The Desperate Game: (InterMix) (7 page)

In the shadows Zac stared balefully at the open door. “Son of a—”

“Now what, fearless leader?”

“Don’t look so smug. You’ve probably left prints all over the doorknob.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped vigorously. “Don’t touch anything else, understand?”

“Gotcha.” On an unexpected wave of excitement Guinevere followed Zac inside the house. “Too bad we can’t turn on a light.”

“I’ve got a small pencil flashlight. Given what you’ve told me about programmer mentalities, I figure that if there’s anything important to find, it will be around his home computer.”

The route from the kitchen down the hall to the front room was an obstacle course dotted with candy wrappers, discarded socks, a towel, and several huge piles of computer magazines that were stacked precariously on the floor. The burst of excitement Guinevere had experienced as she stepped into the house faded into a more reasonable nervousness as she followed in Zac’s wake.

The house smelled musty, as though it had been closed up for several days. It was also obvious from the odor that the garbage under the kitchen sink hadn’t been emptied for a while. Then again, perhaps the homes of nerds always smelled this way.

The front room, revealed in brief glimpses under the gleam of Zac’s small flashlight, appeared to have been done in postcollege-dorm decadence. Apparently Cal was still under the influence of the academic environment he had left behind only a year previously. Several advertising posters from software firms decorated the wall. The furniture was an eclectic combination of Goodwill discards except for the large desk that supported an IBM personal computer. It was a little difficult to spot the computer at first because it was nearly hidden beneath a maze of empty ice cream containers, magazines, operation manuals, and printouts.

Guinevere glanced around uneasily as she halted by the desk. “What a mess.”

“Remember what I said. Don’t touch anything.”

“If you’d paid attention to those articles on modern management you claimed to have read, you’d know you’re supposed to give orders in a positive, supportive manner, not a negative, bossy style.”

“I’m still studying the subject,” he told her absently as he scanned the surface of the desk. “Stay here while I take a quick look in the bedroom.”

Zac moved off toward the hall on surprisingly silent feet. For such a solidly built man he moved very quietly, Guinevere realized. She stood in the darkness, watching him disappear, and came to the obvious conclusion that he’d done this sort of thing before. The thought was not vastly reassuring. She wondered why he had been so insistent on bringing her along tonight. Surely he could have moved more quickly and assumed fewer risks if he’d come out here alone. The small puzzle occupied her while she peered down at the shadowed desk.

There was just barely enough moonlight filtering in from the window for her to see a plastic box full of computer disks sitting amid the rubble. She was leaning across the desk to lift the lid of the box when Zac materialized at her shoulder. Guinevere jumped in spite of herself.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that! You want to give me heart failure?”

He ignored the question. “What’s that?”

“A box of disks. I was just wondering if any of the Elf Hunt material is stored in there. Larry has been sinking rapidly into a decline because he’s had to wait for Cal to finish some piece of the game.”

“Elf Hunt?” Zac’s tone was sharp.

“Named after a close friend of yours, I’m afraid,” she told him. “I gather Cal and Larry couldn’t resist the play on Elfstrom’s name. Shine your light in here.”

“I told you not to touch anything.” Hastily Zac pushed her hand aside and opened the box with the aid of the handkerchief.

The rows of neatly labeled disks popped into view. Carefully Zac began flipping through them, reading the titles. There were word processing programs, games, math programs, and several labels with titles in such obscure abbreviations that neither Zac nor Guinevere could guess what they meant.

“He’s really into this home computer thing, isn’t he?” Zac observed.

“Cal’s brilliant. Don’t forget he’s the one who designed the inventory control program that turned up the problem of stray equipment shipments.” Guinevere leaned closer to study the labels on the disks.

“I didn’t know that. Damn it, Gwen, that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to be reporting to me while you gobble down those expensive lunches you’re conning me out of.”

She tilted her nose, mildly surprised. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you weren’t aware of it. Does it matter?”

“At this point I don’t know what matters and what doesn’t. Kindly don’t leave out such details in the future.”

“Are you always this short-tempered when you’re doing something illegal?”

With obvious effort he ignored the question. Instead, he continued to flip through the labeled disks. “Here you go,” Zac finally murmured as he came to one that carried a hand-lettered label. “‘Elf.’ Think that’s it?”

“Probably. Why don’t I just take it with me? I know Larry would probably be glad to have it, and he and Cal are friends. Even if Cal gets back and finds out it’s missing, he won’t mind when he discovers Larry’s the one who’s got it.”

“Forget it. We’re not lifting anything. Our only goal tonight is to have a look around.” With a grim snap Zac shut the plastic box and started opening desk drawers.

