“Oh, geez, Holmes, I’m sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed.
* * *
But Holmes had already reacted, and not in the way Skye expected. He had seen the way she and Caitlin hugged on several occasions, and now recognized Skye had just offered him the same gift of friendly attachment. So he responded as he imagined Caitlin would have, wrapping his arms around Skye and hugging her in return, even if only briefly.
“There is nothing to be sorry for, my dear,” he murmured in her ear. “Though it was rare, even Watson and I were known to exchange the odd embrace of comrades from time to time. Your gesture of friendship is appreciated.” Holmes released her and stepped back. “We are done here. There is no more to be seen.” They turned for the car.
But as they climbed in, Skye observed, “You never did answer my question, Holmes.”
“Oh? Then please restate it.”
“Did I do well?”
Holmes turned to study her expression as she started the engine. He was concerned she would be tense, eagerly if not anxiously awaiting his verdict, a sure sign his injunction to take him less seriously had not been heeded. Instead, she wore a relaxed, curious countenance: A pupil seeking simple confirmation from her teacher.
“You did capitally. If this is any indication of your potential, you will become a first-rate detective. You lack only training, which I intend to provide.”
The expression which his words brought to her face was not pride, not quite, he decided. Rather, it was an unassuming confidence, and an eagerness for the future.
And, Holmes considered privately, after everything that had gone before, it was good to see.
* * *
The bodies of the two slain lieutenants had long since been sent to their families for burial, and Sergeant Thompson was on duty at the shop, so Holmes deemed it unwise for the pair to show up to study Michaels’ pickup truck. Therefore he and Skye returned to their office, to find a backlog of messages waiting for them. The first message was from Skye’s software team.
“Dr. Chadwick, this is Brad in Software. Give us a call as soon as you get this, or better yet, come see us. We’ve got something…unexpected.”
The second voicemail was from Colonel Jones. “Holmes, Chadwick, it’s Hank. Adrian stopped by with the, er, coffee report. Thought you might like to see it. I’ve got a copy for you here in my office. Come by when you get a chance; it makes some interesting reading.”
The third message was Brad again. “Dr. Chadwick, Software REALLY needs to see you. We need your advice right away, if not sooner. It’s a…situation.”
Skye and Holmes looked at each other. “The software team sounded more urgent,” Holmes noted.
“Yeah. Wanna come along?”
“I should like nothing better.”
“Let’s go.”
* * *
The Software team was relieved when Chadwick and Holmes showed up in their area. Brad led the duo into the conference room.
“Meeting, guys! Dr. Chadwick’s here!” he called as he shepherded them along, and soon the entire team was clustered about the conference table.
“Okay, Brad, what have you got? It sounded urgent,” Skye wondered.
“It is, Doc, but we’re not quite sure how to handle it,” Brad responded. “We’ve found the problem.”
“That’s great!” Skye said. “So you found the bug in those eight lines of code?”
“Uh…yes and no. We found the problem, and it was in those eight lines of code…” Brad exchanged worried glances with one of his programmers.
“And?” Holmes pressed.
“It…wasn’t a bug,” Brad admitted. “It was a deliberate modification.”
“What do you mean?” Skye’s eyes widened.
“It was a virus, Skye,” Brad said quietly. “Someone introduced a Trojan horse into the system.”
Holmes took one look at Skye’s horrified face and thought, That cannot be good.
“Are you sure?” Skye whispered.
The programmer, a petite little redhead with ginger freckles and pale blue eyes, piped up. “I wrote that section of code, Dr. Chadwick. And I assure you, what got executed the day Chad died isn’t what I wrote.”
“And she can prove it,” Brad noted. “Show ‘em, Janet.” Janet pulled out a sheaf of printouts.
“Okay, here’s the original section of the routine, and the link to the subroutine,” she said, laying the printouts in front of Holmes and Skye. “Note the printer stuck a time-tag on the header of all the pages, so you can see I wrote this section months ago, and I haven’t modified it since. Now look at line 3386. There’s the original, the way I wrote it.”
