The Nexus Series: Books 1-3 (9 page)

“I suppose I
could cook up a program that would do that.  I could set it to cycle so it
sent out a signal from the translator every few seconds—”

“How about
constantly?”

“Okay,
constantly.”

“And whenever it
detected an ID card within range, it would erase the info on the card?”

“Yeah.  But
I still don’t—”

“What if there
were a lot of ID cards within range of the translator at the same time?”

“No
problem.  It would erase all of them in an instant.”  Jerry G looked
pleased and anxious at the same time—pleased that he could write the program in
question, anxious because he didn’t like where this was going.  “So that’s
the prank?  You want to get this program cycling on a computer near the
entrance to GoCom and delete everyone’s ID profile?”

“There’s more to
it than that.  I want to get inside GoCom myself.”

Jerry G
whistled.  “Okay.  You’d better explain more.”

“Next
question:  Could the program replace the info on the IDs with new info?”

“If we had the
info, sure.”

“Like Martin P.
Daniels’ profile?”

Jerry G smacked
his knee.  “You’re brilliant, Jillian, you know it?  Brilliant!”

THEY
were ready for the job two days later.

Not surprisingly,
Jill had done her research well.    Most of GoCom’s hundreds of
employees worked a standard 9-to-5 shift.  About sixty percent of these
rode the ferries across the lake, which were the slowest but cheapest means of
reaching the massive island building.

At roughly 8:25
a.m. a trio of ferries departed from a pier on the west shore of the lake near
the Avenue of Towers.  The ferries arrived at the island about twenty
minutes.  The passengers disembarked at a large plaza before GoCom’s main
entrance.  A few would linger in the courtyard, smoking or chatting on
their phones or doing anything else to pass the time.  Some people had a
phobia of clocking in so much as one minute before the appointed hour. 
But most would file directly through the glass doors into the wide entrance
area.

Once inside, the
employees would form lines before a row of security scanners—boxy white arches
linked together across the entryway.  One by one GoCom personnel passed
through and had their ID cards scanned.  Their facial features were also
scanned, making sure each ID was being carried by the person authorized to
carry it.  If the scanner detected no card, if the card and the face
didn’t match, or if there was any other problem, a few of the on-hand security
officers would ideally resolve the problem as quickly and painlessly as
possible.

Of those who
didn’t commute via ferry almost all took the skybus—quicker but more expensive,
which meant most of its passengers were a bit higher up in the GoCom food
chain.  The skybus departed from a terminal just blocks from the ferry
pier.  Several busses left every weekday morning at 8:30 sharp and formed
a little parade thirty feet above the lake’s surface.  They dropped their
passengers off at a plaza on a terrace, just as the ferry passengers were
swarming across the plaza thirty feet below.  The bus passengers then
entered a similar entryway, and passed through similar security scanners where
issues were resolved by similar security persons.

The handful of
remaining 9-to-5 folks was the most pampered.  These were the proud few
who had obtained parking permits for the garage—the garage from which Jill had
made her getaway in the unwitting Martin P. Daniels’ vehicle.  From the
garage, employees entered a similar but smaller entryway, and passed through
similar but fewer security scanners.

By the time these
select few dozen were entering the building, the workday of Anterra’s
Governmental Complex was just getting underway.

Most of this Jill
discovered doing searches on her computer in the comfort of her own
apartment.  She enhanced her understanding of the process by donning a
newly-purchased business suit and riding a bus on Wednesday and a ferry on
Thursday.  She also read on the official GoCom post that the complex’s state-of-the-art
security had functioned without any major hitch in the decade since it had been
installed.

Today would be
the first.

11

IT
was 7:30 a.m. when she met Jerry G at a café on the lakeshore.  The café
was about a five minute walk from the skybus terminal, and an even shorter walk
from the ferry pier.

“You look good,
girl,” Jerry G said as platonically as possible.  “First time in a
business suit?”

“No,
actually.”  She didn’t elaborate.  “You look very professional
yourself.  Had to slick down the fro, huh?”

“I figured it
would be worth it for a prank like this.”

Jill
fidgeted.  “Look, Jerry, I should tell you…This is more than just a
prank.”

Jerry G didn’t
look too surprised.  He didn’t look too happy, either.  “Want to tell
me about it?”

“I’m not sure
about all the details myself.  All I know is...well, this is my last job.”

He looked at her
sideways.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m done
with crime.”

“Um, you’re
actually about to commit the biggest crime of your career.”

“Maybe the
biggest.  Definitely the last.”

“Hmm.  So
what are you getting into?”

“Like I said, I’m
not sure.”

Jerry G
shrugged.  “Hey, it’s okay by me.  Whatever’s going on, I’m glad to
be on board.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t just
mean the plan.  I mean, yeah, I like our plan.  But I mean...you
know, I’m glad to be helping you out.  Whatever you’re doing.”

Jill found it
easier to smile down at the table than at him for some reason.  “Thanks,
Jerry G.”

The moment got
longer and more awkward.

“We’d better get
going,” Jerry said, clearing his throat.  “You’re sure you want the
ferry?  The bus is nicer.”

“It’s cool. 
You take the bus.”

