“You played that game?” Andy asked.
Zenzo laughed. “He didn’t just play the game. He destroyed it. The guys who built it put nearly a year of development into it. Your buddy destroyed it in seventeen straight hours of some of the best play I’ve ever seen. When the dust settled, they were out of business. Gridley took out their game, then posted game cheats on every blackboard bulletin server on the Net. After that, Deathstalker 3000 was just a joke.”
“Too many people were getting hurt,” Mark replied.
“Maybe so, but that’s what they were paying to do.”
“We’re here about Peter Griffen,” Mark said. “The word I get is that you guys used to be pretty tight.”
Zenzo glanced at the other three people at the table. “Check you later.” He stepped forward, and in the next instant he was in the lower floor of the cyber café with Mark and Andy. “Let’s take a walk.”
Andy stepped in behind Zenzo, flanked by Mark, who dropped the hack he had on the cyber café’s vid systems.
“Let me take the lead,” Zenzo suggested. “I’ve got a place I want to take you.”
A trickle of nervous fear threaded down Andy’s spine. Giving control of his movements on the Net was something he didn’t like to do even if he knew the person doing the leading.
“Okay,” Mark said without hesitation. Not feeling good about the move at all, Andy did the same.
Zenzo leaped up into the Net, pulling them along after him as he crashed through the telecommunications grid.
Matt floated in his veeyar and chased paper trails. All the files Maj had archived on Peter Griffen had been reduced to a series of icons hanging in the air, grouped by personal history, publishing history, broken down into different game development corporations Peter had worked for.
It seemed like a lot of information, but it really wasn’t. Peter Griffen’s life was strictly low profile.
A com-link beeped for attention, strobing a pulsing blue wave against the black sky to his left. “Connect,” Matt said.
Instantly a vidscreen formed in the center of the blue pulse and framed Catie’s face. “Having any luck?”
“Not much,” Matt admitted. “I can give you a copy of every tax form Peter’s ever filed, every place of residence he’s had, the cars he’s owned, and so forth, but I can’t give you any personal details.”
“What about family?”
Matt shook his head. “Peter’s had a lot of bad luck. When he was seven, his parents were killed in a car wreck. He survived, but there was no family to take care of him. Or, if there was, they didn’t admit to it. He never got adopted and was raised by the state.”
“Which state?”
“California. A little town called Patterson that’s not far from Sacramento.”
“Maybe you could use a break,” Catie suggested. “I know I could.”
Matt nodded. He closed his eyes and logged off, opening them again in Catie’s hotel room.
Catie sat at the hotel desk in front of the communications array Mark had cobbled together to link all the Net Force Explorer teams.
Matt crossed the room and took an apple from the fruit bowl. He glanced over to the corner and saw Andy still logged onto the Net in the extra implant chair they’d asked the hotel to bring up. “Are Mark and Andy having any luck?”
“Mark let me know they found someone named Zenzo.”
“Who’s he?”
“According to what they found out, Zenzo helped Peter develop some of the computer graphics software used to build Realm of the Bright Waters.”
“Maybe Zenzo got to know Peter a little more than most of the people who’ve written articles about him.”
“Have you been able to talk to any of the other gaming companies Peter has worked for?” Catie asked.
Matt nodded. “Most of them have skeleton crews on-site because the majority of the staff is here at the convention. But it doesn’t do much good talking to them because they haven’t given me anything more than the HoloNet files. Peter was a good guy to work with, very inventive, reliable.”
“No hidden neuroses or agendas?”
“If there were,” Matt said, “they’re still hidden.”
“What about the orphanage?”
“The records are sealed, and I couldn’t get through to talk to anyone.”
“Probably every news service around is calling them.”
Matt nodded unhappily. He wasn’t used to coming up empty. “The only thing I did turn up was an article about Peter’s first few games. He worked with a friend of his from the orphanage. A guy named Oscar Raitt. I’ve reached his answering service, but so far he hasn’t returned my call.”
“Where is he?”
“Seattle,” Matt answered. “He’s working with Steph Games.”
Catie leaned her head back into the implant chair. “Let me check the files Mark gave me.” She was back in an instant. She smiled. “Steph Games is at the convention. And you’ll never guess who one of the representatives is.”
“Oscar Raitt,” Matt said.
“Bingo. He’s staying at the Mohammed Arms. It’s just across the street. The Bessel made an arrangement with them to handle some of the overflow. Oscar must have gotten here late.”
“Have you got a room number?”
“No. But you should be able to get him through the front desk if he’s in his room.”
Matt took out his foilpack and punched in the hotel’s lobby number. When the call was answered, he asked for Oscar Raitt’s room.
“Hi,” a deep and pleasant voice said. “You’ve reached the voice mail of Oscar Raitt. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”
“Oscar,” Matt said, “you don’t know me, but I’m looking for Peter Griffen. My name is Matt Hunter.” He keyed the foilpack to send a copy of his Net Force Explorers ID as well. “I’m staying at the Bessel Midtown Hotel, and I’d like—”
The transmission was interrupted by a booming voice. “Hold on, hold on! I want to talk to you!”
Matt held the foilpack and watched the vidscreen come to life. Oscar Raitt was a big guy. He had curly blond hair, a bullet of a head, and a goatee. Acne-marked pale skin covered his oval face.
“What do you know about Peter’s kidnapping?” Oscar asked.
“I was hoping you could help me,” Matt said.
Oscar considered that. “Is Net Force involved in this?”
“I’m helping with the initial investigation.”
Nodding, Oscar said, “Good. Because Peter disappearing like this isn’t right. I’ve heard a lot of dexters around the convention suggesting that Peter helped himself to his own kidnapping. That’s pure DFB, data flowing bad.”
“I’ve got a friend who feels the same way.”
“How about you?” The intensity of Oscar’s gaze was nuclear.
Matt remembered the men with the pistols the night before, how he’d been fired on before the men knew he was only a holo. “I’m a believer.”
“Okay.” Oscar nodded. “I’ve been trying to get people to listen to me that Peter would never do something like this. And there’s more going on than what you think.”
“What?” Matt’s pulse quickened.
“I don’t want to talk over a vidphone connection. How soon can you get here?”
“Give me the room number and five minutes,” Matt said.
Gaspar Latke sat in the cluttered office of his veeyar, his attention locked on the sixteen different screens he’d opened in front of him. Ten of them were different views of the Bessel Midtown Hotel’s banquet room, linked from the buttoncams Heavener’s team had put into the room since Peter Griffen’s kidnapping. Four more monitored the hotel’s main entrances, and two constantly cycled through the various HoloNet news feeds covering Don DeGovia’s interview after offering a million dollars for information about Peter Griffen’s abduction.