Net Force

'Our forensic report is still preliminary. All we got is a boot print in the neighbor's yard. He's a little guy, whoever he is.'

Michaels raised an eyebrow.

She called up the prelim: 'See. Print looks like a man's size four or five. Depth in the ground says he weighed maybe one-fifteen, one-twenty. Cat-burglar build.'

Michaels shook his head. There was something about this rattling around in his mind… 'I don't like it,' he said, 'it's too neat.'

'Sometimes things just… happen, Alex, and they aren't directly connected. You can't predict them. Somebody turns up in the right place at the right time, the circumstances are ripe, things just get out of hand.'

He looked at her. What was she talking about? It sounded more like an apology than an explanation.

She looked uncomfortable. She said, 'What I'm saying is, somebody had it out for Genaloni. Maybe the timing is a coincidence.'

Something occurred to him. He tapped his keyboard, called up a file.

'What?'

He didn't look up. 'What size did you say this killer's shoe was?'

'Four or a five. Forensics will know better when they get the cast back to the lab and do a like-surface comparison.'

'Let me ask you a question. Women's shoes and men shoes, how do they compare size-wise?'

'Depends on the cut and maker, but usually the woman's shoe will be a couple of numbers larger than the same size in a man's. Why do you—? Oh.'

'Yeah. According to the computer extrapolation on the woman who picked up the dog in New York — and who came back and paid for losing it a few days ago, using a series of couriers like before — that woman wears a six. And weighs between a hundred and fifteen and a hundred and twenty-five pounds.'

'You think it's the same person?'

'Coincidence only stretches so far. Our theory assumes that the woman who tried to kill me, who we think might have killed Steve Day, works for Genaloni. We know she was in New York to pay for the lost dog, and a few days later, Genaloni is killed by an expert who is about the same size. What does that say to you?'

'Could be the same person. But if she was working for Genaloni…?'

'Exactly. Why kill him?'

'Maybe he didn't want to pay her for missing you,' she said.

'Maybe, but it doesn't feel right, all of this.' He thought about it for a second. 'What if we're wrong about who had Steve Day killed? What if it was somebody who wanted to blame it on Genaloni? So maybe he found out and this woman deleted him. Maybe she's working for somebody else.'

'That's a stretch.'

'Yeah, it is, but consider: Day's assassination was by a team, and it was planned okay, but the execution was sloppy. A bunch of guys with submachine guns spraying all over the place, and even so, Day got one of them. Doesn't seem like this woman's style. She seems more adept than that.'

'She missed you.'

'Only because the dog barked. A second later or earlier, I'd be history.'

'So what are you saying here? There are two sets of killers?'

'I don't know. But it's a possibility. We assumed that Day's death was due to his long battle with organized crime. The way it was done, his history, that would make sense. But what if we're wrong? What if somebody else did it? What if it wasn't connected to OC at all?'

'Okay, let's assume for a second you're right. Who? And why? Why would anybody want to take you out?'

'What do Day and I have in common?'

'Net Force. You took over as Commander when he died.'

'Exactly. What if the attacks weren't on us personally, but on the heads of Net Force?'

'From two different sets of killers?'

'Yes.'

They both thought about that for a moment without saying anything else.

There was a quick knock. They looked up to see Jay Gridley standing there.

'What's up, Jay?'

'Put in for my raise, Boss. We got her. The assassin. A positive ID.'

35

Thursday, October 7th, 8:48 a.m. Quantico

Toni sat in her office, looking at the information Jay had developed. There was no photo or holograph to go with it. It was old material, and not much of that.

The fingerprints of the suspected assassin, lifted from the wall of a Holiday Inn in Schenectady, New York, had a match: They belonged to Mora Sullivan, an Irish national, the daughter of an IRA man killed by the British. When the prints were taken, little Mora had been eight years old. And from then on, there was no further record of the girl or woman in any of the computer systems linked to Net Force — which was most international police systems. She had vanished. Or, as Jay had said, somebody who knew what they were doing had cracked her records and vanished them, leaving no trace and no trail. The only reason they had these prints was luck, because they were hardcopy from an Irish police station that hadn't gotten around to being uploaded until they'd been discovered with a few hundred other sets of prints years after they'd been taken.

So what they had was her age, nationality and natural hair and eye color, along with her prints. Not a lot of help in recognizing her, given her ability with disguises. With wigs or hair dye, contact lenses and gloves, she could hide all of that; a little makeup and padded clothes, and her true age changed. She had already demonstrated that she could look a hefty forty or a frail seventy, and according to her records, she was only thirty-two. Even if they'd gotten a picture of little Mora, she and whatever she called herself now weren't going to look much alike.

Still, more was better. When they finally ran her down, they'd be able to get a positive identification.

Toni's phone announced an incoming call. The caller ID strip lit with the name.

Her stomach twisted. Rusty. She'd been expecting the call, since he was returning hers, but even so, it tripped her fight-or-flight reactions. Sleeping with Rusty had been a mistake, she knew that, but she hadn't been able to figure out a way to tell him yet. She had put him off, but it wasn't fair to keep spraying fog at him. And it wasn't something she could tell him over the phone.

'Hello.'

'Guru Toni. How are you?'

Why did he have to sound so cheerful? 'Fine. Busy. The usual.'

'What's up?'

'I'm not going to be able to get to the gym for a workout today,' she said. 'Too much going on.'

'No problem. I have studying I ought to be doing. Tomorrow?'

'Listen, I can break loose for a few minutes around lunch today, if you want to grab a quick cup of coffee?'

'That would make my day.'

She winced at how happy he seemed when he said it. It would make his day, all right, but not in the way he thought.

'How about Heidi's?' This was a coffee shop near the complex. It was a small, quiet place. They had lousy coffee and worse food, so there wouldn't be a crowd around when she told him.

When she dumped him.

'Great! See you then,' he said.

They discommed.

Toni blew out a big sigh and stared at nothing. Yeah, Great.