Broken Genius

by Drew Murray

  “You’re talking about scaring pigeons away,” I continue. “Think that would work with seagulls? I have seagulls.”

  “Probably,” says Webb, stroking his beard. “The camera is the same thing. It scares away thieves. Birds see a predator and stay clear. Thieves see a security camera and they leave my stuff alone.”

  “You just finished telling me about all the stuff you had taken,” says Dana.

  Webb shrugs, turning red again. “I don’t think the owls work all that well either, but it’s worth a try.”

  He barks abruptly at another potential customer who’s picked up some other thing from his table. When he lumbers over to try to close the sale, I find Dana right up close to me.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “I think something’s fishy.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m certain there are some fakes in here. The stuffed Pokémon look particularly sketchy.”

  “I’m not talking about the stuff. I’m talking about him.” She scrunches her face up in a scowl.

  “Aside from his questionable business practices? Well he’s right about the Wi-Fi. It’s often bad in places like this, especially when the crowds roll in. I checked it out and saw a cord dangling from the camera, not connected to anything. But some of the cameras have battery backups and a slot for a memory card, so you don’t need a laptop at all. So that’s a big maybe.”

  She bites her lip in thought, leading the way out of the booth and down the aisle. I follow along, looking around at the other vendors. No security cameras at any of them, disconnected or otherwise.

  “There’s something I don’t like about the guy,” Dana says.

  “Aside from the way he was looking at you?”

  “Aside from that.” She curls her lip in disgust. “He’s got a short temper.”

  “Which isn’t a crime. Farber’s got a short temper, too. And have you met Decker?”

  “It was a pretty violent act,” she says as we reach the end of the aisle. “Let’s split up. I’m going to talk to more people. See if the story on Caplan’s consistent. You do the same; meet me at the other end.”

  A gaggle of preteens giggling over a poster swarms around us. By the time they’ve cleared, Dana’s disappeared into the crowd.

  There could be more to be learned about Caplan by talking to the others. But doing a bunch of knock and talks about the same thing over and over again is not my idea of a good time.

  A cheer rises from the crowd somewhere off to my left. Something’s happened to get them excited. When I look over that way, I see the familiar logo for a big video game retailer.

  Han. The idea of sorting through walkthroughs of Big Fish Pyramid online for hours doesn’t appeal, and I bet there’s someone over there that already knows the answer. This seems like a better use of my time, so I decide to leave the interviewing to Dana.

  Before I get underway, I fire off a message. She is right about one thing—there’s something sketchy about “Gordo.” So, I add him to Bradley’s list to look into, after Caplan.

  My phone buzzes. Decker needs me. The message says he has a lead, but he needs my technical expertise in the security office. First though, I need that game tip.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Game Planet’s space in the vendor hall is a sprawling, purple-carpeted empire a dozen times the size of Caplan’s and Webb’s little booths. A fully operational retail store at the center selling video games, toys based on geek culture, and t-shirts, is surrounded by a perimeter of the latest game consoles mounted on stands below large screen TVs. A swarm of employees wearing identical shirts that match the purple carpet work their way through the crowd of customers, signing them up for the store loyalty program on iPads clad in purple cases.

  Pyntel’s space is adjacent to Game Planet’s, separated by a giant motor home wrapped in vinyl advertising a new game called Wasteout 3. Dirty and rough-looking men, and women, carrying improbably large weapons, face off against horrific zombie hordes. In the background, soldiers in exoskeleton suits of armor fall from futuristic drop ships.

  The publisher’s logo is one I recognize. It was a startup in the Valley. They had a lightweight VR engine with terrific gaming potential, but needed some serious hardware development to make it all work. They were desperate for cash, and I looked at buying them, but gaming didn’t really align with our strategic direction, so I passed. They ended up getting bought out by Pyntel as another revenue stream for the giant corporation.

