Stoll was busy typing in commands. 'Chief, Herr Hausen wasn't forthcoming about where you'd gone,' he said without looking up, 'but I find it strange that Paul Hood and Superman are never around at the same time.' 'Cool it,' Hood warned.
'At once, Boss,' Stoll replied. 'Sorry.' Now Hood felt guilty for having jumped on him. 'Never mind,' he said in a gentler tone. 'It's been a wicked afternoon. What have you found out?' Stop brought the game's title screen back on the monitor. 'Well,' he said, 'as I was just telling Herrs Hausen and Lang, this game was installed with a time- release command by the Deputy Foreign Minister's assistant, Hans— ' 'Who seems to have vanished,' Lang contributed. 'We tried him at home and at his health club, and there's no answer.' 'And his E-mail address at home isn't receiving,' Stoll said. 'So he's definitely on the lam. Anyway, the photo of Herr Hausen is from coverage of a speech he gave to Holocaust survivors, while this landscape is from here.' Stoll hit the recycle command, dumped the title screen, and brought up the photo downloaded from Op-Center's Kraken.
Hood leaned forward and read the caption. ' 'The Tarn at Montauban, le Vieux Pont.' ' He straightened. 'France or Canada?' he asked.
'The south of France,' Stoll said. 'When you arrived, I was just about to bring up Deirdre's report on the place.' He used the keyboard to bring up the file. Then he read, 'It says, 'The route rationale, blah-blah, goes north and northwest with the River Garonne to meet the Tarn at Montauban, population 51,000. Town consists of such- andsuch' ' — he skimmed the demographic makeup while scrolling the screen— 'and— ah. Here. 'The building is a stronghold built in 1144 and has historically been associated with regionalism in the south. As a fortress, it helped fight off attacks by Catholics during the Religious Wars, and has remained a symbol of defiance to the locals.' ' Stoll continued to scroll the screen.
Hood said, 'Does it say anything about who owns the place?' 'I'm a-checkin',' said Stoll. He typed in the word 'owner' and ordered a word search. The screen jumped several paragraphs and a name was highlighted. Stoll read, ' 'Sold last year for the manufacture of software, with provisions that the owner not make alterations in— yadda, yadda. Here,' he said, 'owner. A privately held French company named Demain, which was incorporated in the city of Toulouse in May of 1979.' Hood shot Stoll a look, then ducked toward the screen.
'Hold on,' he said, He read the date. 'Tell Deirdre or Nat to get me more information on that company. Quickly.' Stoll nodded, cleared the screen, and rang up 'The Keepers of the Kraken,' as he called them. He E-mailed for more information on Demain, then sat back, folded his arms, and waited.
The wait was not a long one. Deirdre sent over a short article from the June 1980 issue of a magazine called Videogaming Illustrated. It read: GAMES OF TOMORROW Are you Asteroid-ed out?
Have you been Space Invader-ed to death?
Even if you still love yesterday's hits, a new star in the video-game firmament, the French company Demain, which means 'tomorrow,' has developed a different kind of cartridge to play on your Atari, Intellivision, and Odyssey home systems. Their first cartridge, the quest game A Knight to Remember, will be in stores this month. It is the first game which will be made available for the three leading video-game systems.
In a press release, company research and development head Jean-Michel Horne says, 'Thanks to a revolutionary and powerful new chip we have developed, graphics and gameplay will be more detailed and exciting than in any previous game.' A Knight to Remember will sell for $34.00 and will be packaged with a discount coupon for the company's next release, the superhero game Ooberman.
Hood took a moment to contemplate the article and weigh the implications. It helped to put together some pieces.
Nancy stole plans for a new chip and sold them to a company, possibly— no, probably— this Demain. Gerard, a racist, makes a fortune manufacturing video games. On the sly, he puts money into hate games.
But why? As a hobby? Certainly not. Little doses of hate like that would be too small and unsatisfying for a man like the one Richard Hausen described.
