Eileen Reed - Ground Zero Part 17

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

Eileen figured out a way to follow a person through the course of the Game. She drew a blue colored box around them with the computer keys and pushed the Fast Forward key. Eileen could then lean back and watch the box as it followed the movements of the person. She played the tape quickly for all twelve audience members. That didn't take much time. None of them got up during the Game. Eileen checked off their names as she watched. Every audience member, the seven military and five civilian, were seated safely in a chair from the moment Nelson closed Terry's door to the moment he opened it.

The Commanders, Eaton, Torrence, and Olsen, were clean as well. Olsen paced nervously back and forth, which made the blue box hop and jerk along with him as the tape ran on Fast Forward. He never left the Commander's area. Eaton and Torrence didn't get up from their chairs.

Nelson Atkins left his room, presumably on a bathroom break. He monitored the communications equipment and the links to the other military centers from his room, or so Eileen gathered from listening to his conversation with Art Bailey. Eileen noted the time when Nelson left and the time he returned. Six minutes, forty seconds. Time enough.

Major Blaine, who wasn't a.s.signed a position during the game, was in and out of the Center a half-dozen times. Either man, Atkins or Blaine, could have committed the crime when they were absent from the Center. But how could either one of them have killed Terry Guzman when they were off camera? The only way in or out of Terry's room was through the door that was on film. The other Gamers were off camera too, locked in their small rooms.

Eileen felt a lifting of her heart as she thought of Joe Tanner and Art Bailey. They would have to be in on the murder together, or both be innocent. Even though they were both unseen by the cameras, they were together in their small room until the murder was discovered. Eileen didn't want either one to be the murderer.

But how did the murderer get into the little room? If the murderer was one of the Gamers, how did the Gamers get out of their little rooms?

Eileen stood up. What was it? There was something- The phone rang. The hovering idea vanished. Eileen cursed under her breath and picked up the phone.

"Hi, Eileen, this is Art Bailey. I was wondering if you would mind me coming over for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"Well, Joe and I both, actually. We have to pull tapes from each of the Silicon Graphics drives. It's part of the routine. They contain cla.s.sified information, and they were left there the day before yesterday. We really need to get them in the safe."

"All right." Eileen hung up the phone and dropped into her chair. She started the tape again.

Art and Joe Tanner entered a few moments later. Art lifted a hand, and Joe nodded gravely at Eileen. She nodded back. In jeans and a sweatshirt, he looked just right. He was fascinating. He was puzzling. Eileen watched as Art moved toward the row of doors along one side of the room and Joe started toward the doors on the other side. Terry's room was taped shut. They looked over at the door and then looked away. Joe glanced back at Eileen, perhaps feeling her gaze on him.

I'm the policeman, Eileen thought as Joe turned away hurriedly. He isn't embarra.s.sed because a woman is looking at him. He's afraid because the detective might think he's a murderer. Or he's afraid because he is the murderer.

She turned her eyes back to the screen and set the b.u.t.ton to Listen mode.

"Did you and Art fix the BP flare problem?"

"We think so, Terry. There was a network packet problem-"

"I don't care what it was, I just wanted to know if I had to come up with some sort of explanation. I think I'll have one just in case, don't you think?"

Joe looked at Terry in a calm, friendly way, as though he didn't understand the poison in the woman's words.

"Okay, that would be a good idea. Just in case."

Terry walked away, and Joe betrayed himself with one tiny, telltale swallow, as though he were trying to clear his mouth of something bitter. His face didn't change. He turned back to Art, who was speaking to Colonel Eaton.

"Miss Reed?" Eileen jumped in surprise. Joe stood at the door of the studio, looking nervous. Eileen had a queer doubling feeling for a moment, seeing Joe in front of her and on the screen at the same time.

"Yes?" She pushed the Pause b.u.t.ton on the monitor screen.

"I brought you a pop. Doug told me what kind you got yesterday, so..." He held out a pop can to her. It was beaded with moisture and looked wonderful.

"You and Art sure take care of me," Eileen said. "Thank you." She took the can from him and popped the tab. "And thank you for the coffee yesterday. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. I sure hope you find out who did it," Joe said. He leaned against the doorway more confidently and brought his other hand into Eileen's view. He had an open pop can in it, and took a sip. The sweatshirt he wore was thick and green and had a wolf on the front. "Ski Banff," the shirt suggested.