His authoritarian decision angered Guinevere. She was already aware of an unnatural tension assailing her senses because of the night’s activities. Zac’s short, crisp orders were not helping the situation or her nerves.

“I still can’t figure out why in hell you brought me along. You keep telling me not to touch anything, and you won’t let me take anything. For crying out loud, why didn’t you just come out here alone? And don’t give me that business about using me as a communicator in case Cal shows up!”

He half smiled in the darkness, bending over a drawerful of chewing gum packages, pens, and felt markers. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

A new kind of apprehension made Guinevere whisper, “Figured out what?”

“I wanted you along on this little job tonight because it sort of cements our relationship.”

She stared down at his dark head as he carefully flipped through a stack of folders. “Cements our relationship?” she asked ominously.

“Ummm. You’re committed now, lady. You’re an accomplice. I may not know much about management psychology, but I do know something about what happens between two people in cases such as this. They come out of the experience feeling they have to stick together for a while. A sort of partners in crime mentality. I wanted you involved, Gwen. Really involved. That way you’re more likely to stay loyal to me.”

It was probably the insufferable streak of arrogant satisfaction in his words that made Guinevere wait until he’d gone into the kitchen to check closets before she unobtrusively lifted the Elf game disk. She was very careful to shield her fingers with a tissue when she opened the plastic box and removed the thing.

It was no trick at all to drop the small object into her shoulder bag.

One had to vent one’s hostilities against management somehow.

Chapter Four

The dark, heavily paneled hotel bar wasn’t as cozily chic as the pub where Zac had found Guinevere the previous evening, but somehow it seemed more real in some ways. People here didn’t play at wheeling and dealing; they really were wheeling and dealing. This was a place for refined, serious drinking by members of the upper echelons of the business class, both local and out of town. There wasn’t a lot of lightweight beer and white wine sold here. The folks in dark pin-striped suits preferred real drinks: scotch, whiskey, martinis, and the occasional manhattan. This was a place to have
cocktails
: before-lunch cocktails, after-lunch cocktails, early-evening cocktails, late-evening cocktails, and anything in between.

The bartender had produced the tequila without comment, adding a side of lime and salt. But Zac wasn’t fooled. He sensed that the straight tequila didn’t fit into this atmosphere any more than it fitted into the yuppie bar in which Guinevere had worked as a waitress. This place might seem more real in some ways, but Zac didn’t feel any more at home here than he did with the yuppies. He took a slow sip of the tequila and reflected on his fate in life. He really didn’t fit in well anywhere.

He wasn’t aware of feeling depressed or dissatisfied about the fact. He’d been living with it too long, for one thing. For as long as he could remember there had always been this odd sense of distance between himself and the rest of the world. His body had developed with a natural sense of coordination in high school, but he’d never quite grasped the concept of team spirit, so he’d never been successful in sports.

In the military he’d questioned orders frequently enough to earn himself a reputation as a troublemaker. He’d been promoted anyway but not into a position of leadership. An unusually perceptive commanding officer had seen the hard edge of stoic perseverance that underlined everything Zachariah Justis did and had recommended him for special intelligence training.

“You’re like a dog with a bone, Justis. You just keep gnawing on something until you’ve digested the whole damn thing. And then you look around for the next bone. You need to work alone; you’re too goddamned independent to be part of a team. But you’re smart, and there’s a certain ruthlessness in the way you approach bones. I think you’re just what G group is looking for.”

But he hadn’t been quite what G group was looking for, Zac recalled wryly. Oh, he’d done all right for a while. The training had interested him, and he’d liked the prospect of being alone in the field. But in the military you never really were your own boss, regardless of how the system was set up. And once again he’d started questioning orders. Some of the bones he’d been given to gnaw inspired more queries than answers. And Zac was always looking for answers. But the military didn’t always want all the answers uncovered. Zac and G group had parted company with a general understanding that he just didn’t fit the profile of military intelligence personnel.

Life after that had not altered significantly. He’d had other assorted career opportunities, but although he’d usually gotten the jobs done, he hadn’t always been thanked for the way he’d accomplished the task. He’d been slow coming to the realization that the role for which he was best suited was that of small, independent businessperson. Zac had another taste of the tequila and considered the fact that Guinevere Jones had been much quicker to understand her personal career objectives. She was doing at thirty what he’d waited until thirty-six to attempt.

