Mortal Fear

LILITH› Most of the talk is conventional. Even the “racy” stuff is fairly pedestrian. I was hoping for more sophisticated fare.

LEVON› You have to know where to look. I’m intrigued by your name, Lilith. Do you know its origin?

LILITH› Do you?

LEVON› Rest assured that I do.

Lenz pauses, then types:

LILITH› Consider it a test.

LEVON› I’ve always tested very well, Lilith.

LILITH› Amaze me.

LEVON› “Lilith” is a Hebrew word for “demon of the night.” It was mistranslated in the Book of Isaiah as “screech owl,” which is probably where your parents picked up the name. “Lilith” derives from the Babylonian _lilitu_, which itself derives from the Semitic word for “night.” Later rabbis took this “night demon” and from her created “Lilith”-a beautiful woman who became Adam’s wife before Eve was created. Perhaps your father was learned in the rabbinical tradition?

Lenz’s stunned expression tells me Brahma’s information is dead on. I’m still in shock when Lenz’s shaking fingers type:

LILITH› I _am_ amazed. I now consider this month’s EROS fee well spent.

LEVON› You didn’t answer the question about your father.

LILITH› I value my privacy.

LEVON› A sentiment I share. Good luck tonight, and all other nights. I must away.

LILITH› But we only just met.

“Stop!” I hiss at Lenz. “Type B-Y-E.”

“But he’s right here-”

Before Lenz can type another word, I shove his chair away from the Dell and type:

LILITH› Until we meet again.

“You’re absolutely right,” Lenz says in a quavering voice. “I lost control for a moment. I felt my fingers on his sleeve.”

“You caught buck fever is what you did.”

Suddenly Lenz is grinning like a hyena. “By God, it was exhilarating, wasn’t it? I think I finally understand the expression ‘thrill of the hunt.’ ”

“Don’t mistake what you’re doing with hunting, Doctor.”

“What am I doing, then?”

“Trapping.”

“What’s the difference?”

“If you don’t know that, you’ll never get this guy.”

Lenz looks at me like I just kicked his dog. “Explain yourself.”

“Well… in hunting, the first thing you do is go into the quarry’s environment.”

“I’m doing that.”

“No, you’re not. Not really. Because the digital environment is an illusion. It’s a virtual world in every sense. You can’t reach through that screen and touch him. Remember, somewhere out there this killer actually exists-in the corporeal world. That’s where he lives, not in this box.”

“Keep going.”

“When you hunt, you follow an animal’s tracks.”

“I’m not doing that?”

“No. That’s what Baxter’s technicians are trying to do. And so far they’re failing. You personally don’t have even the beginnings of the skill required to track Strobekker’s digital footprints. And if he really knows what he’s doing, there won’t be any footprints.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“Didn’t you ever visit the country when you were a kid? Shoot sparrows with a BB gun or anything?”

“No.”

“Jesus. Look, hunting is an aggressive activity. Basically, you take yourself to the quarry’s territory, conceal yourself, wait a while, or maybe have dogs or beaters drive the game to you. And when your quarry happens up within range of your gun or your bow, you pop him. Wham-he’s dead. Trapping is completely different. It’s all preparation. It’s all about bait. Using the right bait, placing it in your quarry’s path, and waiting.”

“What’s your point?”

“Lilith is the bait.”

“I know that.”

“And what is the job of the bait, Doctor?”

“The job of the bait? To lure the quarry, of course.”

“Fundamentally,what is the bait’s job?”

Lenz sighs in exasperation. “I guess I don’t know.”

“To be what it is. That’s all, Doctor. To sit there and do nothing but be what it is. You get it? Bait doesn’t walk out to the quarry and say ‘Come and get me!’ If it’s raw meat, it just sits there and looks dead and appetizing. If it’s a rabbit tied to a stake, it goes berserk for a while, then freezes in terror. If-”

“This situation is more complex than that.”

“No. It’s exactly the same. Everything must happen in the quarry’s head. Your UNSUB is biologically programmed to want to kill the bait. Your job-your only job-is to be what the killer wants. Forget about Baxter and his geeks, forget about trying to manipulate the killer into doing anything. He knows what to do. You just sit here and be that woman. Talk to other users, not him. Build your personality. And then he’ll come. In his own time maybe, but he’ll come. And you’d better be ready.”

Lenz stands up from the chair and stretches with nonchalance so elaborate that it must be feigned. He tears off the stream of paper where it meets the printer and lets it fall to the floor. “I’m sure you’re ready to get back home, Cole. If we hurry, you’ll just have time to make the Quantico plane. Unless you want to spend the night at a hotel and fly commercial in the morning.”

He frowns at me like a flight attendant who’s decided he made a mistake by inviting me to sit in the first- class cabin. “Which is it, Cole? A hotel or Ms. Krislov’s jet?”

Part of me hates to walk out of this room, to withdraw from a game with stakes so high. Even at the most rarefied level, trading futures risks only money, not human lives.

“The plane,” I say, standing up from the Toshiba and walking past him without another look.

He follows me down the stairs. Near the bottom, I ask, “Why did you decide to use a young decoy? I thought you’d decided that Strobekker changed his pattern. That he wanted older women like Karin Wheat.”

“That’s correct.”

I pause at the floor. “But Margie Ressler’s only, what, twenty-eight?”

“You should have more faith in me, Cole.”

As we move across the den toward the kitchen, I look over the Corian counter and see a full head of brunette hair. Sherry, I presume. She’s looking at something through the top window of an electric range. “Pretty soft setup,” I say to Lenz. “Cook and everything.”

Then the cook turns around and I am looking into the green eyes of Special Agent Margie Ressler. Her eyes are all I recognize. In the past two hours she has aged twenty years. Lines around her eyes and mouth, gray in her hair, a suddenly sagging bosom, and dowdy hips.

“It really works, doesn’t it?” she says, her eyes sparkling. “I can tell by your face. Sherry’s a wizard at this stuff. She told me some of the actors she’s worked on, and now I believe her.”

“Say farewell to Mr. Cole, Agent Ressler,” Lenz says.

“Oh. Hey, I really enjoyed meeting you.”

“You too, Margie. Thanks for the pizza. Be careful.”

“No sweat. I warmed up some pizza for you, Doctor.”

Lenz takes my arm and leads me out to the garage. The Acura Margie mentioned earlier has appeared.