Gameprey nfe-11

by Tom Clancy

  Winters smiled. “You’ve been busy.”

  “That I have.” Holmes glanced up at the captain speculatively. “Personally, I think we’re on a snipe hunt here. I think that the break-in last night was purely an advertising attempt by one of the gaming companies. They do this kind of thing. One year when I worked this convention, we picked up rumors of an assassination in the works. HoloNet picked it up, too. All of us were out here busting our humps to get the true skinny on it. Know what it turned out to be?”

  “Last year?” Matt said. “Matt2Matt games killed off Zord, one of the benevolent lords in Crimson Steel.”

  “Right,” Holmes replied. “Another year we thought we had a jumper off the building. Turned out to be a stunt rigged by X-treem Sportz who fuzzied the hotel’s holoprojectors to make it look as if there was a skier shushing down to the street level. I could go on with the list. Some of it hit the media and some of it didn’t.”

  “It’s cheap advertising,” Winters said.

  “You bet. Even when we catch them, all they generally have to do is pay a fine. I’m going to look into this thing carefully, but I’m not going to overinvest. I assume Net Force is on the same wavelength?”

  Winters nodded.

  Someone knocked on the conference room door.

  “Come on in,” Holmes said.

  “Detective Holmes,” the heavyset uniformed police officer in the doorway told him, “forensics is ready for you up on the fifth floor.”

  “Good news?”

  “Tarkington’s not happy. They’re not finding anything, and he’s going to have to pull half his crew for a double one-eighty-seven that just happened.”

  Holmes nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

  The uniformed police officer stepped back out the door.

  “I’m going to have to go, but I do have one last question,” Holmes said. “I play a lot of games, so I know about the restrictions and parameters of a personal veeyar. I know you can go online to a game like Sarxos, but that doesn’t seem to be what happened here. How do you think this overlap between veeyars happened?”

  “It’s not supposed to,” Maj answered. “Glitches do occur.”

  “Maybe,” Holmes said. “But you might want to think about this one.” He stepped through the door and was gone.

  “What do you think he meant by that?” Megan asked.

  “Just what he said.” Captain Winters’s expression was unreadable, but Maj felt he was thinking carefully. Winters wasn’t someone who took an attack on one of his team lightly. “How many of you are going to be here this weekend?”

  “Virtual or physical?” Mark asked. “I’ve arranged for a virtual pass.”

  “Physical,” Winters replied.

  Maj said she and Catie were already on-site. Megan added that her stranded flight would be leaving by morning and she’d be in Los Angeles by noon.

  A doorbell sounded from the air above the conference table. “Permission to pipe aboard,” Leif Anderson called out.

  “Granted,” Winters said. The conference room controls had been programmed to his voice. No virtual visitors could arrive without his invitation.

  Leif Anderson materialized in a chair wearing slacks and a baggy sweater. He looked around the table. “Am I late?”

  “Fashionably,” Megan said.

  Leif grinned. “Terrific. Just what I was aiming for. Did I miss anything?”

  “The police interrogation,” Matt said.

  Leif’s grin brightened. “Even better. Those tend to be an exercise in redundancy.”

  “Redundancy is one of the chief resources of an investigatory body,” Winters said quietly.

  “Yes, sir.” Leif looked only a little chagrined, Maj thought. His naturally ebullient nature quickly reasserted itself. She wished she recovered from things so quickly. “I assume we know everything they know?”

  “I think that’s a safe assumption,” Winters said.

  “Fine,” Leif said. “Then maybe someone could tell me what it is we know.”

  Winters recapped in clipped, succinct sentences. When he was finished, he said, “I was told you were searching for some information.”

  “Yes, sir. The audio file Maj saved and sent to me through Matt. I’m not sure why it wouldn’t translate. It was in a variant of Kurdish, so I had to have a friend do the translation for me. There wasn’t much. The guy was just asking what Maj and Matt were doing there.”

