On Broken Wings (29 page)

"Well, yes. I'm not sure it meets the accuracy threshold, but I've got it running in real-time on a 10,000 signature database."

He shook his head. "I thought you were kidding me yesterday. All right, where on the server is it?"

She gave a directory specification. He stroked his keyboard, found her program, and fired it up.

"All right, now how do I specify a pattern to be checked?"

She leaned over his shoulders and put her fingers to his keyboard.

"I've got a bunch set up for testing. Goes like this..."

***

It was ten to five when Svenson decided that Christine's program had proved itself.

"Four percent false positives, less than two percent unidentified. That's more than twice as good as we needed. Not a crash all day. You're sure you've never done anything like this before?"

"Honest to God, Rolf."

Svenson sat back, hands behind his head. "Louis Redmond trained you?"

She grinned. "Yup."

"No college or trade school?"

"Nope."

"That guy is worth his weight in gold. And so are you, by the way. Congratulations on the completion of your first project. Care to guess how much time and manpower we had budgeted for it?"

"Maybe you'd better just tell me."

"Four engineers, three months. A full man-year." While she absorbed the numbers, he rose and stretched the kinks from his lower back.

Roger's going to like this. We've got ourselves a new Louis. And the new model's a hell of a lot more decorative. No offense, Louis.

"Rolf? This doesn't mean you've got nothing more for me to do, does it?"

He chuckled. "No and hell no! This department is swamped. We've got so many unassigned tasks it would take me a month just to read all the acronyms to you. You stay right where I put you and don't worry about a thing. I'll make sure to keep you busy."

"Okay." She grinned.

He admired her for a moment.

Where have they gone, all those eager-to-please young ones who had all that energy and confidence? God grant she's not the last. She's so splendid.

"Come on, let's get your purse and I'll see you out."

"Oh, you don't have to. I know where the exit is now."

He pretended to horror. "Nothing doing! I have to protect you. You could still get lost in this maze, or worse."

"Worse?"

"You could get kidnapped by another project. Well, it's worse from my perspective, anyway."

She giggled, and he offered her his arm.

After she had left, he returned to his cubicle, fished up the source code to her program and studied the implementation. The evening hours rolled by as he savored her work, one powerful mind caressing the product of another.

Programmers have sharply individual styles, and their work always identifies them. Some are all flash and verve, like young acrobats eager to show off every move they've ever learned. Some are all control and order, austere classicists who prize predictability and never stray from standard techniques. A rare few strike out in new directions, trailblazers who strive to bring something new into the digital universe whatever the cost or risk.

There was a lot of Louis Redmond's style in Christine's, to be sure. Throughout her program, Svenson could see the kind of elegant data structure design and emphasis on economy that had been the Redmond trademark. It was only natural. In teaching her his trade, Louis would have harped on it. But there was more.

She had understood the problem, the informational and technological backdrop for the problem, and all the symmetries it contained. She had created a well enclosed solution that completely exploited the data and all those symmetries, but had no detectable side effects. Every part of her program did what she intended it to do, and no more. It was peculiarly gemlike.

He was certain he would see the pattern repeated in anything else she crafted. She seemed to see things whole.

This is the work of a major talent. This is star quality.

Svenson knew his own quality. Before that day he'd met only one colleague who was his superior as a software artisan: Louis Redmond. Now he'd met two.

I can still hate you for leaving, Redmond, but I guess I have to thank you now, too.

Svenson laughed, powered down his computer, and slid into his jacket.

***

Chief of Police of Onteora County Raymond Lawrence had the most opulent office to be found in any building north of New York City. His oversized desk, his credenza, his barrister's bookcases and his breakfront were all handcrafted from mahogany and teak. His high-backed desk chair and his two guest armchairs were upholstered in glove leather. His carpet was thick, fine, soft, and very deep. His awards and citations were framed to match the dark woods around them. Numerous decorative
objets d'art
in jade, pewter, silver and gold were scattered about.

Wendell Magruder, commander of the Onteora First Precinct, and John Ashford, commander of the Second Precinct, could have been two more statues perched in his guest chairs had they been attractive enough.

"Well? Any reason why it won't work here?" Lawrence's eyes darted from face to face, daring them to object.

Ashford was first to speak.

"Jesus, Boss, if Smalley can make it play in Buffalo, I guess we can make it play here. But how hasn't he been found out yet by the other districts?"

Lawrence shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he has. Maybe there's an arrangement. We can come up with our own approach. What're you thinking about, Wendy?"

Magruder's gaze rested on one of the jade figurines in Lawrence's display case. "It's got more than one angle to it," he said, slumping down in the leather guest chair. "We can fine-tune it to maximize both regular and under-the-table revenue. We'd still go after the unlicensed ones, right, Chief?"

Lawrence nodded, wondering what Magruder had foreseen that he hadn't. The man was a major brain. Wasted in this kind of work, really.

"And we'd want to limit the licenses, both in number and in scope, so that the good citizens didn't get the idea that we were useless, but rather that we needed more resources. So more money comes in from County Center, maybe from Albany, too. We'll have to bring at least a couple of the auditing staff in on it."

Lawrence grinned and nodded. "I think we'll be able to afford a couple of accountants, once the thing gets rolling."

Super Honk ain't gonna be the only one wearing a Rolex.

