The Barsoom Project

Chapter Nineteen

Millicent Summers’s office was tucked away beneath the Blue Lagoon swimming spa. A wall-wide window piped in a view of clear blue water. Healthy young and firm old bodies smashed through the rippling mirror-surface and drove swarms of bubbles under as they plunged.

Millicent’s head snapped around, and she sprang out of her chair delightedly. “Alex! I was hoping you’d come by.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his smile wasn’t very convincing. “Besides,” he said with more bitterness than he had intended, “I don’t know who I can trust.”

She was taken aback, opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. Millicent spun without touching him, and raised her voice. “Are you there, Jackie?”

“Yes, Miss Summers.”

“Hold all my calls for the next hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Millicent led Alex by the hand over to her desk, and sat with him. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I don’t have enough yet, but…” He reached over to her key pad. “Mind?”

“What’s mine is yours.”

He typed his security code in, and made a few quick routing instructions. When he looked up, he saw that she was seriously concerned.

“Alex, you don’t usually ignore an innuendo.”

“Millie, I can’t trust anyone who was here ten years ago. You came in seven years ago, so that’s why we’re talking.”

“And here I thought it was my lucid personality.”

“I need that too.”

“So talk.” The smile was gone. Millicent knew him too well to expect pleasantries, or anything pleasant at all.

He took a deep breath. “All right. Ten years ago, Cowles Industries was in trouble.”

“Financial trouble. I know, I’ve got it in my files.”

“There was going to be a hostile takeover, but enough stockholders held on out of loyalty to make it difficult. And then somebody, no one’s sure who, but his initials are Kareem Fekesh, set up an accident that would help to scare off some of our supporters. Enough to tip the scales.”

“Kareem Fekesh… I’ll look him up. What kind of an accident?”

“Murder. A man named Calvin Izumi was killed during the playing of the Fimbulwinter Game. The woman who killed him is a Michelle Sturgeon. She popped back up in the park two days ago.”

Millicent sat down hard, her face tight. “Oh. That Michelle Sturgeon.” She searched his face for clues. “All right, Griff. What can I do?”

“Help me sort through this. This first part isn’t pleasant at all, and maybe only Harmony has had the nerve to look at it.”

“What’s that?”

“It was no outside job. The current theory among the bereaved is that someone came in as an Actor, switched rifles, and carried the dummy away somehow.”

“You don’t buy that.”

“Not for a hot second. Ah.”

Millicent’s wall screen beeped, and a picture took form. It showed a man in Eskimo makeup, pouchy cheeks, epicanthic folds, and long, glossy black Mongol hair. The next picture was of the same man out of makeup. The two pictures matched only vaguely.

“Have they run this through FBI? How long ago did this all happen?”

“Maybe ten years. And the FBI wouldn’t have looked too carefully. We never let them know just how serious it was.”

Millicent’s puzzlement was obvious and easy to understand. Griffin took a few minutes to explain the facts of life. When he was done, she exhaled harshly. “Wait. I’m going to need some coffee for this. You?”

“No, thanks. My ulcer already has all the acid it needs. Anyway, my bet is that that picture isn’t of our man. Anyone who could tamper with the Game data banks to reprogram a hologram can certainly change a few pictures. And the person who can do both of those things is no short-time employee. Even if he was, his intimate knowledge of Dream Park security and operations means that he had a collaborator.”

“So what do you think happened?”

“Not that difficult. Our traitor entered himself pseudonymously into the Gaming Actor roster. Donned makeup. On the day of the Game, guards ferried rifles from the armory to Gaming B. Our traitor got several of them to be distributed. He disassembled one and restored it to firing condition. For a practiced expert, maybe two minutes of work, but he had to be carrying the tools and parts he needed. He passed the rifle to Michelle Sturgeon, and got out of there… let himself be killed out, I’d guess. The stolen parts were dumped in a scrap-metal recycler.” Alex sighed. “That’s really all there is to it, Mil. I wish there were more.”

“Sure there’s more. Did he replace another Actor? Or was there just one extra Eskimo in the Game, made up out of whole cloth?”

“One extra. Numbers changed throughout the program.”

She mulled it. “So what can I do for you?”

“First, I want to know which Dream Park employees at the time had large registered blocks of stock in the company. It’s thin, but a natural way to pay off the traitor. Second, I want you to put a trace on the level of interest Mr. Kareem Fekesh had in the Park at the time. That will be hard. I’m sure that he covered his trail.”

“I… don’t know whether I can get that information, Alex.”

“Not alone. I’m going to get you help.”

“Help?”

“You’ll see.”

Sunlight was beginning to dwindle by the time Millicent teased the first precious pieces of data out of the computer banks. The list of stockholders in Cowles Industries circa 2048 was immense-there had been a profit-sharing plan in place far earlier than that, and many employees funneled their funds back into the Park. Only about twenty current employees had had over two hundred shares. Harmony’s name was there, and so was Dr. Vail. The other names were just names.

“Does this give you what you need?”

Alex scanned the list, nodding slowly. He glanced at his watch. “And my helper should be available any moment now.”

“Are you deliberately trying to be mysterious?”

“No more than usual-ah!”

A beep on Millicent’s desk told him that the new call had been routed through. It hadn’t taken long.

