Too late. He eased the car back into drive and pulled up, plucked his Los Alamos ID from around his neck and handed it to the guard…
The guard nodded to him nonchalantly, clearly recognizing him, took it, and went inside. That wasn’t what normally happened. Had the man recognized the car as not belonging to him?
Once again Gideon shifted the car into reverse, his foot hovering over the gas pedal. There was no car in line behind him. If he blasted back out, he might reach the turnoff to the back road to Bandelier before they organized a chase. Then he’d ditch the car at the Indian ruins of Tsankawi and cross the San Ildefonso Indian Reservation on foot.
God, it was taking forever. He should go now, before the alarms went off.
And then the security guard appeared with a smile and the card. “Thanks, Dr. Crew. Here’s your card. Working late, I see.”
Gideon managed a smile. “The grind never stops.”
“Ain’t it the truth.” And the man waved him through.
Gideon parked in the rear of the lot for Tech Area 33, where he worked. It was an enormous, warehouse-like building of white stucco and Pro-Panel. The building housed the offices and labs of part of the Stockpile Stewardship Team, along with access to the underground test chambers and a small linear accelerator for probing aging bomb fuel and other fissile materials.
In the dark of the car, Gideon checked the phony six-gun. It was a replica of an old Colt Model 1877 double- action revolver, nickel-plated, and fully loaded with blanks. Blanks or not, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
He shoved it into his waistband and covered it with his shirt. “We’re here.”
Alida threw off the blanket and rose. “Is that it? No more security?”
“There are other rings of security but not, at least, to visit an office.” He checked his face in the mirror—not exactly clean, and not exactly shaven. He was known around his department as a slapdash dresser, so he hoped his present disheveled state would not be noted. Most of the physicists, it had to be said, were infamously sloppy; it was sort of a badge of honor.
He got out of the car. They walked through the parking lot and around toward the front of the building.
“Is this Bill Novak you told me about, the network security guy, going to be in?” Alida asked. “It’s after eleven.”
“Probably not. But there’s always someone in the security office. Tonight it’ll probably be Warren Chu. At least I hope so. He’s not likely to give us much trouble.”
They entered the building. An L-shaped hall ran through the front section; the labs were in the back and below ground. Gideon walked slowly, working on his breathing, trying to stay calm. He turned the corner and came to a closed door, knocked.
“Yeah?” came a muffled voice from inside. The door opened. Chu stood there, a round, smooth fellow with glasses and a cheerful expression. “Hey, Gideon. Where you been?”
“Vacation.” He turned. “This is Alida—she’s new. I’m showing her around.”
The round face turned to Alida and the smile broadened. “Welcome to Mars, Earthling.”
Gideon let his own expression turn serious. “Can I come in?”
“Sure. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. A big one.”
Chu’s face fell as Gideon stepped aside. They walked into his tiny, windowless office. Chu swept the only extra chair clear, eyeing Gideon’s muddy pants but not commenting on them. Alida sat down, Gideon stood. He smelled coffee and spied a box of Krispy Kreme donuts. He was suddenly starving.
“You mind?” He sidled up to the box, tipping it open.
“Be my guest.”
Gideon took a glazed cruller and a New York cheesecake. He caught Alida’s glance and took another two for her. He stuffed the cruller into his face.
“So what’s up?” Chu looked annoyed at seeing four of his donuts vanish so quickly.
Gideon swallowed with effort, wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “It seems somebody used my computer while I was on vacation. Hacked into it. I don’t know how they bypassed my password, but they did. I want to know who.”
Chu’s face paled and he lowered his voice. “Jesus, Gideon, you know you’ve got to report that through proper channels. You can’t come here. I’m just the tech guy.”
Gideon lowered his voice. “Warren, I came to you because whoever did this seems to have it in for you.”
“Me?” Chu’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment.
“Yeah, you. Look—I know you didn’t do it. But whoever did it plastered your picture on my screen, giving me the finger. And a cute little poem:
“Are you serious? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Why would someone do that to me? I’ll kill him, I swear I will.” Chu was already turning to his monitor. “When did this happen?”
Gideon considered the time line. He had to have been framed at some point between the plane crash and his attempted arrest. “Between, um, four days ago and very early yesterday morning.”
“Wow,” Warren said, staring at his screen. “Your account’s been frozen. And they never told me!”
“That’s because they
Chu practically pulled at his long hair. “I can’t believe it. Who would do this?”
“Is there any way to get into my account and take a look around? Maybe we could figure out who did it, you know, before it gets out and security comes down on you like a ton of bricks.”
“Hell, yes. I have the clearance to override this. If they haven’t taken
Gideon’s heart quickened. “Really?”
“Sure.” Chu’s fingers were beating a furious tattoo on the keyboard. “How’d the hacker get your password?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“You write it down somewhere?”
“Never.”
“You ever log on in front of anyone?”
“No.”
“Then it would have to be someone with high-security clearance.”
Gideon watched intently as a series of numbers scrolled by on the screen, faster and faster. Chu was the very picture of nerdy outrage.
“Gonna find the mother,” said Chu, clicking away. “Gonna find the mother… There—I’ve broken into your account!”
A final, triumphant rap of the keyboard and Gideon stared at the screen. It showed his post-login home page. Where would the incriminating “jihadist love letters” be?
“Let’s check my email,” he said.
Chu continued typing, and Gideon’s secure email account popped up. Again Chu was forced to override the locked-up account.
Looking at the mass of emails, Gideon had an idea. “Are there any to or from Chalker?”
“Reed Chalker?” Chu seemed uneasy, but typed in the request. A list popped up, dating back to the months before Chalker disappeared. Gideon was stunned by the number of messages; he couldn’t remember ever having corresponded with Chalker.
“Looks like you guys had a lot to talk about,” said Chu. “How’s this supposed to help us find the hacker?”
“Those emails were planted,” said Gideon. “Planted by the hacker.”
“Yeah?” Chu sounded doubtful. “That would have been quite a job.”
“I never emailed Chalker. Well, hardly ever.” Gideon reached past Chu, bent over the keyboard, highlighted a year-old email innocuously titled “vacation,” and hit the ENTER key.
Salaam Reed,
To answer your question: you remember what I said about the world being divided into Dar al-Islam and Dar al-Harb—the House of Islam and the House of War. There is no middle ground, no halfway place. You, Reed, have
