“I’d like to know. I want to see.”
Izumi paused, and nodded, and said, “All right, come with me.”
Griffin wondered briefly how his subconscious had known that they would end up in Maintenance. Why else would he have had such a strong reaction to passing that window?
Sandy Khresla spent a lot of time outdoors. The sun had put streams of red in her straight black hair and turned her skin nut-brown. She was a demon softball pitcher; he’d watched her. She had the muscle to put speed on that heavy ball. Most women develop soft, smooth muscle contours; but a few, like Sandy Khresla, grow hard and defined. He’d lay long odds she pumped iron.
The blue smoke of an aromatic pipe tobacco hovered around her. Alex missed her leathery smile. She looked dangerous without it. She had never looked at him like this: like an enemy. He said, “So you know about all of this too?”
Sandy’s voice was surprisingly deep. “When they started poking around, Gruff, there was only one place to go. We’re the only people who have complete knowledge of every entrance and exit, how everything moves. I was just a junior supervisor then, but Calvin and I were tight. When his brother came to me and told me the truth, they knew they could trust me.”
Alex nodded. He felt like a Johnny-come-lately around these old-timers. “So what conclusions did you come to?”
“We have to go back to an earlier set of detail maps. A lot of additions were made six years ago, and new security put in.”
She called maps up on the computer, until a scale map of Dream Park rotated on the table in front of them. The image flashed and expanded, flashed and expanded, until they were looking at the dome of Gaming B, tangential to Gaming A but sharing no walls or surface connections.
“If I remember right, the Game was this winter thing. Eskimos. Sun going out. We had every refrigerator unit pumping at once.”
“Fimbulwinter.”
“Whatever. Okay, at the end of the Game the Gamers have lost almost everything, but there are still some weapons left be-hind after an airplane crash. These are handed out to the Gamers who need them so they can fight this last big battle. Are you with me so far?”
“No problem.”
“Now, all of the rifles are coded and numbered. The rifle that killed was indistinguishable from a Dream Park rifle. It hadn’t been modified. Somebody smuggled it in at the last minute, and handed it to that poor little mouse-”
“Michelle Sturgeon.”
“Yeah, that was it. Kid never had a chance. She had the highest score of anyone in the Game, you know that? They may have picked her for that.”
Alex examined the checkpoints. The Dream Park armory was an ultra-high security area, and all weapons were checked, rechecked, and the complete breakdown recorded on videochip for reference. Some of the weapons were replicas, and could never fire. Many were fantasy weapons dreamed up by R amp;D. But a few were antiques, or army surplus, and needed safety modification.
Tom Izumi traced his finger along the underground connecting tunnels. “This rifle entered the Game here, at a service duct, or here, at the players’ entrance. This corridor, where the equipment is brought up, is very secure.”
“But…?”
“But. One of our Eskimos disappeared after the Game. Poof, gone. Laid a false trail and was out of the country, as far as we can determine.”
“Pictures?”
“Yes,” Izumi said. “I can have them to your office this afternoon.”
“One of the Actors smuggled in a rifle, switched it, and carted the modified rifle away?”
“It seems the simplest explanation,” Sandy said.
Alex thought, and thought, and finally sighed. “I need more information. I think there must be a simple answer. Get me the data on the Actor. What was his name?”
“Called himself Toby Lee Harlow Jr. All of the files were lifted, but I got them out of the system, and kept them.” Once again, Griffin was treated to that utterly merciless smile.
“Just in case.”
Chapter Nineteen
Millicent Summers’s office was tucked away beneath the Blue Lagoon swimming spa. A wall-wide window piped in a view of clear blue water. Healthy young and firm old bodies smashed through the rippling mirror-surface and drove swarms of bubbles under as they plunged.
Millicent’s head snapped around, and she sprang out of her chair delightedly. “Alex! I was hoping you’d come by.”
“Couldn’t stay away,” he said. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his smile wasn’t very convincing. “Besides,” he said with more bitterness than he had intended, “I don’t know who I can trust.”
She was taken aback, opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. Millicent spun without touching him, and raised her voice. “Are you there, Jackie?”
“Yes, Miss Summers.”
“Hold all my calls for the next hour.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Millicent led Alex by the hand over to her desk, and sat with him. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“I don’t have enough yet, but…” He reached over to her key pad. “Mind?”
“What’s mine is yours.”
He typed his security code in, and made a few quick routing instructions. When he looked up, he saw that she was seriously concerned.
“Alex, you don’t usually ignore an innuendo.”
“Millie, I can’t trust anyone who was here ten years ago. You came in seven years ago, so that’s why we’re talking.”
“And here I thought it was my lucid personality.”
“I need that too.”
“So talk.” The smile was gone. Millicent knew him too well to expect pleasantries, or anything pleasant at all.
He took a deep breath. “All right. Ten years ago, Cowles Industries was in trouble.”
“Financial trouble. I know, I’ve got it in my files.”
“There was going to be a hostile takeover, but enough stockholders held on out of loyalty to make it difficult. And then somebody, no one’s sure who, but his initials are Kareem Fekesh, set up an accident that would help to scare off some of our supporters. Enough to tip the scales.”
“Kareem Fekesh… I’ll look him up. What kind of an accident?”
“Murder. A man named Calvin Izumi was killed during the playing of the Fimbulwinter Game. The woman who killed him is a Michelle Sturgeon. She popped back up in the park two days ago.”
Millicent sat down hard, her face tight. “Oh. That Michelle Sturgeon.” She searched his face for clues. “All right, Griff. What can I do?”
“Help me sort through this. This first part isn’t pleasant at all, and maybe only Harmony has had the nerve to look at it.”
“What’s that?”
“It was no outside job. The current theory among the bereaved is that someone came in as an Actor,
