Virtual Vandals Part 15

17.

"WHAT?"

Matt knew his voice was too loud, but he couldn't help it. At last he recognized the map on the Buzzards' command-post table.

He'd seen it on his computer only a few days ago. It showed the layout of the Gardens at Carrollsburg, the gated community Sandy Braxton's father was making so much money from.

But what could Rob-and his fellow g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers-possibly want with anything there?

He wondered as much out loud.

James and Rob laughed.

"I'll show you," the gang's computer whiz said. He stepped round to his patched-together computer and began inputting orders-on a keyboard! Matt hadn't even seen one of those outside of a museum.

How old is that thing? Matt wondered.

Old or not, however, it worked. A grainy, fuzzy hologram swam into view over the computer system.

Matt recognized it as a briefing map, the sort of visual aid shown to troops about to go on maneuvers-or on a real attack. It was a larger version of the map on the table, showing the point of land at the junction of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers. Instead of showing streets, however, this map was broken into large, vividly colored areas. The tip and eastern side of the peninsula were colored blue with a red and white border. "That's Fort McNair-an Army base," Rob explained. "From there up the Potomac to the Tidal Basin, there are expensive condominiums."

Then he pointed at a green area covering most of the remaining land in the peninsula. "The Gardens at Carrollsburg-a regular garden spot now. Gated community, rush-hour hovercraft service up the Potomac, just lovely. Named after the town of Carrollsburg, which stood on this land before the city of Washington was even thought of."

Falk grinned at the prisoners, the light reflecting from the holo turning his face into a devil's mask. "But in between the colonial town and this outpost of gracious living, the area had another name."

Matt remembered. "Buzzard Point," he said.

The gang member gave Matt a surprised look. "Very good," he said. "And you said you weren't coming up with anything."

"One of the Leets in school-his father invested in the development. The name came up again when I was trying to track down kids who might have been involved with your vandals. Their addresses seemed to cl.u.s.ter in certain zip codes-Georgetown or the Northwest, or 20024 in the Southwest. That seems to be where the diplomats are found...."

Matt's voice trailed off as he realized that these were the people Rob had a special reason to hate. They'd cost him his mother, his father's job, his school, his whole life.

But Falk didn't fly off the handle. He simply nodded. "Before all those...nice people...moved in, this area was home turf for the Buzzards. Get it now? The gang took its name from the neighborhood."

"Not the prettiest handle," James growled, glancing around at the ruined walls surrounding them. "But then, it wasn't the prettiest neighborhood, either."

Rob turned back to the holo-map glowing in midair. "Go a little farther north, and it still isn't." He pointed to a large, bright orange blob across the top of the peninsula. "This whole area is still waiting to be renovated. Part of it will be an expansion of the Gardens at Carrollsburg, but other developers are getting into the act, too. The people who lived here were moved out, but the bulldozers haven't come in yet."

He ran his finger around the irregular orange borders. "All this s.p.a.ce between those rich, fat diplomats and the gentrified neighborhoods coming down from the Mall and Capitol Hill." Then his hand punched through the orange empty area. "Sort of like a no-man's-land, cutting off the whole Carrollsburg gated community."

His voice sounded faraway, thoughtful, but his face was tight. "They think they're so safe behind their gates and their security. Ha! That stuff is as solid as Swiss cheese. Cat and her friends have riddled the place with trapdoor programs. I can get into dozens of home systems in there now. And those computers all tie in to the hardware that runs the whole development."

There was an ugly, scary light in Rob Falk's eyes as he turned to Matt and Caitlin...and this time it didn't come from the garish colors of the holographic map he'd been pointing to.

"I've got dozens of doors to reach in and cut their communications, turn off their alarms, kill their power. I can lock those precious gates of theirs, stranding them inside." His voice took on a gloating tone. "Or I could open those gates up to let in a couple of hundred uninvited guests."

Matt's eyes shot from Rob to his new friend James.

"We got Buzzards from all around the Beltway gathering here," the gang warlord a.s.sured him. "All of them will be carrying."

"Carrying?" Caitlin said.

James gave her a scornful look. "Guns, girl. What you think we'd be carrying?"

