Mirror Maze j-4

by William Bayer

  "They'd clone it, is that what you're worried about?"

  "It's not that simple. There're other companies with a hundred twenty-eight megabit chips in development. It happens there're things about our Omega they'd all like to know."

  "Such as?"

  "What it's made of. It isn't silicon. Most important, if they got a good look at the prototype, they'd have a good idea how we plan to price it.

  For a competitor that would be an enormous advantage."

  "You've got patents?"

  "Of course. And if there's infringement we'll probably win our case-after twenty years. By then we'll probably be out of business, too.

  It's a rough game we're in. You have no idea."

  "I still don't get it," Deforest said. "Once you manufacture the chip, anyone can look at it."

  "Yeah, but then it's too late. We'd have two to three years' lead.

  We'd make a hell of a killing before the rest of the industry caught up."

  "How much of a killing'?"

  Kane settled back. He turned smug. "If the Omega is as good as we think it is and Sonoron is first out with a one to twenty-eight-then figure … five billion dollars." Kane spoke slowly to make sure the magnitude of the sum sunk in. He turned to Janek. "I'd like to work with you, Lieutenant. I think there's a mutual interest here."

  "How do you figure?"

  "This redhead-she could have been a plant working for one of the Jap companies that would trade its left nut for a look at the Omega. They're all into industrial espionage. This is just the kind of operation they run."

  "Tell me more."

  "The way I figure it, Dietz came here and got in touch with one of them.

  He says he's got a prototype Omega. What would they pay to have a look?

  They're interested but they stall-they have to check with the home office in Tokyo. ' problem,' Dietz says, ''m here at the Savoy." So they sic their red-haired operative on him. She '' him in the bar, gets seductive and things start getting cozy. Then, when they go up to his room for a little hanky-panky, she shoots him in the head and steals the chip."

  "Interesting."

  "It works for me."

  "I'd like a list of competitors you think would do a thing like that."

  Kane grinned. "I can make you a list.'Then together we can run it down."

  "Sorry," Deforest said, "we can't do that."

  "That your final word?"

  "It's policy."

  Kane sat back. "I'm sorry, too." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a document and offered it to Deforest. When Deforest refused to take it, Kane laid it on the table. "This is a notarized consent from Dietz's widow authorizing me to inspect his effects." Janek smiled. "You won't find your Omega there." Kane smiled back. "I know you New York cops think you're hot shit, but you can screw up like everybody else."

  Deforest shrugged. "You can go through his effects. There'll be a detective present."

  "What about the hotel room?"

  "You'll need a court order for that."

  Deforest rose, started toward his desk, but Kane wouldn't let go.

  "What about a picture of the girl?"

  Deforest pivoted. "What about a list of your competitors?"

  Kane grinned. "Talking a trade?"

  "Slot your list to Janek and we'll see," Deforest said.

  "I think that's him," Aaron said. They were sitting in the reception area at Smart Money.

  Janek looked up. A tall, well-dressed man with thinning brown hair was conferring with the receptionist. The receptionist gestured toward them.

  The man approached.

  "Lieutenant Janek?" Janek nodded. "I'm Roger Carlson. Please come this way."

  He led them through an opaque door marked EDitorial, then down a corridor lined with cubicles. Janek heard the sounds of a typical Manhattan office: air-conditioning, faintly ringing phones, muted click of fingers striking computer keyboards, occasional human utterances too hushed to comprehend. Every so often a man or woman would emerge from one cubicle and slip into another. There was an aroma of coffee in the air, but not of cigarettes.

  "Please, in here," Carlson said, opening the door to a small conference room. There was a round table, a set of pedestal chairs, a bookcase filled with back issues of Smart Money and, after Carlson shut the door, silence.

  "My cubbyhole's a little small," he said. "Anyway, I want this to be private." He paused. "May I see the picture?"

  Janek nodded to Aaron, who pulled the sketch out of his briefcase and passed it to Carlson across the table.

  "Yeah, this is definitely her," Carlson said, staring at the sketch.

  "The hair's different, but not the eyes. I'll never forget those eyes."

