Death Match

FORTY-FIVE

Inside a forward security post on the third floor of the inner tower, Edwin Mauchly observed Checkpoint I through mirrored glass. It was a scene of controlled pandemonium. At least a hundred Eden employees were lined up waiting to pass through the exit portals, kept in line by a dozen guards.

Mauchly turned from the window to a nearby monitor. It displayed a bird’s-eye view of the main lobby. Another, larger, line of people was streaming back from a makeshift security checkpoint by the revolving doors. Uniformed guards were checking passes and identifications, letting people past in ones and twos, searching for Christopher Lash. Mauchly noted with satisfaction that plainclothes security personnel were mingling with the lines, subtly discouraging chatter, keeping clients apart from would-be applicants and vice versa. Even in this crisis, with a Condition Delta invoked for the first time in the tower’s history, Eden kept the safety and privacy of its clients a first priority.

Mauchly began to pace. It was a distasteful, messy situation, and one he found personally offensive. As liaison between Richard Silver and the rest of the company, Mauchly had placed, in his own quiet way, a very personal stamp on Eden. He himself had implemented all security arrangements save for the penthouse, which Silver insisted on handling personally. Mauchly had realized the acute need for secrecy, for absolute confidentiality, almost before there was a product to protect. And he had been the first to understand how the widest possible network of data-sharing — between communications conglomerates, financial companies, the federal government — could not only improve their product, but bring in revenue streams never before imagined.

Mauchly had no particular use for title or recognition, for the usual trappings of corporate glory. Nevertheless, he was fiercely proud and fiercely protective of the company. And that was why, as he paced slowly back and forth inside the forward post, he felt such an upswelling of rage.

He himself had suggested Lash. It was a studied move: there was a threat to the corporation, and Lash seemed the best person to identify that threat.

But instead of ushering a savior into Eden, Mauchly had admitted a serpent.

He was still amazed how well Lash had pulled it off. Mauchly knew little about psychology, but he did know that most people sick enough to be psychopathic murderers had difficulty concealing their true nature. But Lash had been almost perfect. True, he had failed his pseudo-application, but there was nothing to hint at the true gravity of the situation. Yet Mauchly had now seen the evidence with his own eyes. After Silver gave him the alarming news — after they knew where to look — the facts literally poured in from the computer. Records of institutionalization. A deviant medical history as long as one’s arm. For all his brilliance as a post-graduate student, Lash was also critically broken in some way, and it only got worse. He was clever — he’d been able to hide his sickness and his record from the FBI at first, just as he’d been able to hide it from Eden — but all the hiding was past now.

As Mauchly looked back through the privacy glass, the feeling of betrayal and violation increased. In hindsight, he should have heeded Dr. Alicto’s post-eval warnings. The cloud under which Lash left the FBI should have raised more red flags.

He could not go back and rectify past mistakes. But he could certainly atone for them. Now he knew exactly what the score was. And he would set things right.

There was a low beep, and a videophone on a nearby desk began flashing. Mauchly approached it, punched in a short code. “Mauchly here,” he said.

The small screen went blank for a moment, then Silver’s face appeared.

“Edwin,” he said. “What’s the current status?” Concern was evident in both his expression and his voice.

“The tower’s been placed in Condition Delta.”

“Was that really necessary?”

“It seemed the fastest, safest way to empty the building. Everyone is being evacuated except the security staff. We’ve got screeners at all exits and checkpoints, watching for Lash.”

“And our clients? Have steps been taken not to alarm them in any way?”

“They’ve been told it’s a routine evacuation drill, that we conduct them regularly to ensure our safety procedures are fully optimized. It’s not far from the truth. So far, everyone has taken it in stride.”

“Good. Very good.”

Mauchly waited for Silver to sign off, but the face remained on the screen. “Is there something else, Dr. Silver?” Mauchly said after a moment.

Silver shook his head slowly. “You don’t think there’s any chance we’ve made a mistake, do you?”

“A mistake, sir?”

“About Lash, I mean.”

“Impossible, sir. You gave me the report yourself. And you’ve seen the evidence we’ve turned up since. Besides, if the man was innocent, he wouldn’t have run the way he did.”

“I suppose not. Still… you’ll handle things gently, right? Make sure no harm comes to him?”

“Of course.”

Silver smiled wanly, and the screen went blank.

A moment later, the door to the security post opened and Sheldrake entered. He came forward, massive body poised, as if awaiting orders. You could take the man out of the military, but it appeared you could not take the military out of the man.

“How are we faring, Mr. Sheldrake?” Mauchly asked.

“Seventy-five percent of non-Eden personnel have left the building,” Sheldrake said. “From the checkpoint counts, about thirty-eight percent of workers inside the Wall have already passed through the security portals. We expect to have the evacuation complete within twenty minutes.”

“And Lash?”

Sheldrake held up a printout. “Scanners tracked him to a hardware support area. He went into half a dozen rooms there. No further reports or sightings since.”

“Let me see that, please.” Mauchly glanced over the printout. “Redundant Disk Silo Storage. Network Infrastructure. What would he be doing in places like that?”

“The same question we’ve been asking ourselves, sir.”

“There’s something wrong here.” Mauchly pointed at the listing. “According to these time logs, Lash went into six different rooms over the course of only fifteen seconds.” He handed the printout back to Sheldrake. “He couldn’t have visited that many rooms so quickly. What was he doing?”

“Playing with us.”

“My thoughts exactly. The last room he entered was a Web farm. That’s where your men should concentrate their search.”

“Very good, sir.”

“But continue to deploy roving patrols inside the Wall. We have to assume Lash is probing the perimeter, trying to find some way to exit the inner tower. I’ll head up to the command center; I can monitor the operation more efficiently from there.”

He watched as the man turned to leave. Then, in a quieter voice, he said: “Mr. Sheldrake?”

“Sir?”

Mauchly regarded him a moment. Sheldrake, of course, did not know everything — he did not know, for example, precisely why Lash had been in the building — but he knew enough to understand the man posed a grave threat.

“This man has already compromised Eden. The longer he’s at large, the more damage he can cause. Significant damage.”

Sheldrake nodded.

“Containment is key here. This kind of situation is best dealt with inside the building. The sooner this whole thing goes away, the better for everyone at Eden.” Mauchly felt a fresh surge of anger. “Do you understand? The thing should go all the way away.”

Sheldrake nodded again, more slowly this time. “My feelings as well, sir.”

“Then get to it,” Mauchly said.