Death Dream (45 page)

Muncrief's face regained some of its color. He swung his gaze from Dan to Susan.

"Okay," he said, gesturing toward his desk, "Show me." Susan marched to the desk, plopped herself into the oversized swivel chair, and booted up Muncrief's desktop. In less than a minute she had the screen displaying:

GRN MAN 1.0

GRN MAN 1.5

NPT KGM 1.0

NPT KGM 1.5

"There must be others, too, but I don't know their names," Susan said.

Muncrief had come around the desk to look at the screen. He made a sour face. "Did it ever occur to you that we have a back-up program for each of the school games? In case one goes down, or two kids want to play the same game?"

Dan said, "Is that what they are? Back-ups?"

"What on earth else?"

Susan glared across the desk at her husband. "Then why was the back-up in use just a few minutes ago?"

"How the hell would I know?" Muncrief snapped, his face reddening with the beginnings of anger. "I've been in this blasted office all afternoon, trying to get some work done in peace and quiet, when you two come pounding down my damned door!"

"Angie's still in the game," Dan said to his wife. "Maybe we ought to get her out."

Susan was clearly seething. "Somebody was using the alternate version of the game and nobody else is here. The building's empty except for us."

"And Smith and Jace," Dan added.

"It wasn't Smith or Jace," Susan said, getting up from Muncrief's chair. "I checked them."

"Look, Susie," said Muncrief, patiently, "I know you're very concerned about your daughter. She had a bad experience with one of the games early on, and you're still worried about. That's what mothers are all about, I guess."

"Don't patronize me!"

Dan was horrified that Susan would speak to his boss that way.

But Muncrief raised his hands, as if in self-defense, and answered placatingly, "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry. I can understand how worried you are. But nobody's hurting your daughter. Don't let that one bad experience override everything else in your mind. Don't be an over-protective mother."

Susan's nostrils flared like a bull about to charge.

"He's right, Sue," said Dan, trying to head off the explosion. "Come on, let's get Angie out of the game and go to dinner. It's getting late."

Susan said not a word more. Dan went over and picked up Phil, who was happily batting the cords of the window blinds.

"I'll check the alternate versions," he said to Susan. "Then we'll know for sure."

"Have a nice dinner," Muncrief called to them as they left his office. Dan thought his voice sounded weak, shaky.

Angela was in love with the young prince. He was so handsome and kind, so considerate. They rode the forest trails together, he on a magnificent golden steed, she on a pretty little chestnut pony who had a white blaze on his forehead.

They stopped by a swift stream and let the horses drink.

Angela gazed worriedly into the rushing dark water. "The jaguar told me there are evil things in the water," she said to her prince.

"Not if you don't want them to be," he said, his voice as melodious as a cello to her. "This is your land, Angela, and nothing bad can happen unless you want it to."

"Really?"

He smiled and her heart fluttered. "Really. This is truly your very own land, Angela dear. I'm only a visitor here, but I'm very glad that you're allowing me to stay with you, even if it's only for a little while."

"I wouldn't want you to go away," she said. "Not ever."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "Thank you, dearest one. I'd like to stay here in this beautiful land with you forever."

"Me too!"

The prince brought Angela's hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Her knees went watery.

"ANGELA? ANGELA!" The sound was like a bell tolling, far off in the distance.

"ANGELA IT"S TIME TO COME BACK NOW. TIME TO END THE GAME."

"But I don't want to come back," she whispered, gazing into the prince's dark romantic eyes.

"COME BACK, ANGEL BABY." Her father's voice, coming closer, growing stronger. "COME BACK TO US, SWEETHEART."

"I want to stay here with you," she told her prince. "Forever."

He smiled sadly. "I'll be here, my dearest one. I'll wait for you. No matter how long it takes for you to come to me, I'll wait for you."

Dan was standing in the narrow little control room where the VR simulations were monitored, Susan behind him with Philip in her arms.

