Moreland’s office was next to Vickie’s door. She opened it with a fob, the kind I used to start my new car. Vickie went in first.
The lights were dark. Burned-out candles sat on half-empty bookcases, the books piled on the floor. The blinds on the windows were shut tight. A candelabra sat on the desk next to a computer monitor, an empty pack of cigarettes sitting at the base. Two ashtrays were filled with cigarette butts and ashes. An oriental rug covered most of the floor
“This is it.” Vickie leaned against the side of a bookcase and flicked a light switch. “What I found yesterday. He was already gone.”
Rachel moved behind the big metal desk and leaned down to tap some keys. She looked up at the monitor, then down under the desk. She pressed the power button. Then she pressed some other buttons, and hit a few more keys. The computer hummed to life.
I slid behind her. “What have you got?”
“I’m going to need some passwords.” She looked up at Vickie.
“Wait a minute.” David closed the door behind him. “There’s too much proprietary information there—”
“Shut up, David.” Vickie joined Rachel behind the desk. “Here. And here. And—here.”
Rachel giggled as she hit the keys. “Okay, here’s something. And this. Wait, who’s this?”
David, behind her, leaned and planted a hand on her shoulder. I tried not to overreact. Rachel could take of herself if he misbehaved, but I’m still a guy with a girlfriend. I waited.
“She’s the one.” David pointed. “That site. We had all kinds of traffic coming in and out of there for the last few days. Our customers got mad—it was clogging everything up—wait!”
Too late. Rachel clicked the link. I slipped behind her to watch the screen—and to keep David honest. Vickie crowded next to me.
Q SERVICES—A TOTAL SOLUTION. That was the headline at the top of the page. Beneath it, an image of a middle-aged woman with black hair streaked with gray, leaning back in a black pantsuit.
QUERELLE was her name apparently. Below that, the usual links: Who We Are, What We Do, Our Team, and Contact Us. Then one for “Q Insiders.”
Rachel clicked the button.
Fortunately for us, Moreland had saved his password.
His Insider page had links to business functions. Rachel clicked on one and found a list of clients—but those required another password, and Moreland hadn’t saved these.
David pulled his hand away from her shoulder. “I don’t think we should let these two look at this information—”
“We can’t see anything anyway.” Rachel kept clicking.
“Even the names of our clients are confidential.” But Vickie didn’t move to stop her.
“We don’t care about clients.” I pointed. “That one.”
“Way ahead of you, shamus.” She clicked on a file named “QPortal.”
Password protected. Damn it. I looked at Vickie. “Any ideas?”
“I still don’t think—”
“Shut up, David.” Vickie pushed Rachel’s chair back to open the top desk drawer. “He’s not the type to write things down, but maybe . . .”
Rachel tried a couple of obvious possibilities, like Vickie’s name in various versions, puns on “quantum” and the like, while Vickie and I searched the desk.
Then Rachel shifted back to Moreland’s desktop and started clicking thorugh files while Vickie and me—and eventually David—went through the drawers. He kept murmuring protests about Moreland’s privacy, but Vickie ignored him.
Of course, Rachel found it first. In a file called “Victoria,” he kept a document named “Alpha.” It contained a long list of passwords.
“Yahoo!” Rachel pumped her fist. “Let’s see what we’ve . . .” She scanned down the page and found the word Qport23al.
“Not very imaginative.” But Rachel copied it, went back into the Q Services website, and pasted it into QPortal link.
The next page had a series of links. Rachel clicked the first one:
A barren landscape. Jagged cliffs in the distance, sand and rock up close. For a moment it looked like a still image, but then I saw the sand drift in a soft breeze. A red sun hung low on the horizon.
Rachel went back and clicked the next link.
This showed a man, naked, bleeding, chained to a wall. Thin ribs and a sunken stomach. His head rolled back and his lips moved: HELP ME.
It was Chip Shannon.
“What the—” I fought back a surge of nausea before I could vomit my breakfast all over the desk. “What the hell was your father doing?”
“Oh god.” Vickie looked at David. “Did you know—what did you know?”
“You know how he’s been!” David shook his head. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been able to get him to focus on work. If this bitch got into his head—”
Rachel sighed as they argued, and clicked another link.
Clouds in the sky. A calm blue sea underneath. Birds spinning in the air—until Rachel zoomed in.
Not birds. Angels.
Male and female, naked like Chip, but smiling as the wings on their shoulders adjusted to the warm currents. Two of them flew to each other and kissed. Others circled around them, gazing down at the ocean or up into the sky, spreading their arms and lifting their heads as if they were singing—
Rachel backed out of the link. “This one is bullshit.”
“But that was Chip.” I focused on breathing, One, two, three . . .
I leaned down and planted my elbows on the desk. There were more than ten links on the screen. I took the mouse from Rachel and clicked another one.
This was the howling demon site. Right now they were somewhat quiet, sitting cross-legged, heads down, a few of them kicking or elbowing the demon next to them.
Then a head popped up, right in front of whatever camera was watching them. Its red eyes were wide as a pair of soccer balls, and its fangs dripped with spit. It howled, punched a fist, then jumped back, its arms and legs whirling like whips.
In an instant, the rest of the demons were awake too. Screaming, jumping up and down, clawing at each other—they didn’t care if they were hurting each other. Blood spurted. All they showed was rage.
Just like before.
Vickie and David were still arguing. “I’ve been trying to keep this place going!” His face was getting red. “I didn’t know what he was up to, locked in here all day while you were running the business—”
“Someone had to!” She lurched back and took a breath, running a hand through her black hair. “Look, you two—what’s going on here? Yeah, my father was trying to contact—something. And I guess he did it. If any of this is real.”
