“My Lord, if this is another one of your explanations I am in no mood to hear it.”
“But,” Jerry said plaintively, “it’s such an interesting question.”
“The only question I am interested in regarding dragons is how to get Wiz back,” Moira told him firmly.
Ray Whipple had an easier time of it. Being a legitimate system administrator at a legitimate site, not to mention being actually in this world and being able to invoke the name of the FBI, Whipple had resources Danny and Jerry didn’t. By using them and calling in a few favors, Ray was able to trace Wiz back to the system he had broken into very much faster than the people at the Wizard’s Keep.
In a matter of days he had a result to show the FBI agent.
“Cute,” Ray said as he displayed his find. “It’s a cutout using two mailboxes. Incoming mail goes into one, the script automatically transfers it to the other one and then it gets forwarded out of there. But if you trace it back the trail ends at this mailbox.”
“Cutouts huh? That’s an intelligence trick. And you thought it wasn’t spies.”
“A lot of people know how to do that,” Ray muttered into the screen.
“Now, how do we track him from here?”
“That’s going to take a little more work,” Ray said, ignoring the “we.”
“But what I can do is modify his script so that we can see his traffic.” The keys rattled under his fingers. “There. Now the script makes an extra copy of all messages that go through that mailbox and sends one to you.”
“Hot dog!” Pashley breathed, visions of reinstatement dancing before him, “I told you we’d get this hacker.” He stopped. “But wouldn’t it be simpler just to ask the people at that site to track where the other side mailbox leads to?”
“I tried that,” Whipple told him. “But I didn’t get anywhere. I think there’s something funny about that site.”
Twelve: Bureau-cratic Complications
If you can delay solving a problem long enough, one of three things will happen: The problem will become so large that it destroys the organization, everyone gets so used to living with the problem that it ceases to be a problem, or the problem solves itself. In cases two and three you win. Meanwhile you don’t make enemies by rocking the boat.
The Consultants’ Handbook
It was a bright muggy morning in Washington, D.C. The kind of morning that finds legions of bureaucrats hard at work in their air-conditioned offices and trying not to think about what the drive home will be like.
The director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was hard at work in her air-conditioned office, but she wasn’t worried about the drive home. For one thing she probably wouldn’t go home until well after sundown. For another she was deep in a review of industrial espionage activities in the United States, trying to decide how much of the report represented a legitimate danger and how much was eager beavers pumping for a bigger share of the department budget.
The Phone rang.
Not just any phone, The Phone. Popular legend to the contrary it was not red. It was a very ordinary looking tan telephone with a funny mouthpiece and an unusually thick cord connecting the handset to the base. It was the director’s main link to the White House and the higher echelons of the Justice Department and the national security apparatus.
The director eyed The Phone. Not even the President normally used that telephone to contact her. It rang again and she picked it up.
“Director, do you recognize my voice?”
The director pulled what looked like a cheap pocket calculator out of the top drawer of her desk, checked the date and time and punched in a highly improbable mathematical calculation. “Give me confirmation.”
“Alpha,” The Voice said, “gamma rho woodchuck three-four.”
“Confirmed. I recognize you.”
Actually the director had no idea who the person on the other end of the phone was. She only knew he represented No Such Agency, the officially non-existent organization charged with communications and cipher security. The outfit was a couple of rungs up the intelligence food chain from the FBI.
“We have a domestic security problem,” The Voice said. “Someone has been using one of our accounts on the computer network. A rather sensitive account. I am afraid we need your cooperation on this one.” There was real regret in The Voice.
“We’ll be happy to assist you,” the director said, trying to keep the excitement out of her own voice. A favor like this to No Such Agency could be worth a lot in the barter market that made official Washington tick. “We can have a team ready to meet with you inside of an hour.”
“I understand one of your people is already working on this from the other end, Special Agent Pashley.”
“Pashley?” she asked in a voice that didn’t betray anything.
The director was trying to quit smoking, but she groped in her desk for the crumpled remnants of her last pack and lit a slightly bent Camel.
“Yes. He apparently found evidence of the penetration at another site and has been tracing it back.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t realize the significance. I’ll put a team of specialists on it instead.”
“We think that would be inadvisable just now,” The Voice said. “Perhaps it would be better if we worked with this Agent Pashley alone.”
“Of course we’ll need a small group to liase,” the director said hastily.
“Of course,” The Voice agreed. “Have your people contact ours at a suitable level and keep us informed of anything Pashley turns up.”
After The Voice hung up the director ground out her cigarette and glared at the phone. Damn that man. And damn Pashley! Somehow that moron had stumbled into something.
The Bureau had teams of computer experts who could handle this. Real experts, not street agents who had been through a two-week course at the academy. No matter what No Such Agency wanted, she’d get them on the case and pull Pashley and . . .
Her hand stopped halfway to the phone. She couldn’t pull Pashley. The Bureau’s whole defense in the lawsuit depended on the fiction that Pashley was a competent, trusted agent. The Justice Department attorneys had explained to her that, on paper at least, she didn’t dare do anything to suggest the Bureau had less than full faith in the turkey.
