The Monitor Read online

  “How long have you been in Babel?”

  “Well, I’ve been in there ever since we recovered Thea’s bookmarks. I went in as Emilio Lizardo, and the Austin homicide detective I’m working with is Perfect Tommy.”

  “Ha! And there’s a Buckaroo in there, too. Is he one of yours?”

  “She. That’s my cohort, Kate Brouder, who is maintaining a connection between us and the hacking world. Actually the whole Buckaroo Banzai theme was her idea. She’s a fan of weird cult movies. I’m lucky we’re not all Rocky Horror Picture Show characters.”

  “Does Chatgod know who you all are?”

  Ray’s face lost some of its good humor. “That boss of yours is not someone I’d want to divulge all to. He’s above-board as far as we can tell, but he isn’t very forthcoming. Kate thinks he might be a little too good to be true.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning porn.”

  “But there isn’t any porn allowed on Babel. That’s one of Chatgod’s main reasons for putting Alchemist and me in place—to guard against that sort of thing.”

  “There might not be any porn allowed on Babel, but who’s to say what else is on Chatgod’s server? I have a feeling that Babel is a front for something, and the only thing that actually makes any money on-line is porn, so what else could it be?”

  “Makes a certain amount of sense,” agreed Steve.

  I wasn’t so sure. “You don’t think Tremor is actually connected to Babel officially, do you? What if the whole thing is a front for hired killers? No wonder they can afford to hire monitors.”

  Ray held up a hand in a stop signal. “Hold on, Randy. I wouldn’t worry too much. I think Babel is pretty much what it appears to be, a chat site that makes money by selling banner ads to advertisers. I think Chatgod very likely sells e-mail subscription lists and that people who log into Babel get a trifle more spam than other folks, but that is par for the course in most on-line interactions. I just think most entrepreneurs have a certain lack of ethical safety guards, is all. If Chatgod saw a way to make an easy buck, I think he might take it. By the way, do you know what his real name is?”

  I shook my head. “Not unless it really is Alvin.”

  “You nailed it.” Ray laughed. “The server is registered to an Alvin Epstein in Coral Gables, Florida. He runs a mail-order coupon business and houses the server for Babel in the front room of his duplex. His wife runs a daycare in the other side of the house. Kate’s been down to see them and is keeping an eye on things at that end.”

  “Florida or Alberta. Did you toss a coin or something?” Steve asked, jokingly.

  Ray shook his head vigorously as he answered. “No, you know, I twisted arms to get this. I have always ­wanted to see the north, especially at this time of the year. I am hoping to catch the northern lights. That would be worth seeing.”

  We agreed that the aurora borealis was a spectacular light show but warned him that he might not catch much of them at this time of year, or located in the middle of the downtown core, with all its ambient light.

  “The best thing to do is head out of town and hope they last until you get past the city-light bleed,” Steve explained, and launched into a story about us heading out of the city to catch the Persiads meteor shower at three in the morning last winter. We had almost frozen because we couldn’t keep the car engine on without having the running lights on, too. Instead, we bundled up and stretched out on the hood of the car, hoping to ­gather in some engine heat. Then we stared up at the sky where meteors flew over us. One exploded like a roman candle right above us, lighting up everything around for miles in silvery shadows. It had been neat, seeing a carload or two of people in every lay-by, and we drove home tired but pleased to have seen them. Apparently they wouldn’t be that bright again in our lifetimes.

  Ray looked envious. I promised him I would call, no matter what time it was, if I saw any northern light activity. Meanwhile, we turned our thoughts back to the situation at hand. It felt as if I was putting two ten-pound weights back onto my shoulders. Ever since finding out that Thea’s husband had really been murdered, the joy had somehow gone out of the whole chat-room experience, and, I had to admit, it had become a large part of my life.

  If Tremor was a hired killer, then he was still out there and unidentified. If Thea had arranged to have her own husband murdered, then I had spent months talking with a woman who would take another’s life. It is scary when you realize how little you know about people, people you see every day, let alone people whom you know only as little blips on the screen.