"I hope so too. Did you think of anything more since we talked yesterday?" Eileen asked. She wanted to ask Joe if he'd ever skied Banff. She wanted to ask him if he had had anyone special since Harriet Sullivan. She didn't ask. What was wrong with her? If Terry had caused Sully's death, Joe had the best motive she'd seen for the murder. The only motive she could think of, as yet.

"No," Joe said, and looked down at his pop can.

"Sharon said she thought someone was writing Terry's code for her," Eileen said. She took a sip. Joe looked up in surprise.

"She told you that?" Joe said. "I'm-well, I'm amazed. We've talked about it, you know, because it just seemed like all of a sudden her code got really good, but-"

"She wanted to help. She knows the little things can be important."

Joe looked at the floor again.

"She told you about Sully, didn't she?" he said in a low voice.

"Yes," Eileen said. "Do you want to tell me about her?"

"No."

"Did you kill Terry Guzman, Joe?"

"I did not," he said hotly. "I did not. I hated her, but I wouldn't. I could never."

"I just want to know who did," Eileen said.

"That all the tapes, Joe?" Art asked from behind Joe. "Can you bring them across for me? I want my turn with the detective, here."

"Your turn?" Eileen said. She finished her pop.

Art handed his tapes to Joe. He took them and left with a brief, anxious glance toward Eileen. Eileen raised the pop can to him in a small salute, then pitched it into the corner waste-basket with perfect accuracy. A small symbolic message for Joe Tanner.

"Two points," Art said admiringly, not understanding. That was all right with Eileen; she was sure Joe did understand.

"So what do you want, Art? You figured out the murderer yet? I have to go in"-Eileen checked her watch-"forty-five minutes. Gotta date with the boss."

"No, I haven't figured out the murderer," Art said. "But I thought I would show you the Gaming computer system and how it works before you go. Don't know if it'll help or not."

"Worth a try. I'm sick of these d.a.m.ned tapes."

Berlin, Germany.

Muallah looked out the small window of the airplane and watched the refueling trucks. He schooled himself to patience. A private jet was out of the question, however much it would have made the journey easier. The helicopter that awaited them in Mashhad would satisfy his desire for speed once they reached the northern Iranian city. From there the helicopter would bring them into Uzbekistan, former subject state of the USSR.

Muallah had targeted Uzbekistan more than two years before. He knew there were missile silos somewhere there, and he knew the Uzbekistanis were more Islamic than Russian in their loyalties. He'd thought that Uzbekistan would be a fine place if he only had the exact location of a missile silo. Uzbekistan was close to Iran, one of the countries where Muallah was held in a certain ... affection. He'd found plenty of help there for what the Iranians believed was just another terrorist group.

Muallah smiled, his fingers resting lightly on his copy of the Koran. The Iranians meant to use him. As did the Libyans and the Iraqis. None of the governments were aware that Muallah was using them. When they discovered their mistake, their own people would already be Muallah's fanatic subjects, loyal to the death to the One of the Prophecies. The one who blew the Trumpet of Doom would topple governments before him like straws in the wind.

"Allah akhbar," Muallah murmured, and opened his Koran. He ruthlessly suppressed his excitement. The time was coming, but it was not yet upon him.

17.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

They stood in the Truth Team room. Art showed Eileen a screen full of little windows, each one flashing and clicking.

"I'm backing up the data from the Cray to the Digital storage devices, basically just a bunch of big machines with tape drives. The Silicon Graphics computers are hooked into the network, but it would take too much time to transmit all their data, so we just push it onto tapes and store it. The whole system, the whole Game, is started off from my console, right here."

Art touched the mouse key and brought a window to the front of the others.

"This window would start a program, which would call other programs on the Silicon Graphics machines. These programs all talk to each other via messages, across the network. So these computer programs are like people on a party phone line, each talking away at each other. Say you have a battle manager who wants to fire a Brilliant Pebble? He calls up the Environment guy and says 'Hey, what's the weather like?' Or sort of like that."

"Okay," Eileen said.

"The Crays are our big machines, they run most of the processing to figure out intercepts, the weather, the time of day, everything else you can think of. I'd like to show you one, if you would like."

Eileen had heard of Crays. She didn't think the enormous supercomputer would have anything to do with the murder, but she was curious to see one.