All right, she’d compromise-on paper. Pashley would stay on the case, conducting an independent investigation from his damn mountaintop. Meanwhile she’d put together a tiger team to work with No Such Agency.
Wiz was staring at the screen when he heard a peremptory knock at the front door. Since he was staring at the screen because he was fresh out of ideas, he pushed his chair back from the desk and went out on the landing to see who it was. I really ought to write a screen saver for that thing, just to give me something to look at, he thought.
He got to the stairs just in time to see Anna opening the door for Dieter Hanwassel. The councilor was flanked by his nephew Pieter and a gawky young man Wiz didn’t recognize who was clutching a rather grimy roll of parchment.
Anna had been scrubbing the front hall. She was wearing an apron over her brown dress and a kerchief over her golden curls. A pail of soapy water stood halfway down the hall and she still had the scrub brush in her other hand. As the three entered she realized she was still holding the brush and blushed crimson.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Wiz said in his best snow-the-suits manner as he descended. “What can I do for you?”
Even in tights and velvet bathrobes, these guys were suits.
Suit or not, Dieter wasn’t snowed. “I want to talk to you, Wizard. On business.”
“Of course.”
“You know my nephew Pieter. This is Alfred Alfesbern. He’s a brilliant young man and he’s got the solution to your problem.”
“Well . . .” Wiz began.
“We’ll talk in your office. Come along Pieter.”
“Do I have to?” Pieter whined, looking over Dieter’s shoulder to where Anna had gone back to scrubbing the floor.
“All right,” Dieter snapped. “Wait here then. But be ready when we’re ready to go.” The other nodded, his eyes never leaving the maid.
Somewhat uneasily Wiz led his guests up the stairs and into his workroom. There weren’t any chairs for visitors and Wiz didn’t want to encourage these visitors to stay anyway.
“Now what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“It’s what we can do for you,” Dieter said. “We can solve your problem for you. Show him Alfred.”
“I call it the Dragon-Stopper,” the lanky man said, unrolling the scroll.
Wiz peered over his arm. “It looks like a town with a wall around it.”
“It is a town with a wall around it,” Dieter put in. “This town.”
“You see,” Alfred continued, “I have determined that dragons cannot pass through solid material. So if we interpose solid material between the town and the dragons, they cannot reach us.” He stood up and beamed triumphantly. “And our problem is solved!”
“But dragons can fly right over a wall.”
“Not if we build it high enough,” Alfred said. “We just extend the wall up until it is beyond the dragons’ ability to fly over it.”
Wiz wondered what the altitude ceiling on a dragon was. Even if they couldn’t do any better than a Piper Cub that still meant a 10,000-foot wall.
“That’s going to be an awfully high wall.”
“Details,” snapped Dieter. “Quibbling. This will solve the problem and we’ll be done with it.”
“How are you going to build a wall that high?”
“The same way you build a low one,” Dieter said. “What’s the matter? Have you gone stupid?”
“No, I mean how are you going to get the work done?”
“We’ll hire a good contractor. I know one or two.”
I’ll bet you do, Wiz thought.
“Gentlemen, I’m not sure this is practical.”
“It’s perfectly practical,” Dieter said. “You’re the one being impractical here.”
“We’ve built lots of walls,” Alfred put in. “It’s a well-known technology.” Dieter glared at him and the young man shut up.
“Look here, Wizard,” the councilman said, “you can’t say absolutely, positively this won’t work, can you? So what’s the harm in trying? It will put people to work, get money flowing and revive the economy. Besides,” he added slyly, “there’ll be something in it for you.”
“Gentlemen, I really don’t think . . .” Before he could finish there was a feminine shriek from downstairs followed by a male bellow of pain.
Down in the hall Pieter Halder was doubled over clutching his groin. Anna was standing with her back against the wall, her face scarlet and her skirt rumpled up against her petticoat. She looked up, saw Wiz and Dieter standing at the top of the stairs, turned and fled sobbing to the kitchen.
Wiz glared at Dieter and the little man backed partway down the stairs under the force of his gaze.
“Get out. All of you. Now.”
“She’s lying,” Pieter gasped, still clutching himself. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Tried to put his hand up her dress is all,” came Widder Hackett’s voice out of thin air. “Oh, if only I was alive and still had me magic!”
Wiz faced Dieter again. “You are here as my guests.” He bit each word off hard and sharp, advancing as he spoke so Dieter and Alfred kept backing down the stairs. “That will protect you for precisely ten heartbeats more. If you are still here you will be trespassers and I will deal with you accordingly.”
Dieter paled. “You can’t treat me this way,” he yelled.
“Five heartbeats,” Wiz said. “Four, three . . .”
By then all three of them were out the door, Dieter in the lead and Pieter limping doubled over behind.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Dieter shouted as Wiz slammed the door on them. “You’ll pay for this! I’ll make you pay for it!”