  Around the outside of the motor home, I make out the faint outline of cutouts for enormous panels I suspect can be raised to reveal TV screens on which to demo the game. It’s all closed up now though, except for the regular side door into the RV. Two people are just inside the doorway. While I can’t make out their faces, I can tell something is up. One is waving their arms around, and the other is braced with their legs wide and hands on their hips.

  Approaching carefully, I recognize the arm waver as Martin Hicks. His adversary is a shorter, solidly built woman with Princess Leia buns in her hair. She’s wearing a Game Planet purple shirt, but it’s different from the floor walkers in the retail area. They’re wearing golf shirts and she’s wearing a long-sleeve oxford with the company logo embroidered on the front. In the tribal world of big corporate, this marks her as higher up on the food chain.

  “It certainly wasn’t any of my people, and your people are the only other ones with a key. You see where I’m going here,” says Hicks. His face is flushed and there are beads of sweat along his brow line.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” says Leia Buns, “but I don’t know what to tell you. That just isn’t the case. None of my people were even here last night.”

  “Uh-huh. Where’s the key that we gave you yesterday?”

  “Right here on my key ring, where it’s been the whole time.” She pulls out a small bunch of keys and jangles them around in Hicks’ face.

  Hicks takes a deep breath and holds it, looking like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. While he’s building pressure, I climb the wobbly metal steps up to the door.

  “Hey, gang, mind if I interrupt?” I ask, knocking on the doorframe. “Oh, hey, Martin.”

  I introduce myself to Leia Buns, who says her name is Mary Morley, a marketing VP with Game Planet.

  “We’re right in the middle of something here, Will,” says Hicks. “I’d love to chat, but maybe we can do this later.”

  “Oh sure, Martin, I can wait,” I say.

  And then I stand there, watching. Mary looks confused and Hicks looks annoyed. After a few beats of uncomfortable silence, Hicks scratches his chin.

  “Maybe you didn’t understand me,” he says. His jaw is tight and his words strained. “I really need to finish this up, so you should go and come back later.”

  “Oh, I understand, Martin. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a question for Ms. Morley here. Official business.” Hicks is only full of self-importance until he meets a bigger dog. Before I carried the badge of a federal agent, I accomplished more in the Valley than Hicks can ever dream of. Unless he gets his hands on the Fukushima Unicorn. The thought of it makes my teeth clench.

  Morley casts a glare at Hicks before turning to me. “What do you need, Mister … or is it Officer?”

  “Agent. Special Agent, actually.”

  “Fine. Special Agent Parker, what can I do for you?” Any residual irritation from her conflict with Hicks dries up. It’s replaced with the curiosity mixed with nervousness I’ve come to expect when interviewing people for the Bureau.

  “Do you have anybody who’s really good at Big Fish Pyramid? I need some help.”

  “Big Fish Pyramid? That’s a mobile-only game. We mainly do console and PC games.” She looks even more confused now and, entertainingly, Hicks looks even more irritated. “There are a few guys and gals on the team that I know play mobile, too. I could ask around for you.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” I say, flashing her a
smile.

  “Is there anything else?” asks Hicks.

  “I’m so glad you asked,” I say, tapping my lips with a finger. “I overheard you talking about something that happened last night? Which is interesting, because I’m also looking into something that happened last night. What’s the deal with the key? Is it for the RV?”

  Hicks and Morley look awkwardly at one another.

  “Someone got into our mobile display vehicle last night,” says Hicks.

  “Mr. Hicks seems to think my staff had something to do with it. But as I was just telling him, they were all gone for the night. I was the last person to leave, and I had the key with me.”

  “So, if your staff weren’t in the MDV, what about you? Where were you last night?” asks Hicks.

  “I believe that’s my line,” I say, leaning in to look around at the interior. “What’s in this mobile display vehicle anyway? What are you displaying? Was anything taken? Let’s take a look.”