“We know demons are real.” Rachel had been possessed more than once. My fault, but she didn’t hold it against me. Most of the time. “But those angels are definitely bad CGI.”
“Wait a minute.” Vickie grabbed my arm. “What are you talking about? Yeah, my father was trying to contact—something. And I guess he did it. But—where is he?”
David slid behind the chair to hold Vickie’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, Vick. Hold yourself together.”
I stood up, wishing for some water. “We’ve got to find Chip. And figure out how Querelle is accessing other dimensions. Unless this really is some sort of scam to milk your father out of his money—”
“Money?” Vickie snorted. “We’re running on fumes here. I’m checking the floor for nickels and dimes.”
Rachel sighed. “This is going to take a while.” She leaned forward. “Give me some space. And some water. Maybe a sandwich. I missed lunch.”
“David, do it. Whatever they want.” Vickie staggered against the desk. “Just, you know—find my father.”
Ninety minutes later I looked up from my phone. The demons were quiet again. I had the link to Chip. He was sleeping, sagging against the chains. I forced myself not to look too long.
I looked up. “Uh, sorry. Anything?”
“What do you expect?” Rachel jabbed her fingers on the keyboard. “Like I said, the whole site is hosted offshore. Maybe Russia or Eastern Europe. Geography is my weakest Jeopardy!category. I think I can get a phone call to Querelle, but that means risking this whole computer getting hacked and burned.”
I stood up, my legs unsteady from crouching too long. “It’s a tech company.” I looked at David. “You must have a few laptops they can spare.”
Vickie lurched up and stalked from the office. David followed her. A few minutes later they came back, a laptop in her arms. “Here.” She set it on the desk. “We’ve got a dozen different accounts on 20 different modems, so we can let this one burn if we have to.” She wiped a hand across her forehead. The office was warm, and we were all kind of sweaty. “Use this password.” She dropped her phone on the desk.
“It should have all the virus protections.” David watched as Rachel opened the lid and booted it up. “I suppose we can afford a new one if they don’t work. Maybe.”
In a few minutes, she’d set up to access QServices, and Moreland’s account. “Okay, here goes.” She shut down Moreland’s computer and tapped a few keys on the laptop. “Setting up a Skype connection.”
Vickie leaned over my shoulder. David stood at the door, as if guarding it from the other employees—or keeping them safe from the office.
At first the screen was blank. Rachel adjusted the sound. After a few moments, we made contact—a young blond woman with a puzzled look on her face, as if she’d never had to take a Skype call before—or any kind of call. “Hello, this is, uh, Q Services? How can I—may I help you?”
“This is Tom Jurgen, calling from Charles Moreland’s account.” I tried to hold my voice steady. “I need to speak with Querelle.”
“I am not—let me see—” Her accent was Italian. Her hair fell over her face as she leaned down to tap her keyboard. “I am sorry—your name again?”
Vickie pushed me to one side. “Victoria Moreland. My father is Charles Moreland, and he’s spent thousands of dollars with your service. We want to talk to Querelle, right now.”
“Uh, please wait . . .” The screen froze.
I looked at Rachel. “You okay?”
She shrugged. “Beats working in the office.”
Two minutes passed. Three. Then . . .
A woman popped onto the screen. Her face was thinner than in her profile picture on the home page, and her hair was mostly gray. She wore a black blouse and a long gold necklace that dangled on her chest.
“Yes?” She smiled. “I’m Querelle. How can I help you?”
Vickie leaned in. “Where is my father, you bitch?”
“Oh.” Querelle tilted a shoulder. “He’s right here. Give me a second . . .”
The screen split. To one side, Charles Moreland sat in a chair. A throne, really, made from huge black bones. Dinosaurs? Demons? Whatever. He wore a blazer spattered with blood, and a loose tie loose pulled to one side. His blue shirt was streaked with sweat.
Demons danced around him.
“Dad?” Vickie grabbed the edge of the screen. “Dad! Are you there? What’s going on?”
“V-Victoria?” He leaned forward, peering at something in front of him. “Is that you?”
“Dad?” Her voice was a hoarse shout. “What are you doing there? What’s going on? What are those—things?”
Moreland sat back, crossing a leg over his knee. “They obey me.”
“Dad!” Vickie pounded the desk hard enough to shake the laptop. “Get out of there! This is crazy!”
“This is where I belong.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t find your mother. Now I’m in Hell. But it’s better here . . .” He spread an arm. “Look at them. They worship me.”
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven? I shuddered.
Querelle closed the split screen. Moreland disappeared. Vickie groaned and lowered her head, sobbing.
“We’re done now.” Querelle moved a hand forward to quit the connection.
“No, we’re not!” Who was shouting? Oh, yeah. Me. “Wait a minute!”
Rachel clutched my arm. Querelle paused and flicked her eyes across the screen. “Who are you?”
“Tom Jurgen.” I lurched up. “You’ve got my friend Chip in chains. Maybe Moreland wants to be there—”
Vickie shrieked. “No! Get him out”!
I hoped we could. Somehow. One problem at a time. “What’s he doing there? How did he get there? And Moreland? What the hell are you doing?”
“Hell.” Querelle licked her bottom lip. “That’s what I’m doing. Do you want to come and see?”
Rachel punched my shoulder. Hard. “Don’t answer her.” She shot her fingers across the keyboard. “I can shut this down—”
“No!” Vickie grabbed her hand. “Then we can’t get him out of there! Stop!”
“Bitch. You don’t understand.” Rachel swatted her away. “I think I can—wait, wait—Oh, goddamnit, Tom. . .”
Too late. I clutched the edge of the desk, my body shaking. Oh no. Oh hell—
No comments:
Post a Comment