“Yeah, right,” Matt muttered as his friend finally blinked out of his space. “That rep fits you to a T.”
Matt’s “giant get-well card” project succeeded far beyond anything he’d expected. All the local chapters enthusiastically jumped on board when he contacted them. Signatures began pouring in for his statement of support. Even kids who hadn’t been reporting in for meetings lately — including a few kids who’d been in the hospital — signed on to help Captain Winters. In days Matt had the signatures of every recorded Net Force Explorer.
That was the good part. Then he realized he had to get these signatures organized somehow and get them to Net Force and James Winters. Sorting the names against membership data, he got the signatures organized into local groups. Once he had the presentation problem licked, then there was the problem of delivery.
Jay Gridley’s office was easy. All it took was a phone call to Mark to get that Net address. But Captain Winters was a tougher nut to crack. With the captain suspended, it didn’t seem very likely he’d be checking his office e-mail. And when Matt tracked down a personal Net address for a J. Winters that looked promising, he got no response. The captain didn’t answer his home phone, either.
Matt couldn’t say he was exactly surprised. Since Tori Rush’s piece on Once Around the Clock, there had been a steadily growing media circus focused on the car bombings, both the recent one and the older ones. And the center ring of that circus was the alleged Alcista-Winters murder case. With reporters asking him repeatedly for comments and answers to questions, the captain probably had good reasons not to pick up when his phone bleated.
But it also meant that Matt couldn’t warn Winters that a special message was on the way from the Explorers. And that meant he couldn’t depend on sending off the petition electronically.
No, he would have to resort to a hard copy or a datascrip, delivered by hand. Matt spent a day reworking his document, decided how he wanted the final document to look, then tracked down a service bureau to print it out. The message was too massive to manage on his home system. He wanted the statement and signatures to appear in full color all on one piece of paper, and that meant finding a company that still used printers with paper rolls.
David Gray helped in the search, and Matt finally found a place that could handle the job. A few hours later he headed off with the result of his efforts — a very bulky roll of paper — under his arm. As he came out of a suburban Metro station, Matt hailed a cab in the parking lot and gave the driver James Winters’s home address. He winced when he heard the fare. This hand-delivery stuff didn’t just take time out of his day. It meant shelling out some serious money, too. But Captain Winters was worth it. Besides, if costs got out of hand, Matt knew he could get Leif to foot some of the bill.
He looked out the window as he rolled along en route to the captain’s house. It was a pleasant neighborhood, with good-sized houses spaced well apart. There was lots of room for front and back yards. Young kids were playing in several of those yards. Matt passed a little girl riding on a bicycle, and some guys shooting hoops on a backboard attached over a garage.
Matt blinked. He hadn’t really given much thought to how the captain lived outside of work. Maybe it was Winters’s military facade. But Matt somehow thought of his mentor in relation to offices or barracks, not as a suburb-dweller.
When he pulled up at the appropriate address, Matt didn’t expect to see the paneled Colonial-style house overlooking a good stretch of woods. But there was no mistaking the place. This was Captain Winters’s home, all right. The media vans parked across the street were a dead giveaway. Several vaguely official-looking vans were parked in the driveway. And James Winters stood in the driveway with Captain Hank Steadman of Net Force Internal Affairs.
They both turned suspicious eyes on the cab as it pulled up to the place.
They’re probably expecting some idiot reporter to pop out, Matt thought. He wished again he’d been able to call ahead. No way did he want to intrude on the investigation.
But Captain Winters smiled in welcome when Matt emerged from his cab.
“Matt!” he said in surprise. Then he turned to Steadman. “This is one of my Net Force Explorers, Matt Hunter. What brings you out here, Matt?”
Steadman excused himself and headed for the garage as Matt presented his printout. Winters read the statement of support with his usual quiet, serious expression. But Matt thought there was a hint of mist in the captain’s eyes as he partially unrolled the paper to see the beginning of the list of signatures in three neat rows, then hefted the weight of the scroll in his hand to get some idea of how very long the list was.
“Every current Net Force Explorer signed,” Matt said with pride, “as well as some kids who aren’t with the group anymore, either because they graduated from the program or went on to pursue other interests.”
“Matt—” Winters had to clear his throat before he went on. “Thank you. This couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s not a pleasant experience to have your colleagues execute a search warrant on your house.”
“It’s a nice-looking place,” Matt said.
Winters glanced at him, a hint of a smile quirking his lips. “What? You were expecting a cave? Or maybe a bunker? What a disappointment! The captain lives in a house!” Winters shrugged. “I try to keep it neat. And I know it’s clean.”
Matt sensed immediately that Winters wasn’t referring to his housekeeping skills.
Hangman Hank Steadman came back out of the garage, his eyes hooded. “Captain,” he said formally, “you told us you hadn’t used the workshop back there for quite some time.”
“It’s been months,” Winters replied. “I was cutting some wood during the summer to make repairs on the deck out back.”
Steadman gave him a brief, almost ironic, nod. “In that case, can you explain why there’s no dust on any of the tools in there?” The IA man pressed on. “And why we found traces of plastic explosive on your workbench?”
5
Matt stepped into Captain Winters’s office — he still couldn’t think of it in any other way — and shook hands with Agent Dorpff.
“Matt Hunter?” The youthful-looking agent smiled. “Good to start meeting some of the guys — and girls — in the organization,” he quickly added, obviously remembering his disastrous introduction to the Net Force Explorers. “Captain Winters specifically mentioned you as part of what he called ‘the local organizational cadre,’” Dorpff went on.
“Really?” Matt said, a little flattered.
Agent Dorpff nodded. “Looks like the captain was right,” he said. “Considering the job you did on that petition. A nationwide response in less than a week!”
He gave an embarrassed shrug at Matt’s look of surprise. “Hey, it’s part of my job, checking out what’s happening on the Net Force Explorer Net.”
Dorpff looked concerned. “I hope you weren’t too upset by what happened when you went to deliver the printout.”
Matt couldn’t help himself. “How did you—”
His answer was another shrug. “I may be the guy on the bottom of the organizational totem pole, but even I hear things,” Dorpff said.
“And is this part of the job, too?” Matt asked. “Consoling the upset teenagers?”
“It’s probably in the job description somewhere,” Dorpff said. “But even though I’m just starting out, I’m not stupid enough to think that you’ll forget Captain Winters.” He hesitated for a second. “I do want you to know that I’ll be there…if you need me.”
“In case I’ve scarred my poor psyche?” Matt said. “Hey, all I did was see a bunch of lab nerds running around in the captain’s garage.”