Assume he did make hate games, though, Hood thought. Charlie Squires's kid surfed into one. What if that were Dominique's? Could Gerard be using the Internet to send them around the world?
Again, Hood thought, assume yes. Why do that? Not just to make money. From what Hausen said, Dominique has enough of that.
He would have to have something bigger in mind, Hood thought. Hate games appearing on the Internet. Confident threats to Hausen. Were they timed to coincide with Chaos Days?
It all seemed to be going nowhere. Too many pieces were missing, and there was one person who might be able- but willing? — to tell him what that could be.
'Herr Hausen,' Hood said, 'would you mind if I borrowed your driver for a short while?' 'Not at all,' Hausen said. 'Do you need anything else?' 'Not at the moment, thanks,' Hood replied. 'Matt, please send this article to General Rodgers. Tell him that this Dominique may be our hate-game peddler. If there's any more background to be had—' 'We'll get it,' Stoll said. 'Your wish is my command.' 'I appreciate it,' Hood said, patting Stoll on the back and already headed toward the door.
As he watched Hood move through the reception area, Matt Stoll folded his arms again. 'There's no doubt about it.
My boss is Superman.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
'Bob,' said the caller, 'I've got good news.' Herbert was glad to hear that his assistant Alberto had good news. Not only did he ache where the seatbelt had pulled at his chest, but the thought that his attackers would escape left him seething. Herbert had been unable to find the van, so he'd pulled over on a side street and used his cellular phone to call Op-Center. He'd told Alberto what had happened and asked him to have the National Reconnaissance Office try to find the van for him. When they did, Herbert intended to go to the site. The German police were spread so thin he knew he couldn't count on them.
Herbert had to rely on himself to bring these people to justice.
Herbert was surprised when the phone beeped just six minutes after he'd called. It took five times longer than that to move a satellite eye from where it was to someplace else.
Alberto said, 'You're in luck. The NRO was already watching your area for Larry, who's looking into the kidnapping of the film intern. He wants to beat Griff on this one. And it's a good thing too. All our other satellites have been pressed into service watching a developing situation in the southern Balkans.' Larry was CIA Director Larry Rachlin. Griff was FBI Director Griff Egenes. Their rivalry was old and relentless.
Like Op-Center, both organizations had access to NRO data.
However, Egenes hoarded information like squirrels hoarded nuts.
'What's the NRO got?' Herbert asked. He was uncomfortable talking to Alberto on an unsecure line, but there wasn't any choice. He just hoped no one was listening.
'For Larry, nothing. No sign of the van, no sign of the girl. Darrell says Griff hasn't got anything either, though.
None of his regular police sources seem to be around.' 'I'm not surprised,' Herbert said. 'They're all in the field riding herd on neo-Nazis.' 'Better that than riding with them,' Alberto observed.
'True,' said Herbert. 'Now what about the van, Alberto? You stalling or something?' 'As a matter of fact, I am,' he said. 'Boss, you're just one man with zero backup. You shouldn't be going—' 'Where is it?' Herbert demanded.
Alberto sighed. 'Stephen found it, and it's a definite match. It's banged up just where you said it'd be. It's headed west on one of the Autobahnen— though from just the photo, I can't tell you which one.' 'That's okay,' said Herbert. 'I'll find it on the map.' 'I know it's a waste of breath to try and talk you out of it—' 'You got that right, son.' ' — so I'll just tell General R. what you're doing. Is there anything else you need?' 'Yes,' Herbert said. 'If the van gets off the autobahn, give me a jingle.' 'Of course,' said Alberto. 'Stephen knows you, Bob. He said he'll have his people keep an eye on it.' 'Thank him,' Herbert said, 'and tell him he gets my vote for this year's Conrad. On second thought, don't. That'll get his hopes up.' 'Aren't his hopes always up?' Alberto asked as he signed off.
Herbert hung up and grinned; after what he'd just been through, it felt good to smile. As he checked his map
