Nightwatch: Seven Years
By Ralph Benedetto, Jr.
Dr. Simon Litchfield walked through the main door of the Nightwatch Institute for Strategic and Economic Studies and into the reception area. It was a tastefully appointed room with deep rich wood paneling on the walls and several comfortable chairs scattered around in a casual manner that could only have been produced with deliberate thought. Near the back of the room was a desk with an attractive young woman sitting at it.
Simon walked up to the side of the desk and leaned in toward the receptionist, holding out a flower. “Rose, my sweet, your namesake, though less beautiful than you are, is still, I trust, a worthy gift.”
The receptionist looked up at Simon, glanced quickly at the reception area and noted the presence of two people sitting there, glanced back at Simon and said, “Dr. Litchfield.” Her voice was toneless. She made no move to take the flower.
Simon pulled back, the smile fading from his lips. The receptionist’s eyes were colder than any pair of eyes he’d seen since his last divorce, and, had he imagined it, or had she actually pronounced his name, “Letchfield”? He had the impression that, if there hadn’t been strangers waiting in the reception area, she would have had a lot more to say. He felt a temptation to move so that the bulk of the desk was between the two of them, but he resisted it.
Simon leaned forward, his hand on the counter. “Now, Rose,” he said sweetly.
She picked up a heavy stapler and slammed it down onto the counter a hair’s breadth from his hand. Simon pulled his fingers to safety and stepped back from the desk. Rose turned her back on him and began to shuffle some papers.
With a shake of his head, Simon tucked the rose into his lapel for the moment and walked back toward the office area. Rose was normally such an even tempered girl…
As he walked toward his office, Simon noticed several people giving him odd looks. They couldn’t have seen how Rose had treated him. Could someone have been upset by his unscheduled vacation? Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that. He had been sent to Hants on what he had known would be a wild goose chase before he went, and, after a wasted week, had decided to head to Scotland for a few days of relaxation. The world had obviously managed to turn without him, so what was the big deal?
Still, casting the occasional puzzled look over his shoulder, Simon walked into his office and then cast a puzzled look in front of him. His office was just as he had left it, except for one object that hadn’t been there previously. One particularly big and bulky object that was sitting comfortably in the visitor’s chair in front of Simon’s desk.
“Tom,” Simon said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Simon.” Tom grinned and waved a hand at the chair behind Simon’s desk. “Have a seat.”
“Oh, thank you,” Simon said dryly, “Don’t mind if I do.”
As Simon settled himself in, Tom gave him a long, searching look and then asked, “So, how are you doing?”
Simon frowned at his friend. There was something subtly different about Tom this morning, but Simon couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “Fine,” he replied. “And you?”
Tom nodded. “Excellent,” he said.
“Well, now that we’ve got the chit chat out of the way, what are you doing here?”
Tom shook his head and spread his hands. “I just thought I’d come by for a visit.”
It was then that Simon got it. The oddity that had been bothering him crystallized, and he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, a faint smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, it’s good to see you,” he said. “Do you often make house calls, Doctor? Or should I say ‘office calls’?”
After the briefest instant, Tom grinned. “Alright,” he said, “So there may be a touch of the professional about this visit, but only a touch.”
“And who thinks I need to be psychoanalyzed?”
“It isn’t that extreme, Simon. I’m just a little concerned about you. Several people are. You have to admit that your recent behavior has been a bit…odd.”
Simon shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t have to admit that at all.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”
“No. What’s so unusual about wanting to let off a little steam?”
“Nothing.” Tom shifted in his chair. It wasn’t really quite big enough to hold him. “But your method of…uh…letting off steam has been a little…troublesome to some people.”
It was Simon’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you’d become so puritan,” he said.
Tom laughed. “Puritan?” he asked. “I don’t think it’s puritan to suggest that it’s a bad idea to walk up behind the receptionist and reach around her to grab a handful of her right--”
“Whoa, whoa,” Simon said, sitting suddenly upright. “Who told you that?”
“She did,” Tom said. “And so did the three people who saw it.”
Simon shook his head. “Tom…” He laughed suddenly. “All right,” he said. “This is a bizarre sort of joke, even for you.”
“I’m not joking, Simon.” Tom studied his friend thoughtfully. “Stephanie’s pretty upset with you.”
“What?” Simon was beginning to get exasperated. “And what am I supposed to have done to her?”
Tom gave Simon a sour look. “Cornered her in a closet and--”
“Now, look, Tom, I appreciate a good joke as well as the next man, but this isn’t a good joke. This is witless. Let’s get to the punchline, shall we?”
“I suspect the punchline will come when you run into Micah. Literally. He’s been saying something about his fist and your nose.”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Simon snapped, suddenly losing his temper. “Rose was in a fine state this morning, everybody in this place is looking at me sideways and now you come in blathering on about who knows what. Get to the point, Tom.”
Tom raised a hand. “Calm down, Simon. This isn’t that big a deal. I’m just trying to find out what happened yesterday. Your behavior--”
”My behavior yesterday is none of your business.”
“I’m just concerned about you Simon, that’s all. Don’t I have that right?”
Simon didn’t answer, and Tom said, “A few people have told me they suspect you might have been drunk.”
“Yesterday?”
Tom nodded.
