by Tom Clancy
“Now that,” Andy sang out, “is my kind of assignment.”
“I’ll work up a short list of places to start,” Mark said. “I’ve looked over some of Peter’s records. Andy and I will get right on it.”
Leif plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl. “Then I’d say we’re adjourned here.” He checked the time. “We’ve got a little over an hour till the banquet.” He glanced at the two girls. “I don’t suppose you packed anything banquety?”
Megan launched a disgusted sigh. “Nope. I was expecting fun and frolic, and tons of games.”
Maj shook her head, thinking frantically.
“Then, if you’ll allow me,” Leif said, “might I suggest the little shop downstairs.”
Maj remembered the cocktail dresses she’d seen in the window of that shop. The price tags were obviously set by NASA. “That’s a little out of the budget. Cinderella may have to go as pre-fairy godmother Cinderella.”
“I took the liberty while we were talking,” Leif said, “of setting up an account for you at the shop. My dad’s picking up the tab for this little adventure in return for information I can give him concerning the gaming market. Especially the Peter Griffen situation. He’s got people ready to start investing in Eisenhower Productions, provided things don’t turn sour.”
“Gee,” Megan teased, “you don’t exactly look like the fairy godmother type. Never even saw the wand.”
Leif passed one of his hands over the other, making a rectangular piece of plastic appear. “Universal Credit Card. Don’t leave home without it.”
“Is this your first time at the game publishers’ banquet?”
Startled, Maj turned to face the man who’d suddenly appeared at her side. Is this the guy Mark saw? She studied him, looking for a clue.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” The man was in his early twenties, average height but narrow-shouldered and as compact as a rapier. His black skin glistened in the low light of the banquet room. His head was shaved as smooth as an egg. He wore a black tuxedo.
“It’s okay,” Maj said, and smiled. “I guess maybe I got a little caught up in playing who’s who.”
“Derek Sommers.” He held out his hand. The blue and white name badge on his jacket read DEREK.
“IPG Games,” Maj said, getting a little excited. “You created Banshee’s Curse.”
Derek smiled and bowed slightly. “That’s me.”
“I’ve played your game.”
“I kind of figured that. I hope you liked it.”
“Are you kidding? The game was a monster hit.”
Derek laughed. “Let’s hope we can say the same about the sequel.”
“You can’t miss,” Maj said, enjoying the moment. Banshee’s Curse was a favorite game. “I mean, the way you just leave the characters at the top of Carrig’s Tower, with the first piece of a treasure map they hadn’t expected to find, you can’t walk away from that.”
“Maybe I could get you to write a glowing review for the cover copy,” Derek said. “If I knew your name.”
“Oh, sorry.” Maj introduced herself. “And, yes, this is my first game publisher’s banquet.”
“Have you got something new coming out that I should be looking for?”
“Actually, I’m here trying to find a publisher for a flight-sim.” And trying to figure out what happened to Peter Griffen.
“Usually they only let game publishers in.”
Maj felt a little embarrassed, but the tickets had checked out good under the scanner the security people were using. If they were fakes, they were definitely top-of-the-line.
“Personally,” Derek said, “I’m glad to see somebody who likes my game instead of hearing someone talk about theirs.”
Maj grinned, but inside she was still feeling intense. “Well, this year they seem to have added something new. Kidnapping.”
Swirling his glass of champagne, Derek shrugged. “If you believe what you see.”
“You don’t sound like you do.” Maj glanced around the room again, taking in the ornate splendor of the huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the painted vases, and the way the low walls crammed with plants broke the floor into almost private sections. Trees at the corners of the walls helped carry out the illusion. Still, there were large gathering places near the room’s three open bars. A heavily laden banquet table filled the center of the room.
“I guess maybe I’ve been around too many marketing people,” Derek admitted. “They’ll use anything they can to hype a product and get it out into the hands of consumers.”
“Surely they’d stop at kidnapping.”
