"Then they were probably in there. Hidden inside MUDs. Multi-User Dungeons." "Hey," said Stoll. "I was fooling around with one on the plane." "I know," Nancy said. "I saw the commands you were typing. Also, the other message you sent." Hood grew warm with embarrassment.
"It's like reading lips," Nancy said. "With enough experience you can read keyboards. Anyway, when we program games we always put in secret doorways to other games. I hid a game of Tetris inside Ironjaw, a game I wrote for Demain." "That was yours?" Stoll asked. "That was awesome!" "It was mine," she said. "No one ever reads the credits at the end. But if you did, you'd have found Tetris. All you had to do was highlight the correct letters sequentially in the fictitious names Ted Roberts and Trish Fallo." Hood said, "How the hell would anyone ever think to do that?" "They wouldn't," Nancy smiled. "That's what makes it so much fun. We leak the information through fan magazines and on-line bulletin boards." Hood said, "But no one would ever think of looking for an activation code in an innocent adventure game." "Right," said Nancy. "But that's exactly what it takes. A simple activation code. A program in somebody's computer in Jerkwater Township, U.S.A., could unleash a hate game across the entire Internet." "Why didn't you say anything about this?" Hood asked.
"Frankly, it didn't occur to me until now," she snapped., "I didn't think of somebody sneaking hate games into the world through role-playing programs. Why didn't Matt think of it? He's your computer maven!" "She's right," Stoll said. "I should've. Like the old joke says, you go hunting for elephant, sometimes you forget to look in the refrigerator." Hood didn't remember the old joke, and didn't care right now. He said; "So the hate games are hidden. Where do we look for them?" "And even if we find them," Hausen asked, "can we trace them back to Demain?" "It's tough to say where to look for them," Stoll said.
"He could have had the program passed around like a football— The Scorpion Strikes to The Phoenix from Space to Claws of the Tiger-Man." "Would the hate game program have to come to rest in a Demain game?" Hood asked.
"No," said Stoll. "Once it was planted, it's like a virus.
Timed to go off at will." "So there's no smoking gun," Hood said.
"Right," said Stoll. "Even if you could stop the program from being launched, which is debatable since he'd probably have a backup somewhere, there wouldn't be any fingerprints on it." Ballon said disgustedly, "That doesn't help me. Not a bit." Hood looked at his watch. "He's going on-line now," he said. "Nancy, are you sure you don't know anything more about this? About his M.O. or about the programmers and how they work?" "If I did, Paul, I'd have told you." "I know. I was just thinking maybe something slipped your mind." "It didn't. Besides, I don't do the finishes on these programs. I write the parameters, the outlines, and other people color them in here. Paid big bucks and sequestered and loyal to the boss. When we do things like the extra game in the credits, that's more or less an afterthought. This is way out of my area." Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Stoll clapped his hands once and dropped to the grass. "I know how to do it. I know how to get that bastard!" Ballon crouched beside him. "How?" The others moved around them as Stoll unwrapped the cables for his portable computer. He attached the machine to the T-Bird. "The programmers work like painters. Like we saw in Mr. Hausen's office, they take stuff from the landscape around them and use it in the games. It's dark now, so we'd have a problem eyeballing scenery. But if I take terahertz pictures of the trees and the hills and everything else, the chemical compounds appear as visual data. That'll give us the shape of things down to leaves and boulders. If we feed those into the computer—" "You can run a video comparison program to see if any of the images match up," Nancy said. "Matt, that's brilliant!" "Damn right," he said. "With any luck, I can handle the whole thing here. If I need more juice, I can download to Op-Center." As Stoll worked Hood watched, confused but trusting his associate. And as he stood there, his phone beeped. He stepped toward the river to answer.
"Yes?" "Paul?" said the caller. "It's John Benn. Can you speak?" Hood said that he could.
"I have a full report for you, but here is the gist.
Maximillian Hausen, father of Richard Hausen, worked for Pierre Dupre from 1966 to 1979. His title was Pilot and then Senior Pilot." "You said 1966?" Hood said.
"I did." That was before Richard Hausen and Gerard Dupre went to school together. In which case, it was not likely that they met at the Sorbonne, as Hausen had said. They almost certainly knew each other before that. Hood glanced back at Hausen, who was watching Stoll. The question which bothered Hood was not so much when they met but whether they were still in contact now. Not as enemies, but as allies.
"There's more," Bern said. "Apparently, Hausen the Elder was a loyal Nazi who continued to meet in secret with other ex-Nazis after the war. They belonged to the White Wolves, a group which plotted the creation of the Fourth Reich." Hood turned his back on the group. He asked quietly, "Was Richard a member?" "There's no evidence one way or the other," Benn said.
Hood was glad to hear that, at least. "Anything else, John?" "Not at present." "Thank you," Hood said. "This is all very helpful." "You're welcome," Benn said, "and have a good night." Hood clicked off, then stood for a moment looking at the dark waters of the Tarn. "I hope that's possible," he said under his breath as he turned and headed back to the others.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Jody moved as quickly as her sandbag-heavy legs and aching shoulder would permit. It was amazing, she thought, how she had always taken so many things for granted. A healthy body, for one. A walk through the woods for another. Pushing or sometimes pulling a wheelchair with someone in it made the exercise a much different proposition.
Add the fact that someone was chasing her, someone she could hear but couldn't see, and every aspect of the experience became more vivid still.
She stumbled, got up, pushed, groaned, and leaned against the wheelchair. She relied on it nearly as much as it relied on her. And then she heard the woman's voice shout from behind her.
"Don't move another foot!" Jody stopped.
"Lift your arms." Jody did.
"Take two steps to your left and remain facing away." Jody obeyed. She listened as Karin Doring walked forward. The German was breathing heavily. Jody started as the woman put three bullets into the back of the wheelchair.
The dead body fell forward.
"God— god!" Jody gasped.
Karin circled the girl. Even in the dark the terrified young woman could see her angry expression. She also saw the SA knife.
"You dared come to my camp as you did!" Doring screamed at her. Her voice was angrier than it had been earlier in the day. She kicked the wheelchair out of her way.
"You dared to challenge me, to insult me!" "I'm sorry," Jody said, trembling. "You— you would have done the same, wouldn't you?" "You are not me!" Karin said. "You've paid no dues!" Suddenly, three shots flashed in the trees. Karin lurched but remained standing as they struck her in succession. She looked up as Bob Herbert stirred in the lower branches. Karin dropped to her knees, blood oozing from the wounds.
Herbert dropped his gun to the ground, then lowered himself from the branch. He hung there from his powerful arms. "Right about now I'll bet she's glad she's not you, Karin." Karin struggled to keep her eyes open. She was shaking her head slowly, trying to raise the gun. It dropped to the ground. A moment later, she followed it.
Jody refused to look at Karin. She kicked away the body of the dead policeman they'd placed in the wheelchair.
Then she ran over to Herbert. He dropped into the seat.