“Indeed I was,” Simon said, his anger giving way to
puzzlement. “Soused to the gills and
acting the orifice, in fact. But what
does how I treat some attractive young women in a
“Yesterday, Simon.”
“Yesterday, Tom, I was in
Tom shook his head. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish with this story, but--”
“Tom,” Simon said, closing his eyes and rubbing his
head. “Wait.” There was a pause. “Wait.
Now listen to me very carefully.
I spent the last several days in
Tom stared at Simon.
Simon picked up the phone.
“Call transport,” he said. “A Nightwatch plane brought me back. Call Nichol.
You know Nichol, Tom. I have been
with him for the last three days. In
Tom continued to stare at Simon, then, with a look of
resignation, he pulled out a phone and punched in a number. After several rings, someone at the other end
answered and Tom had a brief conversation with him. He flipped the phone closed and looked at
Simon. “Nichol says you were in
Simon spread his hands, palms up.
“This is ridiculous,” Tom said carefully. “A dozen people saw you here yesterday.”
“An imposter?” Simon asked, sitting upright.
“With all of your access codes, your fingerprints, your retinal scan?” Tom shook his head. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know! All I know is that I was in
“Simon…” Tom began, but Simon cut him off.
“In fact, maybe I’m not really here right now. Maybe I’m at home!” He grabbed his phone and punched in his home number. “Let’s just check, shall we?” He started to give Tom a sour look, and then his stopped and his mouth slowly fell open. He handed the phone to Tom. A voice could be heard asking, “Is anyone there?”
Tom took the phone. “Uh…hello?”
There was a pause.
“S-Simon?”
There was a pause.
“Uh…no…” Tom said hastily. “No, nothing’s wrong. I…I just wanted to know if you wanted to play some racquetball this evening…What?...Oh…um…yeah, sorry about that. Someone came in and started talking to me right as you answered…well, I’m surprised to find you at home, but I tried the office and they said you weren’t in…Oh. O-okay. Right. See you later then. Bye…?”
Tom mechanically hung up the phone and then stared at Simon’s chair. It was empty. Tom shook his head. Was he going crazy? He stood up and turned toward the door of Simon’s office. There was a man lying on the floor, a mass of papers scattered around him. Tom stepped over him and peered down the hall. A distant door was still in the process of closing.
“Excuse me,” a voice said.
Tom looked down. The man he had stepped over was climbing to his feet and starting to gather the scattered papers. “Was that Dr. Litchfield?” he asked.
Tom nodded. “Yeah.”
The young man was dressed in black slacks, a deep blue shirt and an understated tie. Despite the tumble that he had just taken, his hair was perfect. He looked to be about twenty years old. A young twenty.
“Do you know where he was headed?”
“Do I know you?” Tom asked.
The young man grinned and held out his hand. “Bryan Henderson,” he said. “I’m Dr. Litchfield’s new intern.”
Tom took the hand.
“Tom Weldon.” He looked
quizzically at
“Um…no, sorry.”
“He seemed to be in quite a hurry.”
Tom grinned. “That’s Simon,” he said. “Always rushing from one place to another. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.”
Tom walked rapidly out of the building and headed for his car. He debated calling Simon’s cell phone, but, somehow, the thought made him uncomfortable. Surely there couldn’t be two Simons, but, if there were, how could he be certain which of them he was talking to? Maybe they each had a cell phone and they would both ring and he would find himself talking to two Simons at once. He shook his head. This was a little too much for this early in the morning.
***
When Tom got to Simon’s place, he saw Simon’s car double parked in front and Simon standing next to it. Simon watched him pull up and then waved him over.
“Come on, Tom,” he said. “As long as you’re here, you might as well keep an eye on me to make sure I’m really not crazy.”
“Who’s gonna keep an eye on me?” Tom asked. “Simon, what’s going on here?’
This Simon was dressed exactly the same as the Simon who Tom had seen at Nightwatch a short while before, but was it really the same Simon? Or was it the other Simon? If there was another Simon.
Simon shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. The door of his home was open, and an elderly woman was standing just outside the doorway. She was shorter than Simon, with gray hair pulled back and a pair of remarkably bright black eyes. “Mrs. Turner,” Simon said, facing her, “Would you tell Dr. Weldon what you told me?”
Mrs. Turner looked at Tom with a smile. “I merely asked the good doctor why he was
back so soon and why he had taken the time to change his clothes.” How ever long she had been in
Simon smiled slightly and spread his hands and looked at Tom. “Clear enough?” he asked.
Tom nodded and then shook his head. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s go in.” Simon glanced at Mrs. Turner. “If I come back while I’m here,” he said, “let me know.”
“Is there any particular message you’d like me to pass on to yourself?”
“Never mind,” he said with a grin. “I’m just being facetious. Come on, Tom.”
They passed through a foyer and down a corridor with cream colored walls. The quiet tick of a clock came out of an open doorway. Simon glanced into each room as they passed but didn’t stop until they came to the library.
The walls were lined with shelves, and every available bit of shelf space was occupied by books. There was a desk of polished mahogany in one corner with a very comfortable chair of leather and wood behind it. A computer was perched on the desk. There were two other chairs in the room, both of them of leather and both of them sumptuously comfortable. Near each chair was a table and a light. The chairs were close enough together to permit conversation but far enough apart not to make it a necessity. The only other furnishings in the room were a large globe and a small cabinet well stocked with everything from pencils to a selection of beverages. The wood was polished and stained a rich dark color. The only wall which wasn’t lined with shelves had two large windows in it lined with heavy drapes. Tom had been in the room many times, and it was one of his favorite rooms anywhere.
