Part 35 (1/2)

Romey shrugged. ”Let them think the case is closed. It's easier for us. We'll spin some story about him being a disgruntled Whitford employee, and Bowles got caught in the cross fire.”

”Won't that hurt at trial?”

”You think there's going to be a trial?” Romey asked.

Nyquist closed his eyes. Of course there wouldn't be a trial. Illiyitch would make a deal-not as good a deal as Nyquist offered him, but one all the same-and they'd get the useless contact information. Then they'd keep the file open for decades. Periodically, someone would poke at it and see if they could find anything.

”You can't give up,” Romey said.

Nyquist opened his eyes. ”I'm not giving up,” he said. ”I have to remind myself I am having a good day. I arrested Justinian Wagner on kidnapping charges, charges that could stick with some effort on the part of the prosecutors and with the right judge. I've resolved two cases in less than twelve hours, and all that in my first week back. I'm even going to make friends with the press. That's a good day.” ”That's a stellar day.” Romey smiled at him. ”You're d.a.m.n good. I don't say that lightly. Any time you want an affair . . .”

He smiled back. ”I'll call you.”

58.

”You know,” Van Alen said, ”sometimes taking your mind off things helps your subconscious come up with a solution.”

Flint knew that. He also knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Gramming while he ate rich food and talked with his daughter.

His cloned daughter.

Whom he hadn't paid for.

So he knocked on the bathroom door, told her in a loud voice that the food was here, then went to Van Alen's networked computer.

”What are you doing?” she asked.

”What you wanted me to,” he said. ”I'm going to look into your power glitch.”

And think about something else for a little while.

He settled into the chair behind Van Alen's desk and leaned forward, touching the screen to scroll back through the last few hours.

In a wave of steam and perfume, Talia came out of the bathroom. Flint looked up. She was wearing a long dress, belted at the waist. Grown-up clothing. Her hair was pulled back and her face, freshly scrubbed, looked vibrant.

His heart stopped for just a moment. She looked like an adult.

And he found that he didn't want that yet. He didn't want her to grow up any faster. She had already aged years today. He'd seen that in her eyes.

He had promised her she'd be safe in Armstrong and then the day's events had replayed the horror she'd experienced the day her mother had been kidnapped.

”I'm not that hungry,” Talia said.

Van Alen was helping an a.s.sistant put food on the conference table near the window.

”None of us are,” Van Alen said. ”But food is a great comforter. Let's soothe our bodies and maybe we'll feel better. Right, Miles?”

He didn't want to go over there. He didn't want to have a discussion.

”Just bring me something,” he said.

”I can help you,” Talia said, looking at the activated screen, which now showed mostly code. ”Everything on that computer is confidential,” Van Alen said.

So long as no one broke into the network. And someone had. But Flint was wise enough not to correct her.

”So? My dad doesn't work for you,” Talia said. ”We trade services. He can keep secrets.”

”So can I.” Talia sounded sullen but she walked to the table, anyway. She grabbed an apple, sat down, and surveyed the feast before her.

Van Alen filled a plate for Flint, mostly finger food. She'd seen him do this before. He decided to ignore both of them. Instead he focused on the screen.

Van Alen's maintenance people had managed to trace some of the information. They'd plugged the leak and done everything that Flint had told them to do.

But they hadn't been able to see where the problem had come from. It didn't take him long to find it.

Whoever had invaded Van Alen's systems had done so rather crudely. They'd used the power glitch to invade, but had isolated the glitch so that it distracted the people in the office while leaving the network up.

That had shown some planning and a knowledge of Van Alen's systems.

Then a search program, not nearly as refined as the one he'd designed to go through Paloma's files, had slid into Van Alen's systems. The maintenance team had managed to disable the search program, so that it didn't send messages back to its host.

But Flint didn't care about that. He wanted to see what the search parameters were. Most of them were simple: anything with Bowles's identification on it, anything to do with WSX, and anything to do with Justinian Wagner.

But there were two other things that caught Flint's attention. The word Gramming Gramming and the word and the word clone clone. His hands were shaking now. He worked faster. He decided to enable part of the host program, to see where the information would go.

The trace was simple because he knew what he was looking for.

It went back to a computer system that had an anonymous identification code. But all computers also had manufacturers codes unless they were rebuilds like Flint's. He looked at the manufacturer's code, then traced it to the buyer.

Gramming Corporation.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he said.

His daughter and Van Alen both looked at him.

”I think I know who killed Ki Bowles,” he said. ”And why.” ”Excellent,” Van Alen said. ”Let's get the police on it and finish our meal.”

Flint shook his head. He needed to think about this. Particularly the families, like the ones raising the other clones, the missing copies of Emmeline.

Yes, they had paid for those girls, but they were also raising them in an existing family, and had done so for years. He'd seen how shattered Talia had been to discover, not just how her mother betrayed her, but also how empty she felt when she realized she was a manufactured person rather than one born the natural way.

She was still coping with it. ”It's not quite that simple,” he said to Van Alen. He knew he would have to explain it. Then he would need some kind of solution.

He disabled the tracking system, then shut it down, and turned off Van Alen's computer. He picked up his plate and went back to the table.