“Marketing people,” Derek said seriously, “don’t stop at anything. Trust me.”
“I thought that was one of their standard lines.”
Derek’s grin was even broader. “A girl with a sense of humor. I like that, Maj Green.”
Maj enjoyed Derek’s attention. The shimmering dark red cocktail dress she wore made her feel as elegant as anyone in the room. And Derek’s attention didn’t come across as flirty, just as fun. “So you think Eisenhower Productions and Peter Griffen are in on the kidnapping together?”
“I can see it happening. In fact, I was even thinking of it as a game hook.”
The suggestion caught Maj’s attention immediately. “How?”
“You’ve got Peter Griffen out here introducing what looks a killer game,” Derek said. “Only in the middle of everything, he disappears. At least, that’s what we’re told. I could see marketing coming up with a contest: Enter Realm of the Bright Waters, fight evil wizards, ride flying dragons, and find Peter Griffen to win a million bucks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Think that would get the gaming community’s attention?”
“Yes.” It’s definitely got mine. Maj ran the scenario through her mind, trusting her instincts. She remembered how sincere Peter had looked as he discussed his game. No way could she imagine him faking his own kidnapping to build up game sales. Then again, Leif did mention that Eisenhower Productions had been looking for a solid hit for a few years. Maybe they weren’t the only ones.
“Everyone knows,” Derek said, “if you get an interested gaming community, you’ve got an inflated profit. I believe Peter’s disappearance has got dollar signs tied to it. Something like this is worth millions in advertising alone. And that’s being conservative.”
“Do you know anyone at Eisenhower Productions?” Maj asked.
“Acquaintances.” Derek glanced around the room. “Nobody I do business with.”
Maj had already noticed the table reserved for the Eisenhower Productions crew. Peter Griffen’s place card stood at one end.
“Surprise, surprise,” Derek said in a low voice, glancing in the direction of a dozen people who’d just been ushered into the banquet room by the maitre d’. “We’re being invaded by the media tonight.”
Veronica Rivers, the reporter who’d been covering the gaming convention at the hotel, was prominent among the reporters. The maître d’ showed them to a table, but the reporters immediately wandered off, staking out interviewing claims.
“That’s a vicious little game Eisenhower Productions is playing,” Derek said. “If they engineered Peter’s disappearance.”
“Why?”
“If those entertainment reporters figure out they’re getting used, they’re going to turn on Eisenhower like a system-wide crash fragmenting a hard drive. With the financial situation they’re in, that wouldn’t be pretty.”
“What financial situation?” Maj asked.
Derek shook his head. “I forgot you weren’t in the biz there for a minute. Rumor has it that Eisenhower Productions was about to climb in the old financial coffin before Peter Griffen and Realm of the Bright Waters came along. That’s part of the reason he was able to muscle them into agreeing with everything he wanted. However, they ran short on liquid cash. So did Peter, from what I heard.”
“I’d heard he was financially stable.”
“He wasn
’t in any danger of starving,” Derek admitted, “but it takes a lot of cash to develop a game. Most publishers underwrite development, but in Eisenhower Productions’ case, they weren’t able to do it. Peter may have gotten more rushed than he wanted. Maybe he and Eisenhower Productions were both desperate.”
Maj tried to make that fit with what she had seen of Peter, but it didn’t work. Peter had come across too confident, too sure of himself. But that could have been an act.
Abruptly a public address system cut on, filling the banquet area with staticky noise. “May I have your attention, please.”
The crowd turned to face the speaker’s area as the lights dimmed and spotlights ignited one end of the room. A short, heavyset man with a curly beard and glasses stood in the middle of the light. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Don DeGovia, CEO of Eisenhower Productions.”
A slight murmur ran though the crowd.
Maj listened with keen interest, wondering if Peter Griffen had already been found. And if he had been, in what kind of shape he was in.
