by Tom Clancy
“That leaves me with the same question I had about twenty minutes ago,” David said gloomily. “What do we do now?”
“Well, you got the girl back to her bodyguard,” Winters offered. “By now she’s probably inside Fortress MacPherson.” He looked at David, his glance sharpening. “Did you give away anything you shouldn’t have?”
“I told her what was in that download that nobody believes I got,” David said a little defiantly. “Otherwise, it was all stuff that was already all over the media.”
“Sabotine wanted to know if D’Aliso saw the killer in the downloaded sim, or recording, or whatever it was,” Leif added. “She’s afraid it could be someone from her family. Her father hated D’Aliso for what he was. Luddie may have hated him for what he could have done.”
“I’d say she was a seriously confused young woman.”
“But a very pretty one …” Leif pointed out.
Winters suddenly grinned as his eyes went from David to Leif. “Is that so? Well, judging from the looks of you, she’s created two equally confused young men.”
That got a pair of reluctant smiles from the boys. After appropriate good-byes, they left Winters’s office and waited for a cab. Leif stared across the traffic. “I guess the captain was right.”
David laughed. “About us being confused?”
“Actually, it was the part about Net Force not being much help.” Leif jammed his hands in his pockets. “We did a good deed today, but we’re still left with the whole Hardweare mess.”
“So, for the third time this afternoon, what do we do?” David asked.
Leif checked his Metroliner schedule. “I guess I go home. You can go up with me to Union Station, or I can freight your fare home.”
“The station is fine,” David said. “But I was thinking of slightly longer-range goals.”
“Oh, it’s goals you want.” Leif smiled. “I suppose General Directive Twenty-three will cover it.”
“And that is?” David asked suspiciously.
” ‘Expeditiously achieve opportune ad-hoc objectives in a timely manner,’ ” Leif replied in his most pompous voice.
David rolled his eyes. “And after that’s been run through the translation program for English?”
Leif shrugged. “Wait and see. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
David saw Leif board his train, then used the Metro to get home. When he arrived, Mom was already in the kitchen, at work on Sunday dinner. Tommy and James were playing a computer game. From the sounds drifting out of the bedroom, it involved blowing things up—loudly.
Dad was sitting in the living room. When he saw David come into the room, he beckoned him over. Martin Gray had an odd expression on his face. It wasn’t the everyday parental “teenagers are a different species” look. David sometimes saw Dad look this way during a tough case. But this time the pain in his eyes was more personal as he turned to his son.
Something was clearly wrong. His father was worried—very worried.
“It was good to see Leif today,” David said. “We visited with Captain Winters for a while.” That had the advantage of being true, and wasn’t likely to stir Dad up very much.
His father nodded, that unnerving look still on his face. “That’s better than my afternoon,” he said. “Some of my buddies on the job called. Seems there are a couple of suits wandering around, asking questions about me.”
“Suits?” David echoed. “You mean detectives? Or Internal Affairs?”
Martin Gray shrugged. “They didn’t show any badges, and nobody knew them. When you talked with your friend the captain, did he mention anything about feds being interested in us?”
“No, he didn’t,” David said. All of a sudden the room seemed strangely cold, as if someone had opened a window and a chilly dank fog were blowing in.
Fog and shadows, David thought. Thats all this case has been so far. Nothing provable, just threats against people — and murder — to get the secrets of Hardweare.
And now somebody — how had the captain put it? “Some person or persons unknown” was coming out of the murk and going after my family … to get a line on me.
puter, used its holosystem to make a call to Captain Winters’s office.
Winters was surprised to hear from David again so soon. “You just caught me,” he said. “I was heading out the door— at last.”
But the captain was even more surprised to hear David’s blunt question. “Is Net Force or any other branch of the federal government checking up on me and my family?”
“Why would you ask that?” Winters said.
The last thing David wanted right now was a question answered with a question. But he needed answers. He explained about his father’s mysterious investigators.
“As far as I know, we’re the only agency with jurisdiction in the Hardweare case,” the captain said slowly. “Hold on a moment.” He gave some orders to his computer, looked at the display, and shook his head. “At this time we seem to be the only guys on the ballfield. And none of our people is checking into your background.”
Winters’s eyes sharpened as he looked back at David. “Next time these guys turn up, your dad’s cop buddies might show off their badges and hold those clowns so we can question them.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.” David grimaced. “They’d probably disappear in a puff of smoke, like the legendary men in black the UFO guys always talk about.”
The captain shrugged. “It would be worth a try. In any case … be careful, David.”
“That’s my middle name.” David cut the connection and turned to his father. “You heard all that?”
“I heard,” Martin Gray said. “And I certainly don’t like it.” He gave David an almost pleading look. “Is this Hardweare job all that important to you?”
“Dad, I don’t think it’s about just the job anymore,” David said slowly. “I could quit today, and whoever’s out there would still come nosing around. There’s something weird going on around Hardweare. And anyone connected with the company—even formerly connected with it—is going to draw attention from people concerned about the rumors of leaks.”
David managed some kind of smile. “It’s sort of like the Tar Baby.”