With a final glare at the door, Wiz turned and went down to the kitchen.
Anna was slumped over the kitchen table weeping. She raised her head as Wiz came down the stairs and wiped her reddened eyes.
“I’m sorry, My Lord, but he . . . And I didn’t do anything to provoke him.
I swear I didn’t.”
Seeing her shame and misery, Wiz was very glad Pieter and the others were out of his reach.
“I know you didn’t,” he said gently. “No, you did exactly the right thing.
I’m only sorry you didn’t hit him harder.”
Anna looked up and sniffled. “My granmama told me to do that whenever a man got, got too . . . forward.”
Wiz stepped toward her to comfort her and then stopped. The last thing she needed just now was to be touched by a man.
“You’re a very brave girl,” he said. “And your grandmother was a wise woman. Go on and pull yourself together. Take your time, and if you want to go up to your room and lie down, go ahead.”
Anna sniffled again and tried to smile up at him. “Thank you, My Lord, but I need to get dinner started.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Please, My Lord. I’ll be all right. Really I will.”
Wiz left her in the kitchen and came back up to his workroom. All the while Widder Hackett carried on a monologue about young Halder’s moral shortcomings. Clearly it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened and apparently Widder Hackett had made a hobby of collecting gossip about his misdeeds.
He had barely gotten settled when Malkin came striding in. “I met the shrimp and a couple of his flunkies on the street,” she said. “He was in a worse mood than usual and that miserable nephew of his was walking like he’d run into a banister.”
“It wasn’t a banister. It was Anna’s knee.”
“Like that, eh?” the tall woman shrugged. “Serves the copulating little swine right. She’s not the first skirt he’s tried to lift unwilling.”
“So Widder Hackett has been telling me.”
Malkin nodded. “Aye, she’d know. The old cow was the biggest gossip in the town. She must have kept records of everything everyone did.”
“You thieving little strumpet!” Widder Hackett rasped.
“Careful,” Wiz said to Malkin.
“She was an old busybody and I’d tell her so to her face.”
Wiz looked around the room. “I think you just did.”
Malkin snorted. “So what? She’s dead and she can’t touch me.”
“Why you little guttersnipe!” Widder Hackett roared. “You’re a fine one to talk, what with . . .”
The ghost went on for some time and in some detail. In the middle of it Wiz discovered that putting his hands over his ears did absolutely nothing to block out her voice. Malkin watched his antics with some amusement.
“Anyways,” she went on when Widder Hackett finally ran down into a mumble, “you’ve got bigger things to worry about. That half-firkin councilman is going to hold it against you no matter how much provocation his pig nephew gave the girl.”
“He’s unhappy with me already. Just before Anna kneed Pieter I told him I wouldn’t support his latest graft opportunity disguised as a public works project disguised as a dragon defense.”
“In that case you’ve probably made yourself a mortal enemy. Dieter may dote on that little swine but he truly loves the chance to get money out of someone else’s pocket.”
“Well, it was inevitable anyway,” Wiz sighed, “once he figured out I wouldn’t go along with his scheme to get his hand into the public treasury up to the armpit.”
Malkin nodded and turned to go out. She paused in the doorway. “There’s another thing you’d better think about, Wizard. Young Halder’s not the only one who’s going to come sniffing about after Anna.”
“She seems to handle them pretty well.”
“Oh, aye. She’ll protect herself. If she understands what’s about in time. Problem is she’s as cow-witted as she is pretty and she might not see the danger. Not all men are as easily discouraged as Pieter Halder. That’s why she needs protection.”
Wiz sighed. Another responsibility I don’t need. “Look, go down there and comfort her, will you?”
“Me? What do I know about comforting hysterical females? You do it. You’ve got the knack and she looks up to you.”
“I’m not what she needs just now. Besides, I think she’d take it better if a woman told her she did the right thing.”
“All right then. I’ll look in on her.”
“Malkin?”
“Yes?”
“Do you suppose people will get the wrong idea about you and Anna living here with me?”
“Oh, there’ll be talk. Always is. But you’re a powerful wizard and you’re expected to be strange and mysterious in your ways. Besides, no one except chronic gossips are going to believe that you’d take advantage of the girl.” She eyed him. “I don’t know if you’re too married, under a spell or-Fortuna aid me!-a gentleman. But it’s obvious you’re not going to do her any harm.”
“What about you?”
Malkin threw back her head and laughed. “Me? Fortuna, I’ve got no reputation to lose, being a thief and all. And you could do better than a long stick like me in any establishment in town.” She sobered slightly. “Besides, men want women they can look down on and that’s a fact.”
Wiz started to protest that he found Malkin attractive and then decided this wasn’t the time. It was true about her height, Wiz realized. Malkin was easily the tallest woman he’d ever seen in this world. She was over six feet and her slenderness made her appear taller.
By the time he got all this together in his head, Malkin was gone.