Games of State o-3

by Tom Clancy

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Thursday, 9:56 P.M., Toulouse, France

  Leaving the vans behind, Ballon, Hood, Stoll, Hausen, and Nancy crossed the Tarn by foot across the high-arched brick bridge. Streetlights placed every twenty yards or so provided enough light for them to see— and, Hood knew, enough light for them to be seen.

  Not that that mattered. Dominique would have assumed he was being watched in any case. Their approach would probably not cause him to take any extra precautions.

  Upon reaching the former bastide, the group stopped.

  They sat beside a thicket on the narrow stretch of grass which sloped toward the river.

  Muttering the entire time, Stoll entrusted his computer to Nancy while he unpacked the T-Bird.

  "You're sure we're not doing anything illegal," Stoll said. "I'm not going to end up starring in Midnight Express II and getting caned." "We don't do that in France," Ballon said. "And this is not illegal." "I should've read the warrant on the plane," Stoll said.

  "Except I don't read French, so what difference would it've made?" The computer scientist hooked the shoebox-like device to the fax-machine-sized imager. He pointed the front at the building and used a button on the imager to activate the laser line scanner. This scanner would clean up the image, removing blur caused by air particles which scattered the light.

  Stoll said, "Colonel, you got any idea how thick those walls are?" "Half afoot in most places." "Then we should be okay," Stoll said as he squatted and switched on the terahertz generator. Less than ten seconds later the device beeped. "But we'll know now for sure in half a minute." Still squatting, Stoll leaned over and waited for the color picture to come from the imager. The paper emerged at a rate equivalent to a moderately slow fax machine.

  Ballon watched expectantly as the glossy sheet curled out.

  When the machine stopped, Stop tore off the paper and handed it up to Ballon. The Colonel studied it in the light of a small flashlight. The others moved closer.

  Hood's spirits plummeted. On the strength of this they'd be going nowhere very soon.

  "What is this?" Ballon asked. "It looks like a swimming pool." Stoll's knees popped as he rose. He looked at the image. "It's a picture of wall which is a lot thicker than six inches," he said. He studied beam-back data on the bottom of the paper. "It got 6.27 inches through the wall, then stopped. Which means it's either thicker than you thought or there's something on the other side." Hood looked at Nancy, who was frowning. Then he looked at the five-story-tall edifice. There were windows, but they were shuttered. He was sure there would be radioreflective materials on the other side.

  Ballon threw the paper down angrily. "This is what we came here for?" "Ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chances," Stoll said. He was obviously relieved. "I guess we should've known it wouldn't be as easy as hacking into government computers." Even as he said it, Stoll obviously knew he'd made a mistake. Ballon turned the flashlight on him. Hood regarded the computer whiz.

  "Can you break into computers?" Ballon asked.

  Stoll looked at Hood. "Yes. I mean, I have. But that's highly illegal, especially—" "We tried to get into Demain's computers," Ballon said, "but Dominique wasn't on-line anywhere we could find. I had some of our best people working on the problem." Nancy said, "That's because you probably didn't know what you were, looking for. Did you find any of his games?" "Of course," said Ballon.

  "Then they were probably in there. Hidden inside MUDs. Multi-User Dungeons." "Hey," said Stoll. "I was fooling around with one on the plane." "I know," Nancy said. "I saw the commands you were typing. Also, the other message you sent." Hood grew warm with embarrassment.

  "It's like reading lips," Nancy said. "With enough experience you can read keyboards. Anyway, when we program games we always put in secret doorways to other games. I hid a game of Tetris inside Ironjaw, a game I wrote for Demain." "That was yours?" Stoll asked. "That was awesome!" "It was mine," she said. "No one ever reads the credits at the end. But if you did, you'd have found Tetris. All you had to do was highlight the correct letters sequentially in the fictitious names Ted Roberts and Trish Fallo." Hood said, "How the hell would anyone ever think to do that?" "They wouldn't," Nancy smiled. "That's what makes it so much fun. We leak the information through fan magazines and on-line bulletin boards." Hood said, "But no one would ever think of looking for an activation code in an innocent adventure game." "Right," said Nancy. "But that's exactly what it takes. A simple activation code. A program in somebody's computer in Jerkwater Township, U.S.A., could unleash a hate game across the entire Internet." "Why didn't you say anything about this?" Hood asked.