His dad rolled his eyes. “You always had strange taste in childhood stories. I hated having to do that cornpone Uncle Remus dialect when I read to you.”
“But the Brer Rabbit stories were actually old folk tales brought over by our people from Africa,” David said. As a child, he’d loved the stories of the tricky rabbit and his ever-hungry enemy, Brer Fox. The fox almost got his rabbit dinner when he built a doll out of tar, which stuck to and tangled up Brer Rabbit.
Exactly like this case, David thought. You touch it, and you never get loose.
“Maybe you’re right,” his father finally admitted. “From here on, we take sensible precautions. I’ll want to know where you’re going and what you’re doing. Call in—or at least, call me.”
He sighed. “Watch your back. Do I need to say something here about not doing anything stupid?”
“No, sir,” David said seriously. “We’ve already seen what happens when someone tries that.”
Martin Gray nodded slowly. “I don’t—” He broke off and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to see you end up like that D’Aliso kid. Be careful, David.”
The two of them stood in silence for a little while. Then Dad gruffly added, “We won’t mention any of this to your mother. She worries enough about me on the job.” He looked at his son, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Let her think you’re being an especially good son.”
David nodded. “I’ll try to be that, Dad,” he promised. “I’ll try.”
David might not be able to talk to his mom, but there was one person who’d certainly like to discuss this latest development in the case with him—Leif Anderson.
Briefly David debated calling Leif’s wallet-phone while he was still on the New York-bound Metroliner. Leif wou
ld get a kick out of that.
In the end, though, David put off the call for two reasons— both involving privacy. Conversations on portable phones, conducted over the airwaves rather than cables, were much easier to tap in to than secured communications on the vid-phone. More important from David’s point of view, the only available places to make a call right now were the living room and the hall—both out in the open. If he hoped to keep his promise not to worry his mother, the living room was not a good place to have the conversation he planned to have with Leif.
David let his younger brothers enjoy their gamefest, and then dinner was ready. After he’d eaten and helped his dad do the dishes, David reclaimed the bedroom system.
Leif should be home by now, he thought, so he directed his call to New York.
He got Leif, but in an unusual setting—the kitchen of the huge Anderson apartment. “Mom and Dad are out—the ballet,” Leif said. “I’m nuking up some dinner for myself.” He glanced away from the pickup to some piece of equipment in the brightly lit room around him. “What’s up?”
Leif clearly assumed something had happened to cause David to call him so soon, so he sat down and listened without interruption as David told Leif about everything that had happened since they’d parted company at Union Station. Interestingly, after hearing David’s latest story, Leif looked annoyed rather than nervous.
“Sounds like the other side is trying to put on a full-court press—and stick us with playing defense.” Leif scowled. “I’m sick and tired of doing that. It hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”
“It also hasn’t gotten us chased down any dark alleys to get shot,” David pointed out.
Leif had to agree. “It looks like knowledge is danger in this game. But ignorance sure isn’t bliss. Maybe we might swallow our pride and let these humps harass us and our families. But is doing nothing going to convince the people involved that you aren’t useful to them? They’ve killed at least two people trying to get at Hardweare. And what if they don’t stop there? After all, they tried to kidnap Sabotine Mac-Pherson.”
“Going after Sabotine was an obvious attempt to get leverage on Luddie,” David argued.
Then he was hit with a chilling thought. Suppose someone tried the same trick on me? They wouldn’t have to go after Dad or Mom. Vve got two little brothers. If they came after my kid brothers, I’d do anything to get them back. And the people behind this have to know that. I may have put my family in danger. I can f t just let this ride and hope it will go away.
If he couldn’t get out of this mess, then he’d have to solve it—the sooner, the better.
Leif nodded when he heard David’s concerns. “So I take it you’re agreed. In this case, the best defense is a strong offense—” He grinned. “As offensive as possible, within reason.”
David cautiously nodded.
“We know of there are at least two corporations involved in this leak thing—the Forward Group and Hardweare.” Leif shrugged. “You’re already in place at Hardweare, so that leaves Forward.” He grinned. “And, conveniently enough, their corporate headquarters is located here in New York City.”
“We already know those guys are dangerous,” David said. “And you—what are you going to do? Go strolling into the lion’s den?”
Leif shrugged again. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure I’m wearing my steel underwear.”
It took Leif a couple of days of intense preparation before he could walk through the doors of the office tower that was home to the Forward Group. This building was located downtown, close to Wall Street, still the Mecca of American capitalism. The lobby was filled with busy people who meant business. In spite of the downturn in office real estate, this building was humming along. It was a far cry from the faded relic housing the Manual Minority’s offices.
The Forward Group occupied the top three floors of this skyscraper, so Leif had a long elevator ride to think about what he was doing—now that it was pretty much too late to turn back. He arrived in a reception area that looked like somebody’s living room—somebody incredibly wealthy, who didn’t mind throwing his money around.