Simon stopped next to one of the chairs and looked down at the table. It held a bottle, a glass, and a book. Simon picked up the bottle. “Single malt Parker’s,” he said. “Twenty-five years old.” He put the bottle down.
“Whoever our friend is,” Tom said, “he does himself well.”
“At my expense,” Simon said dryly. He picked up the book, grunted, and dropped it back onto the table. “Bastard,” he said.
Tom looked curiously at the book. “What is it?” he asked.
“Picadilly Jim,” Simon said. He looked around the room. “It’s a book about a man who impersonates himself.” He walked toward the desk.
“What?” Tom asked. He reached out to pick up the book. “How could a man…”
“Tom,” Simon said. “I think we have more important things to consider right now.”
Tom drew his hand back. “Right,” he said, but he kept glancing back toward the book.
Simon sat down at his desk and glanced through the drawers. The computer was on, but no files had been opened. “I can’t tell what he’s been up to. Not that there’s anything particularly sensitive here.” He ran his hand over the lower part of his face. “But he didn’t come here just to drink my scotch and raid my library for reading material.” After a moment he looked up at Tom. “We’d better get back to the Institute,” he said. “Maybe he’s headed there.”
“Should we call and warn them?”
Simon frowned. “I’ve been trying to decide,” he said. “He had plenty of time to get into trouble yesterday it seems.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“But he doesn’t know that we know that he exists. If we tell someone at Nightwatch, they might slip up and clue him in.”
Tom shook his head. “I think you’re making this too complicated,” he said.
“I’m making this complicated? What about him?”
“I mean,” Tom explained, “that you’re cooking up some complicated to plan to what? Follow him and see where he goes? Isn’t a better idea just to catch him?”
“Yeah.” Simon reached for the phone. “Hi. This is Simon…we’ll sort that out later. Right now you need to know that we have an imposter on our hands…Me…Yes…I don’t know…no, I think we need to keep it from as many people as we…yes…um…Hang on…” Simon glanced at Tom. “They want to know how to tell the difference between us.”
“A good question.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Are you busy?” he asked.
“What? You mean right this minute?”
“For the next few days. Are you busy.”
Tom shook his head. “Not especially, I guess. Why?”
Simon turned back to the phone. “The real me will have Tom Weldon with him. That’s how you’ll know…No, Tom won’t let me out of his sight, even for a second…okay…I’ll be on my back shortly.” He hung up and glanced back at Tom. “You’re busy now,” he said.
“Excuse me,” Tom said, raising and eyebrow, “but did you just say I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for a second? For how long?” And, Tom wondered to himself, how sure am I that this is the real Simon?
Simon grinned. “Until we catch the bad guy,” he said.
“Oh, boy.”
Simon rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said. He walked down the passage to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was doing the breakfast dishes. “Mrs. Turner.”
“Yes?”
“When did I get back from my last trip?”
The housekeeper was not fazed in the slightest by the question. “Two days ago, so you said.”
“So I spent two nights here?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say. When I got here yesterday morning, you were already here, but I don’t think you’d slept much. When I got here this morning, you’d eaten the supper I left for you last night. Except for the spinach, of course. Would you like to know what you ate for breakfast?” Her face radiated utter innocence, and her voice held no trace of sarcasm.
Simon grinned at her. “No thanks,” he said. As he walked out of the room, Tom hung behind for a moment.
“That must have seemed a bit odd…” he began, but Mrs. Turner smiled at him.
“Oh, no. I’ve done for a gentleman even more eccentric than Dr. Litchfield,” she said quietly. Then, humming softly to herself, she continued with the dishes.
Tom shook his head and followed after Simon, who had opened the front door and was just stepping out onto the sidewalk. Tom supposed he had already fallen down on the job, having let Simon out of his sight for a second.
“Dr. Litchfield?”
There were two men standing on the sidewalk. One was a driver from the motorpool, though Simon couldn’t recall his name at the moment. The other was a stranger to him – young, earnest, all teeth. Simon’s initial estimate was that he was about twelve years old, but he was forced to revise that upward slightly.
“Bryan Henderson,” the earnest youth said, holding out a hand. “I’m your new intern.” He turned to Tom. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Weldon.”
Simon glanced at Tom, one eyebrow raised. Tom nodded ever so slightly. Simon took the offered hand and said, “How long have I had an intern?”
“This is my first day. Since you and Dr. Weldon brought two cars, I thought you might need someone to drive the extra car back to the institute for you. I had myself and Earnest,” he nodded at the man from the motorpool, “driven out here. Earnest can take your car back, and, if you wouldn’t mind, I could ride back with you and get filled in on my duties.”
Simon and Tom looked at each other for a moment, and then Simon nodded. “Well thought out,” he said.
“Well, sir,” said
“Uh…good,” Simon said. He glanced at Tom again. “Would you mind driving us?”
He and Tom climbed into the front seat of Tom’s car.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Litchfield?” The voice was slightly nasal and very precise.
“Yes?”
“This is Louis Decker, down in research.”
“Yes,” Simon said. He had already recognized the voice. It was hard not to. Lou held degrees in library science, digital information management and English, and he had the exact sort of voice Simon would have given him if he’d been creating him.