  Maj felt a little more disheartened. The night’s events continued to escalate in confusion.

  “Nothing else?” Winters asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Silence filled the room for a moment.

  “Back to your original questions about who was going to be here for the weekend,” Matt said “Andy Moore and I are coming in tomorrow.”

  Leif leaned back in this chair. “I’ll make myself available for the weekend as well.”

  “No other pressing engagements?” Megan asked.

  Leif smiled. “None that I don’t mind breaking.” The other Net Force Explorers often teased him about being a playboy in the making.

  “So what do you want us to do, Captain?” Maj asked.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open,” Winters replied. “I’m in agreement with Detective Holmes. I think when the local PD gets to the bottom of this, they’ll find it was an advertising gimmick. Gaming companies spend billions of dollars every year in research and development and make billions more in sales around the world. A few fines for reckless endangerment barely touch their profit margins.

  “But corporate espionage is a possibility. If someone was out to steal a game design before it hits the market and get out something similar before the game’s release, they’d impact that corporation’s bottom line in a big way.”

  “As well as making some serious cash for themselves,” Mark added.

  Winters shrugged. “Take a look around while you’re here. You people know this industry. If you find something worthwhile, let me know.” He looked sternly at Catie. “And no more diving off buildings.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The meeting broke up with only a little more discussion. Maj didn’t take an active part because her mind was reeling with everything that had happened. The hotel staff had moved her belongings into Catie’s room. The police were busy ripping her old room apart, and all the other rooms had been booked. Maj felt better about not being left on her own for the evening.

  Soon only she and Catie remained in the conference room.

  “Are you okay?” Catie asked as they stepped out into the hallway and headed for the elevators.

  “Me?” Maj acted surprised. “You were doing a trapeze act five floors up.”

  Catie shrugged. “I’m over it. I’ll probably have a couple nightmares later on, but I tend to get past things. You seem locked in on this.” She paused. “Not that I blame you. There’s no telling what those men would have done if you’d been in the room when they got there.”

  Maj felt cold inside. Actually, I think we know exactly what they would have done, she thought. “It’s the dragonrider. I can’t get him out of my mind.”

  Catie smiled. “Cute?”

  “Very.”

  “Then it won’t be so bad thinking about him.”

  “No,” Maj admitted, feeling some of her dark mood lift at her friend’s good-natured teasing. “The problem is that I don’t think he knows he’s in trouble.”

  “If he’s at the convention,” Catie reassured her, “we’ll find him.”

  “I know,” Maj said, “but I don’t think we’re going to be the only ones looking.”

  7

  “My dad would love this stuff,” Megan O’Malley announced.

  Still feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation due to a long bout of insomnia during the night, Maj glanced at her friend with a little irritation. Megan didn’t get the hint, and Maj assumed that maybe it was because the morning sunlight streaming through the window made her squint and took some of the effec
t away. They sat in Catie’s hotel room at the Bessel Mid-Town, Maj still in bed and Megan at the small desk. Catie was in the shower.

  “I’m serious,” Megan went on. “You’ve got mystery and danger against an interesting background. It’s an adventure.” Her dad was R. F. O’Malley, one of the hottest mystery writers in publishing.

  “Sometimes,” Maj croaked in a sleep-filled voice, “adventures are better in fiction instead of happening to real people.”

  “Like you would ever pass up the opportunity,” Megan retorted. “I know you’re planning on canvassing the convention downstairs as soon as you can.” Megan was already prepared to meet the day. Her brown hair was pulled back the way she wore it for her martial arts meets, and her hazel eyes gleamed.

  “Catie blabbed.”

  Megan shrugged. “We talked. You were asleep. And have I ever had the chance to tell you how cute you are when you sleep? Especially the whole open-mouthed snoring thing?”

  “Don’t even go there.” Maj glanced at the time/date stamp on the holo playing high on the opposite wall. The cartoon channel was on, showing a popular Japanimation series Catie was currently hooked on. Her artistic interests were varied. It was 9:15 A.M. Maj figured she’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep. “The convention officially opens at ten.”