  What about that waitress there? I had seen her working in this restaurant for at least ten years. I didn’t even know her name. Did she have a husband she loved? Did she have children she worried about?

  I also had to admit that this wasn’t just existential angst over humanity’s inability to interrelate. I was a bit nervous, to tell the truth. What if there really was a hired killer on Babel? What if he was hired to kill again? What if someone disliked me enough to have me killed? I knew that the likelihood was slim, since I didn’t know many people well enough to piss them off that much, but, still, the thought was enough to make me shiver. Steve, whose arm was draped across the back of my chair, must have felt it, because he squeezed my shoulder.

  “Goose walk over your computer terminal?”

  “Oh God, don’t use the word terminal, okay?”

  Both of them laughed, and after a minute I did, too. Easy for them, of course. They thought in terms of crime and mayhem every day. They could compartmentalize it into their jobs. This had nothing to do with their personal worlds. They weren’t members of Babel. And, for whatever it was worth, I was.

  37

  Steve and I walked Ray to the downtown bus stop across the street and up the block, and then he followed me to my place, ostensibly to pick up another copy of the list. I opened the file with him standing behind me, kneading my shoulders. I was in a real quandary. I adore backrubs but absolutely detest people looking over my shoulder. I opted for letting the backrub continue and kept my own council. I eliminated the names of the people Ray had said were from Stanford, and hit print. Then I leaned back into Steve and looked up to see him squinting at some of my recipe cards on the cork wall surrounding the window behind my desk.

  “Steve?”

  “Uh-huhn?”

  “I know that I am just peripherally involved in this and that you can’t discuss police business and all that, but just why is someone like Ray Lopez up here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if the murder happened in Austin, Texas, why did they send one computer expert to Florida and ­another to Edmonton? Do they think that Tremor lives here? Or that he’s going to do some work here? Or both?”

  “Randy, I am pretty much in the dark here, too. I know that most everything Ray does is handled on a need-to-know basis, but I have to think it’s something big, like you say. I was told to aid in his inquiries. You, of course, are acting out of sheer good will. As a Canadian citizen, you don’t have much responsibility to get involved. On the other hand, as a person receiving international money transfers for salary, you’re probably wise to do as asked, or I’m betting your taxes will get a whole lot harder to do.”

  “Yeah, but are we talking danger here? I’m allergic to danger, I think. It makes me break out in cold sweats, and sometimes in blood.”

  “I know, and believe me I don’t want you in danger. Frankly, I don’t think there is anything. From what I can gather, Ray is here because you work for Babel and there is what he calls an inordinate amount of activity from here. But that could be due to you and this Sanders guy, I figure. Doesn’t have to mean anyone else. After all, you’re on constant log-in. That has to be something they hadn’t ­counted on. If Sanders is always on, too, like with a cable modem, then that could explain the spikes, right?”

  “Right,” I said. I wasn’t so sure, though. I had a feeling, now that I knew that Ray and his hacker-pals were in Babel, that
Ray had all sorts of reasons to be up here in the land of snow and honey. I’d feel a whole lot safer if I only knew what they were.

  Steve ran his hands down my back and touched my ribs lightly, causing me to jolt up.

  “Damn it, Randy, you nearly knocked my jaw out of kilter with your skull!”

  “Well, tickling doesn’t count as foreplay, Browning.” I stood up and turned toward him, nudging the chair out of the way. “Now, why don’t you tell me just what it was you had in mind?”

  38

  Steve showered and left about 3:00, humming “Afternoon Delight,” to my blushing amusement. I ­didn’t feel quite so nervous about hired killers anymore, but that was likely the endorphins running through my system. I might not be too sure about the forever and ever bit but I was all in favor of other aspects of committed relationships. Before long, I was humming the same tune myself as I danced around the kitchen, making myself a bowl of tuna salad. I chopped two pieces of celery into the mixture of tuna and light mayonnaise, doused it all with garlic powder and stirred. I debated dumping it on bread for tuna melts but then decided to just eat it out of the bowl.