  He looked up at Janek. "I still find the whole episode pretty embarrassing."

  "We're not here to embarrass you." He found himself liking Carlson and wanting to reassure him.

  "I know that. But, see, I also find it painful. I was stupid and I paid the price." Carlson shook his head. "It's been months since it happened.

  I still think about it every day. It still pains me and it still makes me mad. I went to a shrink for a while but he couldn't help me. I realize it's something I'm going to have to work out for myself. I also think if you caught her-I told this to the other detective, Stiegel, but he didn't seem particularly interested."

  "We're interested," Aaron said.

  "Frankly, you guys seem a lot smarter. I hope you don't mind my saying that."

  "There're all kinds of detectives, Mr. Carlson," Aaron said. "What did you tell Detective Stiegel?" "I told him I thought that if you caught her, and I had the opportunity to face her in court and testify-I thought I might start to feel better about the incident. That is, if you can call it an incident. To me it felt more like a trauma."

  Janek urged Carlson to tell his story from the beginning with as much detail as he could recall. Carlson nodded and began. As Janek listened he found himself drawn in. Carlson was articulate, not surprising for a professional writer, but there was a special quality to his narration that went beyond other recitals Janek had heard from other well educated, well-spoken complaining witnesses. There was an intensity that etched out the scenes, making them extremely vivid. It was as if Carlson were describing an encounter that was, in some way, a defining moment in his life.

  "She said she worked in publishing, that she was in the publicity department at Simon amp; Schuster. I've thought about that ever since-why she chose that particularly phony story out of all the other stories she could have used. " "Why do you think?" Aaron asked.

  "Because, like a talented, intuitive actress, she spotted me as someone who would buy that particular line. She was totally convincing. She seemed just like a publishing type. I've even thought maybe she was, and that's how she was able to bring the impersonation off. Of course I checked with S amp;S. They never heard of her. Not that the name she gave me, ',' was any less phony than her quote occupation unquote, or her very comforting description of herself as a history professor's daughter. The way I see it, everything she said was contrived to make me believe we shared the same background and values."

  "We'll check the publishing houses," Janek said to Aaron.

  Carlson's response was touchingly grateful. "I was hoping you'd say that. The other guy, Stiegel-that didn't seem to occur to him."

  "You're in good hands now, Mr. Carlson," Aaron assured him.

  But Carlson seemed obsessed with the girl:

  "She came out of the rain like a phantom. I remember thinking, as we walked back to my place: ', say what you like about New York, life here sure can be sweet." See, there I was, sitting in my pub, in my usual depressed state, staring at the door, hoping something interesting might happen and knowing in my heart that nothing would, when this blond creature suddenly waltzes in out of the sorrowful, soggy night. Slim, gorgeous, the girl I'd been waiting for… oh, probably the last five years. There she was at last, the prowling '-wolf type' I keep reading about in magazin
es but never seem to meet. And if that wasn't enough, she lets me pick her up. And after an hour or so of gab she starts talking about taking off our pants. It was unbelievable, like something out of a movie, or a dream… "You liked her?"

  "I was crazy about her! She seemed like a really great girl. The kind you dream about, maybe even fall in love with." Carlson paused. "Notice I say ' kind." When I think back I keep coming up with the idea that she was a certain kind of girl, a certain type. And, of course, that was the core of her act-she was much too good to be true."

  Carlson closed his eyes. "Something incredibly frightening about being put to sleep by a stranger. I'd picked her up a couple of hours before.

  Actually she picked me up; I understand that now. The stuff she told me-the lines were so good I could have written them myself So, anyway, I lured her up to my apartment. At first she pretended she wasn't all that eager. I had to talk her into it. Then she made that remark about taking off our pants, so casually, so naturally, I couldn't believe my ears. It was so damn sexual. Soon as she said it I got incredibly turned on.

