'He planted one then?' Tony found that awesome. 'He does have nerve. Griff, we want a number of people to look that over.'
The engineer rang off. Tony stayed on.
'So it's all real,' Alex said. 'But we still don't have anything actionable. Legally.'
'Legally. But give me that disk for a while. Trust me, I'm a Game Master.'
Even Norman Vail hadn't suggested taking Bishop to court, and under the civilized veneer, Vail was the most vindictive bastard it had ever been Griffin's pleasure to meet.
Even this last, desperate gambit had been Vail's idea. It had taken every bit of convincing, and Tony McWhirter and the entire tech team at Cowles were working on it.
He hoped Vail was right. Alex Griffin was out of ideas.
41
Monday, August 29, 2059
Alex Griffln usually left CMC at seven in the morning. It was as much of a pattern for him as anything in his life. CMC was an insular community, each of the units nestled into its spread of trees and shrubbery with minimal line-of-sight interference from the other units.
So no one saw the man who was a hundred yards away from Griffin's door that morning, a slender figure in green and brown camouflage cloth. When he shifted position, crawling against a patch of white rocks, the clothing changed color. He didn't approach the apartment, just watched it. He had scanned it, thoroughly, and didn't like what he saw.
The electronic burglar-proofing was dazzling. Griffin seemed to be a gadget freak. It made sense for the head of Dream Park security to be a paranoid, but this was absurd. There was no way a fly could get past the cameras and microphones and sensors without triggering something.
He wondered if Griffin was frightened. He'd been living in his apartment even while it crawled home to CMC, and he hadn't left it since.
What the hell is wrong with you, Griffin?
Nigel was breathing too hard, although there had been no physical exertion. He took a minute to calm his breathing. This was a time to be calm. And precise. MIMIC was unapproachable, true. His principals were screaming at him. Probably looking for him. He would have to go to them, data in hand, or…
Once again, his breathing annoyed him. He was very proud that he didn't think about the dead woman anymore. Never thought about her eyes, or the single thread of bright red…
The slender man lay panting in the shadows, forcing his mind back on track. A frontal assault would surely fail. There was a surfeit of hardware. A trap could be brewing.
But perhaps the human factor could be engaged. Yes. It had worked before. A pity he'd lost Acacia.
Tuesday, August 30
Alex Griffin rarely left the grounds owned by Dream Park-too rarely, it sometimes seemed to his friends. It meant that his contacts were limited outside of Cowles and Gaming.
So when a stunning blond free-lance writer entered his office, it was something of an event.
She stopped at his secretary's desk, his secretary being an attractive black woman with infectious energy. The plate on her desk said Millicent Summers.
'Hello,' the blonde said. 'I'm Penny Addington. I have an appointment with Alex Griffin?'
She was in Alex's office for an hour, and the two of them left later for lunch, by now chatting like old friends. She touched Alex's arm proprietarily, and Millicent hated her. By walk and dress and tone of voice she broadcasted that she was a bundle of sexual tension held under inadequate restraint. A man looking into those sharp blue eyes must feel he was peeking into a blast furnace.
He would come back cheerful, relaxed. Millicent thought she was braced for that.
Alex returned to the office two hours later, whistling merrily. 'How's my favorite temp secretary?'
Millicent glared. 'You're late.'
'Any sacrifice for Dream Park.'
'I'll just bet.'
'You wound me. I was all business. I was too stupid to take hints. And oh, Millie, was I glad to see her.' He smacked his palms together in delight. 'Bishop doesn't have it! And time must be running out fast.'
'Excuse me for asking, but what if she's really a vidzine editor? What if she likes muscles without brains?'
'Then the two of you could barhop together. Hahaha… Seriously, you should have seen her. Her hints got broad enough to make me blush. We made a date eight nights from now. She wanted sooner.'
'You animal.'
'God, if I wasn't me, I'd wish I were. Give Tony her address. I want all her personal records razed.'
Millicent stood and moved next to him. When she spoke, her voice held no trace of amusement. 'Why don't you just disable a couple of the alarms, Alex. Wouldn't it be… safer?'
'He doesn't like safety, or he wouldn't have sent that woman to get at me. He thought he could take on all of Dream Park, and he just can't do that. I want a chance at him, Millicent. And I'm going to get it.'
Millicent started to speak, but then swallowed the words. There was more to this than Alex could ever say directly.
There was Sharon Crayne.
When it came to that little piece of unfinished business,and shadowy Ecuadorians mattered not a damn. In that realm, all that mattered was a final, terrible question which Alex Griffin needed to ask of a man named Nigel Bishop.
Wednesday, August 31
At three in the morning, Alex Griffin awoke from a sound sleep. A holographic window had opened in the air next to his bed. Even before his eye focused, he knew who it would be.
'Um-hmm.' He rose, staring at his hands as he swung his feet to the floor.
He pulled on his underpants, and as an afterthought, a supporter with a plastic groin protector, as well. And a set of sweatpants, curling them up over the long, hard muscles of his thighs, to just under his flat, ridged belly.
He pulled a sweatshirt over his head and down his arms, and finally all the way down to his waist.
He gargled a mouthful of water, and spit it out.
Got to be presentable, he thought dourly.
His body creaked. He turned on lights and punched up the coffee maker. He disabled the alarms and opened the front door.
'Good morning,' Nigel Bishop said flatly. 'I thought that we should… talk.'
'Talk?' Alex asked. 'What do we have to talk about?'
Bishop walked through the open door, eyes moving constantly, evaluating without comment.
'Perhaps about Acacia. She's an interesting subject.' He studied the furniture, the numbered prints, and finally an eighteenth-century ceramic statuette Griffin had acquired in Kyoto. It was a samurai, sword held in baseball-bat position, the kendo attitude known as basso, or eighth phase.
'It's a forgery,' Bishop said helpfully. 'I hope you didn't pay much for it.'
'I don't need an art appraiser. What do you want here?' Alex was fully awake now. There was a hot, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. And an unholy satisfaction in having lured Bishop into his lair.
Bishop gave Alex a meaningless smile and continued to examine the apartment. 'Isn't there something you'd like to say?' Bishop asked.
Waiting for me to make a move, Alex thought. Doesn't want an assault charge. No breaking and entering. Smart.
