Mag Force - Hung Out Part 11

She retrieved the errant chair. "I take it you got my message."

He looked up from the report. He was in his forties, had curly red hair, freckles, and wore thick-lensed gla.s.ses, either for effect or because there was something wrong with his eyes that lasers couldn't cure.

"You sure as h.e.l.l stirred up a hornet's nest, Rizzoli. The head hornet himself buzzed in this morning. Chief Superintendent Amadi wants to see us both as soon as you're here, and, well, you're here."

"Amadi? He traveled all that way?" Inwardly, Petronella grinned. Outwardly, Petronella sighed and said wistfully, "Am I really in that much trouble, sir?"

McCarthy shook his head. He patted her hand sympathetically. "No, nothing like that. Amadi used to be the case supervisor for the Hung Syndicate job years ago."

"I know, sir. I've been making my reports on the arrest of Tampambulos to him. But I never thought he'd come here in person. Especially since the case is wrapped up. Why now?"

"Who knows? He's a chief supe. He doesn't have to have a reason." Rising to his feet, McCarthy shrugged. "Maybe there's a golf course on this planet he likes and he's using us as an excuse. They've stashed him in Entworth's old office." He glanced at her. "You did take your medication today, didn't you?"

"I'm tired, sir," Petronella returned irritably. "It doesn't work well when I'm tired."

McCarthy shook his head. "Just try not to drop a potted plant on the head of our boss's boss's boss's boss, will you, Rizzoli?"

The lift took them up four more levels to the executive offices. Real offices up here, with carpet and wood and a flesh-and-blood receptionist, who asked them to be seated while she informed the chief superintendent they were here.

Amadi didn't keep them waiting. He walked out of his office personally to meet them. He was every bit as attractive in person as he was on the vidphone. Attractive for an older gentleman, Petronella corrected. His black brows were an interesting contrast to his iron-gray hair, which was thick and wavy. The brown eyes were cool and penetrating, his handshake firm, his greeting cordial.

Attractive ... for a traitor.

Amadi ushered them into the office, indicated two cushy chairs, then walked around to seat himself behind his desk.

As Petronella sat down in the chair, a potted plant on a bra.s.s and gla.s.s stand beneath a window tipped to the side, fell over, dumping dirt onto the carpet.

Amadi stared at it. "That's d.a.m.n odd. What made it do that? You're not subject to tremors on this planet, are you?"

McCarthy shot Petronella a glance. "No, sir."

At least the pot didn't fall on his head, her look said back to him. Aloud she said, her voice strained, "It's my fault, I'm afraid, sir. I'm a Talisiana""

"Ah!" Amadi appeared highly gratified. "That explains a great deal! No, don't worry about cleaning it up, Agent. I'll send for the maintenance 'bot when we're finished."

He glanced around his desk. Picking up a heavy bra.s.s paperweight, he slid it in a drawer. "Possible lethal projectile. Now ... Agent McCarthy, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You found this security breacha""

"Uh, no, sir. Actually it was Rizzoli here who first ran onto it. She pa.s.sed it up to mea""

"I see. Thank you for coming, Agent McCarthy. You can return to your duties. I don't need to tell you, of course, that this is all highly confidential. We don't want word getting to the press that we've had a security breach."

McCarthy looked startled. He sat in his chair a moment, thinking Amadi might change his mind.

Amadi regarded him in polite silence. McCarthy stood up.

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir." He looked uncertainly at Petronella. "If you need me, sir ..."

"Thank you, Agent. I know where to find you."

McCarthy left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

Amadi accessed a computer, brought up a file, presumably the file on the security breach. He studied it intently.

Petronella sat in her chair, stared out the window at the vast panorama of the city of Guarma. She worked hard to appear nonchalant, confident, at ease. The minutes slid by and Amadi continued to read in silence. The room was cold. Petronella's hands and feet grew chilled. A hovertaxi flew in too close. Red flas.h.i.+ng lights on the building warned the taxi driver he'd ventured into restricted airs.p.a.ce. The taxi veered, made a steep, diving turn that must have piled his pa.s.sengers one on top of the other. No tip for him.

Amadi finished reading. He looked up, leaned back in his chair.

Petronella tried a smile, didn't like the way it felta"too frivolous. She twitched her mouth to serious, attentive.

"Good job, Rizzoli. I'm impressed with your skill and even more with your tenacity. Not many people would have been conscientious enough to track this down."