The walls were covered in rich wood paneling that must have come from giant trees—the kind that were supposed to be protected by environmental laws. Soft light streamed from hidden sources, discreetly illuminating furniture that looked as through it came from an old-fashioned, extremely expensive club. Leif stopped to rest a hand on one of the chairs. Real leather upholstery. Hand-carved mahogany frame. Very nice.
A woman sat off to one side of the room at an antique desk which was probably full of high-tech marvels. Considering all the money spent for visual effect, Leif half-expected to find a supermodel working as a receptionist. Instead, a handsome, slightly severe middle-aged woman in a conservative business suit looked at him inquiringly as he walked toward her. Apparently, the Forward Group went in for competent rather than eye-popping when it came to personnel.
“Yes, sir?” The receptionist ran a cool eye over him.
Leif’s suit was a good match with the decor—conservative and expensive. Of course, he looked a bit young for the corporate environment. But then, a company who did business with hackers—even on a freelance basis—had to expect the occasional young genius visitor.
“Leif Anderson,” he announced himself politely. “I have a meeting with Mr. Symonds.”
It had taken some finagling to arrange this appointment. And even before he could get this far, he’d had to identify just who was supposed to run Forward’s security organization.
With brisk efficiency the receptionist confirmed the appointment. Moments later Leif was following an attractive young executive assistant down a magnificently carpeted hallway. Along its length doors opened onto expensive-looking offices where men in suits or shirtsleeves did executive-style work.
They came to a door with a discreet nameplate—G. symonds — security, and the young woman knocked.
Some managers believed in what was called the open-door policy, keeping their offices—and their advice—available to subordinates. Mr. Symonds was apparently not that kind of manager.
Maybe, Leif thought irreverently, he’s in there oiling his gun.
“Come,” a thin voice emerged from a speaker Leif hadn’t noticed before.
The young woman opened the door, and they entered an office whose windows offered a spectacular view of New York’s harbor. Mr. Symonds was a less impressive sight. He was a shortish, fattish man with a few wisps of mouse-brown hair on an egg-shaped head. Sparse eyebrows, a blob of a nose, jowls like an overweight bulldog’s, and a receding chin made up a face that was surprisingly forgettable. Despite Symonds’s vague resemblance to Winston Churchill, Leif imagined he’d find it difficult to recall this man’s face if he shut his eyes and tried to. The security chief wore the obligatory business suit, white shirt, and boring tie. But even the tie was more memorable than Symonds’s features.
Not exactly the image of a super-spy, Leif thought. Then he corrected himself. Maybe this guy is the perfect corporate agent. A guy like him could walk up to someone on the street and kill him, and nobody would remember what he looked like.
Symonds’s tight little lips quirked slightly in what he probably considered a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. You took a little trouble to find me and make this appointment.”
“That’s because you’re making a little trouble for a friend of mine—David Gray.” Leif didn’t see any point in being overly polite. “The first thing you should have found out is that he’s a Net Force Explorer.”
Symonds nodded. “And so are you.”
Leif waved that away as if it weren’t worth talking about. “Elementary research—not even espionage at all.”
“Espionage?” Behind his thick glasses, Symonds’s pale eyes—were they blue or gray?—widened.
“Come on, Mr. Symonds. The plate on your door says Security, but I don’t think you spend your days worrying over who’s sneaking out with extra paper clips. More than
anything else, the Forward Group deals in information. You protect that. In fact, if my information is correct, you run a large and expensive organization designed to get information out of other companies.”
Symonds said nothing—an excellent information-gathering technique. It led some people to fill that silence with words, and when they did that, they sometimes said too much.
“No, Mr. Security Director, your job is to give headaches to other people’s security chiefs. I imagine Luddie Mac-Pherson’s head guy is getting gray hair—although he’d feel even worse if he knew about last week’s kidnap attempt on Sabotine MacPherson. Shoddy work, by the way. You should hire a better class of kidnapper.”
“You have interesting notions of corporate security, Mr. Anderson,” Symonds said. “It all sounds very exciting—if I knew what you were talking about.”
“Come on, Mr. Symonds. You know. And you’re interested in Hardweare—and in those supposed security leaks. I can’t prove it yet in a way that’ll stand up in a court of law, but I’ve got enough evidence so far to lead me right to you. Evidence, I might add, that I turned over to Net Force. Besides”—Leif gestured around the office—“why else would you agree to see me if I weren’t involved in that messy business?”
“I’m impressed at your modesty, Mr. Anderson,” Symonds replied. ‘ ‘The son of the founder and chief mover behind Anderson Investments, Multinational, would always be admitted to this office. You never know when we might become… interested in your father’s affairs.”
Leif almost smiled. “That’s just about the most delicate threat I’ve ever received,” he said. “Not to mention a dandy way to turn the conversation away from Hardweare.”
“Then I’ll talk about Hardweare,” Symonds said agreeably enough. “Although I fear you’ll find what I have to say somewhat. .. inadequate.”
Symonds aimed his colorless eyes directly at Leif—the boring accountant giving a report. “Of course we have an interest in the company. It’s small enough to be an easy acquisition, and it controls a quite interesting technology. Frankly, that makes Hardweare a promising prospect for the Forward Group—except for that Net security-leak business.”
