Above, the dragon yawned suddenly and spat a fireball at the Eisenhower Productions booth. Heat — created by the holoprojectors — slammed into the nearest convention attendees, setting off a fresh wave of reactions that still appeared to be equally divided between shrill fear and enthusiastic support.
The person holding Maj took a step back, loosening the grip he had on her.
Maj bumped back against him, throwing him even further off-balance. The come-along grip the man had managed was effective, but only if he maintained it. She slid her wrists free of his hand and stepped forward.
“No.”
This time she was certain Peter said that because she watched him. “Peter.”
Horror stained the handsome face behind the helmet’s visor.
The holographic flames burned along the Eisenhower Productions booth and created three-foot tall letters that read: GRIFFEN GAMES! ONLINE AND ON TARGET.
“Peter!” Maj called, spotting the security guard moving in behind her again.
Peter glanced down at her. For the first time she realized how tired he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and held a haunted look. All the confidence he’d exuded before in facing down hostile reporters seemed eroded.
“Do you remember me?” Maj asked desperately, knowing the security guard was going to pull her back in just a moment. Another man she figured was a security team member approached from the left. “I was in the jet last night.”
Peter held up the sword for attention. “No,” he told the security men. “Leave her alone. I want to talk to her.”
Above them the dragon circled through the air restlessly. The throb of the powerfully muscled bat wings rolled throughout the darkened convention center. The enthusiastic shouts intermingled with flagrant name-calling as well. Evidently there were more than a few people who didn’t appreciate Peter’s suspected grandstanding.
The two security men backed away reluctantly, suddenly busy with the other screaming fans who chose that opportunity to rush the Eisenhower Productions booth. Automatically Peter reached a gauntleted hand down for Maj.
Maj reached for the hand, but her fingertips plunged right through it with a cold sensation.
“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“I wanted to talk to you, too.” Peter gazed in wonder at all the confusion sweeping through the convention center. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What?” Maj asked.
Before he could answer, a cold blue light suddenly dawned in the center of his stomach. It ate through his holo image like a flame charring through paper. In the next instant Peter was gone as if he’d never existed.
11
Maj stared at the space where Peter Griffen had been standing, wondering if his disappearance had been planned, or if this was another circumstance that had been completely out of his control.
She whirled to face the middle-aged man standing behind her. “Are you the security guard who grabbed me?”
The man held his open hands up. “I was just doing my job.”
“I know,” Maj said. “But I think you need to find Peter Griffen.”
“How?” the man asked. “As far as I know, he wasn’t even here.”
“Then I suggest you start asking people,” Maj replied. “Wherever he is, I think he’s in trouble.”
The dragon continued flying above them, squalling out its impatience as if it, too, realized its master was missing.
Maj reached into her jeans pocket and took out her foilpack. She reconfigured it into a vidphone and punched in Catie’s number. An automated message answered, offering to take a message. She’s probably still in a game, Maj realized. She punched in Megan’s number next.
“Hello,” Megan answered.
“Tell me you saw what happened.”
“I saw,” Megan replied. “I just don’t know what to make of it.”
Maj pushed her way through the crowd, not even bothering with being polite. Something way too weird was going on, and the clock was ticking. “I don’t think he did it on purpose.”
Flashlights joined the security lights in opening holes in the darkness.
“If it was just for effect, it seems to have had the desired effect.”
“Peter wasn’t planning this.” Maj put her free hand in front of her, testing the people in the crowd to find out how many were real and how many were holos. When she found someone who was holo, she pushed on through him or her.
“What makes you so sure?” Megan asked.
“I talked to him right before he disappeared. He was as confused by this as everyone else was.”
“I don’t think everyone was confused,” Megan observed. “Some of these people think this was the greatest stunt ever.”
A crowd gathered at the nearby gate leading into the Eisenhower Productions booth. They pounded on the gate and demanded entrance.
“Trust me,” Maj said. “Get hold of the others. Especially Mark. Maybe he can access some of the security vid systems and find Peter.”
“He was online in holo,” Megan reminded. “He could have been anywhere.”
“I’ve got a feeling he’s here,” Maj replied.
“If he is, we’ll find him.”
Maj folded the foilpack and held it in her hand. She looked down at the guy sitting at the Eisenhower table. “Where’s Peter Griffen?”
The guy nervously shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought he was here till he disappeared like that.”
Maj glanced at the crowd pounding on the booth’s gate, feeling the pressure of seconds ticking by. “Can you open those doors?”
“Not me. But maybe one of those guys can.” He pointed at a group of men in business suits. “They’re part of Eisenhower Productions.”
Maj walked toward the men, opened the foilpack, and pressed one of the speed-dial numbers she’d programmed in last night.
“Los Angeles Police Department,” the automated emergency voice answered. The voice was male, crisp, and efficient. The LAPD symbol filled the foilpack’s small vidscreen.
“I need to speak with Detective John Holmes,” Maj said. “He’s currently on assignment at the Bessel Mid-Town Hotel. This is an emergency. My name is Madeline Green. Detective Holmes will know me.”
“Thank you,” the automated voice said. “I’ll connect you momentarily.”
Maj stepped in front of the men in business suits, stopping almost ten feet away because other men who were obviously bodyguards stepped forward.
“Please stay back, miss,” a granite-jawed man said with thin politeness.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Maj told them, “you’re about to have a full-scale riot on your hands. If you don’t produce Peter or open those gates, you’re going to get covered in some majorly bad press.”
“The girl’s right,” one of the men said to a guy in roundlensed glasses and a thin mustache. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Maj seized on that bit of information immediately. What wasn’t supposed to happen?
“Peter knew better than this,” the man with glasses said. “He didn’t stick to the game plan.”
“It’s too late to worry about that now,” the other man replied.
The man with glasses looked up at the big security guard next to him. “I want men inside the booth. I don’t want anything dismantled.”
“Yes, sir.” The man spoke into a wristcom, too low for Maj to overhear. She studied their faces, hoping she would be able to identify the men later if she had to.
An excited shout rang out behind her. She turned and watched as the gates to the Eisenhower Productions booth opened and the crowd swarmed in. She hurried to join the crowd flowing into the huge booth. She glanced up at the dragon twisting restlessly above the convention center, wishing it could somehow lead her to its master. But the dragon looked as lost as she felt.