Gameprey nfe-11

by Tom Clancy

  Maj faced him and took out her foilpack. “You don’t mind if I check on that, do you?”

  “No. But maybe you want to bring me up to speed really quick.”

  “You’re looking for a blond woman,” Maj said to Agent Roarke as well as the security team behind him, then gave a quick description of Heavener. The men moved out at once, but Maj knew they weren’t going to find her.

  “Can you penetrate the masking utility he wore?”

  Gaspar Latke sat in his cluttered workspace and replayed the vid captures of his meeting with Maj Green. He hadn’t planned on becoming one of the star interests in Heavener’s investigation, but then Matt Hunter was supposed to have been a safe bet. Heavener’s people hadn’t been able to put buttoncams in the Net Force Explorers’ room because Mark Gridley had beefed up security. With Matt logged on to the Net, it made sense that he might have visited Maj briefly.

  “Not without more time,” he answered. The masking utility he used was proof against anything D’Arnot Industries had on-site at the moment. He’d designed it himself.

  “We don’t have more time,” Heavener called over the com-link connection. Irritation reached an all-time high in her voice. “The time is now.”

  “All we have to do is get through Friday and we’re home free.”

  “No, we’re not,” she said coldly. “That got blown out of the water when Peter Griffen’s game bled over into that girl’s veeyar.”

  “I told you that the revision he had wasn’t stable,” Gaspar said desperately. “The game engine is too huge and complex. And if I plugged up too much of the coding, it wouldn’t have performed.” It wasn’t his fault. But he knew that didn’t matter. If Heavener wanted to blame him for it, she could. And she would. “Peter’s not a fool. That’s why he opened one of the release packs at the booth instead of using the rev he’d been playing with. All of those should have been the modified rev he’s been working with the last couple months.”

  “Shut up,” Heavener ordered.

  Gaspar fell silent. He hoped what he’d given Maj Green would keep her active and on Peter Griffen’s trail.

  “We have another problem,” Heavener said. “Matt Hunter found Oscar Raitt. I’m sending a team over to his hotel now. I want you to make sure they get in and out without being seen or heard.”

  So they’d found Raitt. Excitement flared through Gaspar as he realized the Explorer team was closer to the truth than he’d thought. Then the feeling quickly dimmed when he realized he was being ordered to take that lead away. He hesitated only a moment, knowing he had no choice.

  “All right,” he said, and prepared to hack into the Mohammed Arms, hoping he was too late.

  Something stank. Matt Hunter shook his head, trying to get away from the stench, but it was impossible. Every time he tried, the stench returned, stronger than ever. Smelling salts, he realized. He shook his head and opened his eyes. Bright lights painfully filled his vision.

  “Easy,” a woman said gently. A strong hand clasped Matt around his upper left arm, steadying him. “You’re probably going to feel woozy for a bit. You took a couple nasty raps on the head.”

  Matt glanced around the small room. It had shelves of medicines and bandaging supplies, a small sink, and the hospital bed he was lying on. “Where am I?”

  “The hotel first-aid station. Can you tell me what hotel?” The speaker was a small woman in her forties with graying red hair and a pinched face. She threw away bloody swabs and sanitized the medical tray she’d used. The instruments went into a specially marked biohazard holder.

  “Bessel Midtown.” Matt found that speaking caused his jaw to hurt.

  “Can you tell me what happened? It’s for the official report.”

  “I was attacked.”

  “By a mugger?”

  Matt felt in his back pocket, finding his wallet and his foilpack. “A mugger would have robbed me. This was someone else.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “No.”

  The woman continued putting things away. “Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

  “I thought I already had been.”

  “From the police. There’s an LAPD detective outside. Your friends are out there, too.” The woman returned with a small hand mirror. “I had to put a couple stitches in your temple. Whatever hit you split the skin. You may have a slight concussion. Do you know what to look for?”

  Matt nodded and regretted it instantly. His head pounded unmercifully. “Double vision. Nausea. Dizziness. Headaches.”