“Yes. I have some information you might be interested in, Doctor.”
Simon sighed. “Is this important?” he asked. “Because I’m a bit swamped right now.”
“If I’m interrupting something important, I’m quite sure that I don’t--”
“No, I’m sorry,” Simon said, interrupting. It had occurred to a bit belatedly that Decker had only called him twice before, each time with something of extreme importance. “I appreciate you taking the time to call me. Please, continue.”
“Very well, then. You might know I been working on a new search algorhithm based on the Kornheiser equations. I wished to make the search engine more intelligent, better able to weed out the items a searcher isn’t interested in and locate the information a searcher does want, even if the searcher doesn’t realize that he or she wants it. Do you follow me?”
“Sure,” Simon said. “I’m with you.”
“I have written a new program I call the Kornborer. Quite droll, don’t you think?”
“Quite,” Simon agreed.
“I needed something to test it on, a good search to push its limits. You have a new intern, isn’t that correct?”
Uh-oh, Simon thought. “Yes.”
“Yes. I set the Kornborer on him. His background has been checked already, of course, but that was the point. As you probably realize, if you have the money and the time, you can alter or eliminate records several layers deep, but you can’t get rid of or alter everything that’s out there.”
“I imagine not.”
“The young man’s records passed the preliminary search, or he never would have been taken on in the first place, and our preliminary search is, not surprisingly, rather thorough. Because of that, I didn’t really expect to find much, but I did turn up an interesting tidbit.”
“Really. And what would that be?” The back of Simon’s neck was beginning to itch. He could hear Tom and the new intern carrying on a pleasant conversation, but he was resisting an urge to look into the back seat and was trying to keep his posture relaxed.
“The first real clue was a picture from his tenth birthday party.”
Simon’s left eyebrow shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“His tenth birthday party. It wasn’t in any of the major databases, but it was in the morgue of a little newspaper from a small Midwestern town. His tenth birthday was at a park outdoors, and a news photographer took some pictures, presumably as a human interest feature.”
“And?” The back of Simon’s neck was really starting to itch now.
“One of the guests at the party was Davis Howard.”
That was a letdown. Simon didn’t know the name at all. “Um…and…?”
“Davis Howard,” Decker continued, “Is now an aide to Senator Chalmers.”
“Oh,” Simon said neutrally.
“Your reaction is surprisingly placid, Dr. Litchfield.”
“Oh, no, not all,” Simon said calmly. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
There was a pause, and then Decker said, “Ah. He’s in the room with you.”
“That’s right,” Simon said. “So, when can I expect to have it back?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I suppose that’ll be alright.”
“Ah. You’re engaging in a subterfuge for his benefit?”
“No, but don’t let it run any higher than that, all right?”
“I’m going to hang up now, Doctor Litchfield. While I appreciate the need for this stratagem, you can speak to the dial tone as well as to me, and I have some things that I must get done. Good-bye, sir.”
“Okay, but check back with me first. Good-bye.” Simon hung up and returned the phone to his pocket. Tom glanced at him curiously. Simon shook his head. “I hate doing real estate deals long distance,” he said.
“Are you buying a new house?”
“Some land,” Simon told him.
“As an investment. So,
Simon nodded thoughtfully. “Impressive ideals,” he said.
“You may,” Tom said sotto voce but loud enough for Simon to hear him and shoot him a glance.
“I am so excited to have the chance to work with Dr. Simon
Litchfield!”
“Oh, good,” Simon said, not quite convincingly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
***
“
“Right,”
“Good morning, Rose,” Tom said, smiling at the receptionist. He noted two men sitting almost casually in visitor’s chairs pretending to read magazines. They had tensed up a bit at the sight of Simon and relaxed again at the sight of Tom.
“Good morning, Dr. Weldon,” the receptionist replied with
almost an excess of warmth. She ignored
Simon completely.
Tom’s smile grew broader, and he laid a massive arm across Simon’s shoulders. “Rose,” he said, “Dr. Litchfield would like to apologize to you for his behavior yesterday.” The receptionist’s eyes flickered toward Simon for an instant and then back to Tom. “He realizes that it was inexcusable, but I can assure you that Dr. Litchfield was not himself.” Simon made a slight noise, hastily suppressed. “I can also assure you that Dr. Litchfield was not responsible for his actions yesterday.” Tom’s tone was light, but his voice carried complete sincerity. It’s easiest to lie when you do so by telling the truth.
Rose glanced back at Simon again.
“I’m very sorry, Rose,” Simon said. He did look truly penitent.
The beginnings of a smile could be seen on her face. Her eyes looked concerned. “That’s all right,” she said. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
“Now, Rose,” Tom continued. “I’d like you to do me a favor, all right?”
Rose nodded. “Of course,” she said.
Tom pulled out a business card and picked up a pen off of Rose’s desk, writing as he spoke. “Simon is supposed to be under my supervision for the next several days, so if you see him anywhere at all without me, especially here, I’d like you to give me a call at this number, all right?”
He held out the card, but Rose seemed hesitant about taking it.
“Please,” Simon said with a gentle smile. “I’d really appreciate it.”
She took the card. “Anything I can do to help,” she said honestly.
“Thank you, Rose.”