  Common sense-forget it! I just wanted to get her up to my place and make crazy love to her for hours. So there we were a few minutes later, sitting opposite one another in my living room. She starts touching herself, her hair, her breasts. Then she sticks out her legs. By this time I'm going nuts. Then, suddenly, I start to drift off. Then I notice she's staring at me, her eyes just the way they are in the sketch here, looking at me like I'm some kind of pinned-down bug. That's what struck me-the way she watched me, curious, very curious, like she was waiting to see how I'd react. That's when I knew she'd spiked my drink. But it was too late to fight it-I was going under fast. I knew in a few seconds I'd be in her power. I knew, too, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I didn't know what her game was or what she was capable of doing. All I knew was that I was going to belong to her. I was utterly, totally terrified." it was strange, Janek thought, the way Carlson described the girl's eyes in the sketch. He himself could see no evil in them. He could see only fragility and hurt.

  Carlson shook his head. "I remember I tried to strike out at her. My arms felt like lead. I tried to stand but it was like I was wearing… cement boots. All I remember of those last few seconds is the way she was peering at me. So curious, so very curious… " Carlson smiled to break the spell. "Well, I woke up. Thank God!

  Believe me, I was grateful. Even when I found myself in that strange position on my couch, pants down, shirt open, watch gone, credit cards and IDs spread out neatly on the coffee table. Then, on my way to the bathroom, I noticed the way she had my stuff arranged on the bed. She'd made a design out of my things, and she'd cut away the pouches on my jocks. There was a nasty message conveyed by that: ' could have castrated you." That's how I took it. Then I saw all my personal stuff-letters, family w photos-spread around in this strange, orderly way. From that I got her second message: ' know all about you, but you don't know shit about me." So, okay, I stumbled on into my bathroom, and then, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I got her final message, the big one she wrote directly on my skin.

  "At first I was scared. She'd used red ink. I thought: '! She carved me up. That's my blood!" Then I saw what she wrote, and, of course, every word of it was true. ' are a total jerk." Like, yeah!

  I was! She knew it and she wanted me to know she knew it, too. So, okay, that was her major message. A warning: ' acted like an asshole, you got what an asshole gets. But, you better believe this, it could have been a lot worse!" I remember I smiled. I was very ashamed but also extremely grateful she'd spared my life. I figured I got off easy. I could chalk the incident up to experience. Why bother with the cops? You guys have enough to do. I could afford the loss. I'd learned my lesson. So why pursue it, right?"

  "But you did pursue it, Mr. Carlson," Janek said.

  Carlson nodded. "You bet I did! Over the next few days I thought a lot about what she'd done, how deep she'd gotten into me and how much worse it could have been. What if she'd given me an overdose? I could've died."

  Janek studied Carlson. "There's more to it, isn't there?"

  Carlson nodded again. "It was the writing. I couldn't get over the way she handled that, like she knew exactly what I was going to do. Wake up, stumble into the bathroom, look at myself in the mirror. So, very thoughtfully she wrote the message in mirror-writing. Think about that.

  It's pretty amazing. It establishes total control. It also told me that it was important to her that I see myself through her eyes.

  I was a jerk, a sucker-so she put a dunce's cap on my head. It's like she knew exactly what to do, played her game to a fault. She was… I don't know, almost superhuman. That's why I think she's dangerous, Lieutenant. Why I think she's got to be stopped."

  "We'll stop her," Aaron said.

  "Stiegel told me there's a ring of these girls. ' girls,' he called them. ' to guys all the time."

  " Carlson's smile turned ironic, but Janek saw a haunted bitterness in his eyes. "What're you going to do? The city's falling apart. It's the new Calcutta, the new Beirut. Who cares if some magazine writer got rolled and it freaked him out? I mean, shit! The bridges are crumbling, the tunnels are corroding, the subway's a nightmare, the infrastructure's shot. In the parks, gangs go on wildings. Kids shoot each other in the schools. So, what's the big deal? I wasn't wounded. No blood was spilled. I've just got a little anxiety, that's all. But, I'll tell you something"-Carlson lowered his voice-"I'm planning to leave this place soon as I can. I'll probably end up in the suburbs doing corporate writing, annual reports, boring stuff I wouldn't have touched before." He laughed. "Who'll care, right?

  I'm alive. A guy gets mugged and decides to leave-why should anyone care about that?"

  Janek studied Carlson. The man had been deeply injured. "We care," he said softly.

