She sighed. She didn't know if she was depressed or exhilarated. Since yesterday, her life had been on a roller coaster ride. Her office seemed empty without Sally bustling about, but Andrea had told her not to come in that day. In the tour guide sending room, only Digby was present, along with a maintenance technician. There were no tourists sitting in the waiting room, no waking nurses sitting in their cozy station. There was none of the usual liveliness and activity to animate the floor. Instead, a deep silence penetrated the building. The hush of mourning pervaded everything; even the messages on the phone were spoken in quiet, concerned voices.
Andrea tapped her fingernails softly on her desk, her mind oscillating between the sadness of losing two employees whom she had known several years and the joy of discovering Tony. Cocotte whined, and Andrea glanced at her watch. Time for a walk. When she came back, she consulted her answering machine, but the only messages were from Digby.
The clock on her desk clicked as the numbers changed—three p.m., four p.m.—the hours simply dragged by. Digby worked in the sending room, the halls echoed when the cleaning crew walked by, and still her private phone didn't ring.
Andrea tried to concentrate on the letters she'd received via email or on her professional phone line, and she listened with an almost religious fervor to the news. There was no mention at all of the murders, except a terse announcement during the newscast. Her Virtual Tours were being interrupted thanks to technical difficulties. Technical difficulties? That's what the murders were being called? For Andrea, there was no doubt murder had been committed. Then a photo appeared on the screen behind the newscaster. It showed two men shaking hands.
"Here we have Frank Dinde and David Willow celebrating the Net's takeover of Virtual Tours,” the newscaster said in a loud voice.
Andrea gaped. Her heart beat painfully in her chest. How could they? They had specified that the deal be kept a secret, that she would remain the president with complete control of the employees, as before. The fact that the Net was now the majority shareholder, since paying off the billion-dollar debt towards the program developers, hadn't changed anything. Why publicize now? Especially now that there was a serious glitch in the program?
The newscaster went on to say that Andrea Girt had relinquished control of Virtual Tours, while remaining as president on the board of directors. “Ms. Girt has not been reached for comment."
Andrea drummed her nails on the desk. The program had been created at her demand, but she hadn't been able to pay for it; the price had been as spectacular as the results. Two days before she was about to put Virtual Tours on the market, the Net had made an offer she couldn't refuse. What she hadn't truly appreciated was the power the Net possessed. Not only had they bought Virtual Tours, they had bought her silence as well. Not reached for comment was a polite way of saying the Net hadn't wanted her to be interviewed. She could do nothing about it. A clause in her contract stipulated she couldn't speak to the press about anything unusual or negative that happened within the Virtual Tours. However, the Net's takeover was a larger breach of contract than she had ever imagined they would make. Perhaps she had a way out of this after all.
Her hand hovered indecisively over the phone. Biting her red lips, she snatched it up and punched out a number before she changed her mind.
"Hello, I'd like to speak to Professor Toutbon,” she said, her nails tapping loudly.
"Professor Toutbon here.” His voice was soft and timid, not at all what Andrea had been expecting. She punched a button, and a floating screen appeared. In it, she saw a tall, thin man with a shiny, bald head and a sharp nose. He was peering at a point somewhere to his left. When he noticed the floating screen, he gave a start.
"Oh. Hello,” he said. “I'm not really used to these yet.” He reached up and she saw his finger poking at her. “How amazing. We just installed them in the Center. Quite an improvement to the fixed..."
"Professor, this is Andrea Girt. I'd like to speak to the head of the team that did the work on my Virtual Tour."
The professor blinked and a pained expression crossed his face. “I'm sorry. I don't think..."
"Two men have died in my program. I think I have the right to know what is going on. Has the Net been in contact with you?"
"Of course.” He frowned. “Ms. Girt, I hope you understand, but our Center is part of the CIA. For security reasons, I can't..."
"I simply want to speak to the scientist in charge of the development of my program. Is he or she available?"
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
Andrea looked at her fingernails then put her hand flat on the desk. “There's something you should know. I don't own Virtual Tours. I developed the company and I am the president, but I am not the major shareholder."
Professor Toutbon straightened, and a wary expression flitted across his features. “Who does own Virtual Tours?"
Andrea looked at him. “I think you know."
He nodded slowly. “It seemed strange that the Net would be so interested in your tour. I was surprised when they sent the head of security here."
"Frank Dinde? Why was he sent to you?"
"He came to pick up the person who created your program. He's taking him to Dallas to work with the Net's new virus-catching program. I must admit, I'm extremely worried about Monkey.” The professor ran his hand over his bald head.
"Monkey?"
His hand froze on his head. “Did I say Monkey?"
"Yes. Professor, why would Frank Dinde want to take Mr. Monkey to Dallas? One of my tour guides is on his way there too. I thought that the Net was simply trying out a new virus program to flush out whatever killed my two employees."
Professor Toutbon looked undecided. He stared at the screen then down at the floor. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed his face.
"Professor? Are you all right?"
He drew a deep breath. “Ms. Girt, what I am about to tell you must remain a secret for now. It won't be a secret long, but please don't say anything until it is official."