  "Frankly, it didn't occur to me until now," she snapped., "I didn't think of somebody sneaking hate games into the world through role-playing programs. Why didn't Matt think of it? He's your computer maven!" "She's right," Stoll said. "I should've. Like the old joke says, you go hunting for elephant, sometimes you forget to look in the refrigerator." Hood didn't remember the old joke, and didn't care right now. He said; "So the hate games are hidden. Where do we look for them?" "And even if we find them," Hausen asked, "can we trace them back to Demain?" "It's tough to say where to look for them," Stoll said.

  "He could have had the program passed around like a football— The Scorpion Strikes to The Phoenix from Space to Claws of the Tiger-Man." "Would the hate game program have to come to rest in a Demain game?" Hood asked.

  "No," said Stoll. "Once it was planted, it's like a virus.

  Timed to go off at will." "So there's no smoking gun," Hood said.

  "Right," said Stoll. "Even if you could stop the program from being launched, which is debatable since he'd probably have a backup somewhere, there wouldn't be any fingerprints on it." Ballon said disgustedly, "That doesn't help me. Not a bit." Hood looked at his watch. "He's going on-line now," he said. "Nancy, are you sure you don't know anything more about this? About his M.O. or about the programmers and how they work?" "If I did, Paul, I'd have told you." "I know. I was just thinking maybe something slipped your mind." "It didn't. Besides, I don't do the finishes on these programs. I write the parameters, the outlines, and other people color them in here. Paid big bucks and sequestered and loyal to the boss. When we do things like the extra game in the credits, that's more or less an afterthought. This is way out of my area." Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Stoll clapped his hands once and dropped to the grass. "I know how to do it. I know how to get that bastard!" Ballon crouched beside him. "How?" The others moved around them as Stoll unwrapped the cables for his portable computer. He attached the machine to the T-Bird. "The programmers work like painters. Like we saw in Mr. Hausen's office, they take stuff from the landscape around them and use it in the games. It's dark now, so we'd have a problem eyeballing scenery. But if I take terahertz pictures of the trees and the hills and everything else, the chemical compounds appear as visual data. That'll give us the shape of things down to leaves and boulders. If we feed those into the computer—" "You can run a video comparison program to see if any of the images match up," Nancy said. "Matt, that's brilliant!" "Damn right," he said. "With any luck, I can handle the whole thing here. If I need more juice, I can download to Op-Center." As Stoll worked Hood watched, confused but trusting his associate. And as he stood there, his phone beeped. He stepped toward the river to answer.

  "Yes?" "Paul?" said the caller. "It's John Benn. Can you speak?" Hood said that he could.

  "I have a full report for you, but here is the gist.

  Maximillian Hausen, father of Richard Hausen, worked for Pierre Dupre from 1966 to 1979. His title was Pilot and then Senior Pilot." "You said 1966?" Hood said.

  "I did." That was before Richard Hausen and Gerard Dupre went to school together. In which case, it was not likely that they met at the Sorbonne, as Hausen had said. They almost certainly knew each other before that. Hood glanced back at Hausen, who was watching Stoll. The question which bothered Hood was not so much when they met but whether they were still in contact
now. Not as enemies, but as allies.

  "There's more," Bern said. "Apparently, Hausen the Elder was a loyal Nazi who continued to meet in secret with other ex-Nazis after the war. They belonged to the White Wolves, a group which plotted the creation of the Fourth Reich." Hood turned his back on the group. He asked quietly, "Was Richard a member?" "There's no evidence one way or the other," Benn said.

  Hood was glad to hear that, at least. "Anything else, John?" "Not at present." "Thank you," Hood said. "This is all very helpful." "You're welcome," Benn said, "and have a good night." Hood clicked off, then stood for a moment looking at the dark waters of the Tarn. "I hope that's possible," he said under his breath as he turned and headed back to the others.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Thursday, 10:05 P.M., Wunstorf, Germany

  Jody moved as quickly as her sandbag-heavy legs and aching shoulder would permit. It was amazing, she thought, how she had always taken so many things for granted. A healthy body, for one. A walk through the woods for another. Pushing or sometimes pulling a wheelchair with someone in it made the exercise a much different proposition.

  Add the fact that someone was chasing her, someone she could hear but couldn't see, and every aspect of the experience became more vivid still.