  I cleaned the bowl and the rest of the dishes sitting in the dishpan and then decided to clean the entire counter area, pulling out the toaster, the blender, and the coffee maker. I couldn’t do too much with the countertops, which were contemporary with the building itself, but at least I knew they were clean after I had scrubbed their dark surfaces. I swept the floor and washed the kitchen tiles. Then I hauled out the dishes from the cupboards and yanked out the shelf paper. I measured and laid out new paper from the drawer and put my dishes back. I did the same for the food cupboard, realizing that I hadn’t shopped for staples in quite a while. Maybe Steve would be up for chauffeuring me to one of the mega-stores.

  Finally, the afterglow wore off, and I went to shower and get ready for a night of Babel monitoring. It occurred to me that I had cleaned the kitchen with the same intention I usually had when starting a big writing project. If there was any way to put off the work, I knew I could find it, and being a good Canadian girl, housework would always present itself as a justifiable alternative to whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. To counter that, I would always jump into a fury of housecleaning prior to starting a project, or I would eventually find myself over my deadline with a beautifully defrosted freezer compartment.

  The thing was, I had no writing project on the go. What was it I was trying to clear the runway for? Obviously there was something I had already unconsciously identified as something I would rather not be doing. I sat down at the desk, where the computer screen was still lit. I looked at my little cyber-world. One desk, half a wall of recipe cards, and lists of names. A chair. A goosenecked lamp with a scooped-out area for pens and paper clips at its base. A filing cabinet in the corner, tucked in beside the small kitchen table. What I wouldn’t give for a staff room right now, a place filled with like-minded people who could discuss what was going on around me. Instead, the only thing I could do was log in to Babel and send Alchemist a private message. So I did.

  39

  PM from Chimera to Alchemist: Hi hon. How are things going? Got time for a private room?

  PM from Alchemist to Chimera: Sure thing. It’s a morgue here. Meet you in Lanai.

  I punched in the name on the location grid and laughed when the screen changed. Someone, probably Alchemist, had put up a wallpaper of palm trees and hula girls in pastel colors. I remembered what Ray had said about Chatgod really being someone in Florida named Alvin as I looked at the Miami-colored motifs. I wondered where Alchemist was from. Actually, what did I know about him, anyhow? He had a great talent for seeming to offer a great deal of personal information while really not offering any at all.

  Here in a private room we didn’t have to make our postings private. No one else could come in without an invite, and even then they wouldn’t be able to see anything previously posted.

  Alchemist: So what’s shaking, chicky-wicky?

  Chimera: Oh, you wouldn’t believe what’s happening here.

  I filled him in on the things that Ray had been discussing. I told him about the police folks who were ­registered in Babel as Buckaroo Banzai’s Hong Kong Cavaliers, and he didn’t seem too bothered by it.

  Alchemist: Well, at least they’re the good guys, right?

  Chimera: Yeah. The thing that bothers me, though, is that obviously they think there is something wrong with Babel, or they wouldn’t be all over us, right? If they thought Tremor was a killer and Thea had hired him, or Thea and Milan, then that wouldn’t really have anything to do with Babel, right? But their focus seems to be Babel, rather than the murder site in Austin. So . . .

  Alchemist: So?

  Chimera: So, either Tremor is working out of Babel full time, or someone else in Babel is on his hit list.

  Alchemist: Yikes.

  Chimera: Well, can you think of any other reasons?

  Alchemist: And they say that there is all sorts of action coming out of Edmonton?

  Chimera: That’s what Ray says. How would he be able to know that, anyhow?

  Alchemist: Honey, if they’re hacking their way through here, they’ve probably got a constant pinging device wired onto the program itself. The thing is, I can’t believe that you and Sanders can be conjuring up that much of a presence for them to take much action. I think they’re right to be looking for other names.

  Chimera: I gave them a list of eight that I couldn’t track a source for. I think they’re going to track down Sanders, too.