16
“As you all have doubtless heard,” Don DeGovia went on, “an unbelievable crime was committed at the convention today when Peter Griffen, whose Griffen Games imprint, Online and On Target, was getting ready to unleash the new Net experience, Realm of the Bright Waters, was kidnapped and taken from us.”
Maj listened intently and glanced around the room, wondering how the other game publishers were reacting. But everyone in the room seemed interested in what was going on.
“Mr. DeGovia,” Veronica Rivers spoke up. Evidently her camera and sound equipment were located in her clothing because Maj noticed that the woman wasn’t panicking while looking for a cameraman.
“Yes, Ms. Rivers.”
“Can you tell us what is being done to locate Peter Griffen?”
DeGovia didn’t hesitate. “Everything,” he said. “Everything that can be done is now being done. By the police and by the private security guards we maintain. So far, I’m told, there are no leads. We hope to change that.” The CEO cleared his throat. “As of tonight, Eisenhower Productions is offering a reward of one million dollars to anyone who can help us find Peter Griffen.”
Conversations started up immediately as the crowd reacted to the news.
“And that,” Derek said quietly at Maj’s side, “is worth more than a million dollars in advertising. By tonight this story is going to be run on every major news service across the planet.”
“Do you still think Peter and Eisenhower could be responsible for the kidnapping?” Maj asked.
“Oh, yeah. Legal fees to get out of something like this would be expensive, but not impossible. And the profit we’re talking about will more than make up for it.” Derek shook his head. “Plus, they still have to get caught at it. If they fake the payoff, they can even give themselves a million-dollar write-off on their taxes.”
“You make it sound like it’s all about the money.”
Derek nodded. “At this level it almost always is.”
“My God, DeGovia, do you realize what you’ve done?” A stout man with short-clipped red hair stepped forward from the crowd. “Making an announcement like this, you’ve made targets of each and every member of the game design community.”
“I’m just trying to help Peter,” DeGovia replied. “It’s all I know how to do.”
“That’s Kip Wilson,” Derek whispered to Maj. “Creator of Bug Battles.”
“It’s only been a few hours since Griffen disappeared,” Wilson declared. “Give the police a chance to do their job.”
“Time is of the essence,” DeGovia went on. “I’m doing what I think I need to do.”
“Mr. DeGovia,” Veronica interrupted, “has there been a ransom demand?”
“No,” DeGovia replied. “At present we’re all waiting. But we’re willing to pay it.”
The banquet suddenly turned into a madhouse as everyone started talking at once. Maj looked around her in disbelief. Is this what I was supposed to see tonight? And if it is, what am I supposed to learn? She scanned the crowd, wondering if the guy who’d given Mark the message was still waiting to make his move.
“You know,” Derek said at her side, “Eisenhower is going to be back in the black profit-wise after tonight. They’re going to sell a bazillion games. You can’t compete with this kind of attention.”
Andy and Mark shot through the telecommunications grid high above Russia, then zipped down to a cyber café in Leningrad.
They’d been steadily backtracking Peter Griffen’s trail in the gaming world for the last three hours. Information they’d gotten from the gaming community in Seattle, Washington, led them to Tokyo. Peter had spent a lot of time in different gaming areas learning his craft even after he’d achieved some success.
Andy understood and respected that. Gaming was a way of life, and to really live, you had to spend time at it every day. He could always tell the difference between an occasional gamer and someone who really got into it within just a few seconds of play. He’d never had that kind of attention span to give up weeks and months to a particular kind of game. And most gamers had years of experience on him.
Together, he and Mark walked into the cyber café. It was a small brick building three stories tall, lurched up against an ancient apartment complex three times its size. Implant chairs of all makes and models sat strewn across the black-and-white tiled floor under weak lighting. Techno-rock crashed like thunder in the background. Nearly all of the chairs were filled.
The room blurred as they crossed the threshold and the holoprojectors kicked in with a surge Andy felt along his implants. “Oh, man,” he complained, “they need a system upgrade.”