The two men headed back toward Simon’s office, and Simon said, “Well, thank you very much. Now she thinks I’ve got mental problems.”
Tom waved away Simon’s objection. “Well, we all have mental problems, Simon. It’s just a question of degree. Besides, isn’t this better than having her furious with you?”
Simon grunted sourly. “I don’t know about that,” he said. They turned into Simon’s office to find that Bryan was already present, a bright, earnest smile on his face, a PDA in his lap and a briefcase on the floor beside him, ready to get to work.
“Ah,” Simon said. “You’re eager.”
“Yes, sir. What shall we do first?”
Simon settled himself in his seat, leaned back and thought
for a moment. “Research,” he said. “As you may know, the Institute has a fairly
comprehensive library onsite. We need
some facts relating to a power plant project in the
Simon forced a smile as
Simon hung up the phone and grimaced at Tom. “You know,” he said. “This guy, whoever he is, is giving me a headache.”
“He might give you worse than that,” Tom said, frowning.
“What do you mean? No, wait for Stephanie to get here.”
Stephanie arrived a few moments later. She was dressed in comfortable khakis lined with pockets, every pocket bulging with bits of electronic equipment. In her hand was a small black metallic box. She smiled politely and nodded at Tom and then she gave Simon a venomous glare.
“Scan, please,” Simon said.
Stephanie closed the office door and then flipped a switch on the box. She moved carefully about the room for several minutes before announcing, “Clear.”
Tom raised one eyebrow, and Simon said, “No listening devices.” He sighed and then said, “Would you do it, please?”
Tom turned to Stephanie and said, “Why don’t you have a seat, Stephanie. This will take a few moments.”
She sank into a chair, not looking at Simon, every line of her body expressing a combination of anger and outrage. It took five minutes to convince her, and then she was slightly more relaxed and willing to look at Simon’s face. “Wow,” she said. “Where did this guy come from?”
“I have no idea,” Simon told her. He glanced at Tom. “And you were getting ready to say something earlier that was probably going to make me very unhappy?”
“Well, apparently this man, whoever he was, was able to access all of your files yesterday. He knew all of your passwords.”
Simon closed his eyes and breathed a single word, then he said, “You told me that earlier. I’d forgotten. I need to change my passwords.”
“And what if he has your other access codes?”
Simon shook his head. “What other access codes?”
“Well, to your bank accounts, for example.”
Simon closed his eyes again and groaned. “Okay,” he said. “First things first.” He picked up the phone again. “Hi, this is Dr. Litchfield.” He paused. “Could you change my main system access code please?” He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said to Tom, “Give me a password. If I think it up myself, maybe this son of a bitch can come up with it, too.”
Tom thought for a second and then offered up a suggestion. Simon took his hand off of the receiver and passed it along.
“Thanks,” he said. “And now for part two. You want to make a bet with me? I’ll bet you fifty dollars that you can’t stop me from changing my access code again in the next two weeks…yeah, I’ll bet I can get someone else in the department to do it for me or even get you to do it…I’ll test you on it…I’ll do anything to convince you, maybe even offer to give up the bet…okay, we’ll see.” He hung up the phone and grinned at the others. “That ought to stymie the son of a bitch.”
“Clever,” Stephanie said. “Did you talk to Josh?”
“Yeah.”
“That man hates to lose.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure the internal phone line isn’t tapped?” Tom asked.
“I am,” Stephanie said. “We check that several times daily at random intervals.”
“And now for my bank account,” Simon said. “I won’t be able to use the same trick on them.” He turned to his computer and began to hit the keys. He was quiet for several moments and then began to swear violently. Tom and Stephanie exchanged a look and then Simon sighed and glanced at Tom.
“He cleaned me out. He couldn’t have spent it all. He must have done it just for spite.” He shook his head and then grinned feebly at Tom. “What now?” he asked. “Will you support me in the manner to which I have become accustomed?”
There was an instant of silence, and then all three of them
looked up to find
“Hello,
“My new intern,” Simon said, almost brightly enough to be an
imitation of
“Hi.”
“What can I do for you, Bryan?” Simon asked.
“Um…well, I certainly appreciate the opportunity to work here, and I have started the research work that you asked for. In fact, one of the librarians is looking up some information for me, and I have excellent computer access from home that will allow me to do most of the research on my own time, so I was wondering what else I could do for you in the meantime.” His smile became quite winning. “What I’m really hoping for, Dr. Litchfield, is the chance to work directly with you. I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, but that’s really what attracted me to Nightwatch. That and its humanitarian goals, of course.”
“My goodness,” Tom said with apparent sincerity. “That’s truly a compliment, Simon.”
“What are you grinning about?” Simon asked.
Tom shook his head. “Nothing of any consequence,” he said. “What now?”
Simon rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Okay,” he said, turning to Stephanie. “This fellow is driving my car around. I have a GPS system. Can you use it to find him?”
Stephanie grinned. “Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, “Yes.”
“How long will that take?”
“How does two minutes sound?”
Simon raised one eyebrow. “Like you’ve done this before,” he said.
She pretended to look uncomfortable. “Well, as a matter of fact, I did find out the code for your particular car and record that information.”
“And, why, if I may ask, did you do that?”
She shrugged. “I was trying out a new system. I had to pick on someone.”
Simon looked longsufferingly at Tom. “Why is that when the people who work here need to try out a new system they pick on me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you about Louis Decker’s call, did I?”