Holmes looked, but as he was unfamiliar with any computer language, let alone the C++10x programming language of the tesseract software, he could make little out of it. Glancing at Skye, however, he saw her face, and knew she was absorbed in the evidence being presented.
Well, he considered, it seems I have been relegated to the position of student myself, now. A role I have played a considerable amount since arriving in this continuum. But I shall take my own advice and refuse to feel intimidated by it. Skye has had many years to develop her knowledge to this level, as I, my own. She will share it with me, soon enough. For now, I will trust her to know what she is doing.
“Now look at this,” Janet produced another sheaf of printouts. “This is the same section of code as it executed the day of the malfunction. Note the time-tag in the header, and look at line 3386.”
“There’s a timing delay loop. Someone introduced a deliberate delay in launching the focusing subroutine.” Skye sucked in a sharp breath and let it out in a long whistle.
“Exactly,” Brad said grimly. “And not by anybody on our software team. I can’t find a single record on any of our computers for this edit, either manually or by Trojan, here or in the Chamber. We’ve already run full scans. And you know our network is isolated from the outside.”
“Do we know when it was introduced?” Skye pressed. Brad nodded, then caught himself.
“Well, we know when the change was made to the code, at least. We’ve gone through all our backups—we make ‘em daily—and the change occurred sometime between the day of the malfunction and the previous day’s runs. Our Trojan was evidently a time bomb, introduced earlier and set to execute the modification either after a set countdown, or maybe on a specific date. In all likelihood, it executed at midnight prior to the malfunction.”
“But you know what this means,” Janet observed ominously. “There’s a mole on the project.”
Stern nods went around the room.
* * *
Skye glanced at Holmes. His eyes met hers, and she read his thoughts in the almost non-existent expression there. I cannot appear to be involved. You know what to do, and I trust you to do it, and to do so well. She took a deep breath and scanned the room, meeting the eyes of each member of the software team.
“Okay, guys, I don’t have to tell you how serious this is. I’m going to ask that this information does not leave this room. You can talk to me, or to Mr. Holmes if I’m not around, because he’ll tell me, and I’ll see to it facility security is notified right away. But otherwise, you speak to no one. Is that understood?”
All the heads in the room nodded.
“You got it, Doc,” Brad murmured somberly. “What do you need us to do?”
“I need you to find that Trojan, and bring the evidence, and any coding you can find, to me. I’ll see to it overtime gets authorized if you think you need it.”
“We’ll need it. You heard the lady,” Brad told his team. “Round the clock until we find it. Terry, set up a roster of shifts for the team, please. Somebody put on a pot of coffee. Let’s go.”
The meeting broke up as the programmers and analysts headed out to obey orders.
* * *
By the time Holmes and Skye got back to their office, it was well past normal business hours. Skye put in a call to Jones’ office, but he’d g
one home for the day. An email check revealed a message; Jones would meet them first thing in the morning.
So Skye and Holmes called it the end of a long and stressful day. They drove up the pass in a much more companionable frame of mind than they’d come down it that morning, chatting in a relaxed mood.
But upon arriving at home, Holmes informed Skye, “Run and put on something suitable for a long walk outside. Hurry, so we may work while there is still sufficient light in the sky.”
“Huh?” Skye wondered, turning toward her bedroom as Holmes put his hand on the door to his own. “What’s up?”
“Training,” Holmes noted with a twinkle in his eye. “We will start tonight with basic tracking, using the animals around the ranch. I believe you already have some skill in that area. From there, we will move on to more advanced matters. Expect to do this each evening until I am satisfied you can meet…OUR expectations.”
“Cool,” Skye grinned.
* * *
They worked zealously until well after sundown. By the time they were done, Skye was beginning to learn how to “read” an animal’s intent based on the details of its track: Whether it was anxious, excited, a predator stalking prey, about to pounce on said prey, or simply a hungry horse. And, to Holmes’ extreme satisfaction, she was beginning to draw analogies on her own to the matter of human tracking.