"They really don't have enough guards in the compound," Rob said.

"Just enough to sit on their fat b.u.t.ts at the gates and direct traffic," James agreed.

Rob laughed. "But then, who'd expect an invasion in such a cla.s.sy neighborhood?"

"It'll be the biggest rip-off in Washington history," James boasted.

"At least since the British burnt down the White House in 1814." An ugly look of triumph covered Rob's face. "House after house full of diplomats-and not one of them will have any immunity."

"You're crazy!" Cat Corrigan burst out.

Matt gave her another look. He might agree with her, but he knew it wasn't healthy to point out facts like that to crazy people.

"Even if you pull off this 'rip-off' you're talking about," Matt said, "you'll have more than the police after you. You'll have people whose reach doesn't end with the D.C. line. The State Department will have to get involved if you molest diplomats. And the rest of the feds will be right behind them-the Attorney General, the FBI, Net Force, and who knows what other agencies?"

"You left out the Congress, rushing to rescue Senator Corrigan's little girl," Rob Falk said mockingly.

"We got it figured out," James a.s.sured them. "In quick, slap those rent-a-cops down, grab what we can, then out even quicker. Before the big shots know anything happened, we'll be spread all over the Beltway. It's like a guerrilla war, baby. They won't know where to look to find whoever is responsible."

Rob Falk leaned forward. "But just in case, we'll provide the perfect high-profile fall guys for the media and politicians to blame."

He poked contemptuous fingers at Caitlin and Matt. "Think of the fun some people could have carrying on about a bunch of wild diplo-brats, a Senator's daughter, and a military bureaucrat's wannabe son, all taking a walk on the wild side?"

Matt felt sick. He could just imagine the media circus. Their faces smeared over every holo-news program, in the broadcast magazines and the sleazy gossip-fests that pretended to be news shows. The preaching and the finger-pointing by self-appointed guardians of morality and political opportunists. Dad would be laughed out of cla.s.s. Mom would never get another promotion again. Cat's father would probably have to get out of politics. And the diplomats would have to go pack up and go home.

Unless....

"Maybe you've got us," Matt bluffed, "but I don't see Luc Valery or Serge Woronov. Do you think they're going to sit around quietly when they hear that Caitlin has been kidnapped? Especially since you killed Savage."

Loud laughter drowned out his words. Rob Falk just waved his argument away. "Already taken care of."

Caitlin looked as sick as Matt felt. "Y-you mean you k-k-killed-?"

James was already shouting through the doorway on the other side of the room. Seconds later, two more husky Buzzard g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers led in two bedraggled figures.

The warlord laughed as if he'd heard a great joke. "We nabbed them before before we took care of you." we took care of you."

Luc Valery was dressed in an expensive suit-or what was left of an expensive suit. At the right shoulder of his jacket, the arm had almost been torn off. It hung crazily, held in place only by the pale silk inner lining. Serge wore jeans and a sweater-and a huge, swollen black eye.

Rob gave the diplo-brats the same kind of smile a cat would give a lame canary. "Luc was supposed to be going to lunch with his dad-until he heard this."

He hit some keys on the keyboard, and suddenly the floating map was replaced by an image of Caitlin. "I've got to talk with you-right away." Her voice turned to a breathless whisper. "That guy who's been pestering us-I think he's the one who drove that car that got Gerry!"

Rob turned to the speechless Caitlin. "Pretty effective, don't you think? Of course, I've been sampling your voice for months, just in case I needed to imitate you. The gallant M'sieu Valery rushed to the meeting place your virtual version suggested-then wound up coming along here with just a little persuasion."

He turned to the other foreign prisoner. "Now Serge-he was a bit more of a challenge. Although he goes out to play on the Net pretty much as often as he likes, the security people from Slobodan Narodny try to keep an eye on their amba.s.sador's son. So we needed to give him a strong reason to ditch any trailing bodyguards. Luckily, I had the perfect b.u.t.ton to push."

Rob turned to Matt. "I borrowed your stick man and put him together with the Idiom Savant program."