“Since we’re here asking for a favor,” Mark suggested, “maybe it would be wise not to mention that.”
Andy gazed around the room. Now that the holoprojector had cut in, the room was cleaner and brighter. The implant chairs were gone and only a few people sat around the tables waiting for someone to game with. They were all in various proxies, some made up, others from various games.
He crossed the room to the cute redhead behind the bar. Bottled water, soft drinks, and bags of chips and candy, all virtual, filled the chillers and the shelves behind her.
“Hi,” Andy said.
“Hi,” the redhead greeted. “There’s a small entrance fee if you’re going to stay and play.”
Andy shook his head. “Just looking for someone.”
The girl shrugged. “If I know them.”
“Zenzo Fujikama.”
“I know him.”
“I was told he was here,” Andy said.
“I’ll see.” The girl touched a com-pad on the bar top. “I’ve got a couple of newbies looking for Zenzo Fujikama.”
Andy looked at the com-screen, but it stayed blank.
“Privacy,” the redhead said, meeting his gaze with a little hostility. “A lot of people who game here like that. Maybe it’s a new concept where you’re from.”
On the shelf behind her a winking lens caught Andy’s eye. He stared at the button vidcam. “I guess that privacy thing doesn’t work both ways, huh?”
“No.”
“Send them away,” a mechanical voice ordered.
The redhead tapped the com-pad, blanking the function. “I guess they’re not interested in meeting new friends.”
Mark stretched a finger out. Immediately metallic webbing shot forward, connecting to the com-pad, the vidcam on the shelf, and stabbing through the ceiling. Sparks showered down from the power line overhead. The act caught the attention of everyone in the cyber café. Usually these places were by and large hackproof and left alone by cyber outlaws.
Andy watched in awe as the metallic webbing strand that stretched from Mark’s finger to the vidcam suddenly sprouted another strand that wove itself into an eight-inch monitor. The screen cleared after a moment, revealing a view into a small room with four people sitting around a table.
Two
of the guys looked European, and the third was an African woman, Andy judged by her dress. Zenzo Fujikama had to be the young Asian guy dressed in the blue and silver Spacehunter leathers.
Spacehunter was a popular anime role-playing game that had come out of Japan. It was violent and filled with exotic creatures and locales. Andy had enjoyed playing the game, but it had been filled with too many diehard fans to make playing it anything other than a short-lived experience.
“Who are you?” one of the European men demanded.
“Andy Moore,” Andy said.
The guy had peroxide hair and a long black duster. His canines gleamed when they caught the light. “Doesn’t mean anything to me. And if you don’t clear out of our café, I’m calling the police.”
If you were clean, Andy thought, that’s the first thing you would have done. This cyber café had a reputation as being a hangout for hackers and had been busted a few times in the past. Mark knew that because he sometimes spent time in places like this one.
“I’m Mark Gridley,” Mark said.
“Doesn’t mean anything to me, either,” the blond guy snarled.
“Wait,” Zenzo Fujikama said softly. “The name means something to me.” He looked at the screen. “You took on Deathstalker 3000 and wiped it out a couple months ago.”
“What’s he talking about?” Andy asked.
“A game,” Mark replied.
Zenzo shook his head. “Not just a game. At the time it was the blackboard game.”
Andy understood then. Blackboard games were operated illegally on the Net. They were filled with risky builds that sometimes had uncontrollable implant shock spikes. Some of the damage, although not lethal, had resulted in gamers losing partial link-up ability with the Net. The draw was the risk, but Andy couldn’t believe Mark would play those games.
“You played that game?” Andy asked.
Zenzo laughed. “He didn’t just play the game. He destroyed it. The guys who built it put nearly a year of development into it. Your buddy destroyed it in seventeen straight hours of some of the best play I’ve ever seen. When the dust settled, they were out of business. Gridley took out their game, then posted game cheats on every blackboard bulletin server on the Net. After that, Deathstalker 3000 was just a joke.”