into the living room. The floor seemed spongier with every step she took. Either that, or her legs were getting rubbery.
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