That thought led him to recall the interesting little adventure at Cal Bender’s house the previous night. The evening had been a revelation in some ways and a quiet affirmation of some inspired guesses in others. Most of those guesses had concerned the nature of Guinevere Jones. Zac’s mouth crooked for an instant as he recalled the sense of excitement that had unwillingly emanated from her as she’d followed him into the cottage. He’d wanted to laugh at the time, but he hadn’t dared. She would have assumed he was laughing at her when what he really wanted to do was let her know he shared the adrenaline rush.

Zac toyed with the tiny tequila glass and thought about how long he’d stayed awake after dropping Guinevere off at her apartment. He’d gone back to his own place and spent more than an hour speculating on the kind of excitement she would reflect in the heat of passion. His body had seemed tense and awkward for quite a while last night. The physical reaction was alarming in some ways. At his age he should be in better control of himself. But in other ways it had been curiously exhilarating. It had been a long time since a woman had affected him like that. He wondered if Guinevere had experienced any trouble getting to sleep.

Russ Elfstrom’s approach through the shadowy bar cut off further speculation on the subject of Guinevere Jones. Automatically Zac glanced at his watch. Russ was only a few minutes late. He watched his friend coming toward him and thought about how little Guinevere liked the man. Not unnatural under the circumstances. After all, it had been Russ who had finally caught up with her little scam on the StarrTech computers.

“Sorry I’m late.” Elfstrom apologized as he took a seat. “Got held up with a conference in Starr’s office. He wanted a report. I told him I’d be able to give him a more complete one after I’d talked to you.”

“Is Starr getting restless?” Zac considered that possibility. The chief executive officer of StarrTech, Hampton Starr, was paying the tab after all. It would be unfortunate if he got impatient at this stage. Very unfortunate. Zac had been counting on the StarrTech fees paying the rent next month. He’d even entertained fantasies of buying another office chair.

“You know CEOs, Zac. They’re always restless. They want answers yesterday.” Elfstrom looked up as the waitress floated past. “Gin and tonic.” He removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out as the waitress nodded and disappeared.

“Well, he’s going to have to give me a little more time. Jesus, Russ, it’s only been a few days!”

“I know, I know. I told him these things take time. Don’t worry, I soothed the savage beast for you.” Elfstrom snapped the flame on a stainless steel lighter and lit his cigarette.

Zac smiled. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem. He’d like a meeting with you again, though. And soon.” Elfstrom coughed hoarsely and frowned.

Zac shrugged. “Okay. I’m always available to the client. But I thought he wanted you to handle the, uh, interfacing.” He was proud of himself for remembering the buzzword.

“He just wants a field report firsthand. Find out anything last night?”

Zac shook his head. “It looked like Bender hasn’t been there for about a week. Wherever he is, he’s not sitting at home hunched over his computer. Does he drink? Gamble? Use drugs?”

“Not that I know of. Never saw any sign of it at work. You think he’s gone off on a spree?” Elfstrom drummed his short, stubby fingers on the table.

He did look a little like an elf, Zac found himself thinking as he watched his friend. Always in motion, hyper, intense. “I don’t know what’s happened to him, and I don’t even know if it’s got anything to do with StarrTech’s problem. Bender’s house was just a place to start looking.” You had to start somewhere.

“Yeah, right.” Elfstrom nodded quickly, speaking around the cigarette. “I’m not trying to push you, Zac. I understand how you work.”

Zac winced. “Slow and methodical, that’s me.”

“You’re thorough. That’s what counts. The Jones girl give you any hard info yet?”

Zac wondered how Guinevere would like being labeled the “Jones girl.” “No. I get the feeling no one in your office knows anything, Russ. I’m thinking of pulling her off the case.”

“You’re assuming she’d tell you anything she found out,” Russ said half-accusingly. “Personally I’m not so sure.”

“She’d talk, Russ. She’ll keep her end of the bargain, believe me.” But Zac realized he wasn’t really so sure of Guinevere. In the beginning the straight blackmail had seemed simple and likely to be effective. Now he had his doubts.

“Well.” Russ hesitated and then shrugged. “Your instincts were always pretty sound.” His teeth gleamed in a fleeting smile as he caught Zac’s eye. “This is just like old times, isn’t it? You and me sneaking around in some bar to exchange information. Been awhile.”

“Do you miss working for the company?”

“No. Life is short, Zac. Too short to spend it risking my neck in some godforsaken, backwater country advising some fool U.S. firm on how to do business with savages. When I heard you left the firm, I wasn’t surprised. I figured you were getting your fill of that kind of consulting too. A little excitement goes a long way. That scene in Tallah was only one of many for you, wasn’t it?”

