Leif nodded. “I’m sure Jay Gridley is getting enough of those sorts of discussions on the job,” he said. “Winters has always seemed to me to be very well-liked by his fellow agents. I have noticed lately that Gridley’s statements to the press have become progressively more careful.”
“More cagey, you mean,” Matt spat the words. “Megan really called it this time. She said that as soon as the captain’s picture got spread all over the news, the case would become political. It must be getting really bad if Jay Gridley is picking his words.”
He was silent for a moment, then looked at Leif. “Looks as if this will take a lot more than statements of support. Winters is in big trouble.”
“Now I get it,” Leif said. “Things are getting out of hand, so you call in your pal the scamologist to see if he can’t come up with something — what? Clever? Devious? Certainly something that Captain Winters would never approve of — if he heard about it.”
“Leif, we’ve got to do something,” Matt said in a small voice. “This whole trail of evidence…I’m convinced someone is trying to frame the captain.”
“You may be right. I’ll see what I can do,” Leif replied gruffly. “Call you soon.”
The holographic link broke, and Leif sent a twisted grin in the direction of the pickup. He didn’t want to tell Matt, in case things didn’t work out.
But he already had something in the works.
The smoky room vibrated in time to the bass beat of the band’s pounding rock rhythm.
Leif took a deep breath — and coughed. The place was called Club Retro, and it was one of the hottest spots in New York City right now. He wasn’t sure why. Virtual reality had created a world where, just by plumping down on a computer-link couch, you could become anybody and go anywhere. So, of course, everybody who was anybody was going to this dingy basement in real life. It was cool. It was different.
Actually, in Leif’s opinion, it was hot and kind of choking. The pile-driver thump of the bass hit Leif like a physical attack. Could this stuff knock my implant circuitry loose from my skull? he thought.
Spotlights located on the ceilings flashed on and off, and some sort of lasers flickered over the crowd. It looked just like a holo of an old 1990s club. Of course, that was what Club Retro was built to look like. The unpredictable lighting flashed down on a swirling crowd of dancers, turning their flesh a sort of icy blue.
It wasn’t going to be easy to find the person he was looking for here.
But Leif was lucky. He found Alexis de Courcy at the foot of the improbable silver staircase that led to the dance floor. Alexis was Leif’s height. But he had a couple of years on Leif, not to mention dark, carefully styled hair and deeply tanned, perfect features. Alexis often talked about the great days of “Eurotrash” and “the Jet Set” and he always wore the most extreme fashions, drove the hottest cars…and pursued the wildest adventures. When he saw Leif, Alexis took a sip from a glass that seemed to be smoking, and grinned.
“Mon ami,” the French boy began, “you owe me for this one.”
“As long as my father doesn’t cut the credit cards,” Leif replied, “you’ve got it.”
“You’ll pay in more ways than that,” Alexis said. “I found a perfect connection for you. But she’s — what’s the old phrase? Ah, yes. ‘High maintenance.’”
“As long as she’s an intern at HoloNews,” Leif said.
“Oh, the young woman is all that and more,” Alexis said. “You’re in for an interesting time.”
“You didn’t lay it on too thick?” Leif asked, suddenly nervous as he followed Alexis through the club.
“Actually, I told a surprising amount of the truth,” Alexis replied. “Your father is rich, and he is Swedish. Just a few small details are off. She thinks you’re Swedish, too, in the big city for a hot time. She thinks your name is Leif Magnuson — I thought that was rather clever. More or less true, as well. And, of course, she thinks you’re somewhat older than you actually are. The young lady wouldn’t be caught dead with ‘some high-school guy.’”
The flat accent Alexis adopted made Leif suspect his friend was actually mimicking tonight’s target.
Alexis nodded. “There she is.”
The girl was short and curvy, dressed in the present fashion uniform for the trendy young woman; something called the preppy bad-girl look. A low cut, oversized sweater nearly hid the tiny pleated skirt she wore. The girl’s wild mane of red curls grew even wilder as she whipped her head around as she danced.
When the music stopped, Alexis beckoned her over. “Bodie, this is the friend I was talking about. Leif Magnuson, Bodie Fuhrman.”
Leif took her very warm hand. “A pleasure,” he said, putting on his European manners and a slight Swedish accent. “Did I hear correctly? Bodie?”
“Short for Boadicea, the ancient queen who almost threw the Romans out of Britain.” Bodie Fuhrman had obviously made this explanation many times before. “Mom decided to name all her daughters after great women in history. On the luck scale, I sort of fall between my big sister Nefertiti and the kid of my family, Marie Curie Fuhrman.”
“Charming,” Leif assured her.
“Yeah, Bodie the Body, that’s me.” The girl wiggled in time to the next tune. The implication was clear. She wasn’t exactly the shyest of young women.
“I am afraid my family is much more conservative,” Leif said. “I have been allowed to take a year away from the university to travel and learn about my father’s business.”
“Wish I could do that,” Bodie said. “I’m busting my buns at Columbia and holding down an internship at HoloNews.”
“It sounds like interesting work.” Leif wasn’t sure whether he should press for more details or spend a little more time charming the girl.
“That’s what I thought when I started out,” Bodie shrugged. “But for all its sources, HoloNews apparently hasn’t heard the news about the slaves being freed. And I work for the worst slave driver of them all, the news goddess — Tori Rush.”
6
Leif danced with Bodie Fuhrman, enjoying her moves. She was an energetic, almost reckless dancer, a young woman who moved the way she wanted to move. Several times Leif found himself having to duck if he wanted to avoid a flailing arm or a bumping hip.
By the time the music ended, Bodie had a faint sheen on her face and a twinkle in her emerald-green eyes. “‘Wild and crazy,’ that’s what everybody says about me.” She giggled.
“It just gives me something to keep up with,” Leif replied with a smile.
After a couple more wild dances, Bodie decided she needed a drink. Leif bought a simple soda. Bodie asked for one of those foaming, smoking concoctions that Alexis had been drinking.
Time to make my move, Leif thought. “So you work for the famous Tori Rush,” he said.
“I don’t know how famous she is in Sweden,” Bodie said, breathing out a puff of smoke. “But she’s a pretty big cheese over here. Just ask her! If you listen to her tell it, she’s a regular news diva.” Bodie’s eyes hardened as she looked sharply over her glass. “You’re not one of those low-wattage types who think she’s hot?”
“I don’t like blondes,” Leif lied. “For myself, I prefer a woman who looks like a woman.” He smiled. “Preferably with red hair.” He gestured at his own head. “Less chance to clash, you know.”
Bodie’s eyebrows rose in her round, expressive face. “Oddly enough, I’ve got a thing for redheads, too. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”
“Ah,” Leif said. This was interesting, but not what he’d come here looking for. Time to prod a little. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you like Ms. Rush.”