* * *
At last Holmes declared it too dark to continue. Skye would have protested, since there was still a considerable amount of light in the sky, but she had only realized moments before he spoke that the contrast between highlight and shadow had decreased to a level where the prints were becoming unreadable.
“Okay. It’s that funny flat light now, anyway.”
“Precisely. In a pinch, an electric torch will do, but proper daylight will always be the best lighting, both for artists and detectives.” Holmes gave her a smile. “Now, we have some hungry horses awaiting, and my middle is none too full, either.”
“Then it’s suppertime,” Skye grinned. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 11—An Iliad and an Odyssey
THE NEXT MORNING JONES WAS WAITING in their office.
“I understand you two were busy yesterday,” the police chief grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. I already contacted Adrian to tell him, and he was delighted to know you’re training Skye, Holmes. That overcame the last hurdle he had on the temporary agent status.”
“I could hardly refuse, nor did I wish to, after all Skye has done, Colonel. In turn, perhaps Skye will understand that, as I have no secrets from her, she can trust me with hers, as well.” Holmes gave the colonel an austere smile.
“No secrets from me? What do you mean?” Skye blinked.
“As you yourself admitted, you studied me ‘in most of my various incarnations,’ quite thoroughly,” Holmes pointed out tranquilly. “I assumed as much from the beginning—or at least as soon as I understood your apparatus—and while I am gratified you permitted a respectful modicum of personal privacy, I have held no illusions regarding secrecy. Look at the ease with which you retrieved the truth regarding my naval treaty case for General Morris.”
Skye blanched to the lips.
Holmes and Jones exchanged concerned glances. As one, the men moved to get a chair under her. Afraid she would faint, Jones shoved her head down, while Holmes hurried to make a pot of coffee. When it was ready, he brought her a mug, then crouched beside her chair as Jones allowed her to rise slowly to a normal position. They waited while she sipped the hot, caffeinated beverage, which Holmes had laced, not only with her usual cream, but with considerable sugar, as well. The stimulant brought a hint of color to the pale cheeks.
“Much better. Now tell us what is wrong, Skye,” Holmes murmured. “I assume my remarks upset you, and for that, I am sorry, my dear. My intent was to indicate, as trusted friends, we need have no barriers between us, other than matters of…personal privacy. I never meant to imply that which your reaction seems to indicate—namely, a violation.”
Skye looked into the grey eyes with misery and terror mingled in her gaze.
“I’m Dr. Frankenstein,” she whispered. “So help me, I’ve created a monster, in real life.”
Holmes shot a worried look at Jones, who murmured, “How, Doc— Skye?” he changed his mode of address hastily.
“Holmes, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I told you once I’d tried to respect your privacy and dignity, and now I realize…just by observing you…I failed on both counts.” Skye shook her head. “But that’s not all,” she added, as he was about to protest. “And probably not the worst. I…don’t fully see it, but…I sort of think, maybe that’s why this spy ring is interested in the tesseract technology?” She looked at the two men anxiously. “I can’t explain why, but…I think that’s it.”
“To use its abilities for espionage purposes?” Jones pondered. “Hm.”
“It is possible,” Holmes considered. “And a theory definitely worth exploring.”
“A ‘gut feeling,’” Jones noted, meeting Holmes’ gaze.
“Indeed,” Holmes agreed, recognizing the colonel’s reference to their first meeting. “In any event, Skye, you are no monster, nor have you created one. The tesseract, like any invention, is a tool, and may be used for good or ill, depending upon its wielder. I submit one Alfred Nobel to you as evidence. I have little doubt you know who he was. You strike me as having much the same moral consideration, Skye.”
“Did you know him? Nobel, I mean,” Jones asked, curious.
“I had occasion to meet him, once or twice,” Holmes commented offhandedly. “We had several interesting conversations. I remember suggesting it might assuage his conscience to set aside a part of the fortune he’d amassed from his inventions, to be used in a purely benevolent endeavour. I recommended awards for peaceful pursuits, moreso as he was guilt-ridden at the use of his explosives for battle. But we shall certainly take your concerns into account, my dear, in our investigation.”
