Net Force

'I see.'

'An attempt was made to, ah, duplicate your first experiment. By someone in the employ of the Italian company. They were unable to match your end results.'

So. The Genaloni organization had tried kill the new head of Net Force and failed. Most interesting. He had not seen anything on the news about this.

'And you want me to take care of that?'

'Very likely. However, I would like you to wait for my signal. It might be premature. I should know in a day or two.'

'As you wish.'

'It would perhaps be prudent to locate yourself close to that area.'

'Of course.'

'Good-bye, then. I will speak to you tomorrow.'

'Good-bye.'

Ruzhyo removed the one-time scrambler and stared at it. The visual-purple biomolecular matrix that was the brain of the device would begin dying the moment the pressure switch left the phone's mouthpiece. In twenty seconds, the device's memory would be blank, the circuitry dead. It was a nice toy, a slopover from fighter-jet research. If one had a jet crash in enemy territory, one did not wish for the computer systems to be recovered. Electronic storage was difficult to wipe completely clean, but a bio-unit, once it was completely dead, was impossible to bring back.

He stood there holding the scrambler for a full minute, then dropped it into the trash.

So, they would be going to Washington again. Actually, to a motel in Maryland, less than an hour's drive away.

Grigory wandered over, away from the row of slot machines.

'Are you done gambling?' Ruzhyo asked.

'Da.'

Ruzhyo could not resist a small verbal jab. A needle, just enough to sting. He said, 'Your system apparently needs some refinement.'

The Snake frowned. Ruzhyo took a certain amount of pleasure in the expression.

30

Sunday, October 3rd, 6:15 p.m. Quantico

Toni Fiorella stepped out of Net Force HQ into the cool evening air and headed for her car. The parking lot was nearly empty, of cars or pedestrians, but angling toward her, carrying a briefcase, was a figure she recognized.

'Rusty. What's up?'

She saw him take a deep breath. 'I've been doing some research on silat, got into some material on the net, a couple of books and old tapes. I was, ah, wondering, could we, you know, go over some of the stuff? I'd like to get your opinion on it.' He waggled the briefcase.

'Sure. I'll look at it.'

'Well, good, thanks. But you know, I could show it to you at supper. I mean, we, that is — you want to get something to eat?'

Toni stopped and blinked. He had obviously been waiting out here for her to leave. It certainly sounded as if he was asking her out on a date. And the question that brought up was, If he was, did she want to go down that path?

Ever alert, the voice of rationalization popped up: Dinner couldn't hurt. You have to eat, don't you?

She grinned to herself. A quick test of Rusty's resolve might be in order. 'Are you asking me out?'

If he wanted an escape hatch, there it was. Why, no, I was just suggesting that we eat while we discussed this here silat stuff I have here in this here briefcase.

'Yes, ma'am, I guess I am.'

She laughed. 'Ask a woman out and then call her ‘ma'am.' That's probably as polite as I've ever heard it.'

So. What is it to be, Toni? He's a student, but he is also an attractive man. Fit, bright, relatively adept. Got a nice legal degree to go with his FBI trainee status. Dating him might do bad things to the teacher-student relationship. And it certainly would put a kink in the line she wanted to establish with Alex.

Jesus, girl, if you wait for Alex to notice you as a woman, you might die of old age before it happens. Besides, it's just supper — he didn't ask to you bear his children or anything.

'All right. I suppose we can have something to eat. Where is your car?'

'Home. I came in on the Trans.'

'Okay. We'll take my car. You have any place in mind?'

'Nope. It's not the food, it's the company. You pick.'

She smiled again. He was charming, in his flattering Southern way.

Despite herself, Toni felt a little surge of adrenaline. Outside of work, it had been a long time since she'd been out with a man socially. And it was always nice for the old ego to be asked.

Dinner wouldn't hurt anybody.

Sunday, October 3rd, 7:44 p.m. Washington, D.C.

Alex took Scout for a walk in his neighborhood. This was much against the wishes of his new security team, so actually what he wound up doing was sponsoring a small parade though the streets around his condo. And the party was somewhat larger than he had realized. There were four agents in two cars, one in front and one in back, inching along at walking speed. There were four men on foot, one in front, one behind him and the dog, and two more across the street forming the corners of a moving box. In addition, he'd been told, another two cars roamed the streets that ran parallel to his, and two more cars covered the cross streets. Some of the cars only had one person in them. Fourteen agents in all, the chief bodyguard had told him.

It seemed like an excessive use of the taxpayers' money to have that many people guarding him, but his boss had signed the order personally.

Scout didn't seem to mind the company. He watered lawns, signposts, and fire hydrants. Growled at hidden dangers in clumps of bushes that couldn't possibly hide anything any bigger than he was. Had himself a fine old time.

Michaels enjoyed the walk himself. It was a bit cooler than it had been, still not cold enough to need a jacket, though he wore a windbreaker so he could carry his taser in the pocket, close at hand. If somebody did manage to breach all his security, at least he could defend himself.

Caution — fear — was a new feeling for him. It was not something he'd ever worried about before, actual physical danger. He was a fair-sized man, in pretty good shape, living in the hub of civilization. He'd had some training, years ago when he'd joined the agency, in unarmed self-defense, with guns and with the taser, but right now that wasn't much comfort. He was not very good at such things, and, he knew, he was not at heart a violent man.

The last time he had been in a fight had been in the seventh grade. It had been with a boy named Robert Jeffries. They'd bumped into each other in the hall between classes, and though it had been Jeffries's fault, he had gotten pissed off and told Michaels to meet him after school. That was the last thing Michaels wanted to do, but he was too afraid of looking bad to skip out. In those days, like most of his friends, he believed it was better to get beaten up than to be thought a coward.

So, with his gut churning, terrified and almost paralyzed with fear, he met Jeffries by the bike racks.

They took their jackets off and circled each other, neither wanting to make the first move. This close, he could see that Jeffries was pale, sweaty, breathing fast, and it dawned on Michaels that Jeffries had had time to think about things, and he was also afraid.

So, if neither of them wanted to do this, why were they fighting?