But the captain sounded doubtful, and Matt could understand why. Mike Steele’s infiltrated program would no doubt have erased itself after erasing the record of the phony phone call. And in the weeks since the deed was done, who knows how much data might have been recorded over the circuits where the Trojan Horse program had resided?
Still, it was a possibility — a chance to shake the case that seemed to be winding around the captain like a hungry python.
An incoming call came to Laird’s system. He looked surprised when he saw the caller. “That was fast work,” he commented. “You must have barely gotten the datafile.”
The lawyer’s system was a high-priced model that offered privacy of image and sound, even from people sitting in the office’s visitors’ chairs.
Laird’s newfound confidence suddenly seemed dented. “Looks like we hit a snag on the Kovacs-Steele thing. The first thing my investigator did was pull fingerprint files — Steele’s from Net Force, and Kovacs’s from the local licensing agency. Not only do they not match, there are wild dissimilarities.”
Winters wasn’t fazed in the least. “Of course not,” he said. “Steele was a specialist agent — a master hacker. If he intended to disappear, the first thing he’d go after were his fingerprints. And, regrettably, he had the access and the knowledge to change them — both there and throughout the Federal system.”
Matt nodded. “The confusion would start from the Net Force computers, which we already have to regard as compromised.”
Laird turned back to his computer’s display, which only looked like a gray storm cloud from where Matt was sitting.
“Keep digging,” the lawyer ordered.
“And tell them not to call again,” Winters said. “We still don’t know if the phone line’s secure.”
If it’s not, Kovacs-Steele will already know we’re after him, Matt realized. This could be a problem.
Stewart Laird passed the message along and cut the connection. His expression was preoccupied, as if he was already moving on to other matters mentally. The prospect of having some sort of case to present — something besides temporary insanity — seemed to fill the lawyer with energy.
“I’d like to call a press conference,” Laird said. “Like it or not, you’re being tried in the court of public opinion. It would be nice to point that out — and maybe have these so-called journalists tearing at one another instead of coming after us.”
Winters looked doubtful. “If you mention Kovacs, it will just warn him.”
“I’ll couch it in general terms,” Laird promised. “Suppose I attack the reporting on Once Around the Clock—I could say it was sloppy, that they didn’t check their facts.” He thought for a second. “How about this? They broadcast slanderous untruths, untruths which were not researched and developed by the network staff. That should get the other reporters going after HoloNews, and spark an in-house investigation by the network lawyers.”
“I think Kovacs would have to be blind not to figure out that we’re on to him.” Winters sourly tapped the pickup on Laird’s office system. “For all we know, he could have been listening in already.”
He flashed a grin at Laird’s expression. “Yeah, I know, makes me sound paranoid, but then, that’s my business.” His expression went serious again. “Okay, go for it without mentioning Kovacs. Let’s shake the tree and see what falls out. In the meantime, send a copy of the kids’ datafile to Net Force. To Jay Gridley, not to Internal Affairs. I don’t trust Steadman not to bury it. I’m pretty sure Jay’ll at least order a security check on the computers. And maybe, if we’re lucky, he’ll turn a really big magnifying glass on Marcus Kovacs.”
Laird nodded. “The more resources we can call on, the better,” he said, then quickly consulted his watch. “Okay. I think I can set things up for a press conference tomorrow morning, before the noon news.” The lawyer hesitated for a second. “I don’t think you need to be present.”
Winters looked like a man who’d just gotten a reprieve from a firing squad. “I’m sure I can trust you to say what needs to be said.”
“All right, then,” Stewart Laird said with a little nod. “The other side has been slinging mud at us for a while now. It’s about time we knocked some of it back on them.”
It had been an unusually tight day at the O’Malley household. Megan’s mom and dad were both freelance writers, which meant they generally set their own schedules. But both of them were up against deadlines, working to finish books. Since coming home from school, Megan had been tied to the computer, making up work she’d skimped on while trying to help Captain Winters.
I will not call Matt Hunter, she told herself. The words had run through her head like a mantra while she ground her way through all her reading assignments in world history.
Right now Megan had a greater interest in more current events — as in how Winters’s lawyer had reacted to the file Leif had developed. But her parents were really getting on her case about schoolwork. And, to tell the truth, Bradford Academy was a pretty demanding place, academically speaking. It wouldn’t do to fall too far behind. She’d even made the ultimate sacrifice, programming the home system to meet all incoming calls for her with a message and record them for later consumption.
Supper was late. Her brother Sean tried to do the cooking and filled the kitchen with a peculiarly acrid smoke. The O’Malleys wound up waiting for takeout while airing the house out.
So, between one thing and another, it wasn’t until the late news that Megan had a chance to catch up with the world.
“I think you’ll want to see this,” her father said, poking his head into her room.
She followed him to the living room, where a model-perfect newscaster looked very serious sitting in front of a logo that said NET FORCE MURDER?
“A surprising counterattack came today from the lawyer defending Net Force Captain James Winters. Attorney Stewart Laird not only insisted on his client’s innocence in the alleged bombing murder of organized-crime figure Stefano ‘the Bull’ Alcista; he also accused the media of in-accuracy and outright misrepresentation in their coverage of the story. Laird took special aim at HoloNews—”
The image shifted to a lean-faced, balding man standing in a heavily paneled room. “The leader in this savage attack of pack journalism has been Once Around the Clock. I don’t know how a supposedly respectable newsmagazine could air some of the so-called facts they’ve presented. The information was obviously unchecked, and apparently didn’t even originate with anyone on the network.”
Megan pumped a fist into the air. “All right!” she cried. Whatever else, Leif’s file had apparently pumped some life into the captain’s defense.
The lawyer’s image faded, to be replaced with another familiar face. Megan found herself looking at the chubby features of Professor Arthur Wellman.
The newscaster’s voice-over provided the bridge. “Support for Laird’s allegations came from media analyst and publisher Arthur Wellman.”
Wellman sat at his cluttered desk, handling an unlit pipe. “It’s unfortunate that media transgressions are usually only scrutinized in the light of the most sensational cases. It takes a Net Force scandal to disclose irresponsible, possibly even unethical, reportage. But The Fifth Estate will present the proof in a special issue….”
“Why, that pink-faced little weasel!” Megan burst out. “He’s using the captain’s case to get a little free advertising for his own rag of a magazine!”