“Absolutely. Now let’s have a look at what you two found.” Jones picked up a folder he’d placed on the corner of Skye’s desk.
“What Holmes found,” Skye muttered. “I didn’t observe enough to have been able to find it.”
“That is changing, my dear,” Holmes placated. “Give it time.”
“Here,” Jones handed them a copy of the lieutenants’ report. “It’s sparse, but telling.”
* * *
Friday, March 14
Three meetings this week. Low Buzz, Calzones, and Spice. Grease Monkey, CPU, Caveman, and Gemini. Horse will be sent to the rodeo soon. Dates not mentioned, but anticipate Mayday, if not sooner. Another rodeo entered later.
Wagner group now numbered at 12. Sauron still inside Barad-dûr. Hope to become Nazgûl soon.
—Gemini
Add Th 20 Mar
Gemini broken. Cave collapsed. Castor down. God help me, they are coming.
—Pollux
* * *
“The words are coded, it would appear,” Holmes observed.
“Yeah. Looks like they met three times, at three different locations,” Jones agreed. “The Low Buzz you already know. Calzones is a little family-run Italian restaurant, and—”
“Oh, Lord have mercy,” Skye groaned. “Do NOT tell me we have to go to all these places undercover.”
“I had been considering it, Skye,” Holmes remarked, surprised. “Why?”
“Spice is a strip club, Holmes,” Jones informed him uncomfortably. “I can see why Skye might not be too happy about that.”
Holmes frowned in confusion, not recognizing the terminology. Skye made a face.
“Think…less than a Brazilian string,” she remarked cryptically. “A lot less.”
“On WHOM?!” Holmes’ eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair.
“The dancers on stage,” Jones explained. “It’s the modern version of burlesque, taken more extreme.”
“Oh, dear,” Holmes murmured, disquieted by the idea o
f taking Skye into such an establishment. “I shall have to reconsider the matter.”
“Please do,” Skye muttered. “Now, for the rest of the report. I assume this ‘Grease Monkey’ and the like are references to…people, I’d think.”
“Yes,” Jones said. “Gemini referred to Michaels and Davis themselves. They were close buddies, and called themselves The Twins as often as not. Davis wrote the addendum after Michaels’ death and Adrian and I interpret it as a reference that Davis knew Michaels had been exposed and killed and he was the next target. Unfortunately, the boys hadn’t had a chance to provide the code names to Adrian before they were killed. After Michaels died, Davis probably felt he was under a microscope, and couldn’t manage making his contact. So we need to work out who’s who.”
“Okay, a grease monkey is a mechanic,” Skye observed.
“That is undoubtedly Thompson,” Holmes decided sanguinely.
“Then we have CPU and Caveman,” Jones noted.
“A CPU is a central processing unit,” Skye thought out loud. “And…ooh, shit.”
“What?” Holmes asked curiously.
“Bob Harris is in the Processing division of Project: Tesseract,” Skye told them grimly.
“So he’s likely CPU,” Jones agreed. “Personally I’m betting Caveman is somebody inside the Mountain. Who, we still have to figure out.”
“That would make sense, especially if…” Holmes paused, and his grey eyes grew distant. “The below-average-height man, who delivered the stunning blows. ‘Cave collapse. Castor down,’ could refer to this Caveman falling upon Michaels.”
“Ooo, that’s good,” Skye nodded vigorously.
“Horse delivered to the rodeo?” Jones continued. “Who’s this Horse person? Somebody from a cavalry unit, an air assault group maybe?”
“No idea,” Skye said.
“Insufficient data as yet,” Holmes agreed.
“Well, mayday is a distress call,” Jones observed.
“Oh, really?” Holmes asked, intrigued. “I had assumed it referred to the first of May. Still, it would be a capital mistake for us to theorise before all the data is upon the table, and I never guess.”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 35