"Silenced his crap," said the man who had risen.
An old black woman leaning on a well-worn cane yelled, "Someone call the police! Someone help!" The youth looked at her, then walked to where she was standing, by the drugstore. People moved out of his way.
The old woman leaned her body away from him but her expression remained defiant.
"Hey!" a middle-aged white man yelled, inserting himself between them. "Back, off—" The attacker drove his right heel down hard on the man's left instep. The middle-aged man crumpled in pain.
The black woman backed against the window of the drugstore.
The savage youth put his face in hers and said, "You shut your stinking hole." "Not as long as I'm breathing American air," she replied.
With a sneer, the youth drove the front of the iron into her mouth. She doubled over and he pushed her down easily.
The young white man lurched forward and threw himself over her.
"Got them," said the other young man as he pulled the keys from Streetcorna's pocket. He rose.
The assailant withdrew casually, as though he were returning to his corner to serve again after hitting a net ball.
The two men stood side-by-side as a crowd gathered and formed a loose, threatening circle around them.
"They can't get us all!" someone yelled.
The man with the keys reached into his bag and withdrew a.45. "Like hell we can't," he said.
The crowd didn't so much part as come apart. The men walked through, up Laurel Canyon, ignoring the glares of the pedestrians and the shouts of those in the back. They found Streetcoma's car and got in. They knew it from days of having watched the rapper. Turning onto Laurel Canyon, they headed up into the Hollywood Hills. Unpursued, they were quickly swallowed in the traffic headed toward Hollywood.
Police arrived nearly seven minutes later, and a helicopter search was ordered. The chopper spotted the car parked near the intersection of Coldwater Canyon and Mulholland Drive. It was abandoned and clean. Employees at the fire station on top of the hill remembered seeing a car idling on the side of the road, but no one could remember what kind it was or what the driver looked like. No one saw the Volkswagen arrive or the waiting car leave.
When the police confiscated Streetcorna's bag, there were no tapes, just four hundred dollars and change.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Paul Hood arrived at Hausen's office with Nancy walking a few paces behind him. She entered tentatively, as though she weren't sure whether she'd find friends or enemies here. What she found, at the moment, were people completely wrapped up in their own concerns.
Hausen was talking on a cellular phone in the reception area. He had obviously determined that the security of his office phones had probably been compromised. The cellular phone wasn't secure, but at least he wouldn't have to worry that the enemy was listening to everything he said.
Lang was sitting on the edge of the desk, lips pressed tightly together as he looked down at Hausen. Matt Stoll was still sitting at Hausen's computer in the main office.
Hausen was speaking forcefully in German with someone named Erwin. German always seemed harsh to Hood, but this conversation seemed especially so. And Hausen did not look pleased.
Lang walked over to them. Hood introduced him to Nancy. "This is Nancy Jo Bosworth. She's an employee of Demain." Even as he said it, he couldn't believe the words were coming from his mouth. He had to have been insane to have gone back to get her. Completely and utterly insane.
"I see," Lang said with a polite, pursed smile.
"I'm not a friend of Dominique's," she added. "I don't know him." "It appears that few do," Lang said, still smiling tightly.
Hood excused himself to introduce Nancy to Stoll. Then he left them together and returned to the outer office.
"What is Herr Hausen doing?" he asked Lang.
"He's talking with the French Ambassador in Berlin, trying to arrange an immediate trip to France to investigate the matter of this game and its maker. Herr Hausen wants to confront this man Dominique in the presence of French authorities." Lang leaned closer. "He tried calling Dominique directly but was unable to get through. He seems unusually agitated by all of this. He takes hate crimes so very personally." Hood asked, "How is it going with the Ambassador?" "It isn't going well at all," Lang said. "Dominique apparently has a great deal of influence over there. He controls banks and several industries and a horrifying number of politicians." Hood gave Hausen a short, sympathetic look, then stepped into the main office. He knew how difficult it was dealing with the system in Washington. He couldn't begin to imagine the red tape which had to exist between nations.
Especially nations with a longstanding hate-hate relationship such as these two.
He stood beside Nancy as she watched Stoll guide fluidly animated dogs running through a swamp. He found it difficult to concentrate on the game.
"How're you doing, Matt?" Hood asked.
Stoll hit "P" to pause. He turned. around, his eyebrows arched. "This is one nasty game, Chief. What the characters do to people with ropes, knives, and dogs is not to be believed. You'll be able to see for yourself later," he said.
"I've hooked up the VCR and I'm playing through. I'll watch the tape later in slow motion to see if there are subliminal messages or other clues or anything I've missed." Nancy said, "I take it this is the game Herr Hausen received." "Yup," Stoll said, unpausing the game. Almost immediately, one of the dogs he was controlling fell into quicksand and began sinking.
"Shit!" he yelled "Y'know, I was doing okay when I was alone—" "Deal with it," Nancy said. She leaned over him and pushed the "down" arrow on the keyboard.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Stoll demanded. "Don't mess with my game—" "You missed something," Nancy said.
"I what?" As she held the button down, the dog drifted through the quicksand and emerged in an underground cavern. She switched between the left and right arrows, collecting Nazi memorabilia and racking up points.
Hood walked over. "How did you know that was there?" "This is an adapatation of a game I designed called The Bog Beast," Nancy replied. "Same game screens— background, foreground elements, traps. Different characters and scenario, though. I had a swamp monster running from its creator and angry villagers. This is obviously very much different." "But it's definitely your game," Hood said.
"Absolutely." She turned the controls back to Stoll.
"Exit by crawling into the storm drain on the left," she said.
"Thanks," he huffed as he continued playing.
Hood stepped away. He resisted the urge to take Nancy's hand and pull her along. But he'd noticed Stoll's eyes dart toward them while they stepped toward the corner. For all its quality and top-level security clearances, Op-Center was no different from other offices. It talked. His people could keep state secrets, but the phrase "personal secrets" was almost an oxymoron.
Nancy came of her own accord. Hood could see the concern, love, and lingering disappointment in her eyes.
"Paul," she said softly, "I know I screwed up in the past, but this isn't my doing. Any number of people could have made these changes." "You mean people in the inner circle of Dominique's." Nancy nodded.
"I believe you," Hood said. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?" Hood's cellular phone beeped and he excused himself.
"Hello?" "Paul," said the caller, "it's Darrell. Can you talk?" Hood said that he could.
McCaskey said, "I've met with Liz and Mike, and it looks to us like this fellow you were asking about is Mr. Hate himself. And powerful enough to avoid arrest." "Explain." "He appears to use a network of banks to launder money and finance hate groups worldwide. The law sniffs around him but never bites. Meanwhile, it looks like he's getting set to introduce a new joystick which helps players feel as if whatever they're seeing on the screen is very real." "I assume this joystick is compatible with the hate games." "Sure is," said McCaskey. "But our immediate problem isn't any of that. The Pure Nation team that got picked up this morning may have been a plant. It looks like they and the hate games could be part of a larger plan to turn U.S.