"I'm listening."
"Your program wasn't developed by scientists or computer programmers. This place is officially named the Organic Computer Research Center by the CIA and the FBI, but we call it the Mutant Center. For twenty years, we've been in charge of a government program so secret only a few people inside or outside the CIA and FBI know about it. One of them is Frank Dinde. The Net has known about us from the beginning—they helped turn this program into a profitable business. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid because the mutants are fragile beings, and the Net..."
"Wait a minute.” Andrea held up her hand. It went right through the floating screen, making a gaping hole in Professor Toutbon's head. She licked her lips. “Did you say mutants?"
He nodded. “I represent the mutants, Ms. Girt. Just as you represented the Net and I didn't realize it, so I represent an army of nineteen mutants. And one of them has already escaped the Center."
* * * *
Carlos held the phone to his ear and with his other hand he jotted down bits of his conversation with Mahler. He looked up at the clock. It was nearly five p.m. As soon as the buzzer sounded, unlocking the doors for the evening, he would go to his desert village and speak to Chief Black Deer about his actions. His mind was already made up, however. No matter what his elder told him to do, he was going to Dallas before it was too late. No more murders could be committed; otherwise, the entire mutant program might be wiped out by the Net. He'd seen the news. To Carlos it was clear the investigation was a setup the Net was using to gain total control of the mutant program and virtual tourism.
* * * *
Laurel sat at her desk, in the darkness, in her complete silence. She had arrived at a different conclusion than Carlos, but the repercussions of what she believed had happened could be just as devastating to the program. She twisted her hands together as she reflected.
Finally, she shook her head and sighed deeply. No matter how she looked at it, the only way to save the program was t
o let Carlos believe he was right. Otherwise, everything was going to end right here. Before she and Carlos had talked to Mahler personally, she had been able to avoid thinking about her suspicion that the mutants had feelings like any other person, that what was being done to them was immoral. They had been willing employees in her mind, machine-like beings with whom the scientists worked and with whom Dr. Toutbon created virtual programs. The talks with Mahler had forced her to consider the ethics of the situation. The mutants were individuals; she could no longer deny that. And that was, she thought glumly, the worst part. If her theory was correct, then every one of the mutants would be exterminated. There was no way the Center could ever convince the public that the mutants were harmless. She was positive the program had been infiltrated by a mutant who had killed those men. Why? Could it be jealousy? Mahler had said himself that mutants felt everything humans did. If they felt murderous rage, what could possibly stop them from slipping into any virtual program and killing its user?
She looked up when Carlos stepped out of the elevator. The pinprick of light over her desk made her eyes deeply shadowed and mysterious.
"Hello, Carlos,” she motioned.
"I'm going now,” he said, looking very serious. “First to my village, then to Dallas. I made reservations for the nine o'clock flight."
"The Net will never let you see Mr. Palo when they find out you work for the Center."
"They won't find out I work for the Center. I looked up Mitch's direct superior, a man named Daniel Glover Brims. I'm going to pose as that person for an hour or two. At worst, it will let me warn Mitch Palo before I get thrown into jail."
"I'll come bail you out."
"Do you think this is the right thing to do?"
She nodded, breathing deeply. “Yes, I do."
His face cleared. “I hope so. There's something very strange going on, and I have a feeling the Net is behind it all. I think they want to sink Virtual Tours. They're going to buy up all the stock, and then they'll create their own tours."
"They're already majority shareholders,” Laurel motioned. “I saw that on the news today."
"I know, but Andrea Girt is still founder and president, and even if they control the shares, they don't own her. She has more power than they do right now. She still has forty-eight percent of the whole company. There is one percent in public hands, and fifty-one percent belongs to the Net."
"They can out-vote Andrea in any decision she wants to make."
"It depends on the type of contract they made for the takeover. Imagine if she retains right of veto and director's rights. The Net might be limited to collecting the profits, and that's it. I think they want more, and this is how they plan to get the whole business."
Laurel shook her head. “But why point a finger at the mutants? Why risk antagonizing the government? They must know this program is run by the CIA.” Her hands flew as she signed, a frown on her expressive face.
"Public opinion will swing in the Net's favor. The public hates secret programs, and the government will do anything to put the blame on the mutants themselves, not the program. In the end, the mutants will be eliminated, but not before the Net can use them. This is the way the Net can gain power over everything. They will own both the Mutant Center and Virtual Tours. That way, they won't have to pay our prices for the programs. It's all about money, Laurel. Remember that the Virtual Tours program is subject to copyright law, and Andrea owns the copyright. If the Net wants it, it will have to pay."
"And us? What will happen to our jobs?"
"We'll be unemployed government workers without any credible references."
"Great.” Laurel frowned. “Did you tell this to Mahler?"
Carlos looked shocked. “No, of course not."
"Well, maybe you should."
"Not yet. Wait until I return from Dallas. I'll tell you everything I've learned and we'll discuss it then.” He was quiet then, just looking at her. There was not a sound in the room. Laurel had no radio playing soft music. All that could be heard was a slight intake of breath as she reached up and touched his cheek.