Petronella would have taken that for a compliment, except for the deepening of the frown line between Amadi's black brows. She'd struck a nerve. The saliva in her mouth dried up. Her heart rate increased. The empty chair beside her made a skittering motion. Quickly, Petronella put out a hand to halt it.

"It wasn't right, sir. It was my job to track it down."

"Certainly it was, Rizzoli." Amadi smiled at her. "I'm very pleased. I'd like to hear your account in person. Go ahead, Agent. When did you first notice the anomaly? And how did you find it?"

Amadi was affable now, but Petronella wasn't fooled.

"Yes, sir. It began when I was downloading the transmission log last night. I noticed that it was shorter than usual. And so I..."

Fifteen minutes later, she wrapped it up. Amadi was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, watched her attentively and, from what she could see, approvingly.

At the name "Dalin Rowan," however, he frowned again.

"Are you certain, Agent?"

"Yes, sir," Petronella said, carefully respectful. "I know it doesn't make sense, but Dalin Rowan is known for discovering this particular method of breaking into a supposedly secure file and altering data. We learned his technique at the academy."

"And so did several hundred other agents," Amadi pointed out.

"That's true, sir, but what reason would another agent have for breaking into our files?" Petronella argued.

"Hard as it is to imagine, Agent Rizzoli, we do have our share of discontented employees."

"Sir, a copycat would have followed Rowan's original plan and broken into a LoadMaster 2800, because of the error-handling routine. This person moved a step further, took advantage of the same weakness in the transmission log handler. Someone had to really work at that, sir. Someone who knew all about the first minuscule crack in the armor, knew that it had been fixed, and knew enough to look for and to find a second, even smaller crack. And what did that person do when he found it?"

She answered her own question. "He went after the files directly pertaining to Xris Tampambulos and Dalin Rowan."

"Tampambulos, then. He could have broken in before we arrested him."

"No, sir. The break-in occurred yesterday. Tampambulos is sitting in lockup, awaiting transport. He couldn't have had access to a computer. Besides, according to his files, he doesn't have the know-how to pull this off. Of the two of them, Rowan was the only one who could have done this."

Amadi smiled again, indulgently. "Nice detective work, Rizzoli. Fine deductive reasoning. The only problem we have here is that Dalin Rowan couldn't possibly have been the one to break into our files. He has the galaxy's best alibi. He's dead."

"Yes, sir, I know." Petronella shook her head, unconvinced. "But if it's not Rowan, than who could it be? And why go to all the trouble? Whoever it was didn't erase the files or damage them or alter the data. He made a little addition. That's all."

Amadi considered the matter. "Here's a suggestion, Agent. Let's say that some stressed-out entry-level clerk is told to add this attachment to the files. He forgets about it. That night, he wakes up at 0200 and remembers. He figures he better take care of it before the boss finds out. He uses this way of correcting his oversight, imagining that no one will be the wiser. How do you like that as a solution to your little mystery?"

Petronella thought she should make an effort to try to like it. He was supposedly her superior, after all. But she figured she shouldn't give up too easily.

"It's not very plausible, is it, sir?" she said with a show of reluctance. "He could have just added the data in the morning when he came to work. There was nothing of an urgent nature about it."

"Well, well. I think our poor stressed-out entry-level clerk is more conscientious than you give him credit for, Agent. Maybe he has a terror like me for a boss."

Amadi chuckled to show he didn't mean it and stood up. The interview was at an end.

Petronella rose quickly, her chilled feet p.r.i.c.kling. She wondered what she was supposed to say in answer to that, finally decided that the best she could do was keep her mouth shut.

"Thank you for coming, Agent," Amadi said, escorting her to the door. "We'll take over from here. Delete those files and don't worry about it As I said, I don't think we've got anything more serious than a little lapse in efficiency, but I will ask that you keep this confidential, especially since this information affects a recently completed Crown trial. The press is always looking for a chance to make us look bad. You understand?"

Petronella nodded sympathetically. "Yes, sir."

He shook hands with her again. The brown eyes were shadowed by the heavy brows, but even so there was an odd light in them as he gazed at her. She was reminded uncomfortably of the light the ophthalmologist uses to see through the eye into the brain.

"Good work, Agent," he said, and shut the door.

Thoughtful, she headed for her cubicle, hoping to be alone. McCarthy was lying in wait for her, however.

"Hey, Rizzoli. How'd it go? Who's the crazed lunatic messing with our obituaries? This gonna bring down the government?"