  Alchemist: So you’re sure of who it is?

  Chimera: It has to be Winston Graham.

  Alchemist: Are you sure?

  Chimera: Well, I am hoping it is. I can’t stand the thought of the other two possibilities being ­cyber-Casanovas while working on actual real-time relationships. I suppose that sort of thing happens all the time, but I just don’t like to think about it.

  Even as I typed it, I thought about Sanders sending suggestive private messages to Vixen and me at the same time. Maybe it still was one of the other two blue-suited boys. I made a note to call Steve and ask him to keep the other two men in mind when considering Sanders.

  Alchemist: Maybe we should create some sort of diversion to make Tremor surface.

  Chimera: I dunno. I have played bait before. It’s not fun when you have no idea how the other person is going to react.

  Alchemist: But you said there are policemen crawling all over Babel. What’s the harm?

  Chimera: Maybe we should talk it over with Ray.

  Alchemist: Sure, who did you say he was? Emilio Lizardo?

  Chimera: Yep, from The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai: Across the Eighth Dimension.

  Alchemist: “Wherever you go, there you are.”

  Chimera: It’s not my planet, monkeyboy!

  Alchemist: *ROFLMAO* Great movie.

  Chimera: Truly bizarre.

  Alchemist: Well, why don’t we talk to Dr. Lizardo and see if he doesn’t think some deployment techniques might hasten a conclusion?

  Chimera: Say what?

  Alchemist: First strike.

  Chimera: You’re scaring me, kiddo. So, who would the target be?

  Alchemist: I would volunteer, but you seem to have a glut of police coverage right with you.

  Chimera: I also apparently have a glut of Internet activity coming from this area. That might mean that Tremor wouldn’t even have to catch a bus to do the hit.

  Alchemist: I think you’re overreacting to some very generalized statements. We don’t really know why the police are targeting Edmonton, except that they wanted to talk with you. We don’t know that Tremor really is a hired killer. We don’t know that he is even in Canada, let alone under your bed.

  Chimera: Ooh, thanks for that one. Hang on while I poke a broom under the bed.

  Alchemist: LOL. Anyhow, what I’m suggesting is a sort of modified I-know-what-you-did-last-summer sort of thing. Just leave a PM for Tremor saying th
at you have talked with Milan and might be able to send some more work his way. Then if and when he surfaces you can sound him out, with your policeman sitting right beside you.

  Chimera: I can’t even sound out a regular chatter enough to know who he is. How am I supposed to find out who a killer is?

  Alchemist: When you put it that way, I can see your problem. You are obviously not forceful enough. Do you want me to hire the hit?

  Chimera: On who? Me? No thank you.

  Alchemist: All right, then why not have me killed?

  Chimera: Bite your tongue. I don’t even like thinking about this sort of thing in the abstract. What if someone took you seriously? I don’t think you can un-hire that sort of thing.

  Alchemist: Maybe not.

  Chimera: I will talk with Ray and Steve and see what they think. I don’t think we should be playing games with people like Tremor, though. We don’t know what he is liable to do.

  Alchemist: On the contrary. We think he is liable to kill. What we don’t know is where he is liable to be. That’s why it’s so important to flush him out in the open. Off-line.

  Chimera: Yeah. Well, maybe I should start small, and see if I can flush Sanders out first. If he is a bad guy, then we’ve done something. If he isn’t, then we might have one more good guy on our side.

  Alchemist: Not a bad idea. Whatever the case, honey, it’s your shift starting, and I really have to get going.

  We said our goodbyes and I closed Lanai after Alchemist had signed out. I joined the general room as Chimera, opened up the private message line to Alvin, and checked for any newly created private rooms. There wasn’t too much going on. Several people in the room were discussing the US role in global peacekeeping. For the most part, it was a leftist slant on things, although I was surprised to see a general view that two-year armed forces conscription should be considered in every country. The Israelis and Germans were being invoked as good models to follow. I wondered how those governments would feel being lumped together.