"Come on, sweetheart," Dan was saying softly into the microphone he held before his lips. "Time to go now."

Susan still looked furious, but whether she was sore at Muncrief or Dan himself he could not tell. Probably both. His wife had still not spoken a word as they had gone to the VR control booth and Dan began talking Angela out of her game.

"You don't just turn the game off," he explained to the air. "You bring the player back into the real world first, let the player terminate the game himself. Or herself."

Susan's eyes were riveted on the door of the booth where her daughter was. Dan was watching the screen of the computer that monitored Angela's game.

"Okay," he said, exhaling slowly. "She's out of it. I'm terminating the program now."

Susan rushed out of the control room and yanked open the door of the booth. Angela stepped out, rubbing her eyes as if she had just awakened from a dream.

"Why did you call me out?" Angela asked. "It was so nice in there . . ."

Susan took her by the shoulders and studied her face.

Angela was half smiling, half rueful.

"Are you all right, honey?"

Nodding, "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Come on," said Dan. "Let's "get changed and go to dinner."

"Can't I go back and finish the game?"

Susan shot a worried glance at Dan, who said to their daughter, "Not now, Angel. Some other time."

"It was so wonderful," Angela said.

"You can tell me about it while we change into our dresses," said Susan. Turning to Dan, she asked, "Are you really going to check out the alternate versions of the games?"

"Not now," he answered. "You need the access codes and Vickie's the one who keeps them. I'll call her tomorrow and get them."

Susan glared at him but said nothing.

As Dan drove his family to Disney Village, Susan sitting beside him still blazing-eyed with anger, he cleared his throat and said firmly, "You shouldn't have barged into the boss's office and accused him of something like that without any real evidence."

"He did it," Susan snapped.

"You think he did it. You don't know for certain."

"He did it and Vickie helped him."

Dan shook his head.

"And you're taking his side."

"No I'm not," he said firmly. "I'm just saying that there's no evidence to show that anybody did anything. Not yet."

From the back seat Angela asked, "Who are you talking about? Uncle Kyle?"

Susan whirled on her daughter. "He's not your uncle!"

"But you said—I mean, I thought—"

"He's not your uncle," Susan repeated, louder. "I don't want to hear you ever call him that again. Not ever!"

Glancing at his daughter in the rear-view mirror, Dan saw that Angela was on the verge of tears.

Dinner was a roaring fiasco. Susan was still raging mad. Angela seemed confused and upset. The restaurant was crowded, noisy. They had to wait in line more than half an hour despite their reservations. Half the items on the menu were gone by the time Dan and his family were seated. The waiters and waitresses, mostly young and inexperienced, were harried and overworked, clearly tired and longing to get home to their own dinners.

And just as dessert was being served Philip upchucked his dinner all over their table.

The end of a perfect day
, thought Dan miserably as his own dinner burned its way up into his throat.

CHAPTER 34

Vickie had almost driven over to the office to see Chuck Smith in person, but she decided that would be foolish. It would make her seem too eager, too much like a moonstruck girl. So she phoned him instead. ParaReality's computerized telephone system located him in Jace's lab. Vickie told him she had already made a reservation at the posh Gran Cru restaurant for seven o'clock.

"They don't open until six and, besides, they're too expensive for families having their holiday dinner out," she said. "We can have a nice quiet supper without children yapping all around us."

"You don't like children?" Smith's voice had a chuckle in it.

"They're fine," Vickie replied. "In their proper place. In cages, like chimpanzees."

Smith laughed and agreed to meet her at seven. Vickie hung up, pleased with herself. She had been crisply efficient. No goo or gush. What had happened last night was not going to dissolve her brain. What might happen tonight was strictly a form of entertainment, without any emotional attachment. None at all.

Still, that evening as they sipped wine from crystal goblets she could not help wishing that she were twenty years younger. Well, maybe not twenty. Ten would be just about right.

Chuck was smiling handsomely at her, perfect white teeth and wonderful blue eyes catching the candlelight.