She entered his cubicle. Muzzy from lack of sleep, strung out with the tension of the interview, she was in no mood for jokes. "Amadi thinks it was some overworked and underpaid clerk who screwed up, got nervous, and diddled with the file in the middle of the night. You buy that?"

McCarthy wrinkled his nose, which caused his gla.s.ses to wobble up and down. He shoved them back. He was always fooling with his gla.s.ses. "I suppose it's possible...."

"Anything's possible," Petronella said tiredly. "Including the fact that I might fall sound asleep in this chair."

"Take the rest of the day off," McCarthy said magnanimously. He glanced at the clock. "You've only got another couple of hours until you're off duty anyway."

"No, thanks. If I sleep now I'll wake up at midnight. I'll be in my cube, if you need me." Petronella made a wry face. "I have some files to delete."

Jafar el Amadi stood for long moments staring out the window. He was not contemplating a carefree afternoon of golf. He was wondering what to do about Rizzoli.

She was lean and she was hungry and, as Caesar had so astutely noted, the lean and hungry types were trouble. His plans were balanced on a knife's edge; a breath could topple them. And Rizzoli wasn't a breath, she was a typhoon.

As yet, she hadn't done anything to impede him. She'd been a help to him, in fact, and he couldn't really justify dismissing her or having her transferred. Such a move would call unwanted attention to himself. It would also make Rizzoli suspicious, give her cause to dig deep.

Digging reminded him of the overturned plant. He strolled over to gaze down at the plant stretched out on the carpeting, its roots exposed, surrounded by moist dirt. What a mess.

Amadi made up his mind. In some cases, inaction was preferable to action. Pick up the ball and throw it and you could break out a window. Let the ball go and, if you're lucky, it'll roll down the street and fall into the sewer.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

"Yes," Amadi called.

A janitorial 'bot rolled in, looked to him for instructions.

Amadi pointed to the potted plant.

The 'bot trundled over, began sucking up the mess with its vacuum system. This finished, the 'bot dumped the pot's remaining dirt onto the floor, sucked it up as well, then thoughtfully and tenderly replaced the already wilting plant back in the empty pot.

The 'bot set the pot carefully on its stand and, task completed, trundled out.

'Bots. Amadi had no idea why people put up with them. Probably the entertainment value.

He buzzed the receptionist.

"Arrange for me to meet with convicted criminal Xris Tampambulos. He is being held on the Umbra Detention Transit Point, in preparation for delivery to the maximum-security facility on Sandusky's Rock."

After a considerable delay the receptionist was back on the line. His tone was apologetic.

"Sir, your meeting with the prisoner is arranged for 0800 hours two days from now."

"Why so long?" Amadi demanded irritably. "I can be there today. I'll take one of the Bureau shuttles."

"I'm sorry, sir, but no Bureau shuttles are available at this time. I've booked reservations for you on the midnight shuttle to Zeta Orbital. From there you will make the daily prison run to Umbra."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. One of our shuttles is in maintenance and the othera""

"Never mind. Extend my reservations at my hotel."

Amadi started to leave his office. Remembering the doomed plant, he picked it up and carried it out, made a mental note to purchase a bag of potting soil.

Petronella drove herself home this time, landing the hover without incident in the garage attached to her apartment building. Yawning, she entered her apartment, went straight to the replicator, and pushed a b.u.t.ton.

A cup of black coffee appeared. Petronella drank a sip and looked at the clock. She planned to force herself to stay up until 2000 hours, then she would go to bed. If she went to bed now, as she longed to do, she'd be up at 0300.

She sat down at the computer, intending to check her E-maila"she was expecting a note from her mothera"when the phone buzzed.

"Oh, G.o.d! Please don't let it be work," she said as she answered. "Yes?" She invested the word with grumpiness, hoping that if it was McCarthy, he'd take the hint.

A voice said, "It will be to your advantage to complete the daily quiz."

"What?" Petronella demanded.

No answer. A click ended the call.

A phone scam, Petronella figured. They were illegal, but a good con artist could always find a way around the law. She should report this, except what did she really have to report? What daily quiz? The caller hadn't said. Which was odd, for a con. She would have expected the usual: Pay two thousand credits and win a free trip to the center of the galaxy.

She filed the incident in the back of her mind, under the heading "Strange occurrences, save for future reference," and sat down at her computer.

She brought up her E-mail, read the note from her mother Her brother had been accepted to the university on Talisia. Petronella wrote back, adding congratulations. She scanned the rest of the mail: a note from her college roommate, some junk mail which she deleted, and the daily quiz.