Tom shook his head. “No. What about it?”
“Not yet. When we have time.” To Stephanie he added, “Get me that info, huh? As soon as you can? And send it to my cell.”
She nodded, rose from her chair and headed out the door. Just before exiting the room, she turned back to Simon and said, “Sorry if I was a little hard on you earlier.”
Simon shook his head. “Forget it,” he said.
She nodded and left.
Simon picked up his phone and dialed a five digit code. He waited for an instant, heard a tone in his ear and hung the phone back up.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where to?”
“To the library.”
***
The Institute’s library was a sprawling structure containing a large store of material that had not yet been digitized. Simon led Tom through the stacks to the popular culture section. Tom looked around with interest.
“TV Guide?” he asked.
Simon shrugged.
“US magazine?”
Simon shrugged again. “Now,” he said, “We don’t want to give Callow fits, so I need you to wait here.”
“No,” Tom said.
“What?”
“I’ll stay away from you,” he explained, “Far enough that I can’t hear. But I have to be able to keep you in my sight.”
Simon sighed. “Tom,” he said, but his friend cut him off.
“I meant it, Simon. I’m your surety. It’s my job to make sure that the you I have with me is the real one. I have to be able to keep you in my sight. Can you prove to me that the imposter isn’t hidden somewhere in the stacks?”
Simon sighed again. “All right,” he said. He led Tom to a corner stack and pointed out a table where Callow was already seated.
Simon walked up to the table and sat down. Callow stared sourly at him.
“Well?” he asked. He nodded a head in Tom’s direction. “Your friend Dr. Weldon is going to be watching us? This is a serious breach of security, Simon.” Tom had been here before, but only at the express invitation of Callow, and that invitation had not been extended recently.
Simon’s face was just as sour. “He’s going to be watching me. To make sure that the me who walked into the library will be the same one who walks out of it. That would be an even more serious breach of security. We have a problem.”
“I am aware of it.” Callow’s voice was even more toneless then usual.
Simon stiffened in his seat. “What’s happened?”
“Chang’s cover was blown. She’s dead.”
“Damn it!” Simon said, the palm of his hand smacking into the table. “Do we know it was him?”
“Keep your voice down in the library, doctor,” Callow said coldly as Simon slowly made a fist just below the level of the man’s gaze. “What we know is that she was identified in an anonymous e-mail. We don’t have a complete copy of the text, but it obviously contained sufficient proofs to be convincing. It also apparently offered this information as a free sample.”
“To show them he knew what he was talking about so that he could offer more information for sale. Damn his eyes.” Simon glared at Callow. “Where did this guy come from?”
Callow nodded. “By all accounts he has your fingerprints, your retinal pattern, and a variety of access codes that should only be stored in your memory.” He stared at Simon. “You haven’t written any of your access codes down anywhere? Anywhere at all?”
Simon shook his head. “Never,” he said.
Callow looked at the laptop that was open on the table in front of him. “The fingerprints are easy enough to falsify. There might even be a way to falsify a retinal pattern, I’m not sure, but I what I really want to know is how he got your access codes and passwords. You’re certain you didn’t record them anywhere?”
Simon shook his head. “Definitely not,” he said. He tapped his head. “The only place those codes are located is in my head.”
Callow nodded. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was apparently prepared to accept Simon’s word on the matter. “Then there are four possibilities. Either there is no imposter or you gave him the access codes or he has cracked our system or he has access to the inside of your head.”
Simon crossed his arms. “And which one are you going with?”
“Frankly, my first idea was that there is no imposter; that you were running some kind of operation. I no longer believe that. You are capable of a lot, but I don’t think you’re capable of sacrificing someone close to so callously as that.” Simon winced at sacrificing someone close.
“Your faith in me is touching,” Simon said acidly.
“I have verified your location since you left the dig site,” Callow said. “You still might have given him the access codes. It would be much easier to create a duplicate of you with your help, but I can’t figure out a reason for you to do so.”
Simon’s smile was razor thin. “I might be smarter than you,” he said.
“You aren’t, Dr. Litchfield.” One corner of Callow’s mouth twitched fractionally. “I think we’ve proven that.”
The change in Simon was somehow invisible and obvious at the same time. Tom recognized it from his vantage point and tensed up, ready to do…something, though he wasn’t sure what.
Callow’s expression slipped for just an instant, a brief flicker of humanity. Simon said not a word, and the silence between them stretched for a long moment. Finally, Callow cleared this throat awkwardly and said, “And…um…the system he used your access codes on has no external connections.” The slip betrayed Callow’s nervousness, a Simon found himself almost regretting the fact that Callow could, at times, act human.
“Which means,” Simon said with some difficulty, “that he would either have had to come in to crack the system or get help from someone who works here.”
“One can never be certain that there are no traitors,” Callow said, “but I am inclined to discount that possibility.”
“And the idea that someone came in and had the time to study our system and crack into to it to acquire the codes and then left with only that information so that someone else had to come back in and use the codes is a bit ridiculous,” Simon offered.
“Correct,” Callow said. “Which brings us to the last option. That someone has access to the inside of your head.”
Simon shook the aforementioned head. “No,” he said. “Do you mean someone drugged me or hypnotized me or something like that? No.”
“No,” Callow agreed. “You haven’t been out of contact long enough for something like that to have happened.”