  “Oh, you’re going to have a headache, no doubt about that. I’ll give you some analgesics.” She handed him a small plastic vial. “As soon as you can, you need to get to bed. Are you staying here at the hotel with anyone?”

  “A couple friends.”

  “Have them keep an eye on you.” She looked at him carefully. “Personally, I think the authorities should ship you to the nearest ER and maybe even schedule you for a CAT scan. Whoever hit you knew what they were doing.”

  “Why am I here, rather than getting that CAT scan?”

  “I was told the hospital might be too dangerous for you. I’d feel better if you’d go see a doctor the first chance you get. The hotel set up the triage station here for the convention. Things get crazy here when the gamers are in town. I’ve worked here during for the past three years, but I’ve never seen anything like the day we’ve had today.”

  Matt stood carefully, feeling light-headed. “Do I owe you anything?”

  “No. The hotel takes care of my bills.”

  “So I can go?”

  “If you think you’re ready.”

  Matt thanked her, then showed himself to the door. Maj, Megan, and Leif waited out in the hall, looking worse for the wear themselves. Matt checked the time and discovered he’d lost nearly an hour while he’d been out. Then he noticed the guy leaning against the wall to the right talking to a Hispanic woman in a plain gray business suit.

  “How are you feeling?” Maj asked, looking concerned.

  “Like I got hit by an autobus,” Matt admitted. “Someone’s supposed to be waiting at the front counter for me. We’ll talk on the way.”

  “Hold on there,” the man leaning against the wall said crisply.

  Matt froze at the tone of authority in the man’s voice. “Who are you?”

  “Jon Roarke,” Maj said as the agent brought out his ID. “Net Force. And that’s Detective Becerra. Both of them have questions.”

  “We’ve got to find Oscar Raitt,” Matt said. “He’s been in contact with Peter Griffen.”

  “Since the kidnapping?” Detective Becerra asked.

  Matt started to shake his head, then immediately thought better of it. “No. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “So where is he?” Agent Roarke clearly didn’t look convinced or happy.

  Matt gazed around the huge lobby. More people than usual lounged in the chairs and sofas, talking up business in the pit groups. He didn’t know how many of them were really there and how many were there in holo form, but there was one thing he was sure of. “Oscar Raitt’s not here.”

  “Maybe he got tired of waiting on you,” Megan suggested. “He could have gone back to his hotel.”

  Matt flipped his foilpack open and punched in the hotel number for Oscar Raitt’s room.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the desk clerk said, “but there’s no one in that room.”

  “Maybe he’s coming back,” Matt said. “Can I leave a message?”

  “Sir, our files show no one in that room. Perhaps you have the wrong room. What is the name of the guest?”

  “Oscar Raitt.” Matt waited, wondering if the blows to his head had altered his memory of the room number.

  “Sir,” the clerk responded, “no one by that name is checked into the hotel. And no one has been in that room for two days. May I help you with anything else?”

  “No, thanks.” Matt closed the foilpack, thinking furiously in spite of the pain in his he
ad. “They say Oscar never checked in.”

  “Maybe you got the wrong hotel, kid,” Roarke suggested. “You got your egg scrambled pretty good.”

  “Maybe,” Matt said. “But I didn’t make up Oscar Raitt.”

  “This is highly irregular,” the desk clerk complained.

  “Maybe you want to whisper,” Roarke suggested in a low voice. “You’ve got guests sleeping, and we’re getting pretty close to the room. If someone is hiding inside, I’d hate to see them blow your face off just because you were talking.”

  Matt watched the agent in awe. Roarke wasn’t exactly the buttoned-down type that made up most of Net Force’s ranks. He looked at Maj, who walked down the Mohammed Arms hallway with him.

  “He’s got a rep as a wild man. I talked to Captain Winters about him,” Maj whispered. “He transferred out of the Navy SEALS to get into Net Force.”

  Roarke moved like a force of nature. The young clerk watching the desk at the Mohammed Arms had caved immediately when the agent had flashed his credentials. It helped that Detective Becerra had added her weight, pointing out that the LAPD would appreciate the assistance.

