“Going back to six months ago,” Matt suggested. “I don’t think they’ve been meeting recently.”
The captain nodded. “Time variable extending to six months before present date. Datascrip copy to be presented to Matthew Hunter, identified now.”
“Matthew Hunter,” Matt said.
“Execute,” Captain Winters ordered. He glanced at Matt. “I’m sure you’ll have a bit of a wait. Even for our computer system, this will be a long search.” He went to the door. “I’ll leave this locked. Just close it on the way out. And tell me if anything interesting kicks out.”
Matt didn’t know whether to be flattered by the captain’s trust or annoyed by his obvious belief that nothing interesting would emerge. Standing alone in the office, he waited impatiently as the Net Force search engines ground through all the public information sites — print news, electronic info, HoloNet, and government public affairs — for any connections between Caitlin and Washington’s large foreign community.
But impatience quickly became dismay as the computer announced hundreds of hits.
“Organize by individuals,” Matt ordered, “listing by name in decreasing frequency of references.”
Even that way, the datascrip Captain Winters had left was quickly filled.
He was about to pull the scrip from its reader when he suddenly stopped, struck by a new thought. He hadn’t been able to identify the accents of two of the three proxied-up characters he’d met today. But he had a suspicion about Mr. Jewels.
“Separate file,” Matt ordered the computer. “First ten individuals on the list — sort by nationality. If there are any British subjects, give them precedence.”
The scrip whirred again. “Last thirty-seven names on master list deleted to make room for file,” the computer warned.
“Accepted,” Matt said. “List nationality file.”
A holo-screen appeared in the air over the computer console. Matt examined the glowing letters. “One British subject,” he muttered. “Look at all those press references.”
Matt decided to try and press his luck. “Computer,” he said, “is there a current government file on”—he squinted, then read the name—“Gerald Savage?”
The room was silent for a moment as the computer searched the Net Force files. “Affirmative.”
“Is the file classified?”
“Negative.”
“Call up file on Gerald Savage,” Matt ordered.
An eye-blink later, the image of a harsh-faced but handsome enough guy appeared over the console. There was just a little too much nose and chin, and the brown hair was worn defiantly long.
“Hunh,” Matt muttered. “It’s a State Department file, not Net Force info.”
He frowned as he ordered a scroll of the written contents. Gerald Savage, it seemed, was the kind of guy who gave the idea of diplomatic immunity a bad name. He’d gotten into several physical confrontations, which had earned him the nickname “Gerry the Savage.”
Matt became more interested as he discovered that Savage’s brawling apparently had a political origin. His father was a radical British politician, campaigning on an angrily anti-Irish platform. Matt knew there had always been a lot of anger in the history of England and Ireland. The Irish had fought for hundreds of years to be free from British rule.
But the antagonistic relationship had taken a new turn since the late 1990s, when Ireland began outperforming Britain economically. Where Englishmen had once claimed superiority, they now felt envy. It only became worse when, twenty years later, the British government finally allowed the six counties of Northern Ireland to reunite with the rest of the country. Many Englishmen were humiliated at losing one of their last colonies — and Cliff Savage, Gerald’s father, had ridden that wave of old hatred and anger to sudden political prominence.
It looked as though the government had given him a foreign-service post to get him out of the country.
Matt shook his head. But why send him here? They had to know about the huge Irish-American community. Or was that the idea? Maybe the people in London were hoping that the Savages would cause some kind of international incident.
“Close file,” Matt ordered. But he was already frowning as a new thought came to him. Caitlin Corrigan. That had to be an Irish name. What was she doing with a guy who liked to dump on Irish people?
Maybe it was just part of Washington society. It was amazing how diplomatic functions were always throwing together people who were supposed to be bitter enemies. Sometimes political points could be made by acting like friends.
Then again, these were two kids whose parents were always in the public eye. Maybe they thought it would be funny to drive their folks crazy by picking the world’s most impossible friend.
Matt swallowed. In school, his English class had been going over
Any of those scenarios could explain why Caitlin and Gerry the Savage had gotten together. But all they told Matt was that he had a lot more to find out about Cat Corrigan before he’d know what made her tick.
Chapter 7
Matt knew he should be working on the “assignment” he’d been given by the virtual vandals — the little job he hadn’t mentioned to Captain Winters. His attempt at undercover work would go up in smoke if he couldn’t deliver on what he’d been asked to do.
Instead, Matt found himself staring at a holo image over his computer console. It showed Caitlin Corrigan in an evening gown, arriving at some charity event with her escort, Gerald Savage. Cat was giving the paparazzi a mischievous grin. The Savage looked as if he’d just bitten into a chocolate-covered pickle.
How was Matt supposed to compete with these people? They were the innermost in-crowd, invited to every social event. If they couldn’t get to Sean McArdle, how could Matt expect to get through?
He erased the image from his computer console, and began a new data search. As Matt read the news reports he called up, a line of type caught his eye. Then a slow smile appeared on his face. Maybe, just maybe, there
A day or so later, Matt ventured out into the Net, carrying his telecommunications icon, Leif Anderson’s proxy program, and Caitlin’s earring protocol.
He took a roundabout route before heading to Cat’s veeyar, just in case she was monitoring where he came from.
Maybe he was. But keeping himself anonymous was one of the few advantages he had against these rich kids. He figured keeping that advantage was worth a little work.
Matt flew through the glowing world of the Net until he came to another heavily trafficked data node. Then he transformed himself into Mr. Sticks and activated Cat’s communications protocol. Again he flew through the walls of the Corrigans’ virtual mansion and into the endless surreal landscape of Caitlin’s personal veeyar.
Cat appeared a moment later, wearing jeans and a sweater. Her feet were bare, and Matt noticed that her eyes seemed puffy.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m just great,” she retorted. “My whole life is in the hands of a guy who dresses like a squiggle, so I have to jump like a trained seal whenever he shows up.”
She rubbed her hands over her face, sighing. “I’m sorry. I was out last night — late. It felt as if I’d just closed my eyes for a nap when my beeper announced that you were in here.”
Matt actually found himself feeling sorry for Caitlin.