Another set of keys pushed, and the hologram changed to Leif Anderson's whimsical stick figure spitting words in Serbo-Croatian. Serge gave a roar and tried to pull free of the two guys holding on to him. In seconds, however, they had him efficiently-and brutally-pinned to the floor.

"In case you're wondering, that speech your proxy is spouting runs something along the lines of 'give me money or I spill everything to your father and his government.' It's a little more insulting and nasty in the Balkan version."

Shaking his head, Rob gave another chuckle. "You should be glad old Serge never saw your face," he told Matt. "When he went to meet with you to pay the first installment, he was carrying this."

Rob reached into his back pocket and pulled out an old semi-automatic pistol. It was an ancient Army M9, the Beretta 9mm side arm used around the turn of the century. Probably it had gone off to the Balkans with one of the many peacekeeping forces sent there over the years, been lost, used by several sides in the seemingly never-ending wars and feuds in the region, and now returned to the United States in somebody's diplomatic luggage.

"Luckily, our reception committee was able to take it away from him before anybody got hurt."

Rob glanced at Serge, who lay groaning under the weight of his two guards. "At least," Rob added, "before anyone got hurt too badly."

Luc Valery stared wildly down at his friend, at the guards, at the other prisoners, and finally at Rob. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

Rob gave him a slow, insolent grin. "I'm your fairy G.o.dfather, Froggie-boy," he said. "Thanks to me, you got to go out and play to your heart's content on the Net, doing things nice kids would never be allowed to do. I gave you interesting shapes to use, doorways to come back and have fun, and yeah, the occasional order. I'm Rob Falk."

"You're a coward and a killer," Luc said. "You murdered Gerald Savage-or more likely, you ordered one of these thugs to do the job."

"Actually," Rob said, "my friend James here volunteered to take care of it. But then, he never liked loudmouthed bigots. Especially foreign loudmouthed bigots."

Luc turned bright red. The veins popped up on the side of his head and the cords in his neck stood out through the skin. "You don't know what a mistake you've made! My father is a representative of the French government! He has the ear of the amba.s.sador! And as you said, Serge's father is is the amba.s.sador for Slobodan Narodny! Whatever you're planning, you'll never get away with it! Our voices will be heard! And our governments will demand that you and your-a.s.sociates-receive the proper punishment!" the amba.s.sador for Slobodan Narodny! Whatever you're planning, you'll never get away with it! Our voices will be heard! And our governments will demand that you and your-a.s.sociates-receive the proper punishment!"

Matt thought the young Frenchman was going to hurl himself across the table and take Rob Falk down. Certainly Rob's friend James expected it. He pulled a pistol, aiming it at Luc. The remaining guard grabbed the diplomat's son.

But Rob's face hadn't even changed expression. He'd listened to Luc's tirade as if the other boy were suggesting that it might rain that evening.

"I suppose that's true," Rob said. "You guys-except for Matt here-are all pretty important."

"Depend on it!" Luc threatened. "We'll tell-"

"LET ME FINISH!" The words rapped out as if they were being hammered on steel. For one second, the incandescent hatred that Rob Falk held for all diplomats blazed across his face and eyes. Then, as if he were slipping on a mask-or donning a proxy-he returned to the distant, ironic pose he'd used in talking to the prisoners.

"I suppose you might tell someone what went on here," Rob said mildly, "If you were still alive." He raised the old pistol and aimed it carefully. "Fortunately, that won't be an issue."

18.

Rob Falk and his friend James, the warlord of the Buzzards, filled the sudden silence with loud, harsh laughter. Rob lowered his gun.

The young computer genius stuck the pistol in his back pocket. "Oh, we're not gonna do it now now," he said, as if this should make the prisoners feel better. "But we really have to shut your mouths. After all, you only served two uses for us. You could get into places that my friends and I-well, I guess you'd say we were a little too rough for polite society."

James laughed again, but Rob went on. "The other use was to take the heat-create big headlines and make the big-time commentators and politicians buzz and moan about the state of young people today." He sneered. "Why should we go to all the trouble of creating scapegoats if they're just going to point the finger at us?"

"You got a point there, brother," James said.

"Besides, if you die, there'll be just enough tragedy to keep the publicity machine running overtime." Rob might have been discussing how to talk up an upcoming dance, or how to get the word out about a charity car wash. Matt had never heard something so evil evil discussed so casually. discussed so casually.