  “I know,” Megan said. “I passed a number of people out in the halls downstairs who were setting up last-minute details to their booths. It’s a madhouse.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Apprehension instantly filled Maj, and she hated that it did. How long is it going to be before I feel safe away from home again?

  Megan smiled. “I ordered room service, breakfast for three.” She uncoiled from the seat behind the desk and slipped her Universal Credit Card from the small purse she carried. “On me. I wanted to splurge this morning.”

  “You could have warned me. I look as if I could be declared a federal disaster area.”

  “Then breakfast in bed wouldn’t have been a surprise.” Megan walked to the door. “Besides, it’s probably a maid, and what’s she going to care?” She opened the door and a handsome young man in an immaculate hotel uniform pushed a service cart into the room. He uncovered the breakfast buffet scattered on the various platters, swiped Megan’s Universal Credit Card through the portable reader, and smiled at Maj.

  Maj smiled back weakly, wishing she could turn invisible.

  The handsome young man left.

  “Or maybe it won’t be a maid,” Megan said. “There is an up side to this. He’s going to think you were Catie.”

  “Who’s going to think she was Catie?” Catie stood in the bathroom doorway, her hair turbaned in a white towel. She wore pink and charcoal striped pedal-pushers and a white sweater with the sleeves pushed up to mid-forearm.

  “Room service,” Megan declared, waving toward the service tray.

  “Room service is going to think Maj was me?” Catie asked, glancing at her friend. “Should I care?”

  “He was really cute,” Megan answered.

  Catie studied Maj more closely. “Is character assassination a crime in this state?”

  “My dad makes a living at it,” Megan said.

  Maj mock-glared at them both. “When my sense of humor returns, you’ll be the first to know.” She scooted over to the edge of the bed and sat within reach of the service tray.

  Megan handed her a plate with French toast on it. Catie sat on the bed beside her and started helping herself.

  “Wow,” Catie said, “this must have been expensive.”

  “It was,” Megan admitted.

  “We could have eaten at the buffet downstairs.”

  “I thought maybe we’d take a little time to ourselves this morning.” Megan buttered a piece of toast and added peach jelly. “Besides, there was no telling who might be watching.”

  The statement was delivered with a light tone, but it seemed to chill the room temperature to Maj.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Megan said.

  “I’ll deal,” Maj said.

  Catie used the remote control and switched the holo display from the cartoon channel to HoloNet news. “Local channel,” she explained. “They’re supposed to be doing special coverage on the gaming convention. I figured we’d take a look.”

  Conversation dropped to a minimum of cursory courtesy as dishes and condiments were negotiated over and passed around. Maj found herself becoming totally immersed in the stories being unveiled on HoloNet. Evidently the media service hadn’t spared any effort to totally cover the event. Stories slid by in three-dee, concentrating on games in development and about to be released, on creators, on designers, and on publishing houses old and new.

  Gaming was big business, and the corporate sector was heavily invested in it.

  “There was one hiccup in Bessel Mid-Town Hotel’s accommodations for the gaming convention,” a young blond reporter said.

  She stood beside a display currently outside the main entrance to the convention hall. Holo images of games moved behind her. Garishly colored creatures culled from mythologies and imagination warred behind her. Other games featured high-tech hardware modeled on current military gunships and naval batteries. The series favorites were also represented, showing action sequences from best-selling shooters, adventure games, and role-playing games.

  “Last night the fourth and fifth floors of the hotel were evacuated after someone activated the fire alarms,” the reporter continued. “The police believe it’s the work of a prankster, or one of the hotel guests burning off a little nervous energy before opening day.”

  “That’s good,” Catie said.

  “Yeah,” Megan said, “but it also covers the people who were responsible for the break-in.”

