drawn they quietly entered the house and discovered Lancelot in the den.
He looked to be around thirteen years old. A baby geek. He was sitting at a computer in his shorts and black socks.
'Hey, what the heck is going on? Hey! What are you doing in my house? I didn't do anything wrong. Who are you guys?' Michael Ormson asked in a high-pitched, peeved, but quivering voice.
He was skinny. His face was covered with acne. His back and shoulders had a rash that looked like eczema. Chuck Hufstedler had been right on target. Lancelot was a teenage geek playing with his fancy computer after school. He wasn't the Weasel, though. This boy couldn't be the Weasel.
'Are you Michael Ormson?' Patsy Hampton asked the boy. She had lowered her weapon but hadn't bolstered it.
The young boy dropped his head and looked ready to weep. 'Oh God, oh God.' he moaned. 'Yes, I'm Michael Ormson. Who are you guys? Are you going to tell my parents?'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Fifty-Seven
Michael's father and mother were immediately contacted at their jobs at Georgetown University Hospital and the US Naval Observatory, respectively. The Ormsons were currently separated, but they both made it to Foxhall in less than ten minutes, even with rush-hour traffic starting to build. The other two Ormson children, Laura and Anne Marie, had come home from high school.
Patsy Hampton convinced the parents to let her talk to their son at the house. She told the Ormsons that they could be present, and could interrupt, and even stop the interview at any time they wished. Otherwise, she and Agent Dwyer would have to take Michael to FBI headquarters for the interview.
The Ormsons, Mark and Cindy, agreed to let Michael talk. They were clearly frightened, especially of the FBI personnel, but they seemed to trust Detective Hampton. Most people did, she knew. She was pretty, sincere, and had a disarming smile that she used when she needed to.
'I'm interested in the game called The Four Horsemen.' Hampton said to the boy. 'That's the only reason I'm here, Michael. I need your help.'
The teenager dropped his chin to his chest again, and shook his head back and forth. Hampton watched the nervous boy, and decided to take a chance with him. She had a hunch that she wanted to play.
'Michael, whatever you think you've done wrong, it's nothing to us. It's nothing. We don't care what you've done on your computer. This isn't about you or your family or your hacking. There have been some terrible murders in Washington, and there might be a connection to this game called The Four Horsemen. Please help us, Michael. You're the only one who can. You're the only one.'
Mark Ormson, who was a radiologist at Georgetown University Hospital, leaned forward on the black leather couch in the den. He looked more frightened now than when he'd gotten home. 'I'm beginning to think I better get a lawyer.' he said.
Patsy Hampton shook her head and smiled kindly at both parents. 'This is not about your son, Mr. and Mrs Ormson. He's not in any trouble with us, I assure you.'
She turned back to the teenager. 'Michael, what do you know about The Four Horsemen? We know you're not one of the players. We know it's a very private game.'
The boy finally looked up. She could tell that he liked her, and maybe trusted her some. 'Hardly anything, ma'am. I don't know too much.'
Hampton nodded. 'This is very important to us, Michael. Someone is killing people in the Southeast part of Washington - for real, Michael. This is not a fantasy game. I think you can help us. You can save others from getting murdered.'
Michael dropped his head again. He had hardly looked at his mother and father since they arrived. 'I'm good with computers. You probably already figured that out.'
Detective Hampton kept nodding, giving the boy positive reinforcement. 'We know you are, Michael. We had trouble tracing you here. You're very good with computers. My friend Chuck Hufstedler at the FBI was really impressed. When all this is over, you can see where he works. You'll like him, and you'll love his equipment.'
Michael finally smiled, showing off large protruding teeth with braces. 'Back at the beginning of summer, probably late in June, this guy came into the Gamesters' Chatroom - where you found me.'
Patsy Hampton tried to hold eye contact with the boy. She needed him badly; she had a feeling that this was a big break, the biggest so far.
Michael continued to speak softly. 'He sort of, like, he took over the conversation. Actually, he was pretty much a control freak about it. He kept putting down Highlander, D D, Millennium, all the hot games that are out now. Wouldn't let anybody else get a word in. Almost seemed like he was high on something.'
'He kept hinting about this completely different game he played called The Four Horsemen. It was like he didn't want to tell us about it, but then he would give out bits and pieces anyway, but not much. He wouldn't shut up.'
'He said the characters in D D, Dune, Condottiere were predictable and boring - which I must admit, they are sometimes. Then he said some of the characters in his game were chaotic evil instead of lawful good. He said they weren't fake heroes like in most RPGs; his characters were more like people in real life. They were basically selfish, didn't really care about others, didn't follow society's rules. He said Horsemen was the ultimate fantasy game. That was all he would tell us about The Four Horsemen, but it was enough. I mean, you could see it was a game for total psychos.'
'What was his call name?' Agent Dwyer asked Michael.
'Call name, or his real name?' Michael asked, and offered up a sly, superior smile.
