gently tracing the perfect contours as the eyes admired the exquisite balance of upper and lower lip.
Of course! That was the missing parameter that the computer had not searched for.
The hand dropped away from the monitor and the fingers flew expertly over the keyboard, bringing up the measuring tool for the facial-recognition software. Again the lips were measured, this time with attention paid to the relationship between upper and lower lip. The ratios had to be exact, the scale perfect if a suitable match was to be found.
Fresh parameters were copied to the search window, checked and rechecked, and finally the fingers rolled the mouse so the cursor hovered over the final command button:
EXECUTE SEARCH
The forefinger pressed on the mouse, and once again photographs began to stream through the search window as the computer scoured the Internet for a perfect match.
The eyes moved to the lower photograph, then the fingers holding the mouse clicked on the command to maximize it.
The fresh young face from the high school yearbook filled the screen.
The measuring tool went over the photograph, measuring each aspect of the face down to the last millimeter between the nose and the upper lip.
The exact gap between eyebrows.
The width of the chin.
The breadth of the nostrils.
And each measurement confirmed the master plan, and the mind’s confidence grew.
It could all be done.
The computer beeped.
1 MATCH FOUND
Though the constant stream of photographs still went on, the mind had to know. If the parameters still weren’t right, if they had to be corrected yet again, it had to be done right away. No more hours could be lost to the stupidity of something so simple as incorrect measurements.
With a single tap of a finger on the mouse, a photograph opened on the screen, and instantly the mind felt a tingle of excitement running through the body.
It looked good; it felt right.
The fingers trembled as they deployed the measurement tool so the mind could check all the parameters one last time.
Perfect!
A moment later the fingers had found a name: Natalie Owen.
As part of the computer’s processor continued scanning through millions of pictures, another part of it began searching for data on Natalie Owen, and within a few seconds the eyes were transmitting that information to the mind: Natalie Owen was twenty-four years old and worked at Sunset Vista Continuing Care Center in Los Angeles.
The focus on Natalie Owen tightened until the mind had found a back door to the woman’s medical records, and the tingling in the body increased as the eyes transmitted the data from the screen to the mind.
The blood type was right.
The medical records were closed, and a map appeared, in the center of which was Sunset Vista Continuing Care Center.
The phone number was also provided.
A plan began to take form as the fingers aborted the ongoing photo search and let the computer rest at last.
It had done its job, and done it well.
Still, the mind couldn’t resist commanding the forefinger to execute one last click of the mouse before shutting down the computer for the night, and the yearbook photograph at the bottom of the screen enlarged to fill the screen.
But the eyes that scanned the face of Alison Shaw were not looking at the bright, athletic, happy young teen. Rather, they were studying only the basic facial features — the brows, the nose, the lips, the ears.
More important, the eyes studied the bone and muscle structure underlying those features.
Though the eyes were looking at Alison’s face, they saw nothing of Alison at all.
THOUGH ALISON HAD MADE TASHA RUDD PROMISE NOT TO MENTION the birthday party to anyone, by second period almost everybody in the school seemed to know about it, and Dawn Masin was demanding to know what Alison was going to wear.
“I don’t know,” Alison moaned as she rummaged through her locker in search of her history book. “Conrad said I should go to Neiman-Marcus and buy something on his account.”
“Perfect,” Dawn declared. “Meet me right here.” She’d pointed at the spot on the floor directly in front of Alison’s locker. “Right here, before lunch.”
Alison agreed, and now she was in Dawn’s Mercedes along with Tasha and Crystal Akers, and instead of having lunch they were headed to Neiman-Marcus.
“What are we doing?” Alison asked. “By the time we get there, we’ll have, like, fifteen minutes, or we’ll never get back on time.” Her stomach was growling in protest at shopping instead of eating, but she wasn’t about to admit that to any of the other girls in the car, none of whom seemed to care that they weren’t going to get any lunch.
“We’ll have at least half an hour,” Dawn shot back. “And that’s plenty of time. You’ll see — we’re expert shoppers, and you’ll love the first thing you try on.”
“I just don’t want to be late,” Allison worried.
“We’re never late,” Tasha assured her. “We’ve got this down to a science.”
“You’ve been to Neiman’s before, right?” Crystal asked.
“A couple of times,” Alison said, carefully avoiding telling them she’d never actually bought anything there.
Tasha giggled in the backseat. “We go there on lunch hour all the time.”
“Shopping is way better than eating,” Crystal added, confirming Alison’s suspicions about her new friends’ attitude toward lunch.
As they arrived at the big store on Wilshire Boulevard, Tasha, Dawn, and Crystal wasted no time, knowing exactly where to go, and within less than two minutes a smartly suited saleswoman was smiling at them and greeting all three of them by name.
“Hi, Mrs. Wright,” Tasha said. “This is Alison Shaw, and she’s looking for something to wear to her sixteenth birthday party.”
Mrs. Wright appraised Alison’s figure, and Alison could see the uncertainty in the woman’s eyes.
