“That’s a little loud,” Matt’s mother said, coming in behind him. He told the computer to tone down the sound as she came to stand beside him, wrinkling her nose at the kitchen smells. “Another night at the garlic festival, I see.”
Matt grinned and shrugged. “It goes better with his south of the border stuff than with other recipes he tries.”
Mom had to agree with that.
A pair of anchorpeople busily went about the business of bringing their viewers up to date on events in the world and in Washington. It must have been a slow news day. Three items, and already they’d turned to the chopper-cam for a fire shot.
Matt’s father remembered when the news wars had taken to the air, with the networks and news services hiring helicopters to carry their cameras. Sometimes these flying camera people turned in exciting footage — car chases, train wrecks, huge demonstrations. Most days, however, they wound up showing traffic jams, or on really dull days, the biggest fire in the metropolitan area.
Today was apparently a very slow day. The eye in the sky hadn’t even been able to find a large factory or apartment building burning away. Instead, they focused on flames roaring through a small wooden home surrounded by suburban houses. From the actions around the pumper trucks below, the local firefighters had given up any hopes of saving the place. Their hoses were aimed at keeping the blaze from spreading to any of the nearby houses.
“The structure dates back more than a hundred and fifty years, always in the same family,” the chopper reporter’s voice intoned against the faint whine of the engine. “The town of Travers Corners loses a little bit of history today.”
Hearing the name of the town jarred Matt into paying more attention. He and Father Flannery had been there, not so long ago.
Matt frowned, trying to reorient himself from the overhead view. Yes. Illuminated in the glare of the inferno, he began to pick out familiar locations. That house over there, and that one…
The place being devoured by flame was Oswald Derbent’s book-filled home.
12
Some of what Matt was feeling must have shown on his face. “What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“That.” Matt pointed to the HoloNews display. “That house. It belongs to Oswald Derbent — another of the players in the mystery sim. Father Flannery and I were visiting there just the other day.”
“I see,” Marissa Hunter said, clearly upset by the news. Then, “Where are you going?”
Matt turned back, halfway across the living room. “I think I need to call this in, don’t you? To more than one person.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “But I’ll be done before Dad starts serving supper.” The previously savory aromas made his now-leaden stomach simply sink farther.
Stepping into his room, Matt snapped a command at his computer. The call went though, the display over the console swam into focus, and Captain James Winters looked out — still in his office, even at this hour.
The captain’s expression went from surprise to concern when he saw Matt.
“That list I sent you—” Matt paused, trying to clear a suddenly hoarse throat.
“Someone else had an — incident?” Winters finished for him. The Net Force agent did not look happy at all.
“Oswald Derbent. HoloNews was just showing pictures of his house — what’s left of it — doing an amazing imitation of an open-pit barbecue.”
Winters looked annoyed with himself. “I directed my computer to flag any police calls connected to those names,” he said. “I’ll have to amend that to include all emergency services.”
“Can you find out what happened?”
The captain nodded cautiously. “I’ll make some inquiries and get back to you. It probably won’t be tonight,” he warned. “Arson investigations need daylight. And there will be an arson investigation.”
“You think there’ll be anything by the time I get home from school?” Matt asked.
“Preliminary findings, though not a finished report. I’ll call with whatever I can get,” Winters promised. “Do me a favor, huh? Be careful! And tell your friends to watch their backs. I’ll see what I can do from my end.”
They cut their connection, and Matt gave a new series of commands to his computer. Soon he was composing a virtmail message to go out to the other sim participants — proposing a meeting, same place as last time, for tomorrow at six P.M.
He’d just finished when his father’s voice came floating back. “Dinner is served!”
I’m betting that my former rivals have Net agents out ready to pounce on any news mentions of our names, he thought, shutting the system down. But maybe by then I’ll be able to tell them a little more than the official story. Free flow of information, after all.
Bradford Academy’s cafeteria was crowded, so Matt decided to do a good deed. He carried David Gray’s lunch tray as well as his own. David grimly stumped along on his cane through the mob scene.
“That leg has to he getting better soon,” Matt tried to console him.
“The magnetic therapy helps the bones knit faster,” David admitted with a grimace. “But it also leaves an itch where I can’t scratch.”
They reached the table that Andy Moore was holding for them. Matt looked at the two trays, both of which held a sandwich and a soda. “Do you remember which one is yours?”
David sighed. “Does it matter?”
He had a point. They might go to a better-than-average school, but the cafeteria menu was, to put it mildly, lame. Matt gave David his choice and began munching unenthusiastically on a mustard sandwich (at least that was all he tasted) when Megan O’Malley plumped down in the seat beside him. A cup of soup slopped on the tray she carried — proof of her intrepid nature, Matt thought. Soup from that kitchen…he didn’t want to think what was in it.
“How’s it going?” Megan asked.
“Not well.” Matt took a sip from his gel-pack of soda. “Another name on the List of Ed Saunders has a red mark beside it.”
Andy leaned across the table. “Sounds like a good title for one of your dad’s books, Megan,” he suggested through a mouthful of potato salad.
“The line’s been used,” David Gray said, taking a taste of his sandwich and making a face. “Just without the name Ed Saunders.”
“Forget that,” Megan said. “What happened?”
“The guy who played my boss in the sim — his house burned down last night.”
Megan shook her head. “I hate to say it, Hunter, but the people from your sim seem awfully…accident-prone.”
“Not Mister Matt over there,” Andy put in. “He’s just rolling in good luck. Did I tell you about the mystery girl in the hot car who came by looking for him?”
“You told me,” David said in a long-suffering voice. “Or was it the hot girl in the mystery car you mentioned?”
“Is that for real?” Megan asked Matt.
Feeling the color rise in his face, he shrugged. “Yeah. Not only that, but the girl was a friend of yours — Nikki Callivant.”
Megan choked and nearly sprayed Andy with a mouthful of soup. “What? How?”
“I can only give you the why,” Matt said. “You mentioned this school and my name when you got together at that charity do. So she came to check me out.”
“Sure she wasn’t stalking you?” Andy ostentatiously used his napkin to wipe soup droplets off the table.
“Shut up, Moore,” Megan and David growled almost in unison.
“I think I’d leave any stalking jobs to her father,” Matt said. “He’s some kind of muckety-muck in national security.”
“That does it!” Andy exclaimed. “For this election, my money will be on Walter G. Callivant.”