“Then what?”
“I am making some inquiries,” Callow said. “I hope to have some information for you soon.”
“Have you notified information systems?”
“Yes. External access to all systems is currently unavailable. If he wants more, he’ll have to come back for it.”
“Not that he needs to,” Simon said bitterly. “He’s got enough in his head to cause more damage and death than I care to think about. When you find out more, you’ll share the information with me?”
“Certainly.” Although he didn’t say anything else, Simon could practically hear the addendum: or, at least as much of it as I think you need to know.
“Yeah,” Simon said, pushing away from the table. “I bet.”
***
As they left the library, Tom remarked, “You didn’t kill him.”
“What?” Simon had pulled out his cell phone and was dialing, and his thumb stopped suspended over the numbers.
“I know you, Simon,” Tom said as Simon finished dialing. “There was a moment when I half expected you to leap across the table and throttle him.”
Simon grinned. “I
half expected it myself,” he said. He
clapped Tom on the shoulder and said, “It may happen yet.” The last comment was spoken with shades of
bitterness that Tom noticed immediately.
Litchfield held the phone to his ear.
“Morna…have you heard from me lately?...No, not this early in the day…
Tom took the phone and said, “Hello?...no, he’s fine, just pissed off…yes…yes…well, he’s cleaned out Simon’s bank account…”
“Among other things,” muttered Simon darkly.
“Yes…good…” Tom handed the phone back to Simon.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s right…Tom is my safety net…I will not contact you without having him with me for any reason whatsoever…promise?....right….bye…” He stared at Tom. “The bastard called her, Tom. He said he would be by to see her soon.” His face twisted, but he didn’t say anything else.
“What now?” Tom asked gently.
Simon was pushing buttons on his phone. “I have the info from Stephanie, so we’re going for a ride.”
“Oh, good!” said a new voice. Tom and Simon stopped and turned to see
Tom and Simon looked at each other, and then Simon turned to
Tom raised an eyebrow in Simon’s direction, and Simon said, “I have to make use of the facilities before we go, though.”
“Good idea,” Tom said. “Me, too.”
The men’s room was empty other than Simon and Tom, and, after checking the stalls to make certain they were unoccupied, Simon quickly explained the situation.
“It appears that my new intern has a connection with Senator Chalmers. Some brushing up was probably done to hide that fact, because it was pretty deeply buried.”
Tom looked puzzled. “And?” he said.
“The Institute is not a government agency. We don’t fall under their oversight. That bothers Chalmers quite a bit. He thinks we’re up to something shady and
has, over the years, brought quite a bit of political pressure to bear on us.” Tom stifled the urge to say and you aren’t up to something shady?
“And you think your new intern may be on a…shall we say…fact finding mission?”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “But I don’t want to take that chance. He’s certainly doing his best to stick to me like glue, and Chalmers and I have had some encounters in the past that have been a bit vituperative. If he could implicate anyone in Nightwatch in something shady, he’d salivate over the chance to have it be me.”
“So we keep an eye on the new intern. You’re fortunate that your Senator doesn’t understand the divine manipulation of the threads.”
Simon grinned. “Trying to be inscrutable, Confucius?”
Tom shook his head.
“Not Confucious,” he said. “The score is now twenty-seven to
twenty-six. What happens if we find your
friend while
“I don’t know,” Simon said, “But it’s probably better than leaving him here unsupervised, don’t you--”
At that moment, the door swung open, and
“So,” Tom said conversationally, “
“Uh, I’m sorry,”
Simon cleared his throat and then walked toward the sink, with Tom and Bryan rapidly following him.
“All right,” Simon said as he dried his hands, “Time to take a ride.”
***
“Where are we going?”
Tom, who was sitting behind the wheel – understandably since they were still using his car – looked at Simon, who had flipped open his phone and was calling up data. After a moment, he sighed and closed it again. The Colonial Mall.
“We’re going shopping?”
“We’re…looking at traffic flow patterns,” Simon told him.
“Ah.”
“There are two kinds of engineering,
“The kind of thing that becomes a tourist attraction,” Tom offered.
“They can be majestic and magnificent,” Simon agreed.
“And sometimes, in our vanity, we attempt things that are beyond our scope,” Tom said.
“There is nothing so agonizing to the fine skin of vanity as the application of a rough truth.” Simon said.
“Thank you, Mr. Bulwer-Lytton.”
“Um. 28 to 26.” Simon turned back to
“And how is the traffic flow at the Colonial Mall?”
Simon grinned. “Have you ever shopped there?”
“Yes.”
“Then you probably don’t need to ask.”
As they traveled, Simon gave
When they finally reached the mall, Tom cruised the parking lot, which was, as usual, a model of chaos theory in action. Stephanie’s information was that the car was stationary, and, using the data she provided, they eventually tracked it down, slotted into an anonymous space in the middle of the crowded lot. Tom was going to drive past it without stopping, but Simon said, “There it is.”
Tom raised an eyebrow and refrained from gesturing in
“There what is?”
“The tracker,” Simon said.
“A couple of days ago, we parked a car in this lot which would record
the traffic flow patterns.” He twisted
in his seat to look back at
“Oh,”
Simon shook his head. “Much less so than when the city does it,” he said, “since they often record it photographically. Our scanners don’t take pictures of individual vehicles or record license numbers in any way. They basically record movement of bodies.”