  “Where’s he usually assigned?” Matt asked. “A war zone?” His head throbbed but he scanned the hallway, remembering details from his earlier visit.

  “I didn’t have time to ask.”

  The night clerk halted a few steps from the door, hesitating. Then he handed Roarke the swipe card master. “Maybe I should let you handle this.”

  “Good idea,” Roarke said, snapping the swipe card from the man’s hand. He glanced back at Matt, Maj, Megan, and Lisa. “You guys stand back. Winters’s orders were that you guys were supposed to stay out of the line of fire.”

  Matt chafed but knew better than to ignore the man. Winters wouldn’t tolerate it. “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir?” Roarke appeared surprised, but he quickly turned his attention back to the door. Detective Becerra stepped up beside him. He glanced at the woman. “Done this lately?”

  Becerra gave him a tight nod. “I’ve been through a few doors. I’ll take low.” She took a Sig-Sauer 9mm from a holster at her back. The safety snapped off, and she ran her forefinger along the trigger guard.

  Roarke grinned tightly. “We do it on three.” He crept to one side of the door and pulled his weapon from beneath his sweater. Holding the swipe card near the lock, he counted in a low voice. As soon as he hit three, he swiped the card through the lock and grabbed the handle.

  The click of the lock releasing sounded like a cannonshot in the hallway. The agent twisted the handle and shoved the door open, holding it back with his free hand. The laser sight mounted on his pistol strobed the darkness in the room. “Got it?”

  Becerra held her own weapon while in a kneeling position. “Go.”

  Striding into the room, Roarke disappeared from Matt’s view. Then a moment later, the agent called, “Clear.” The lights came on inside the room. “No joy.”

  Becerra followed him in, staying alert.

  Matt was at her heels, swinging into the room an instant after the detective. He scanned the room quickly, taking in the neatly made bed, the clean room, and the total absence of Oscar Raitt.

  19

  “Peter wasn’t one for the rough stuff,” Zenzo Fujikama was saying as he guided Mark and Andy through the Net. “But he showed up pretty often to learn. Hacker hangouts are some of the best places to go to learn cutting-edge programming. And who’s doing it.” In freefall over the huge metropolitan area below, he glanced back over his shoulder at Mark. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Mark didn’t reply.

  Andy studied the city below as they fell through the fog toward it. The coastline and the bright lights looked familiar. When he saw the Space Needle, the unique saucer design flattened out below him, he knew where they were. “Seattle?”

  “I’ve got some friends I want you to meet.” Fujikama stretched out his arms.

  Andy’s vision went away for a moment. When it returned, he was standing inside a small warehouse that looked condemned. Smashed crates, broken boards, and debris covered the scarred concrete floor. The blacked out windows allowed no outside light in. Illumination came from a small room at the back. “What’s this place?”

  “Spy headquarters,” Zenzo said, grinning. He started forward and lifted his voice. “Yo, Tommy T!”

  Mark kept his voice low. “Don’t get fooled by this place, Andy. It might not look like much, but there are lots of layers we’re not seeing.”

  Andy nodded, understanding. “Spy headquarters?” he asked Zenzo.

  Zenzo nodded. “Sure. Every year a group of us stake out the gaming convention. We hack into communications feeds, media feeds, the hotel security systems. Whatever we can find.”

  “That’s illegal,” Mark said.

  “Maybe,” Zenzo admitted. “But it’s the only chance some of us have got.”

  “Got for what?” Andy asked, intrigued. The warehouse smelted rank, and he kept curling his nose up, breathing shallowly. He knew they were down near the docks leading out into Puget Sound. The way some of the shadows shifted and moved led him to believe they were rats.

  “To break into the biz,” Zenzo said. “If you’re a true gamer, that’s like the quest for the Holy Grail. You game?”

  “When I get the chance.”

  A door at the other end of the warehouse opened, letting more light into the warehouse and the thundering crash of techno-pop rock. A heavy guy in jeans and a black T-shirt with an imprint of Arachno-Boy in full battle mode stepped out. “Zenzo?”

