While Justice Sleeps(64)
On the screen, a chart showed the various languages and their notations for the chess pieces. Jared’s finger tapped the screen beside the Hindi language. “R, V, H, O, G, P. Does that work?”
Avery flipped the screen back to her notes and began to search and replace. In silence, she added spaces and numbers, creating row upon row of moves. Sixty-two in all. “You’re brilliant.”
“Thanks,” Jared said.
Blinking, she looked up at him. “Oh, you too, but I meant your father and his opponent. I think the other person playing was Ani.”
“The one who’s in the river?” asked Noah.
“And he may be my mystery caller of the five hundred thousand dollars.” She tapped the lines of game notation. “This game sequence is a model game that pits Gary Kasparov against the rest of the world. They converted the pieces and the coding, but the game sequence is the highest level.”
Noah hopped off the credenza and came to stand on the other side of the computer. “So what do you do with it? The suspense is killing me.”
“The only thing to do is play.” Avery returned to the Chessdynamo site and the game in progress. She studied the board with fresh eyes. “Let’s see if this works. They’re already in the game. Here. I was playing as myself. Let’s follow their gameplay.” Following the sequence she’d translated, Avery tried to advance a pawn. Rather than the buzz forbidding her action, the computer accepted the move and allowed the piece to be captured.
“That’s it,” Noah exclaimed. “But won’t you need to wait for Ani?”
“I don’t think Ani is coming back. Which means I should be able to move his pieces too.” She quickly ran through the next moves, exactly as prescribed.
It took nineteen minutes. She matched the game Wynn had recorded move for move, while no one in the office spoke. Because she played both parts, the game proceeded quickly. The final position had Avery’s pawn at g7. The screen then signaled an incoming message: Meet me in the square.
Jared pointed to a tiny box that hovered at the top of the screen. “That icon.” Avery followed his finger to a blue box that allowed players to chat live. “Click there.”
At the click of her mouse, a new box opened. Reaching around her, Jared scrolled through the chat menu. “Nothing.”
“What are you looking for?” Avery asked quietly.
“I’m not sure.” He drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “Gamers use the chat functions of these games to communicate.”
“That sounds a bit tech-savvy for a man who used a BlackBerry,” Noah offered. “But maybe the person he played with picked the method.”
Jared opened a new screen and snagged the chat room’s URL. “I wonder.” His fingers began to fly over the keys. In less than a minute, the screen flashed blue, then white.
Then it flooded with text that had been jumbled into continuous lines.
“What is that?” Noah asked.
“Archives. Archived chats between WHTW5730 and TigrisLost.” He performed another command, and a single name flashed in highlight. Satisfied, he stepped back. “Avery, meet Ani.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“Major Vance?”
Ignoring the summons, Vance flipped through the dossier spread in front of him, a condensed treatise on the lives of Avery Keene, Jared Wynn, and Noah Fox.
“Major Vance?”
Impatient, he lifted his head to check the clock above the door, which read a quarter past eight in the evening. Focusing on the woman who’d interrupted his reading, he prompted, “Yes, Johnson?”
His executive assistant entered the office. “A while ago, you asked to be notified if I received any calls about research grants authorized by the undersecretary. A staffer from Budget came to see me this afternoon.”
“And?”
“He’s in Betty Papaleo’s shop. She’s slated to deliver an S&T report to the House Budget Committee on Friday.” Camille flipped through her notes. “As per the undersecretary’s instructions, we redacted the mention of the CRGs for this year, and Dr. Papaleo has requested a reason for doing so.”
Instructions the undersecretary had no idea he’d issued. “Tell Dr. Papaleo that her discretion is required because the undersecretary made it so,” Vance said coldly.
“Yes, sir,” Camille replied. “The staffer also mentioned that Justice Wynn recently requested similar information. Do you want me to contact the chief justice?”
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
—
Night settled lightly on Pennsylvania Avenue. In the State Dining Room, President Stokes nibbled on Brie and sipped at a glass of Chateau d’Yquem, a gift from an ambitious French ambassador who expected a private audience during his visit. Sequined, sculpted gowns twirled around the room, the incandescent colors interrupted only by the muted black and white of tailored tuxedos that improved even the most rotund form. In the midst of the frantic chatter about the latest scandal in DC, Major Vance held post near the president’s elbow.
“Such a shame about poor Howard,” offered an eggplant-attired matron of impeccable breeding and questionable chromatic theory. She hovered near President Stokes as she did at each ceremonial function where American royalty made itself present. Aware that her family ties to the White House faded with each president, she had made ingratiation her blood sport.