  Climbing up the steps to the inside of the vehicle, I slip past Hicks and Morley. The interior isn’t the wood paneling and bolted-down La-Z-Boy of a regular RV. It’s all business. The walls are bare metal with thick bundles of wires routed neatly to the backs of the TV displays I rightly guessed were in here. But there are far more wires than needed for screens and some game consoles. A server rack is mounted on one side of the RV, filled with commercial networking hardware. Fans whir loudly and dozens of green lights flicker on the front of network switches. Next to the server rack is a long cabinet with metal drawers that looks like it belongs to a race car mechanic.

  “Nothing was taken; they just rooted around,” says Hicks. “But it’s what they could have seen.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Wasteout 3, of course. Didn’t you see the banner?”

  “Not up on the latest games. Never heard of it.”

  “It’s the biggest game launch of the year,” explains Mary while Hicks rolls his eyes. “It should make a record quarter for us. Lots of merch tie-ins.”

  “It uses the Peregrine engine, and I think you’ve heard of that,” says Hicks, crossing his arms.

  He tosses that out like it’s a dig. Like Peregrine is the one that got away. Nope. If I wanted it, it would have been mine. By the time Pyntel was sniffing around Peregrine, I was already talking to the guys in Fukushima about their quantum prototype.

  There could be a connection between whoever was rooting around in their network on wheels and Caplan’s murder. If letting Hicks think he outflanked me on the Peregrine deal will keep him talking, it’s a game I can play.

  “VR toolkit, right? Pyntel developed the hardware?”

  “That’s right,” says Hicks. “We developed and manufacture the headsets and cameras that make the system work. Plug and play. No complicated measurements and setup like the old stuff.”

  “Has anyone seen the hardware before?”

  “Prototypes of the headsets? Sure. We’ve shown some big development shops so they can start planning their own games using the Peregrine engine. All under nondisclosure agreements.”

  Hicks’ annoyance with me is vanishing. He can’t help talking up their new gear. This is a project he’s attached to, and in his vanity, he wants to make sure I know it.

  “Do you have them here?”

  He opens a drawer in the mechanic’s cabinet and shows me rows of what look like wraparound sunglasses. They have unusually thick arms, but nothing worse than the chunky style of sunglasses that come in and out of fashion. What I notice right away is that there are no wires.

  “Wireless?”

  “You bet.”

  “Onboard processing then.”

  “Yup.” Pride is evident in his raised chin.

  “In those? They’re very slim.” Of course, I knew all this, but I’m baiting him, leading him on. “What about the software?”

  “It’s not here. I didn’t want to leave it in my MDV and I’m glad I didn’t.”

  “It’s not your display vehicle,” says Mary, “it’s ours. I paid for 33 percent of it.”

  “Right, and I paid for 66 percent, so it’s mine.”

  “And it launches this weekend?” I ask.

  “A week from now,” says Hicks. “This is the preview weekend. It’s the first time anyone’s going to see the game’s VR integration. We’ve released some 2D gameplay video, and screenshots, but this is the debut with the full setup.”

  “You didn’t beta test it?”

  “No, we wanted a big bang. We kept it under wraps, which should be fairly easy to do when you have physical hardware. We just keep it under lock and key. That only works until you give the key to someone who’s going to stab you in the back,” he says casting a snide sideways glance at Morley.

  “That’s it, screw you, Hicks. I don’t have to stand and listen to your bullshit, and I don’t have to explain where I was last night or what I was doing. Certainly not to you.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Settle down,” I say, holding my hands out in front of me. Morley’s face is scrunched up into an angry ball, her hands clenched into little fists at her sides. “There were some thefts here last night. My partners are out interviewing people now.”

  “See? I told you it wasn’t my team, Hicks,” she says.

  “Thefts? Since when does the FBI investigate thefts?” Hicks scoffs.

  “Since whenever we want to,” I answer.

  “You didn’t say what was stolen,” he says.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Hicks, you owe me an apology!” Morley shouts.

  “Fine, it possibly wasn’t your people that broke in.”