One section of her screen cleared, and a young man appeared. He had reddish hair and a thin face. His eyes looked tired but still very alive. His lips were curled sardonically. “Griffin. How go things in La-La Land?”

“Not so good, Tony. How’s Chino?”

“Another eight months and I’m out. Till then, I sleep on my back. I don’t suppose-” He finally seemed to see Millicent. “Scuse me. Have we met?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Tony. Tony McWhirter. Few years back The Griffin was responsible for sponsoring me into this boy’s club.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Curiously enough, once I was here, he did just about everything he could to make it as comfortable as possible. Almost as if he had a bad conscience about the whole thing.”

“Why would Griff have that?” Millicent was not a good liar. She should have shown surprise.

“The very question. I’ve asked myself that one many times, and come to no useful conclusion. At any rate, I doubt that this is a social call. What’s the job, O Griffin?”

“Tony, I got you a work dispensation to get you points with the parole board and to keep you current on computers until we can get you out. If you’re smart enough to break our security system, I want you on our side.”

“La-de-dah, S.S.D.D. Same shit, different day. Come on, what’s the pitch? You need something, don’t you?”

“I surely do. I need you to investigate a man named Kareem Fekesh. Offices in the DuPont building, downtown Los Angeles. Find out everything you can about his involvement with Dream Park, Cowles Industries, as far back as you have to go. A lot of it will be hidden.”

“Do I get to violate his civil rights?”

“He’s not a citizen.”

Tony’s sardonic manner dropped away. He studied Griffin’s screen image with wonder and a little fear. “That doesn’t make it ethical. Anyway, it’ll take more computer time than they give me here.”

“Yes. Millicent will make one of the banks here available to you. Set up the program and let it run overnight if you have to. I need you to break security on his accounts, stockbrokers, banks, anything else.”

“Illegal too.”

“You’re a criminal, aren’t you?”

“Such a mouth. What’s in it for me? More time if I’m caught?”

“‘Tony, everything I’ve done for you was gratis, because I know you never wanted that guard to die. You do this for me, and you will have paid back everything, If you work it through the lines here at Dream Park, your legal risk is minimized.”

McWhirter stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’ve only got eight months till parole. Maybe I’ll just coast.”

Millicent laughed.

Both men looked at her. She said, “Griff, he’d do it for the phone calls.”

Emotions chased each other across McWhirter’s face. Ultimately he said, “Millicent, wasn’t it? I’d like to meet you.”

“Meet? Sure, in eight months. Don’t count on anything till the second date.”

“No, just meet. You’re something. Griffin, she’s just barely wrong. I get lonely. It’s enough to drive me crazy. You have to meet these people. They never heard of role-playing games. They compete for who can remember the bloodiest scene in a slasher movie. They fight over what TV channel to watch! But this is dangerous. Isn’t it? I won’t die to get phone calls from The Griffin.”

The calls were that important to him? Alex found that unnerving. He said, “All right, Tony. This is the most I can say. If you can definitely prove that Fekesh was behind a takeover bid about ten years ago, or that his present involvement in the Park is malign, I’ll pull every string I’ve got, and we’ll get you out of there. You’ll have a job here waiting for you. Prove it in court, Tony.”

McWhirter thought. “In court. And he’s not a citizen. It’s a poor bet, Griffin.”

“And?”

“I have a holding account on BIX. Dump your data in there, along with my password and account number into Cowles. Unlimited access?”

“Don’t try to screw me, Tony. You play this straight, and your life will turn out fine. Try to take advantage, play with files you shouldn’t, and you won’t see sunlight until the next Ice Age.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.” Tony signed off.

“Whew,” Millicent said. “That’s a hell of a day’s work.”

“I’m not through yet. Get me Kareem Fekesh.” Millicent routed the request through the switchboard, and from there a probe hunted for his whereabouts and finally located him in one of the theme hotels. The beeper sounded over and over, then a face of Middle Eastern extraction appeared on the screen.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“I need to talk to Mr. Fekesh.” Alex suddenly recognized him. It was Razul, from the War-Bots scenario.

Razul clearly didn’t recognize Griffin as anything but some random American. There might have been a gleam of satisfaction under those heavy eyebrows, or it might have been Alex’s imagination. “I’m sorry, but he is not available just now.”

“This is Alex Griffin, head of Dream Park Security.”

The man thought for a moment, and then the screen went blank. Alex drummed his fingers for a full minute, and then the screen came on again.

Fekesh was the picture, the very soul of elegance, and Alex had the distinct impression that he would have felt underdressed in a tuxedo.

“Yes, Mr. Griffin.” He spoke like a man on his way to catch a tube.

“I was wondering if I might speak to you for a few minutes. Person to person.”

“On what subject?”

“Shall we say… unresolved matters of business.”

“And how long have these matters remained unresolved?”

“Eight years.”

He smiled blandly. “Then I’m afraid they can remain so a while longer. I am a very busy man, Mr. Griffin. In fact, I am due in San Diego in half an hour. Please call my secretary. Perhaps I can find you five minutes next month.”

He inclined his head politely and the screen cleared.

Griffin spoke sadly to the blank screen. “I assume you realize: this means war.”

“Tough cookie,” Millicent said.

“Even tough cookies crumble. I just hope Tony can come up with the leverage.”