  “Yeah, Tommy,” Zenzo said. “It’s me. Want to shut off the security so we can come in?”

  Tommy lifted a hand and pointed. A green button formed in the air, and he pressed it.

  Andy saw dozens of light beams suddenly strobe to life, bouncing from one corner of the warehouse to the other, running from side to side and from top to bottom. The only neutral ground inside the warehouse was the spot Zenzo had brought them to.

  “Oscar Raitt’s records have been purged from the gaming convention database.”

  Matt looked at Catie’s face on his foilpack’s vidscreen. “What about the off-site location?” He’d asked her to check the records, looking for some kind of proof that Oscar had existed.

  They’d already checked the phone records from his vidphone link, but they had been erased from the phone company. The phone company remained a prime target for hackers, and with all the access they had to promote in their business, they were still easier to penetrate than most corporations.

  “I checked there, too,” Catie confirmed. “Nothing there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” Matt closed the foilpack, wishing his head didn’t hurt so badly.

  “Hey, kid,” Roarke said. The Net Force agent stood near the hotel room windows overlooking the enclosed passageway leading back to the Bessel. A helo with police markings buzzed through the sky. “Don’t get so down.”

  “Kind of hard not to,” Matt said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was imagining things, too.”

  Roarke shook his head. “These people, whoever they are, can try to cover up this stuff as much as they want, but it’s already gotten through the seams. When it gets this messy, more than likely we’re going to figure it out.”

  “More than likely?” Maj echoed.

  Roarke gave her a grin. “Better than fifty-fifty odds.” He leaned against the wall. “The trick is to figure it all out in time. These things tend to have a perishable date on them.”

  Matt couldn’t help thinking of Peter Griffen. Is he still being held hostage somewhere, or has that date already run through? He glanced up at Maj and saw the dark look on her face, knowing she was wondering the same thing.

  “Agent Roarke?”

  They looked at the door to the hotel room and saw the three men in green overalls standing there with equipment cases in their hands.

  “You forensics?” Roarke asked.
/>   “Yes, sir.”

  “You know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, if you’re waiting on me, don’t.”

  “Yes, sir.” The three men moved into the room and opened their cases, removing aerosol applicators. “Where do you want the luminol, sir?”

  “Let’s start with the floor,” Roarke ordered. “Blood tends to follow the laws of gravity. If we find anything, we’ll broaden the search.”

  Matt swallowed dryly as he watched the men work.

  Standing in the huge warehouse, Andy watched the security systems wink out around them.

  “We make it hard for anyone to find us,” Zenzo said. “And if they do, we make sure we have plenty of time to log off and run.” He started forward. “Anyway, getting back to the games. As I was saying, any true gamer’s dream is to design games other people will play. A lot of guys build games and put them on the Net for free.”

  “I’ve got some friends who do that,” Andy said.

  “I could have figured that. Maybe you’re not hardcore, but I bet you know the guys who are. There’s a lot of natural talent out there, and there are also a lot of guys who really aren’t as good as they think they are. However, that doesn’t stop them.”

  Andy followed Zenzo into the small room at the end of the warehouse. It was filled to capacity with five workspaces and the three guys and two young women who occupied them. Computer hardware lined the walls, and Andy didn’t doubt that over half of it was designed for security.

  “We design games,” Zenzo said, “but it’s tough getting the attention of publishers. They’ve got their own people. They’re not looking for guys like us, total independents who’ve taught themselves.”

  “They usually recruit people from video game design colleges,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, and they make money off those colleges, too.” Zenzo said with obvious cynicism. “They make profits off the guys they choose who become successes, and they make money off the dreamers, too. And that is truly bogus.”

  Andy scanned the monitors around the workspaces. A few of them showed lobby and restaurant scenes.

  “We don’t just stake out the Bessel,” Zenzo said. “We wire up local restaurants and clubs the publishers like to visit.” He smiled. “We know all.”