"Sure," she said to Art.

"Okay, we have to leave the Center for a few minutes. You want me to lock the door?"

"Yes, please." Eileen was immediately suspicious.

"Don't worry, Jeff changed the combination yesterday. You want to leave for good, right now? I'm not doing this well, am I? I mean, Jeff Blaine has the only combination to this room. n.o.body could come in here while we're gone. But in order to get back in, we'll have to have the Major back here."

"No, you're not doing this well." Eileen couldn't help but laugh. Art looked so crestfallen. "But I'll tell you what. I will leave for good. That'll give me a chance to pick up some supper." She bent and gathered her notes into a pile. "That's all I need."

"Okay, then," Art said cheerfully, good humor restored. "Let's go see the Cray."

They walked down the sloped hallway to the door. "Notice the slight slope to the hallway," Art said.

"I did notice that. Why is that?"

"The floors throughout the Gaming Center are raised a little bit, to allow the network communications cables to run underneath the floor," Art said. "The Cray has enormous cables, and the power cables to each of those Silicon Graphics are also huge. In addition, the s.p.a.ce underneath is chilled and vents are put in underneath each SG, to make sure they don't overheat. They-"

He stopped. Eileen stopped.

"The floors are raised," Eileen said. "How do you get underneath the floors?"

"The floors come up in big metal squares," Art said. "You can raise the floors everywhere in the Center. The carpets are designed to raise in big flaps, but they're interlocked so you can't see how they come apart. But I don't think there's room-"

Eileen turned and ran back into the Gaming Center. Art followed. Eileen stopped at Terry's door, looking at the floor. Streaks of dust lay everywhere. The chalk outline was oddly shaped, drawn around the chair where she'd died. It didn't look like a human, just an irregular blob.

"The floor," Eileen said. The carpeting looked solid and plush.

"The carpet is cut into interlocking squares. If you look at the pattern, you can almost see it. The squares can be lifted up," Art said. "Then the floor tiles can be raised. But I don't think you could crawl around down there."

"Could you enter this Center from across the hall? From downstairs?"

"No. The Center is sealed. The vents are only so big," Art said, holding his hands a few inches apart. "Let me get a suction tool, that's the way to lift up the floor tiles. You want to go underneath the floor? I really don't think you'll fit."

"Yes, I do. But not from Terry's room. I'm going to want prints from underneath that tile."

"He left prints on the underside?" Art said doubtfully.

"Maybe so," Eileen said grimly. "I want to check out those vents. If no one can get in or out of this Center, then . .."

"Then what?" Art said. He walked back to the television studio and returned with a metal bar with two suction cups attached at either end. "This will bring up the tiles. And here's a flashlight."

"Then the person who killed Terry Guzman was one of the Gamers," Eileen said. Art stopped, and the suction tool drooped in his hand. The color drained from his face.

"No one else could have done it. Every other person was in sight of the cameras. Unless the film has been tampered with. I won't rule that out entirely.

"Whoever it was was sitting in their own cube, one of the little rooms in the Center. They lifted their own floor tile, crawled underneath the floor to Terry's room, killed her, and crawled back. Then they pretended great shock and amazement when her body was found. No one else could have done it. It has to be one of the Gamers who were in those rooms."

"Oh, no," Art said softly. "Oh, please, no."

"You are still on my suspect list, Mr. Bailey. Although you and Joe would have to be together on this."

"We could have done it, but we didn't," Art said steadily. He held out the suction tool and the flashlight. "But you shouldn't believe me, of course."

"I don't," Eileen said. "I'm going to give Major Blaine a call, then I'll go under the floor. I'd like to have you leave the area before I do this."

"I understand," Art said. Eileen took the metal tool and the flashlight from him. "You pull the lever in the middle and that breaks the suction," Art explained. "Those tiles are heavy, so be careful."

"I'll be careful," Eileen said grimly.

Art turned and left the room without another word, and Eileen sighed and scrubbed at her forehead with her free hand. She could see Art in the witness stand, with the same mournful innocent look on his face. She could see Art in the electric chair. Art could be a murderer. But it felt bad to mistrust him, just the same.

"Major Blaine speaking."

"This is Eileen Reed, Jeff. I need you to get the SID people back here. I need you to come up here, too."

"What did you find?" Blaine said immediately.