  “Possibly? You’re such a dick, Hicks.” She pauses for a second. “Oh, that’s funny,” she says. “Dick? Hicks?”

  “Really, we’re making fun of names now? Mary Morley? Now there’s a stripper name if ever I heard one.”

  Alliteration and rhyming in a name don’t mean stripper. But calling her one is the cheapest, fastest way for a guy with Hicks’ limited creativity to fish for a rise out of Morely. What I don’t know is whether his dominance-posturing is for her or me.

  “Dial it down, both of you,” I say, raising my voice with a warning tone.

  “Stripper? You only wish, Hicks,” says Morely, narrowing her eyes.

  “Believe it or not, seeing you naked isn’t something I would wish for. In fact—

  “Shut up!” I shout at them both. Morely seems capable of handling Hicks, but there’s one more question I need answered. “I’ve been up since before dawn and I’m way low on caffeine. Unless you want my local buddy to put you into one of her cells, cut it out and answer my questions.”

  Thankfully, they both stop their caterwauling. Peace is restored to the RV. My head is throbbing. Whether from their noise or a caffeine deficit, I don’t know. But I do know I want out of this metal echo chamber.

  “Hicks. The software. Where is it?” I ask.

  “It’s right here,” he says pulling a small external SSD out of his pocket. “That’s what I came in here for when I found the door ajar and the drawers opened. I’m loading the software today for the launch tomorrow. It’s the latest patched version.”

  “So, whoever was here last night, all they saw were the goggles?”

  “That’s right,” says Hicks. “Why?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “In my hotel, working. In fact, I have more work to do and this is wasting my time.”

  Hicks storms to the door forcing Morley to jump back out of the way. He stomps down the hanging metal stairs and disappears into the crowd.

  “What a prima donna,” says Morley casting a glare out the door.

  “Prima donna?”

  “Yesterday he was all smiles and chuckles. He spent ten minutes explaining to me how this game was going to ring up high sales for GP, and I’m like, ‘Yeah, I know all that; that’s why I paid for a third of the thing,’ and it was like he barely heard me. Just kept rambling on about the ‘new
frontier.’ Today he’s storming around like we kicked his dog. Then he discovered the MDV break-in and lost his mind.”

  “That’s not normal for him?” It certainly wasn’t how I remembered Hicks, and it wasn’t consistent with the schmoozy hello he gave me in the morning.

  “Not at all. I mean, he’s mildly annoying. He’s always going on about how great Pyntel is, you know, towing the party line. But I’ve never seen him raise his voice, let alone lose it like this. Something flipped his switch.”

  “You’ve worked with him a lot?”

  “Off and on for a few years now. GP and Pyntel have done a lot of co-promoting. Haven’t seen as much of him since he got the COO job. Then, a couple of weeks ago he jumped right into the Wasteland 3 launch. He insisted on being here for the preview.” Morley makes a face like someone just passed gas. “You don’t think he’s the thief, do you?”

  I don’t know for certain what Hicks is up to, but I doubt he’s the trinket thief that had Webb’s fur flying.

  “Probably not,” I say, walking away and adding, “Let me know about Big Fish Pyramid.”

  Something put a bee in Hicks’ bonnet. But was it murder? I have little time to ponder that before I get another text message from Decker, telling me to hurry up.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  An hour later, after helping Decker in the security office, I’m back at the hotel taking my first sip of round two of Tropical Blend along with a ham sandwich on a surprisingly decent croissant. Yeah, I know, fool me once and all that. But sometimes you go with the devil you know, rather than the devil you don’t.

  Decker felt the security guard from last night wasn’t being completely honest with him. By the time I got there, Storm Decker had reduced the guy, a grown man with a wife and two kids, to tears.

  Keeping tabs on a building as massive as a convention center is impossible to do without a good security system, and the owners of this behemoth had invested well. The large, tidy office contained an array of decent security tech. Aside from berating the guard, Decker reviewed the surveillance footage from last night and found something unusual.