Zac didn’t like to think about Tallah. “About Hampton Starr . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Tell him I can meet with him tomorrow. I assume he wants the meeting to take place somewhere other than StarrTech offices.”

“Oh, sure. I think he’s getting off on the idea of playing boss of an undercover agent.” Russ Elfstrom chuckled in rare amusement. “He gets a kick out of slipping around. Usually he has to make do with what he thinks are secret rendezvous with his little female conquests. This game is a nice diversion for him, I imagine. More like the big time.”

***

Guinevere sat in front of the computer in the StarrTech IT department and stared unseeingly at the screen. She made no pretense of trying to continue with her input work. She had a far more worrisome problem on her mind than Elfstrom breathing down her neck. As of this afternoon there would be no one available to cover the offices of Camelot Services. Any potential client who called would get only the answering service. People didn’t like answering services when they were in a hurry.

Guinevere had been quietly panicking since last night when she’d learned that Marilyn, her temporary assistant, would be unable to work longer than another half day. Damn Zachariah Justis and his strong-arm employment methods! She hadn’t seen him since the night before last. That was the evening he’d fed her cheap chowder and made her a partner in crime. She shuddered.

There was no alternative. She would have to phone his office and inform him that she had to handle her own business affairs first. That meant leaving StarrTech at noon and not returning until she could figure out another way to install someone in the offices of Camelot Services. The nagging fear she felt as she thought about her deserted office was more than sufficient to keep her from doing Russ Elfstrom’s stupid inputting.

“Hey, Gwen! How’s it going?”

With a small shake of her head she pulled herself back to her current situation and turned to smile absently at Larry Hixon. He was sauntering into the office fifteen minutes late, but he was still way ahead of Jackson. Liz was down the hall meeting with a department secretary who wanted to schedule some work. Until Larry’s arrival Guinevere had been alone in the office, free to panic in solitude.

“Hi, Larry. Get a chance to look at that disk?”

“I took it home with me last night and started checking it out. I owe you, Gwen. I was going buggy wondering what Cal had been doing to the game. I’m still going buggy wondering where Cal is, but at least I’ve got his work.”

“Had he made great strides forward?” she asked teasingly.

Larry frowned. “No, but from what I’ve been able to tell so far, he’s made some changes in the basic strategy of the game. I don’t know why he messed around with that end of things. He was supposed to be working on the graphics. Tonight I’m going to load the thing and play it from scratch just to see what he’s been up to. I can’t believe you just went out to his place and picked up the game disk,” he added admiringly.

“I was curious to see if he was home but just not answering his phone.” The lie came easily, more easily than it probably should have, Guinevere realized. She was a little better at it than she felt she ought to have been. “When I found the back door open, I just walked in and looked around. The disk was labeled and lying near the computer. I couldn’t resist picking it up for you. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Who am I going to tell? No one except you and Jackson and Liz knows I’m working on Elf Hunt. And I don’t see any need to tell Jackson and Liz about your light-fingered tendencies!” Larry grinned malevolently as he dropped into his chair and switched on the computer.

“Larry, don’t you dare call me light-fingered! If Cal gets mad when he returns, I expect you to get me off the hook.”

“You know Cal. He never gets mad. He just gets more serious. He’ll understand.” Larry got back up out of his chair and poured himself a cup of coffee. He dropped enough sugar into the cup to make coffee-flavored fudge and asked with suspicious nonchalance, “How’s your sister?”

“Fine.” Her answer was rather short, but Guinevere couldn’t help it. She had too many other problems on her mind. She didn’t need any reminders of Carla’s continuing depression.

“She and I had a long talk that night at the pub after you left with what’s-his-face.”

“Did you?”

Larry shook his head woefully. “Sounds like she’s been through a lot lately.”

“I’m sure she enjoyed telling you all about her hard life.”

Larry seemed not to hear the sarcasm. “She really was nice, Gwen. I talked a lot myself. Told her about my plans for the future and stuff. I really felt down that evening. She seemed to understand.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“Too bad she’s so bored.”

Guinevere’s head came up. “Bored?” she repeated carefully.

“Yeah. Sounds like she hasn’t got anything to do all day long. Said she’s been too depressed to work. But I’ve been thinking, Gwen. Sometimes it helps to work when you’re feeling down. Know what I mean?”

Guinevere blinked, assimilating that bit of wisdom. “I know what you mean.”

“But I guess she’s just not up to all the drudgery of job hunting. That can be pretty depressing in itself, she told me.”

Guinevere let the various and sundry lights flick on in her beleaguered brain. “Not,” she said slowly, “if there’s a ready-made job just sitting there waiting for you to take charge.”