Springboard

scenario. It still wasn’t as good as RW in a lot of ways, but some of it came awfully close.

Jay had brought his personal gear to the military annex — he wasn’t keen on wearing somebody else’s sweaty, non-custom-fit stuff. If they were worried about him somehow hiding information in the suit’s system, he could leave it here — he had two more sets just like it, one at home, one at Net Force HQ.

It was true that the military systems had their private gestalt, but applying his own scenario to them was doable, if not as easy as interfacing with civilian stuff. He grinned again and shook his head. You didn’t throw a pebble out in front of Smokin’ Jay Gridley and expect him to trip and fall on his face.

The biggest problem was, he had to be here physically to do it, since there was supposedly no way to access the systems from without. Which, of course, was clearly wrong, since somebody had apparently gotten in somehow and bollixed things up pretty well. And if they hadn’t gotten in from outside, then there was some social engineering going on, and it had been an inside job. Finding and closing the open and hidden door was what needed to happen. That was Jay’s job. If it turned out the bad guy was one of the military’s own? That wasn’t Jay’s problem.

Rigged at last, Jay called up a new scenario, one he had just finished building a few weeks ago. Seemed like a good time to try this one out…

Aboard the Warship HMS Riggs

Somewhere in the Caribbean

“There she is, sir, off the starboard bow.” The first officer’s British intonation was crisp and properly deferential.

The air was full of the scents of salt and sunbaked oak and warm tar. Well, creosote for tar, actually, which was close enough.

Captain Jay Gridley, of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, nodded. He raised his polished brass spyglass and searched for the target. It took a while to locate it — the field of vision in these old scopes was terrible… ah, there it was.

The pirate’s ship flew the Jolly Roger, the skull and crossed bones leering in the bright tropical sunshine.

“There’s a squall off our port, sir,” the officer said.

Jay lowered the telescope. “Yes, Redbeard will certainly make for that, hoping to hide. Well, we will not allow that to happen, will we?”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

Jay laughed softly. He loved the British Navy. At least the fictional historical version he had created, which was admittedly a combination of Horatio Hornblower and Captain Blood. The real Navy during this period had not been quite so dashing. Men on board a wooden ship in the Caribbean were sweaty, seldom-washed, and brutal. An educated and relatively refined captain, who might while away an evening playing his violin or with chess, could have a man flogged for almost any reason, and did so often, from what Jay could determine. There were times when actual history was better, and times when the fantasy was more fun. Besides, in fantasy, Jay didn’t have to get the names and details exact — or spot-on, as the Limeys would say…

The three-masted Riggs had made full sail, and the rigging creaked under the driving, hot breeze, the canvas and lines stretching and straining as the vessel cut through the sea in pursuit of the dreaded Redbeard, a man who had plundered fat merchant ships for far too long…

There had been several nasty pirates called “Redbeard.” Jay had also heard of Blackbeard and Bluebeard. He wondered if there had ever been a Blondbeard? Did they call a man who shaved Nobeard?

He smiled, then shook his head. No matter. In this scenario, the information that Jay chased lay just ahead, cast in the form of a pirate ship. The Riggs was faster, better armed, and, because Jay had made it, better crewed. They would run the pirates down, board and capture them, and then make them talk.

His first officer interrupted Jay’s thoughts: “We’ll be within range soon, sir.”

The weather was freshening. The salt spray splashed harder, driven by the herald winds of the approaching rain-squall. The pirates were hoping to get to the rain before the Riggs ran them down, to hide in the weather.

“Bring her about, Mr. Smee.” Jay almost laughed every time he said his first officer’s name, but managed to keep a straight face most of the time.

“Yes, sir.”

They would line the ship up for a broadside. The pirate ship would strike her colors and surrender, or they would be bloody sorry. Har!

Oops. That was the pirates’ expression. British Naval officers were more articulate. They had come up with such terms as “square meal,” “son of a gun,” and “no room to swing a cat,” this last being for the cat-o’-nine-tails used to flog crewmen whether they deserved it or not. Wouldn’t be any of that on Captain Jay’s ship, by gawd. Nor any “hars.”

The sea was choppy, waves driven by the rain and wind growing in size. The Riggs drew closer to the pirate vessel, a couple hundred yards away now, parallel and almost even with her.

Jay took the loudspeaker cone from a crewman and aimed it at the pirates.

“Hallo, the Jolly Roger!” he yelled. “Strike your colors and prepare to be boarded!”

For a moment, Jay wasn’t sure they could hear him over the freshening wind and chop. Then the pirate ship fired its cannon, at least four on her starboard side. Clouds of dense white smoke belched from the enemy ship’s cannon ports.

Fortunately for the Riggs, the rough sea must have affected the pirate gunners’ aim — the whistling balls fell twenty feet short, splashing white gouts as they sank.

So much for that idea.

“Return fire, Mr. Smee. All port guns!”

“Aye, Captain!”

The officer yelled at a relay, who passed the command on.

Five seconds later, the guns of the HMS Riggs spoke as one, and five cannonballs shot through the air, covered the short distance to the pirate ship, and smashed into her. One ball hit a mast, toppling it — lucky shot, that; one ball hit the deck amidships and plowed a splintered furrow in the deck; the three remaining balls hit the hull, one above the waterline, and two below it. The pirate ship began taking on water.

“Make ready another volley!” Jay yelled.

If they wouldn’t give up, they would pay.

They would learn, by God, that it was not a good idea to defy Captain Jay Gridley. Though he wasn’t happy about having to sink the pirates. Satisfying as that might be, it didn’t get Jay the information he wanted.

Oh, well. Might as well enjoy what he could…

Net Force HQ

Quantico, Virginia

Thorn leaned back in his chair and reflected on the call he’d just ended. The head of CyberNation was coming to the U.S., and he wanted to meet with Thorn. Along with a visit from the head of the Chinese version of Net Force, this was going to be the week for company.

Too bad Marissa Lowe wasn’t in town. He’d like to get her take on these visitors. Still, she went where the CIA sent her, and even though she was the liaison from that agency to Thorn’s, she had other duties. The world was a busy place for intelligence groups these days…

Well, there might be something he could learn on his own. He wasn’t entirely dense. CyberNation’s goals weren’t ever going to be reached, he believed that, but they did have a very solid network and some outstanding people. Thorn knew guys who had been bright lights in the field who had opted for CyberNation’s employ. Good pay, good benefits, access to cutting technology, CyberNation had no trouble hiring first-class people.

And the Chinese were up and coming. Still not anywhere near the level of the United States when it came to computers, hard- or software, but rising, and you couldn’t ignore an industrializing country with a billion and a half people in it.

Thorn waved his hand over the intercom, wiggling his fingers for the optical reader.

“Sir?”

“Is Jay Gridley in the compound?”

“No, sir. He’s at the Pentagon Computer Annex today.”