They leaned towards each other, coming together in the dimness. Laurel's arms rose, wrapped themselves around Carlos's neck as his lips sought hers.
Carlos bent her backward over her desk, his hands sliding down her waist and slipping beneath her dress. He stopped, startled, and then drew a deep breath. “Where are they?” he asked.
Laurel pointed to a bit of lace on the floor. Her face was mischievous.
"Oh, Laurel!” He moaned as her hands deftly unbuttoned his pants. He was shuddering, standing perfectly still while she pushed his pants down with her feet, holding onto him with her hand. He couldn't move. She raised her knees and lay back on her desk.
He lowered himself onto her, thrusting slowly so as not to slide her off the smooth desk. The rhythm accelerated when she grabbed his hips with her hands, pulling him into her. Her head tipped back off the desk. Her breasts bobbed in time to his movements, her nipples brushing his broad chest.
She felt her belly tighten. Her hips rose and her legs locked tightly around his waist. Her heels drummed his thighs and urged him on. He needed no encouragement. Her fingers dug into his sides. He shuddered and stopped moving, and she concentrated on the faint throb she felt within her. It grew stronger, shaking her belly, arching her back. With a groan she abandoned herself, shattered by the frantic pulsing she felt. Waves of pleasure rushed through her, and she leaned into him as his hips dove into the space between her open thighs.
Afterwards he rested his forehead on her collarbone. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and landed on her breast. He licked it off. His tongue stirred her nipple and slid down the swell of her breast. His mouth seemed to move of its own accord. He pressed his lips to her nipple again and he sucked sleepily, nuzzling her skin.
Laurel sighed deeply then pushed him away. She rose to her elbows, looking at the tall man splayed on the desk next to her.
"If Professor Toutbon comes now, we'll be out of work no matter what happens,” she managed to sign, her hands making short, abbreviated motions as she tried to sit up.
Carlos nodded. “All right. I'll go.” He shook his head and kissed her on the lips. “How could I have spent all those years seeing you before and never realizing how utterly beautiful and sexy you are?"
She grinned. “Because you never really looked. I noticed you, and I waited for the day you would finally take heed of me."
Carlos shook his head. “I must have been blind."
"Well, now you see,” she quipped with her graceful hands. Her face grew still, suddenly.
"Hey, look at me.” He took her chin in his hand and tipped her face to his. “I don't care if you're deaf; I like you just the way you are.” He winced and closed both eyes. “I didn't say that right, did I?” He opened one eye, then the other. “Let me say that again, please? Pretend you never saw my lips move. Now, watch carefully. It makes no difference to me that you're silenceful. I love you, Laurel, exactly as you are."
She nodded, wide-eyed. Then her lips moved. “Thank you,” she whispered, in her toneless voice. He shook his head.
"You don't even have to try. I can see into your heart, and I know what you're telling me."
She blinked, sending two perfect tears sliding down her cheeks.
Carlos smiled and kissed them away. Then he picked up a pair of lacy panties from the floor. “I believe these are yours, my lady."
* * * *
Mitch woke up in his room, still shunted. He unhooked himself and hid the material in its secret pouch. Then, whistling, he took a shower and called room service.
"I'd like to order two dinners from the menu. Yes, that's right, two. I'll have the fresh asparagus to start, and then grilled tenderloin, well done, with the caviar-stuffed potatoes followed by a green salad and raspberry soufflé for dessert. To drink I'd like a bottle of Bordeaux wine. What is your most expensive bottle? Fine, that sounds wonderful! Now, send the same d
inner to room 509. Put everything on this credit card number.” He recited a long string of numbers by heart. “That's right, Ms. Sonia Andrews. Thank you, ma'am."
Mitch hung up and cocked his eyebrow at the television. “Now let's see what videos you have in your library."
* * * *
Carlos stepped off the plane and shouldered his backpack. The interview with his elders had gone as he'd expected. They had been against his meddling in the program in the first place, and now that he wanted to save it, they were leery of affronting the Net. None of the elders had a computer. Chief Black Deer sometimes went to the terminal at the public library and surfed, although his voyages were rapid, usually to foreign countries, and when he came back he always complained about the advertisements that littered the Net. None of the elders wanted to go on a virtual voyage to anywhere, claiming if man were meant to change worlds he would have been born with a shunt.
Chief Black Deer had given his blessing for Carlos to go to Dallas. They both knew that if the Center closed, the village would lose income. The employees, when they ventured into the village, spent a good deal of money in the local supermarket, the pool hall, and at the rodeo. Many of the employees were foreign, and the village was the only place they were allowed to visit. Furthermore, Marilouise, the only Japanese and Russian translator in the village, was Chief Black Deer's niece, and she needed the money to raise her three kids. Chief Black Deer patted Carlos on the arm.
"I know you'll do what's right,” he said, “but try not to make any enemies."
"Who do you take me for?” Carlos tried to look indignant.
"My grandson. I know you better than you know yourself. You've decided to save the mutant program, but I want you to remember this: we've always considered this program an abomination. The elders have spent many moons discussing this."
Virtual Murder Page 11