"So that's it?" Cat said in a shocked voice. "You've used us up, so now you throw us away?"

Rob turned, grinned, and nodded. "Go to the head of the cla.s.s! That's exactly exactly it! Just like you and your so-important friends use people and toss them away. Of course, we have to make it a little more permanent. But then, we're playing for higher stakes than a good grade in Bonehead Computing." it! Just like you and your so-important friends use people and toss them away. Of course, we have to make it a little more permanent. But then, we're playing for higher stakes than a good grade in Bonehead Computing."

His voice dripped phony compa.s.sion as he leaned toward the girl. "Oh, I know it's tough. All this time, you've grown up thinking you were a human being with rights and privileges. Well, I'm sorry, honey. But you've got to learn it's different out here in the cold, cruel world. My mom thought she was a human being. But some drunk, rich diplomat saw her as an obstacle-or maybe as a target."

The false sympathy was gone from his voice. Each word came out as if it were chipped from ice. "We'll never know what was going through his mind. He hightailed it back to Whatzislavia as soon as his amba.s.sador pried him away from the police. Now, it's too bad you don't have an amba.s.sador to go to bat for you. We don't need another pretty face around here. We don't need your daddy's money. We need someone to take the heat for us after this operation goes down. And you're elected. Grow up and face it, girl. It's the last thing you might be able to do in this life."

It was a cruel little speech, but Matt could see Caitlin wouldn't give Rob the satisfaction of seeing tears. The effort made her shake, but she stood straight and glared at him.

"Good work!" Rob applauded. "See, you're growing up already."

He turned his attention to the other prisoners. "Okay, now, I expect you guys to be cool. Keep annoying us"-he looked especially at Serge as he spoke-"and you'll wind up with marks that will make it harder for us to set the right picture. We want the public to see a bunch of rich, privileged kids who got in with the wrong crowd and came to a sorry end. Behave yourself, and I promise your sorry end will be relatively painless. Give us trouble, and we'll hurt you before this is over. Then we'll have to come up with a nasty end to hide what we did. You'll end up flipping a car and being burned to death. Or maybe even have your cruel g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger pals kill you execution-style."

"And what happens if we're good boys and girls?" Matt asked, amazed that his voice stayed steady. "What nice way will you use to kill us then?"

"Well, there is no nice way," Rob admitted. "Maybe we'll get you drunk or high so you'll scarcely feel somebody's home security system taking you out."

He glanced around. "So, if there are no more questions-and I really hope no more 'you can't get away with this' silliness-it's time to get to work!"

For one wild moment, Matt was tempted to reveal his Net Force connection and tell Falk that he was working undercover. That would rip away his condescending att.i.tude.

As if he were reading Matt's mind, Rob said, "Don't try to threaten me with Net Force, Hunter." He smiled at Matt's openmouthed response. "Come on! I've been in your computer-and a lot of others. You really thought I didn't know you're a Net Force Explorer? Seems to me you've gone beyond whatever your Captain Winters had in mind. Perhaps I'll e-mail him a suggestion about better training for Explorers going undercover. Your effort was pretty...pitiful."

His fellow prisoners looked at Matt with different expressions. At least his effort had been good enough for them.

Now he'd keep quiet, wait, and try to pull off the duty of every prisoner-to escape.

That, of course, would depend on wherever Rob and his g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger friends decided to store their captives.

Since no one had anything more to say, Rob and James declared their little meeting over. The guards closed in around Matt, Caitlin, Luc, and Serge, and began herding them through the door in the far wall of the room-the door the boys had come through earlier.

They went out of the room, then down a short, dark hallway ending at a big, heavy oak door, the kind you couldn't buy anymore. Not that anybody would want this one, Matt thought. The heavy wood panel was torn and gouged. There were even a couple of bullet holes, as if someone had used it for target practice.

But the door was still able to block out sound. Matt was surprised at the noise level on the other side when the guards pushed the door open. He was even more surprised when he went through the doorway into a huge, high-ceilinged room filled with row after row of scarred wooden pews. They were in a church!