"The problem's going to be marketing, reaching the customer." Magruder was still staring at the ceiling. "Our target customer won't come in here of his own free will. So how do we get him into the shop to hear the sales pitch for our new product?"

Lawrence smiled. "How do we usually get him in here, Wendy?"

Ashford looked over at Magruder. Magruder straightened up quickly, a grin spreading across his features. "Of course. Shit!"

"Follow that a little further, boys. Attractive terms for every first-time customer, including being kicked loose and all his arrest paperwork getting misplaced. Misplaced but not lost, mind you, because we'll want it handy in case a customer should happen to miss a payment, won't we?"

Ashford's face twisted into an incredulous one-sided grin. "Chief, you're a friggin' genius."

Lawrence feigned modesty. "No, Smalley's the genius. I'm just good with details. Like counting money."

All three laughed in unison. Ashford asked, "What about lawyers?"

Lawrence started to answer, but Magruder intervened. "No lawyers, Johnny. What do lawyers specialize in?"

Ashford shrugged. "Getting their scumbag clients off?"

"Nope. Law school teaches 'em one thing above all others: Find where the money is coming from, where it's going to, get square between 'em, and catch as much as you can."

Lawrence nodded, still grinning. "And they can count, too."

Magruder settled back again. "Sounds like you've got yourself a racket, Boss. Who else are we going to have to bring in?"

"Give me a week to think about it. It's nine PM, boys. Go home to your wives."

"To who?" Ashford said, and they all laughed again.

====

Chapter
28

Phyllis Ostrov had been a nurse for twenty-five years, and the even-day nurse-receptionist at Onteora General Hospital for the past four. It was an assignment she didn't enjoy.

She had to admit that she was suited to it. She was attractive, cheerful by nature, dealt well with all varieties of people, and had a remarkable gift for spreading calm where chaos reigned. It was work that needed to be done, and she took what satisfaction she could from doing it well. But she had gone into medicine to tend the sick, not to deal with healthy people while others tended their sick relatives, and there were days when she missed it greatly.

September was done. The temperatures were losing the harsh edge of the summer now past. Leaves were turning. A few trees had even begun to shed. She and Paul had promised themselves an autumn vacation, perhaps a tour of the great Finger Lakes wineries, and the time for it had arrived. God knew she could use it, after the events of the months past.

That Thursday morning of the second of October, she bade the night receptionist a good day and settled in at the front desk as usual, coffee and leisure reading at the ready. For the moment, it was quiet. It always seemed quiet at this time of year, just after the rowdinesses of summer had ended and the teenagers had gone back to school.

At about nine AM, a short, slight young man whose face was vaguely familiar to her came through the doors, smiling.

"Would you page Dr. Miles Jefferson, please?"

That was the end of her sense of inner calm, that day.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jefferson isn't available."

The young man was puzzled. "Has he changed shifts?"

"No, sir, he's no longer in residence here." She tried to smile.

Puzzlement was displaced by alarm. "When did he leave?"

"Perhaps one of our other residents could help you, sir, if you'd be kind enough to -- "

"Nurse."
His tone of command stopped her cold.
"When did Miles leave this hospital?"

"Early in June, just after the assault." Her voice shook under the force of his compulsion.

"What assault?"

Her heart began to accelerate, but she was still compelled to answer. "A man came here, looking for a former patient, a young woman who'd been in a motorcycle accident. It was June first. I tried to explain to him that we had no record of the lady's whereabouts. He was starting to become difficult when Dr. Jefferson tried to intervene. The man turned on Dr. Jefferson, threw him through the doors and began to batter him. Security got here just in time to save his life."

The young man's eyes had turned to pools of agony. "And Dr. Jefferson left the hospital staff after that?"

"Yes, sir. His right shoulder was completely ruined, shattered beyond reconstruction, and he'd sustained a concussion that had permanent effects on his vision and hearing. He left medicine completely."

It was not something she'd ever wanted to relive. She'd tried her best to forget it.

The young man stood there, palms flat against the desk.

"I see." He looked down as a spasm passed through him. "Thank you, Nurse. Forgive me for asking. Have a pleasant day."

He turned and departed through the wide glass doors, shoulders hunched in pain.

***

"You can't possibly blame yourself."

Louis snorted. "Of course I don't, Malcolm. It happened the day before the attack on my house." He fought down another abdominal spasm. "I just wish I'd killed the bastard, that's all."

Loughlin shook his head. "Your reasoning was good then, and it's still good now. For none of them to return would have brought the whole gang down on you."

"I could have handled them."

"At what price, Louis?" Loughlin's tone was gentle. "I know you could have taken them all. I taught you how to do it. But you would have had to flee for your life immediately after. You'd have lost your home, most of your money and whatever possessions you couldn't stuff into your truck. You and your ward would have been fugitives from the State for the remainder of your lives. What kind of life would you have been able to give her then?"

God, I hate it when he's right.

The sun was at its zenith, and the trailer had grown overly warm. Louis was desperate for his leavetakings to be over. Yet they had only begun, and this was likely to be the easiest of them.

"I expect Christine will be here some time on Sunday. She'll be very upset. Are you still willing to have her?"

"I will have her, Louis. I did give you my word."

"Thank you, Malcolm."

Loughlin waved it aside. "I hope she doesn't need too much looking after. Did you even begin the search for a successor before you took her on your shoulders?"