“If you
insist.  By the way, I never did ask you how you were going to cover the
other employee entrance—the one off the parking garage?”

Jill
half-smiled.  “I managed.”

MARTIN
P. Daniels was in a better mood than usual.  He counted the reasons as he
backed out of his driveway and soon began soaring thirty feet into the
skyway.  Today was Friday.  He had a nice weekend of golf and leisure
ahead of him.  He’d had his coffee.  And he finally had his new
ID.  No more waiting at the door for security to make all the necessary
calls to let him in.  That had been a pain in the backside the past couple
days since his old ID had been stolen.

He also had a
computer in his trunk, but that part he didn’t know about.  The computer
had a Benson-Starr translator attached to it.  The computer was also
running a program—a program Jerry G had finished writing the night before, much
later than he had planned.

ON
the first of the three crowded ferries, the same program was running on the
computer in Jill’s briefcase.

AT
the bus terminal, the same program was running on Jerry G’s computer.  He
stood near each bus as it was loaded, then boarded the last one.

When he got off
at GoCom, he pretended to be taking a call and wandered around the raised
plaza, getting within fifteen feet of as many people as possible.  Their
IDs should all be reprogrammed by now, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful.

He ended up at
the edge of the terrace and looked at the plaza below.  The ferries had
arrived, and their passengers were streaming toward the front doors or
meandering in that general direction.

Jerry G
smiled.  Chaos was about to ensue.

He jumped back
onto one of the busses just as it was about to return to the shore.  The
driver eyed him curiously.

“Forgot one of my
files at home,” said Jerry with an embarrassed smile.  “Idiot!”  He
shook his head at his own stupidity.

The driver
shrugged and gunned the engine.  The bus was out over the lake again.

Jerry G looked
back toward the massive island complex.  His job was done.  But
Jill’s had just started.  He bit his lip and prayed she’d be all
right.  Could you pray for a crime?  Maybe if it was someone’s last
crime ever...

SHE
was just one of a sea of humanity rolling toward the front doors.  By the
time she was in the entryway the lines at the scanners were already backed up,
and security personnel were scrambling.

Jill
smiled.  So far, so good.

MARTIN
P. Daniels parked in his reserved spot near the elevator.  He was fairly
early, as usual.  He got on the elevator and descended one floor to the
entryway.

The moment he
stepped off the elevator, his semi-good mood evaporated.  As early as it
was, the lines at the scanners were still fairly long and didn’t seem to be
moving at all.  Security people were running around with all-too-serious
expressions on their faces.

“What’s the
deal?” Daniels asked the guy in line in front of him.

“Some kind of
trouble.  They’re not letting anyone through at the moment.”

“So should we
ride down to another entrance?”

“I wouldn’t,”
said the guy.  “That’s where the trouble is.”

“What trouble?”

“Sounds like
everyone’s IDs are scanning with the same name and profile—somebody named
Daniel, or something like that.”

Martin P. Daniels
groaned.

The lines got
longer and longer behind him.  Everyone who had arrived after Daniels had
walked by his car—which meant their IDs contained his profile as well.

“OF
course I’m seeing what’s happening!” the head of GoCom security barked into the
phone in his office.  “We’ve suddenly got hundreds of Martin P.
Danielses
on the premises, and more arriving every
second...No, our computers aren’t the problem...No, the IDs can’t be the
problem either!  How could this guy’s info get programmed onto hundreds of
ID cards overnight?...I have no idea!  We’re working on it.”

The phone rang
again the instant he hung up.  He didn’t answer this time.

His assistant
burst into his twentieth-story office with a tray of coffee, which he slurped
down without a word of thanks.  “So what do we do?” she asked him.

He thought hard
for a minute.  “Tell them to shut off the scanners and let everyone
in.  We’ll have to get someone at each gate to check IDs visually.”

“How can they
check them if the scanners—?”

“They’ve got
photographs on them, don’t they?  What else can we do?  Shut down the
government for the day?”

“Right,
sir.  I’ll spread the word.”

The phone rang
again.  The head of security rolled his eyes and snatched up the
receiver.  “What?”

“I’ve received
some new information, sir.”

“Will it help us
fix this problem?”

“Perhaps.”

Not as reassuring
as he hoped, but it would have to do.  “I’m listening.”

“Do you recognize
the name Martin P. Daniels?”

“You mean besides
the fact that everyone seems to have adopted it for the day?  No, should
I?”

“His ID was
stolen earlier this week.”

“Yeah?”

“By the girl who
escaped from jail.”

Now the head of
security was listening intently.

TEN
stories beneath the chaos, Corey Stone parked a department car and led the way
as he and Bradley Park entered HQ.  They circled the balcony to Dino’s
lab.

“Dino, we got
it,” Corey called through the door.

The funny little
man peeked out and looked at the device they’d brought back with them. 
“Yeah, that’s a VCR, all right.”

Bradley Park
nodded.  “Took some serious hunting.”

