Andy scanned the monitors around the workspaces. A few of them showed lobby and restaurant scenes.
“We don’t just stake out the Bessel,” Zenzo said. “We wire up local restaurants and clubs the publishers like to visit.” He smiled. “We know all.”
“So you spy on these people,” Andy said in disgust, “and try to leverage your way in to them to sell your games?”
“No.” Zenzo looked offended. “We’re doing market research here. We take a good look at all the publishers, try to figure out who’s looking for what, who might be more interested in what we have to offer. Then we disburse the information to other game designers. Despite all the colleges the publishers create, despite all these wonder programmers they produce, they still need people like us.”
“And like Peter Griffen,” Mark said quietly.
Andy studied the other monitors. Two of the people worked on backgrounds while two more worked on character design. Tommy T appeared to be testing gameplay.
“Peter’s one of us,” Zenzo said. “He didn’t go to their schools. He sent in samples of his work they couldn’t ignore. Blistered them with stuff they’d never seen before and made them come looking for him. Then, when he could have named his own ticket with any publisher out there, Peter pulls a fade for a year and announces he’s putting together his own imprint, subsidized by Eisenhower Productions. That takes brass.”
“You respect him,” Andy said.
Zenzo grinned. “No, man, I want to be Peter Griffen when I grow up. He’s an example to every self-taught gamer who dreams of making it big. That’s why I want him found. Eisenhower Productions isn’t going to just bury him and take his game away from him if I can do anything about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s in the contract,” Zenzo said. “If anything happens to Peter Griffen, all rights to Realm of the Bright Waters revert to Eisenhower. All rights, and every last nickel and dime in profit.”
“Why would he sign something like that?” Mark asked.
“Peter doesn’t have any family,” Zenzo said. “He grew up in an orphanage. That’s why he didn’t have a problem signing the agreement with Eisenhower. Who was he going to leave it to?”
“You think Eisenhower had something to do with his disappearance,” Andy said.
Zenzo nodded. “Without a doubt. They were the ones who chose the floor space over that underground tunnel. That seems kind of suspect to me.”
“Why would they abduct Peter?” Mark asked.
“After that thing today, when the dragon appeared in all those games, Peter was going to pull the game. We overheard two of the Eisenhower execs talking about it in the lobby right after it happened.” Zenzo turned to the heavyset guy in the Arachno-Boy T-shirt. “Tommy T, roll that vid.”
Images came to life on the monitor in front of Tommy T. Andy watched as a young man burst through the doors of the Bessel convention center into the hallway.
“The feek’s hit the fan in there,” the man said to another man in his mid-thirties. “Peter must have used one of the game packs instead of the rev he had.”
“Why?” the older man asked.
“I don’t know, but something’s going to have to be done. He’s demanding to pull the game. He’s getting ready to step back out and announce that the game is flawed.”
Without another word, the older man shouldered the younger one aside and sprinted back into the gaming convention center. The vid ended abruptly.
“Unfortunately,” Tommy T said, “all our cams and audlinks inside the center were down due to the bleed-over.”
“So you don’t know what happened inside the Eisenhower booth for sure?” Mark asked.
“I don’t think you have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out,” Zenzo erupted. “Peter Griffen would have pulled that game. That effect, that rollover into all the other games, that wasn’t an advertising stunt the way some people think. That was a glitch that he wasn’t going to allow.”
“You think they kidnapped him?”
“To keep him from pulling the game? To keep him quiet?” Zenzo nodded. “Oh, yeah. Eisenhower Productions had every reason in the world to do that.” He studied Andy and Mark. “I’m giving you this so you can do something with it. We could pass it on to a HoloNet server, but they’re not going to take it. Not from guys like us. They’ll say we created it ourselves, to get attention. In the meantime, Peter Griffen’s going to be rotting wherever they left him.”
Looking at Mark, Andy said, “I’m in. Zenzo may not have sold me everything, but I want a closer look.”
Mark nodded and shifted his attention back to Zenzo. “What else can you give us?”
Zenzo grinned hugely and swept a hand around the computer hardware-packed room. “Access. And there’s nothing in the world you can’t do when you have access. Peter’s out there somewhere. Let us help you save him.”
“Do you know what luminol is used for?”
Maj nodded, not wanting to look at Roarke. The Net Force agent was too dispassionate in her opinion. They watched from the hallway as the forensics techs finished spraying down the room with the chemical. “It makes blood patterns show up. Even if an area has been scrubbed, trace evidence remains that the luminol can detect.”
“Right.” Roarke leaned against the wall, seeming to watch in the idle speculation, like the whole investigation was just a textbook exercise.
“Agent Roarke,” the lead forensics man called out. “I believe we’re ready.”
“Light it up,” Roarke commanded.
The men placed the ultraviolet projectors in the room to play over the treated carpet areas. They turned them on and switched out the room’s lights.
Immediately a soft blue glow shimmered into being on the carpet. Most of it was gathered in a single area, but there were splatter patterns leading off from it. Maj knew the blue glow represented the amount of blood that had been spilled there recently. God, that’s a lot.
“He was a big guy,” Matt whispered as he came up beside her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “And maybe that’s not all from him.”
Roarke pushed off the wall and pulled his foilpack out. “Do the entire room. Every scrap, every fiber. I want it all yesterday, and I want it done right.” He glanced at Maj. “Think you and your friends can cover the hospitals? Call and see if someone was admitted to an ER tonight that fits Oscar Raitt’s descriptions? I’m going to see what kind of help Captain Winters can scrounge up for us.”
Maj nodded and took out her own foilpack. Her mind whirled with the possibilities, but it felt good to have something to do. She just didn’t know if Roarke knew that or was just handing off a job he didn’t believe in and didn’t want to do himself.
Back in her room Maj looked over the notes she’d made during the phone calls to all the city’s emergency rooms. It was a short list. Thankfully Oscar Raitt wasn’t just an average person. She’d been surprised how many people had been admitted during the two-hour time frame in question.
Out of all those, only two had any potential for being Oscar Raitt. One of them was in Orange County lockup for attacking a sheriff’s deputy, but Maj didn’t want to overlook any possibilities. She doubted Oscar’d had time to attack a sheriff’s deputy, but maybe he’d gotten spooked. Or maybe the charges were ersatz. Either way, it had to be checked out.
The other possibility was a young man of towering proportions who’d checked into the ER long enough to have a scalp laceration tended to, then walked out when the nurses and doctors weren’t looking.
Maj glanced at the time/date stamp on the muted holo in one corner of the room. It was a handful of minutes past seven A.M. Friday morning. Her eyes burned and she felt worn down to the bone.