City of Golden Shadow (114 page)

If nothing else, Dread admired Atasco's new security service for honoring their contract. They were fighting fiercely-the half-dozen pouring fire out of the hardened guardhouse beside the front door seemed capable of holding off an army far larger than Dread's. However, good security work required more than bravery: foresight was important, too. One of the assault team managed to jam an incendiary grenade through a gun port, although he sustained a fatal wound in the process. When it exploded a moment later, the heat was so fierce that even the steelplex windows softened and bulged outward.

The Track Two team, which had come in through the back of the complex to attack the main security office, was going to be a little while getting free, but Dread was quite satisfied. Out of two fifteen-man assault teams, he had only three units down that he knew of, and only one of those three killed, with the action 75 percent done. Against the kind of security package a rich bastard like Atasco could afford, that was more than acceptable. As his two bang men wired hemispheres of Anvax hammer gel to the massive front door, he allowed himself a few moments with his unsuspecting target.

". . . Brotherhood has built the most powerful, sophisticated simulation network imaginable." It was the calm, high voice again, coming from someone standing near Atasco. "At the same time, they have manipulated and injured the minds of thousands of children. I still have no idea why. In fact, I summoned you here, all of you, in hopes that together we might discover some answers."

Dread was getting more and more intrigued. If Atasco wasn't leading this little conspiracy, who was? Did the Old Man know things had gone so far?

The explosive gel was triggered. A flash of fire briefly illuminated the bodies scattered on the porch as the main door sagged and fell inward. Dread turned off the window feeding him the target's visuals; the audio channel was briefly usurped by an announcement of Track Two's successful conquest of the security office.

"This is it, gentlemen," he said cheerfully. "We forgot our invitations, so we'll just have to let ourselves in."

Once through the scorched doorframe, he stopped for a moment to inspect the piles of rubble and powder that had been a collection of Mayan stonework, installed by sad chance too near the front door. He detailed most of his crew to look for stray security and to round up the household staff, then took a bang man and two commandos and headed for the basement lab.

As the explosives man knelt in front of the lab door, Dread tuned in again to what had become a confusing welter of voices.

"Track Three," he said, "in just about a minute the target's line is going to be free. I want you to keep it open, whatever it takes, and to hold the rest of the guests in the simulation if possible while we figure out who they are. Is that clear?"

"Yes, I understand." Celestino sounded tensely excited, which gave Dread a brief moment of unease, but the Colombian was doing all right so far. It was the rare and exceptional person who didn't get at least a little worked up while participating in a large-scale armed criminal assault.

Dread and the others retreated back down the hallway, then the bang man thumbed his transmitter. The walls trembled only a little as the hammer gel bent the heavy security door into a curl like stale bread. They kicked it aside and entered. The white-haired man, who had been reclining in a pillowy chair, had apparently felt the vibration of the controlled blast and was struggling to his feet. His wife, on the far side of the lab in her own chair, was still submerged in VR, twitching gently.

Bolivar Atasco stumbled a little, still not completely separated from the simulation and its override on his exterior physical responses. He paused, swaying, and stared at Dread as though he felt he should recognize him.

You have just met the Angel of Death and he's a stranger. He is always a stranger. The line from some obscure interactive popped into Dread's mind and made him grin. As Atasco opened his mouth to speak, Dread flicked a finger and the nearest commando shot the anthropologist between the eyes. Dread stepped forward and pulled the jack out of Atasco's neurocannula, then gestured at the woman. The other soldier did not move toward her, but thumbed his Trohner to auto-fire and sprayed her down, blowing the cable out of her neck and sending her to the floor in a bloody heap. Mission accomplished.

Dread surveyed the two bodies briefly, then sent the two commandos upstairs to rejoin the others. He checked back in on the simulation in time to hear a new voice.

"Trying to leave would be a very bad idea."

It was an unfamiliar voice, processed through a translator. It took him several moments to realize it was Celestino's.

"I'm afraid the Atascos have left early," the gear man was saying through Atasco's usurped sim. "But don't worry. We'll think of ways to keep the party entertaining,"

"You shit!" Dread screamed, "you bloody idiot, get out of there!" There was no response: Celestino was not listening to the command channel. Dread felt rage expanding inside him like scalding steam. "Dulcy! Are you there?"

"I am."

"Have you got a gun?"

"Uh . . . yes." Her voice suggested she always carried one, but didn't use it.

"Go in and shoot that little bastard. Right now."

"Shoot. . . ?"

"Now! He may have just blown the most important part of this whole thing sky-high. Do it. You know I'll take care of you."

Already high in Dread's estimation, Dulcinea Anwin rose even higher. He did not hear another sound from her until after something had exploded loudly on the Track Three audio channel.

"Now what?" She was back on the line, breathing hard. "Christ, I've never done that before."

"Then don't look at it. Go back to the other room-you can override from there. I want to know who's in that simulation. Find the outside lines. Most importantly, I want one of those lines-just one-that we can spike."

She took a ragged breath, then steadied. "Got it."

While he waited, Dread examined the Atascos' lab. Expensive stuff. In other circumstances, he wouldn't have minded taking some of it with him, although it would have been strictly against the Old Man's orders. But he smelled a bigger prize. He gestured to the bang man, who was standing in the hallway smoking a skinny black cigar.

"Wire it up."

The man ground the cigar out on the floor, then began attaching nodules of Anvax gel to various points around the room. Once Dread and Dulcy had emptied out the contents of Atasco's hard storage, he would trigger the explosives remotely.

As he was making his way back up the stairs, Dulcy Anwin came back online. "I've got good news and bad news. Which first?"

His grin was reflexive, hunger rather than humor."I can take the bad news. There hasn't been much so far tonight."

