Net Force

shores of Great Scandaga Lake, between the hamlets of North Broadalbin and Fish House.'

Michaels stared at Jay.

'That's north and west of Amsterdam, which is north and west of Schenectady, which is north and west of Albany, which is—'

'I got it, Jay.'

'Mm. Anyway, this is where the little champagne poodle was trained.'

'Really?'

'Yep. One of a handful of places that do such things. They'll train your dog, sell you one already educated, or even rent you one. That's what happened with yours. He's a rental.' Jay smiled.

'Of course, they never saw who they rented the dog to. This woman is really sharp, Boss. Cash and instructions came by courier. The note was a computer printout, and the FBI doc-jock says the font and paper probably originated at one of the big print-copy places — Kinko's, LazerZip, no way to backwalk it to which one.

'Our ops traced the dog's delivery to another courier, then a third delivery service, which wound up giving it to somebody waiting in the lobby of a new Holiday Inn in north Schenectady. The courier remembers that a man signed for the dog, paid more cash. Average-looking guy, courier wouldn't know him if he saw him again.'

'This doesn't sound too promising to me.'

'Ah, but wait. The Holiday Inn is one of the new computer-controlled modules. They've got hidden surveillance cams built in all over the place. Take a look at this.'

Jay touched more controls.

'Here's the guy who picked up the dog.'

There was a image of a man holding a small plastic travel kennel. He was obviously outside, in some kind of courtyard. A lot of greenery and flowers were in the background. The man was medium-height, medium-build, medium-haircut, wore a shirt and slacks and dark shoes. Albert Anybody.

'And here is the woman he gave it to.'

Another image, a three-quarter-front view of a woman standing in front of the man with the kennel. She looked about forty, had graying brown hair worn long, was a little dumpy, sported sunglasses, a baggy, long-sleeved shirt, baggy pants and running shoes. Angela Anybody.

'The hotel security cams shoot three frames a second, so if we let it run, it looks pretty jerky, but we've got six or eight real good images of the woman.

'She doesn't look anything like the old lady,' Michaels said. 'And what's to say she's not wearing a disguise here?'

'Our guys in ID say she probably is disguised — the size of her neck and wrists, the thinness of her face and hands don't really go with the weight of her torso and hips. Probably she's padded.'

'So how does this help us?'

'Well. Computer-enhanced imagery says she probably didn't alter the shape of her ears or her hands, and using objects in view that we know the measurements of — that planter there, or those decorative bricks — we can tell her shoe size, her height, we can come pretty close on her true weight if we extrapolate from wrists and neck diameter. The hair is probably a wig, so that's no help, but the images give us a good view of her wrists and hands, and the techs in the FBI Skin Lab tell us that she's not wearing makeup there, so she's probably a natural redhead, to judge from her skin tone.'

'They can tell that?'

'It's still more art than science, but they say they are about eighty-five-percent sure.'

'Hmm.'

'There's a little more. Watch.'

Jay played the recording. The woman took the travel kennel, turned and started away. An image from a different viewpoint appeared — must be another cam, Michaels reasoned. This was a higher angle, looking down at the woman coming head-on. As he watched, the woman carrying the kennel slipped on something.

'See how the floor is wet? They had just mopped the exitway there,' Jay said. 'Didn't put up the warning sign yet.'

The next image showed the woman lurch to the left, put out her arm, stop herself with her free hand against the wall at shoulder height. She shoved off the wall and continued on her way.

'Nice recovery, hey?' Jay said. 'Me, I'd probably have fallen on my butt, but she just hit that wall, pushed off like nothing, kept going, even carrying a dog. Didn't even slow her down.' His grin was really big now.

Michaels made the connection. He looked at Jay. 'Prints?'

'Yep. How many people do you suppose slipped on the wet floor and fell against the wall at just that spot in the last month or two?

'She left a palm print, a clean index, middle, and ring fingerprint and a smudged pinky.'

Michaels nodded. This was a big deal. This might just save his ass.

'Oh, and did I mention? We got a few cells and a little useable DNA?'

'Dammit, Jay—'

Jay laughed. 'Well, I didn't want to get your hopes up, Boss. It's hardly anything to play with, a few stutters — just enough to know it is a woman, what her blood type is, that's all.'

'Jesus! Why didn't you say so to begin with?'

'That's not how you tell a story, Boss. You save the best for the end. Anyway, we don't have a match from the FBI, NCIC, UPolNet or AsiaPol files on prints or DNA profiles yet. It takes a while to run them all, but even if we don't get her that way, she's probably on record somewhere — DL, BioMed, BankSeal, somewhere. If she is, sooner or later she is going to pop up with red flags and sirens screaming. It's just a matter of time.'

'This is outstanding work,' Michaels said. 'You did good, Jay.'

'Nopraw.'

'Excuse me?'

'Just an expression, Boss. It means ‘no problem.' You gotta keep current, you know. And did I mention — she paid for the lost dog? Sent the money by courier again. We couldn't backtrack it this time, but that was nice of her, wasn't it?'

Michaels was elated, but he tried not to let it overwhelm him. 'What about the other thing, the programmer?'

'Getting close to him. He's a Russian, Ukrainian, something like that. I got Baby Huey — the SuperCray mainframe — winnowing possibilities, checking profiles.'

'I thought you said he could mask his profile.'

'Oh, yeah, he can, but only partially. I got enough of his style down, I'll know him when I see him. It's like a painter. Everybody knows a Picasso when they see one, and how it doesn't look like a Renoir. Style is what gives it away. He's too good to hide all his talent. Some of it will seep out of any bushel he buries it under.'

'Truly outstanding work, Jay. Thank you.'

'Well, Boss, it is my job. But, uh, if you remember this when you do performance reviews and raises next time, I wouldn't mind.'

Both men laughed.

'I should get back to it,' Jay said. 'I've dumped this into your folder, and I'll check in when I get something new.'

'Thanks again.'

After Jay left, Michaels called up the material and scanned it again, ordering it in his mind. When he was comfortable with it, he reached for his com to put in a call to Walt Carver. The Director was not going unarmed to his meeting with the President this morning. It might even be enough so Michaels would get to keep his job for a little while longer. His sense of relief was a surprise. It was a lot stronger than he would have thought. Maybe he wasn't quite as ready to chuck it all as he'd rationalized.

'Director Carver's office.'

'Hey, June, it's Alex Michaels. He in yet?'

'Since six, Commander. Hold on a moment, I'll put you through.'

As he waited for Carver, Michaels looked up and saw Toni pass by his window. He nodded at her, but she didn't make eye contact as she headed for her office. Well. Probably she was tired — they'd all been working