It turned out Mr.
Love wasn’t interested in watching illegal videocassettes so much as selling
them or renting them out.  He didn’t own a VCR—or if he did it was so
buried beneath the clutter of his apartment that they hadn’t been able to find
one despite a thorough search.  But as Dino had observed, Love’s clients
had to own VCRs or they wouldn’t be Love’s clients.  They had tracked down
the address of one of them, obtained a search warrant, and finally nabbed a
VCR.

“And you rounded
up the rest of Love’s videocassettes for me, right?” asked Dino.

“They’re in the
evidence storage room,” said Bradley.  “About fifty of them.”

“Well,” said Dino,
“looks like I’ll be verifying the content of those videotapes for a while.”

Corey rolled his
eyes.  “You mean you’ll be sitting back in your easy chair watching
illegal movies for a while.”

“Work, work,
work,” Dino said shaking his head.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot
of popcorn to pop in preparation.”

Dizzie appeared
in the doorway.  “Finally, you’re back!”  She seemed out of breath.

“You missed us
that bad?” asked Corey.

“Aren’t you off
shift until this evening?” asked Bradley.

She ignored both
comments.  “Do you have any idea what’s going on up there?”

They shook their
heads.

Corey dashed away
before she’d finished explaining.

BY
the time Jill made it through the line at her gate, the female security guard
at the scanner smiled apologetically.  “Sorry about the delay, Miss. 
We’re having some technical difficulties this morning.”

“No
problem.”  Jill handed over her GoCom ID.  It had her picture, and
the name matched the name on her current standard ID.  She hadn’t used
Matt at
Northshore
Garage for that job.  She
found another reliable source who wouldn’t keep ogling her and asking her out.

The guard waved
her through with hardly a glance at the ID card.  “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

She was in.

Now she crossed
the lobby toward a door in the corner.  She’d carefully studied the GoCom
layout (illegally accessed by Jerry G) to figure out the best route to the
elevator which led down to Holiday’s department.  It wasn’t a very long
walk.  Another security guard hurried past her as she went.

A moment later
this guard was handing a printout to the guard who had just let Jill
through.  “This just came from upstairs,” he told her, handing her the
paper.  “Keep your eyes open for this one.”

The woman looked
at the face on the printout.

She cursed under
her breath.

JILL
was in the hallway off the main lobby.  She turned a corner, then another,
then branched into a narrow corridor with no doors.  The farther she got
the fewer people she saw.

After another
turn or two she was alone in the wood-paneled room with the elevator.  She
pressed the button, and stepped inside the moment it arrived.

When the doors
closed behind her she felt a bit of relief.  She was safe...for the
moment.

Not safe enough
to forget to take her gun out of the specially sealed briefcase and tuck it
beneath her jacket.

With one hand she
held the button that kept the doors closed.  With the other hand she took
the panel off the elevator wall.  She’d seen the code punched in twice,
now, and she’d remembered it perfectly after the first time anyway.

It didn’t
work.  They must have changed the code.

Jill had planned
for the possibility.  She hadn’t just remembered the code; she’d
remembered the manufacturer of the console.  It hadn’t taken much work to
find the override mechanism.  She pulled it out of her briefcase. 
Within seconds the number appeared on the console.

The elevator
started descending.

The doors opened
half a minute later.  There was the blue carpet with the department
insignia, the framed photos of Home Planet skylines.  She stepped off.

...And felt cold
metal touch the back of her head.

“Don’t
move.”  She knew it would be Corey Stone’s voice before he spoke. 
“I’ve been waiting for you to turn up.”

“Look,” she said,
“I don’t have time—”

“You don’t have
time to argue with me.  Look on the bright side:  No more being on
the run all the time.”

She ducked, spun,
reached for her weapon.

He was
ready.  He blocked her move, sent her gun flying, still had his leveled at
her.  “Not this time, Jill.”

Her eyes said she
was genuinely impressed.  Her mouth said:  “You know why I came back,
don’t you?”

“I don’t care why
you came back.  I just care about where you’re going next.  And I
think you know where that is.”

“Holiday said he
would give me another chance if I came back and accepted his offer face to
face.”

“So I
heard.  One last test of your skills.  And you almost passed.” 
He pressed the gun harder against her temple.  “But not quite.  So
close and yet so far.”

She made another
move.  He was ready again.  He caught her hand, seized it, held it
behind her.  “I can lead you back to jail,” he said, “or I can have your
unconscious body carried back to jail.  Your choice.”

She didn’t try to
escape his grip.  She didn’t try to argue with him either.  “I don’t
blame you for what you’re doing.”

“Don’t try to
soften me.  I’ve learned how you operate.”

“I was raised in
crime, Corey.  It’s all I’ve ever known.  I’m guessing you didn’t
accept Holiday’s offer right away either.”

He hesitated for
an instant.  “Stop.  I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Look, throwing
me back in jail would be the only logical thing you could do.  I know
that.  But it seems like there’s more to this place than that kind of
logic.”

Corey didn’t
respond.  He didn’t lower his weapon either.  Jill assumed it was
loaded with stunners—but it would be understandable if he was packing something
more potent.

“If we all went
behind bars if we deserved it,” Jill continued, “you’d be in the cell next to
mine, wouldn’t you?”

He wasn’t looking
at her any more.  He was staring at nothing.