“Oh.”
“Excuse me just a minute,” Simon said. “I’m going to take a quick look at the equipment to make sure that it’s still functioning properly. I’ll be right back.” He hopped out of the car, and they watched him walk over and open the vehicle and peer in.
“Dr. Litchfield’s work encompasses a great deal, doesn’t
it?”
“It does,” Tom agreed. “It keeps him hopping.”
“It must be difficult for you when he travels abroad.”
“No,” Tom said with a slight smile. “I keep pretty busy myself.”
“You know,”
Simon glanced back, saw
“Everything looks good,” he said, stepping into
“Fred! Over here!”
Simon shook his head. “There isn’t much to see unless you know what you’re looking at. It’s just a black box with some gauges on the front. Pretty dull stuff.”
“Freddie!!!”
Simon laid a hand on
“Hey! Fred!”
They climbed back into the car, and Tom settled back into his seat. “He didn’t see me,” he said. “Where to now?”
“Home, James,” Simon said. “Back to the Institute.”
“You don’t want to…pop into the mall and have a look around?”
“No,” Simon said, “I don’t think it’s worth it.”
“You don’t like the mall?”
“Oh, I have nothing against the mall,” Simon told him, “I just don’t think I’ll find what I’m looking for today.”
“What’s that?”
Simon smiled. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
***
“So,” Simon said, seated comfortably back in his
office.
“So,” Tom agreed.
“Stephanie will keep an eye on the car in case it moves again, but it isn’t going to. He’s abandoned it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Simon’s face twisted. “He left me a message.” He held up a piece of paper, and, when Tom reached out a hand, passed it over.
Tom unfolded the paper and then looked up at Simon. “This is your handwriting,” he said.
Simon nodded. “I noticed,” he said dryly. “Are you sure you believe there’s another me out there?”
Tom nodded absently while he read.
You don’t know where I
come from
You cannot see where I
am going
Am I a spectre? I am your
chimera.
I shall always be one step ahead of you
Tom looked up at Simon and handed back the paper. “Is it supposed to be poetry?” he asked.
“It’s supposed to be annoying,” Simon answered.
“It isn’t very good poetry.”
“But it is very annoying. And save the critical analysis for your conversations with Sergei Illeyvich.” He smiled slightly, and the two of them stiffened as they heard footsteps.
“Here we go,”
“You like to do a thorough job,” Tom said approvingly.
“I try,”
Once the cups were passed out and everyone had added the
fixings of their choice,
“Good question,” Simon said. He glanced at Tom. “I think the first thing to do is to assess the urgency of the various projects facing us and deal with the most urgent first.”
“Makes sense,” Tom said.
“So,”
“Well,” Simon said slowly, “There’s the traffic flow project…”
“Is traffic flow ever urgent?”
“How long have you lived in D.C.?” Tom asked with a grin.
“Ah. Yes, sir. Perhaps traffic flow is important after all. What else are we working on?”
Simon noted the ‘we’ and let it pass without comment. At that moment, his phone buzzed, and he picked it up. He listened for a moment and then said, “Thank you,” and hung up. He looked at the others. “Okay,” he said slowly. Tom, who knew him well, could see that he was thinking furiously. Unfortunately, Simon had spent several of the last few days on a drinking binge and then had found himself faced with a series of unexpected occurrences upon his return. His brain was tired. “We need to go to the library to do some research for…a new project.”
“What’s that?”
“The government of…a country…
“Great!”
“Yes,” Tom said. “That sounds fascinating, Simon.”
Simon very carefully didn’t look at Tom. “Yes,” he said. “It certainly does. Well, let’s get back to the library.”
“I’ve wondered about the library,”
“Yes?”
“Well, obviously I haven’t had much time to wander around done there, but the little of the collection that I’ve seen seems rather startlingly eclectic.”
“Now that’s a great description,” Tom said with a grin.
“And, anyway, why don’t they simply digitize the entire collection?”
“Maybe they will, one day,” Simon said, “But that takes time and money, and they simply haven’t gotten around to it. As far as the eclecticness…” Simon glanced at Tom. “Is that a word?”
“Eclecticity?” Tom suggested.
Simon turned back to
“Wouldn’t it be more effective to simply make use of
resources which are already widely available?”
“You’ve already answered that objection yourself,” Simon told him. “We have a tremendously eclectic collection here. In some cases there are works that we refer to so frequently that it only makes sense to store them onsite in whatever form. In other cases there are works that we don’t refer to often but which we have to keep ourselves because few other libraries do.”
“Oh.”
“You sound surprised,” Tom observed.
“What?”
Simon glanced at him, his face impassive. “Well, we’re essentially a business,
“That’s very laudable,”
“You know,
“Well,
“Sounds great!”
“That was quite a lecture you gave the boy,” Simon said with a sigh.
Tom grinned. “Look who’s talking. That was quite a spin you put on the Institute.” Simon shrugged, and Tom continued, “Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to give him something to think about aside from that machine to control the weather.”
Simon grimaced. “It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment.”
Tom nodded. “Anyway, he’s young. He still has a lot of decisions ahead of him.”
Simon laughed soundlessly. “And, once you make them, you’re stuck with them.”
Tom shook his head. “You’re stuck with the consequences,” he said, “But the decisions can be changed. Lives can be changed, right up to the end.”