  She stumbled, got up, pushed, groaned, and leaned against the wheelchair. She relied on it nearly as much as it relied on her. And then she heard the woman's voice shout from behind her.

  "Don't move another foot!" Jody stopped.

  "Lift your arms." Jody did.

  "Take two steps to your left and remain facing away." Jody obeyed. She listened as Karin Doring walked forward. The German was breathing heavily. Jody started as the woman put three bullets into the back of the wheelchair.

  The dead body fell forward.

  "God— god!" Jody gasped.

  Karin circled the girl. Even in the dark the terrified young woman could see her angry expression. She also saw the SA knife.

  "You dared come to my camp as you did!" Doring screamed at her. Her voice was angrier than it had been earlier in the day. She kicked the wheelchair out of her way.

  "You dared to challenge me, to insult me!" "I'm sorry," Jody said, trembling. "You— you would have done the same, wouldn't you?" "You are not me!" Karin said. "You've paid no dues!" Suddenly, three shots flashed in the trees. Karin lurched but remained standing as they struck her in succession. She looked up as Bob Herbert stirred in the lower branches. Karin dropped to her knees, blood oozing from the wounds.

  Herbert dropped his gun to the ground, then lowered himself from the branch. He hung there from his powerful arms. "Right about now I'll bet she's glad she's not you, Karin." Karin struggled to keep her eyes open. She was shaking her head slowly, trying to raise the gun. It dropped to the ground. A moment later, she followed it.

  Jody refused to look at Karin. She kicked away the body of the dead policeman they'd placed in the wheelchair.

  Then she ran over to Herbert. He dropped into the seat.

  Jody leaned against the tree.

  "You had to do it and you did it like a pro," Herbert said. "I'm proud of you." Herbert started to reach for the gun he'd dropped. "Let's get the hell—" Before he could finish, a hulking figure screamed and charged at him from the dark. His knife raised-high, the enraged Manfred Piper brought the knife down hard toward Herbert's chest.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Thursday, 10:06 P.M., Toulouse, France

  After putting the phone back in his jacket, Hood made his way back up the grassy slope. Though the group was still standing beside the trees, Stoll had moved a few yards away, toward the bridge. There, he had an unobstructed view of the river and the opposite bank.

  As Hood approached, he heard Ballon talking to Nancy.

  "…if they do see us, they can go to Hell. I don't care. It was the same when I walked in on my former wife and her lover. Not liking what you see won't make it go away." "That wasn't what I asked," Nancy said. "I asked if you hope that someone from Demain sees us. And if they do, what you think will happen." "We're on public land," Ballon said. "If they see us, they can do nothing. In any case, I don't think Dominique will pick a fight. Certainly not now, with his games downloading." Hood stopped beside Hausen. He was about to take him aside when Ballon walked over.

  "Is everything all right?" the Colonel asked.

  "I'm not sure," Hood said. "Matt, have you got everything under control?" "More or less," Stoll said. He was sitting with his legs straight out. The computer was resting on his knees and he was leaning into it, typing furiously. "What's the word for anal?" Ballon answered, "Fidele is retentive—" "I'll accept that," Stoll said. "Our boy is certainly fidele.

  The first game came on promptly at ten. And I mean promptly: 10:00:00. I saved it on the hard drive. I've got the T-Bird covering about thirty-eight degrees with each picture, so I should have a complete sweep in about ten minutes." "And then?" Hood asked.

  Stoll said. "I have to start playing the game and get to different screens, different landscapes." "Why don't you download it to Op-Center?" "Because what I'm doing is just what they'd do," he said. "I'm writing a small modification to the MatchBook program so it can read images from the T-Bird. Then it's in the lap of the gods. If I don't screw up too much, the background images will keep scrolling along. I'll get a ping when there's a match." Stoll finished typing, then sucked down a deep, deep breath. He booted the game. "I can't say I'm going to enjoy this thing. It's a lynch mob." Nancy had walked over while he was speaking. She knelt behind him and gently put her hands on his shoulders.

  "I'll help you, Matt," she said. "I'm pretty good at these." Hood regarded them for a moment. The way she'd touched Matt made him jealous. The way her hands floated down and came to rest like falling flower petals filled him with longing. And the way he was feeling filled him with disgust.