"I spoke to a couple of people back in Washington," he said lightly. "They're going to take a look at your man Peterson."

"He's not my man," Vickie replied.

"Well, whatever he is, I don't think you'll have to worry about him anymore. They'll scare him off."

"Do you really think so?"

"They can be pretty scary when they want to be."

Vickie said, "Just like that? You just talk to some people and Peterson gets scared away?"

His smile seemed to shift slightly. "Do you have any idea of what I do in the White House?"

"Not yet," murmured Vickie. She had leafed through the papers that Smith had left in the desk of his hotel room. Nothing much there. A yellow legal-size tablet with a couple of hand-written lists that meant nothing to her. A few bills forwarded from his address in Washington. No personal mail. She was pretty certain that he had a notebook computer, but he must have carried it with him.

"I work for a guy you never heard of," Smith said. "He's in charge of coordinating information inputs from the various departments: you know, State, Defense, Agriculture, Labor—all that."

"Cabinet-level departments."

"Right."

"Don't they meet with the president face-to-face?"

"Of course. But I'm talking about the detailed info. The big cheeses all talk at cabinet meetings and in private sessions with the president, sure, but they can't go into much detail. Heck, they don't know the details. They don't even want to know, in most cases. All they want to do is convince the President to do what they want, which is usually what their staffers have convinced them to want."

"The President must get bombarded with all kinds of pressures from them."

"Every day," Smith said fervently. "Now, I came up with this idea of using virtual reality to help give the President's staff a better grasp of the information that's pouring into the West Wing."

"Not the President himself?"

Smith shrugged. "Probably not, at first. His immediate staff, the people he trusts to give him usable information."

"I see," said Vickie.

"Do you? If this works, I'll take over my boss's function. He's already on slippery ground; a lot of people would like to see him resign. I can save his ass with this and he'll be grateful to me forever."

"And your boss will become a figurehead."

He looked impressed. "You catch on pretty quick."

"You'll be the one who's actually in charge of coordinating all the President's information inputs."

"Not all of them." Smith put up both hands, as if to slow her down. Then he grinned. "Just the most important ones."

"The VR inputs."

"If virtual reality is as powerful as I think it is, I can become the most important guy in the White House. Everybody will come to me to get their story across to The Man."

"And where do I fit in?" Vickie asked.

"You can be my link with the science guys, like Jace. You can be the right hand of the most important person in the White House."

"That would be nice," she said, thinking,
It can't be that simple. There must be more to it than that. you don't just walk into the White House with a VR system and take over the place.

But Smith was smiling pleasantly and asking, "Any other little problems I can help you with?"

Vickie arched an eyebrow at him. Why not see how powerful he really is? "You can scare off a private detective," she said, "but how good are you at scaring off the Japs?"

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated long enough to let him know that she was debating inwardly over how much to tell him. Then she said, "The Japanese are trying to take over ParaReality."

"Oh?"

"I don't want this spread around, obviously. But one of Kyle's backers is Hideki Toshimura. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Smith's mind began racing. She needs my help. And I can be a hero in Washington by stopping a Jap takeover of a vital American technology. I love it! The president himself will talk to me about this one; he's always yakking about preventing American technology from being taken overseas. And Vickie will have to depend on me for this as much as I have to depend on her for the VR stuff in the first place. That's what makes politics work: two people who owe favors to each other.

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, twirling his wine glass in one hand. "Tell me all about it, Vic," he said.

As Dan drove the family home from the restaurant Susan worried about Philip's upchuck.

"It might be an allergic reaction,, she said. "Maybe we should call a doctor and get him checked out."

Dan glanced at his wife as he drove homeward. Philip seemed happy enough in his car seat.

"He probably tossed his dinner out of excitement," he said to Susan. "Or maybe he's coming down with a cold. There's nothing wrong with the boy."

Looking doubtful, Susan said, "I'll take his temperature when we get home."