Vasquez hung up the phone. "They want us in the main data center."
As they moved down the hallway, Sarkar kept groaning softly and shaking his head. Ross didn't take the bait. Sarkar finally muttered, "Jon, I had no choice but to tell them."
"Hadi, I've been in this business long enough to know better." Ross knew that no good deed goes unpunished, and though he hadn't technically done anything wrong, helping Sarkar out with his little problem could result in the loss of his contract with Alcyone. Or worse, he thought, eyeing their FBI escort.
"They were asking questions about what we did. This is the FBI, not human resources. They talked to us separately, and I knew that Maynard would mention you. Jon, what was I supposed to do? I do not wish to get deported."
Ross grimaced. "I should have known better than to get involved, Hadi."
"I am not a Muslim. I am a Hindu. You will tell them, won't you?"
Ross didn't respond.
Sarkar looked genuinely pained. "I am sorry, Jon."
"Ted Wynnik probably called the Feds in to force Accounting's hand and have my contract canceled. He doesn't like having people down here who don't answer to him."
"Ted didn't call the FBI, Jon."
"Then who did? You?"
"No one did."
Ross stopped walking. "What do you mean?"
"They came here on their own. Because of what the Icarus-Seven server did."
Ross looked back to the FBI agents. Straub motioned for him to keep moving.
Just what have I gotten involved in here? Ross wondered.
There were a lot of people in the data center. It was almost acceptably warm as a result. Sarkar's boss, Ted Wynnik, leaned against a counter, glowering beneath thick eyebrows as he listened to two techs Ross hadn't seen before. This was probably the A-team-the daytime shift. They looked at Ross with the special contempt reserved for young consultants.
Half a dozen uniformed Woodland Hills police officers were in here along with more FBI agents. They were talking with a network admin-a pear-shaped guy with bad skin. He was probably Maynard. Pear-shaped pointed at various server racks enthusiastically. At least someone was enjoying this.
What happened?
As soon as Ross entered the room, everyone stopped talking and turned to face him. The sudden silence was almost embarrassing because Ross knew he had none of the answers they were looking for. He decided to ask the obvious question. "Anybody want to tell me what's going on?"
All eyes turned to someone behind Ross, so he spun on his heel to face a trim man in a crisp suit. The guy looked like a fifty-year-old varsity quarterback. A leader of men.
"Mr. Ross. I'm Special Agent Neal Decker, L.A. Division. Do you know why we're here?"
"Because of last night?"
Decker sized him up. It unnerved Ross that no one was talking.
But Decker was in no hurry. He finally placed his hand on a disconnected rack server sitting on the nearby counter. "They tell me this computer killed two men earlier today."
The shock took a while to work through Ross. He had expected some sort of child pornography ring or a credit card scam. "Killed? How?"
"I was hoping you could help us explain that."
"Why on earth would you think that?"
Decker smiled good-naturedly. "A lot of people are suspects right now. But once we get the people in here to help us interpret the evidence, we'll know more. In the meantime, we'd like to take you gentlemen in for questioning." His gaze spanned the room to include all the men who were present during the incident.
A wave of dread washed over Ross. "We're not under arrest?"
"No. I'm asking you to voluntarily come in for questioning."
Ross wondered what would happen if he said no. Of course, he couldn't say no. What about a lawyer? "I must tell you, I'm just completely floored by this."
"I'm certain you are."
This guy was disconcertingly calm. He gave the impression that he knew more than he was letting on. Goddamnit.
Just then a man appeared at the glass data center door. He was the linebacker to match Decker as quarterback. His casual confidence seemed to indicate he wasn't FBI-the agents here were all keyed up in Decker's presence. No, this guy was an outsider to them. The man rapped on the glass, and a Woodland Hills patrolman opened the door for him. The newcomer showed a badge and was let inside.
"I'm looking for an Agent Decker."
Decker and the FBI agents turned and moved forward, hands extended. "Detective Sebeck. We spoke on the phone." They shook hands. Decker turned to some of his crew. "Agent Knowles, Agent Straub, Detective Sergeant Peter Sebeck, Ventura County Major Crimes Unit. Detective Sebeck was heading the murder investigation up in Thousand Oaks." Handshakes all around.
Then everyone turned back to Ross.
Sebeck pointed at him. "Who's this?"
Decker leaned against the counter. "This is Jon Ross, one of Alcyone's independent computer consultants. He designs their corporate data systems. Isn't that right, Mr. Ross?"
"Certain systems, yes. Not this one."
"Is he a suspect or a witness?"
Ross thought it was a good question.
Decker was calm as ever. "That depends." He looked to Ross. "Tell me, Mr. Ross, why is it that no one at your home address has ever heard of you?"
Damn it to hell…
Chapter 6:// Exile
"Ms. Anderson?" The security guard stepped from the guard shack and ducked to look into the Jaguar XK8.
Anji Anderson looked down her nose at him from behind the wheel, lowering her Vuitton sunglasses. "Yesss. Open the gate."
"Ma'am, if you could drive off to the right here, I believe Mr. Langley wants to have a word with you."
"I think you should open the gate."
"Ma'am, Mr. Langley-"
"Mr. Langley-whoever that is-can call my office if he wants to speak with me." She dug through her glove compartment and produced a drive-on studio pass. "Now, open the gate."
"Ma'am, I'm afraid you're just going to have to pull off to the right, there."
"Why? Do you know who I am?"
He gave her an incredulous look. He obviously knew who she was.
"And why do you keep calling me 'Ma'am'? What is this, the Ponderosa? My name is Anji Anderson-although later you'll be calling me 'That Bitch Who Got Me Fired.'"
"Ma'am, there's no call for cussing."
"Cussing? Okay, Clem, I won't cuss no more, as long as you open the fucking gate."
His look hardened. He leaned down closer. "Look, if you don't pull off to the right, you'll wish you had. Now park over there." He pointed.
She just laughed. "Ahhh, I guess there's only so much shit you'll take for eight bucks an hour, eh?"
"Pull over to the right."
A car behind her honked.
"And what if I don't?"
"Pull over to the right!"
Another guard approached the car.
"Oh, you called for backup. You need protection from a helpless woman, Clem?"
The second guard eased the first away from the car and then turned to her. "Ms. Anderson, using your superior social position to belittle a powerless employee does not speak well of you."
She stared at him.
"The fact is that we've been instructed by your superiors to prevent you from entering. If you want to know why, I suggest you pull over to the right."
She nodded slowly and put the car in gear. "Okay. I will." She yanked the steering wheel to the right and accelerated madly into the walk-on lot.
Anderson was burning with anger after walking in high heels from the far corner of the parking lot. She was going to raise hell about this with Walter Kahn. She was talent.She shouldn't have to put up with facilities crap.