  Then, with perfect timing, Nancy turned slowly and looked at Hood. She moved slowly enough so that he could have looked away if he'd wanted. But he didn't. Their eyes hooked and he tumbled right into them.

  It took the thought of Hausen to snap Hood from Nancy's spell. His unfinished business with the German was more pressing.

  "Herr Hausen," Hood said, "I'd like to talk to you." Hausen looked at Hood expectantly, almost eagerly.

  "Of course," he said. The German was obviously excited by what was happening, but for which side?

  Hood put his hand on the German's shoulder and led him toward the river. Ballon followed several steps behind.

  But that was all right: this involved him too.

  "That call I just had," Hood said. "It was from Op- Center. There's no delicate way to ask this, so I'll ask it directly. Why didn't you tell us your father worked for Dupre?" Hausen stopped walking. "How do you know that?" "I had my people look into German tax records. He worked as a pilot for Pierre Dupre from 1966 to 1979." Hausen waited a long time before answering. "It's true," he said. "And it was one of the things Gerard and I argued about that night in Paris. My father taught him how to fly, treated him like a son, helped teach him to hate." Ballon stopped beside the men. His face was just inches from Hausen.

  "Your father worked for this monster?" the Colonel said.

  "Where is your father now?" "He died two years ago," Hansen said.

  "There's more, though," Hood said. "Tell us about your father's political affiliations." Hausen took a long breath. "They were corrupt," he said. "He was one of the White Wolves, a group which kept Nazi ideals alive after the war. He met with other men regularly. He…" Hausen stopped.

  "He what?" demanded Ballon.

  Hausen composed himself. "He believed in Hitler and the goals of the Reich. He viewed the end of the war as a setback, not a defeat, and continued it in his own way.

  When I was eleven" — he breathed deeply again before continuing— "my father and two of his friends were coming home from the movies when they attacked a rabbi's son on his way home from synagogue. Afterwards, my mother sent me to boarding s
chool in Berlin. I didn't see my father until years later, after Gerard befriended me at the Sorbonne." "Are you trying to tell me that Gerard went to the Sorbonne just to become your friend and bring you back?" Hood asked.

  "You must understand," Hausen said, "I was a force to be reckoned with from an early age. What my father had done revolted me. I can still hear him calling me to join them, as though it were a carnival sideshow I mustn't miss.

  I can hear the young man's moans, his attackers's blows, the way their shoes scraped against the pavement as they moved around him. It was disgusting. My mother loved my father and sent me away that night to keep us from destroying one another. I went to live with a cousin in Berlin.

  "While I was in Berlin I formed an anti-Nazi group. I had my own radio program when I was sixteen and police protection a month later. One of the reasons I left the country to go to school was to get away from the death threats. I was never insincere about my convictions." He glared at Ballon. "Never, do you understand?" "What about Gerard?" Hood asked.

  "It isn't much different from what I told you earlier," Hausen said. "Gerard was a rich, spoiled young man who learned about me from my father. He viewed me as a challenge, I think. The White Wolves had failed to stop me through intimidation. Gerard wanted to stop me through argument and intellect. The night he killed those girls he was trying to show me that only sheep and cowards live inside the law. Even as we fled he said that the people who change the world operate by their own rules and make others live by them." Hausen looked down. Hood glanced at Ballon. The Frenchman was angry.

  "You were involved in those killings," said the Colonel, "yet you did nothing except to run and hide. Whose side are you on, Herr Hausen?" "I was wrong," Hausen said, "and I've been paying for it ever since. I would give anything to go back to that night and turn Gerard in. But I didn't. I was scared and confused and I ran. I've been atoning, M. Ballon. Every day and night, I atone." Hood interjected, "Tell me about your father." Hausen said, "I saw my father twice after the night he attacked the Jewish boy. Once was at the Dupre estate when Gerard and I fled there. He asked me to join them and said it was the only way I could save myself. He called me a traitor when I refused. The second time was the night my father died. I went to his side in Bonn and with his dying breath he called me a traitor again. Even on his deathbed I wouldn't give him the acquiescence he sought. My mother was there. If you'd like, you can call her on Mr. Hood's telephone to confirm it." Ballon looked at Hood. Hood continued to look at Hausen. He felt the same way he did on the jet. He wanted to believe in this man's sincerity. But there were lives at risk and despite everything Hausen had said, there was still the hint of a doubt.