  "Yes, thank you. I can see you do. You're very kind." Carlson paused. "I don't sleep too well these days. I figure I was this close." He held his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. "Just this close to death..

  Descending in the elevator, Aaron glanced at Janek. "To hear him tell it, we're looking for the most evil woman that ever lived."

  "That sure is the way he sees her," Janek agreed. Out on the street he told Aaron he wanted to know everything there was to know about the "bad girls."

  "How ' a briefing from Stiegel?"

  "Do you know him?"

  "I met him couple of times. Typical low-end detective."

  "Have Sue get in touch with him, line up a meeting for me around six."

  Aaron nodded.

  "Meantime I want you to check out the Sonoron security guy, Stephen Kane. He says he used to work in the L.A. sheriff's office."

  "Something wrong with him?"

  Janek shrugged. "He didn't appeal to me. Maybe you can find me a reason."

  He found Timmy Sheehan at O'Malley's, waiting at the bar. This time he had no difficulty recognizing him. Timmy's cheeks looked pinker than usual, and his thick gray hair, rising straight from his forehead, was badly in need of a cut. On closer inspection, the pinkness proved to be a web of tiny broken blood vessels on the surface of Timmy's face.

  When they moved to a table in the rear, Janek got the impression that Timmy had been sitting in O'Malley's for some time, perhaps most of the afternoon, guzzling beers, munching on a corned beef sandwich or two, watching the day's interminable Yankees game on TV.

  "So, how's the world traveler?" Timmy asked, arching his brows.

  "You're looking at one tired cop," Janek said. "It wasn't the most enjoyable trip I ever took."

  "Still, you made it back. Those Commies didn't eat you up?"

  "They nearly did."

  "Had some trouble, did you?"

  "Nothing I couldn't handle. Anyway..

  "Yeah, anyway-you talked with the lady?" Janek nodded. "Always wondered what she'd be like."

  "She's an educated woman. Works as an economist in the Cuban Finance Ministry. Married to a
guy who manages a citrus farm. Has a kid, a boy.

  She's aged a little, Just like the rest of us."

  "Yeah, isn't it funny how you get a fix on a person, then five, ten years later you run into them, and they're older. Always takes a minute or two to reorient yourself."

  Janek knew that Timmy was stalling, that he was eager to hear what he'd found out, but was deliberately prolonging the small talk to demonstrate how little he cared. Timmy, he knew, would rather die than show interest; his position, restated ever since Mendoza's conviction, was that Mendoza was closed.

  Janek decided to drop a bomb. "I saw Dakin this morning."

  Timmy's eyelids didn't waver. "That must have been fun. How's the old guy doing? Still live out in that crap hole-what the hell they call it?

  Cortland Park?" "Cort City Plaza," Janek said. "As if you didn't know."

  Timmy beamed. "Known me too many years, partner. You see through all my tricks."

  "I'm sure seeing through the one you think you're pulling on me now."

  "Are you?" Timmy grinned. "And which one might that be?"

  Janek shrugged. "Every traveler's got a tale."

  "That so? Come to think of it, my grandmother used to say something like that." Timmy scratched his head. "She had another saying, too.

  Want to hear it?"

  "Why not?"

  " ' let them see you cry." I never forgot that one. Kind of a good one to live by, don't you think?"

  Janek put down his beer. "Can it, Timmy. You're as keen to hear what Tania said as Dakin was. Maybe more."

  "I won't deny it, Frank-I'm a wee bit curious." He picked something out of his teeth. "Not that I give a rusty fuck."

  "Of course not! So, now that's been established, let's get to the bottom line."

  Timmy's eyes went flinty. "Yeah, let's get to it." "Tania says the letter lies. She never brokered any arrangement with Metaxas, not for that night, not ever. Site also says Clury wasn't blackmailing anybody, he was employed by Edith to get the goods on Mendoza so Edith could get herself a ball-busting divorce."

  Suddenly Timmy's features started to contort, as if he were trying to keep control of his expression. "If all that's true, why didn't she speak up? Pardon me for asking, partner, but why'd she fuckin' run down to Cuba and hide out?"