  “No one was hurt,” the reporter went on, “but a number of people were inconvenienced. Detective John Holmes of the Los Angeles Police Department went on to say that while the convention may draw more than its share of fun-lovers, there will be no tolerance for anyone who breaks the law.”

  A quick newsbyte flashed on Detective Holmes from the previous night. He smiled easily for the camera. “I like games as much as the next guy, but there’s a certain amount of courtesy that needs to be observed at events like this.”

  The scene cut back to the reporter, who wore a smile. “I talked to Detective Holmes myself, and he made a believer out of me. If anyone steps outside the lines at the convention, they’ll probably find themselves—”

  An image of a pig-snouted biker from a popular shooter series superimposed itself over the reporter along with the text: YOU’RE BUSTED, SNOWFLAKE!

  “So plan on having a good time if you attend the convention,” the reporter said, “but stop there or the LAPD will stop you…dead in your tracks.”

  The holo cut to commercial, introducing a new game by Prism Productions called Power Corps 4. It showed a man in a cape and mask battling alien invaders with power rays streaming from his eyes, promising larger worlds than ever before and more playing time for single-player games.

  Maj recognized it as one of the games Andy Moore liked to play. More commercials in the form of news rolled, brief bytes of information designed to intrigue and entrance.

  “In some circles,” the blond reporter said when she returned, “Peter Griffen needs no introduction. But until lately, those circles have been small and included predominantly producers, designers, and publishers of computer games and graphics. But after this convention, a lot of folks are betting Griffen is going to be a landmark name.”

  The holo changed, showing a file image of Griffen. It was a profile shot of him staring at a virtual tank where computer graphics were written for games without exposing them to the open Net. He was young and earnest, athletically trim. His dark hair was just long enough to hold the promise of wavy curls. He wore slacks and a shirt with the top buttons unfastened, his tie hanging around his neck.

  “We tried to get an interview with Peter Griffen,” the re
porter continued. “However, we’ve met with no success. Griffen remains a mystery man.” She flashed a million-dollar grin and lowered her voice. “And that’s something reporters just hate, so be prepared to hear a lot about Peter Griffen if his product meets all the build-up Eisenhower Productions, his publisher, promises.”

  Her interest piqued, Maj abandoned her efforts on the waffle. She studied the still picture. Why is Griffen so reluctant to seize the limelight if he has the chance? Exposure translated quickly into profit. Even in profile, though, Griffen looked familiar, as if she’d seen him before. Her hand leaped out for the remote control Catie had laid aside. She punched the Copy mode.

  The holo moved on, picking up more bytes from one of the new designers hoping to break into the market with a strat-sim based on the Civil War. The game featured a few twists, though, including the invention of the atomic bomb in 1830. Nuclear-ravaged zombies in Union blue and Confederate gray lurched across radioactive wastelands.

  Across the service tray and the dwindling breakfast, Megan watched her keenly. “Did you see something we missed?”

  “I’m not sure,” Maj said, “but I know I want to get a better look at Peter Griffen.”

  “You think he’s the dragonrider?” Catie asked.

  Maj tapped the remote control, bringing up the copied still picture on the holo. Peter Griffen’s image filled the holo field. “He could be.”

  “At any rate,” Catie went on, “he’s cute. Definitely worth meeting.”

  Maj made a face at her friend. She knew Catie was only teasing. But she couldn’t shake the dread that filled her. If Peter Griffen is the dragonrider, what does he know about last night’s events? Is he guilty? Or is he in danger?

  Matt Hunter stood among the passengers boarding the one o’clock flight out of Dulles International Airport, trying desperately to hold back a yawn. He wore jeans and a red and black pullover under a light jacket. He held a carry-on in one hand and a backpack over his shoulder.

  Passengers continued feeding into the jet.

  “Hey.”

  Turning, Matt spotted Andy Moore trotting up. Andy’s blond hair looked more rumpled than usual, but his blue eyes were alert. He wore jeans and a T-shirt featuring Captain Alpha, a hero from the popular superhero online game, Power Corps.