"Can't get a fix on most of these folks. There seem to be several different setups, but most of them are trace-proof. They're not Puppets, I don't think, but they're using some kind of blind relay system-at least a couple of anonymous routers involved, plus some other even weirder stuff. If I had them all in one place for a couple of days, I might break something down, but otherwise, forget it"

"They're already starting to scatter. They'll probably be offline in a few minutes. But you said 'most.' Is that the good news?"

"I've got one of them in the crosshairs. Guested in by the target. No relay, no weird runaround. Spike's already in place."

Dread took a deep breath. "Great. That's perfect. I want you to do a quick trace, then pull up the user's index. Can you do that?"

"When do you want it?"

"Right now. I want you to use that spike to override and bump the user offline, then you hold the sim yourself. Browse the index-just quickly, we'll work up a better version later-and learn what you can. Whoever he or she is, that's who you are. Got it?"

"You want me to pretend to be this person? What about all the data work we have to do?"

"I'll do it myself. I need to do it myself. Don't worry, I'll get someone to relieve you in a little while. Hell, after I get the data squared away, I'll probably take that spike from you myself, too." The pain in his head, the residue of the twist, was almost completely gone now. Dread suddenly felt the need for music, and conjured up a swelling, martial air. He had something the Old Man didn't, had it firmly in his jaws, and he was going to hang onto it until Doomsday. "If any of the others at the conference or whatever it is stay in the simulation, you stay too. Keep your mouth shut. Record everything." He was already busily making plans. As soon as he knew where this user lived, he would have him or her investigated and sanctioned, not necessarily in that order. He now had a front-row seat-Christ, he exulted, a leading role-in some mysterious conspiracy that had the Old Man scared to death. Also, the conspirators seemed to know a lot more about what the Old Man and his friends were up to than Dread did himself. It was impossible to guess how valuable this little sleight-of-hand might turn out to be.

My time has come around at last. He laughed.

But he needed everything to be crystal clear, foolproof. Even the efficient Ms. Anwin could make a mistake in all this confusion. "Are you sure you got it?" he asked her. "You keep that sim working at all costs until I relieve you. You are that user. Don't worry about the overtime-I'll make it worth your while, Dulcy baby." He laughed again. His early thoughts about Dulcinea as quarry had been superseded by a chase more glorious than anything he could have anticipated. "Get on it. I'll be back as soon as I finish up some loose ends here."

He strode up the stairs and into the huge entry hall. There was data to sift, and a lot of it. He would have to take care of that before following up on the sim, monitor as much of it as he could before it went to the Old Man and his Brotherhood. He suddenly very much wanted to know what Atasco had been doing, as well as what Atasco had known. It would mean another night without sleep, but it would surely be worth it.

At the foot of the main staircase a stone statue of a jaguar, blocky and expressionistic, crouched on a pedestal. He patted its snarling jaws for luck, then made a mental note to add Celestino's body to the cleanup squad's list of things to do.

CHAPTER 38

NETFEED/NEWS: Krittapong USA Demands More Seats

(visual: US Capitol Building, Washington, Cm.)

VO: Krittapong Electronics, USA, is threatening to filibuster the US Senate unless it receives more representation.

(visual: Krittapong VPPR, Porfirio Vasques-Lowell, at press conference)

VASQUES-LOWELL: "The House of Representatives allots seats based on population, and the biggest states get the most House seats. The Senate is business-based. Krittapong's gross worth has at least quintupled in the decade since the Industrial Senate Amendment was passed, so we deserve more seats. Simple. And we'd like to have a little chat with our colleagues in Britain's House of Enterprise, too."

Things had gone from strange to stranger. Orlando, who had roused himself for a few moments to try to make the others understand, now could only sit staring as the room erupted into madness.

Their hosts had vanished-the Atascos from their virtual bodies, Sellars completely. A woman across the table was screaming, a continuous wail of pain that was both heartbreaking and terrifying. Some of the sim-wearing guests sat like Orlando, in stunned silence. Others were shouting at each other like asylum inmates.

"Fredericks?" He turned his throbbing head, looking for his friend. Another wave of the fever was crawling over him, and despite the amazing chaos, he was suddenly fighting the pull of sleep. "Fredericks? Where are you?" He hated the plaintive sound of his voice.

His friend popped up from behind the table, hands over his ears."This whole thing impacts plus, Orlando-we have to get out of here."

The shrieking stopped, but the excited babble continued. Orlando pulled himself upright "How? You told me we can't go offline. Besides, didn't you hear what that guy Sellars was saying?"

Fredericks shook his head emphatically. "I heard, but I'm not listening. Come on." As he pulled at Orlando's arm, the room suddenly quieted. Over Fredericks' shoulder, Orlando saw Atasco moving again.

"I hope none of you think you're going anywhere." The sim was inhabited, but the voice was not Atasco's. "Trying to leave would be a very bad idea."

"Oh, no. Oh, Jesus," moaned Fredericks. "This is . . . we're. . . ."

Something happened at the head of the table, something swift and violent that Orlando couldn't quite make out, but Atasco's wife disappeared from his line of sight "I'm afraid the Atascos have left early," continued the new voice, sounding as pleased with its own evil as any cartoon villain. "But don't worry. We'll think of ways to keep the party entertaining."

For a long moment, nobody moved. A rustle of frightened murmurs ran through the guests as Atasco, or what had been Atasco, turned to survey them each in turn. "Now, why don't you tell me your names, and if you cooperate maybe I will be kind."

The exotic woman Orlando had noted earlier, the tall, hawk-nosed one that he thought of as Nefertiti, shouted "You go to hell!" Through a haze of fever, Orlando admired her spirit. With just a little effort, he could almost imagine this as a particularly complicated and inventive game. If so, Nefertiti was clearly the Warrior Princess. She even had a sidekick, if the talking monkey was with her.