Death Match

He stood, came up behind her, put his arms around her waist. “Just think,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Another couple of days and we’ll be in front of a roaring fire at the Pillar and Post I

“Mmm.”

“We’ll have breakfast in bed. Maybe lunch in bed, too. How does that sound? And if you play your cards right, you just might get dessert, as well.”

In response, she leaned her head a little wearily against his shoulder.

Kevin Co

“Maybe the begi

He turned her toward him, kissed her gently on one temple, then the other.

“Some perfect wife, huh?” she said, raising her lips to his.

“You are the perfect wife. My perfect wife.”

She smiled, laid her head against his shoulder again.

The doorbell rang.

Kevin gently detached himself, then trotted out into the hall and down the stairs. Behind, he heard Ly

A man with an enormous wrapped parcel waited at the front door. “Mr. Co

Co

“What is it?” Ly

“Don’t know. Want to open it?” Co

“What is it?” he asked. “A basket of fruit?”

“Not just fruit,” Ly

Co

“Who could have sent this?” she asked. “I don’t see a card.”

“There’s a small one tucked in the back, over here.” Co

Ly

Co

Her eyes widened. “Red blush pears. How could they have known?”

“They know everything. Remember?”

Ly

“Not so fast,” Co

Now a smile brightened on her face, as well. And putting the basket aside, she skipped up the stairs after him.

THIRTY-ONE

Lash glanced up at the clock: a quick, disinterested look. Then he glanced again in disbelief. Quarter to six. It seemed only minutes since Tara, pleading a doctor’s appointment, had excused herself from his office around four.

He leaned back in his chair, surveyed the flood of paperwork covering the table. Had he really complained bitterly, once upon a time, about a lack of information? Now he had information, all right: enough to drown an army.

Discovering the deaths of the Thorpes and the Wilners were precisely timed to their matches was a critical piece of the puzzle — he just had to learn how it fit in. But with this embarrassment of data, he wasn’t likely to learn this afternoon.

His eye returned to the table, falling on a folder labeled Thorpe, Lewis — Process Inventory. He’d already flipped through it briefly: it appeared to be a system-generated list of all Eden systems Thorpe had interacted with. Lash sifted through the other flotsam until he found an identical folder for Lindsay. Then, walking to the far wall of the office, he rummaged through the evidence lockers until he’d located similar inventories for the Wilners, as well.

Maybe Silver was right — nothing would happen that weekend. If there was a murderer out there, maybe Eden’s surveillance teams would catch him before he could kill again. But that didn’t mean Lash was going to twiddle his thumbs. Comparing the data in the folders might turn up more pieces of the puzzle.

He slipped the folders into his leather satchel, stretched wearily. Then he made his way down the hall to the cafeteria. Marguerite had left for the day, but the counter person on duty was more than happy to make him a double espresso. Despite the late hour, the room was bustling, and Lash chose a corner table, grateful Eden maintained a three-shift operation.

Draining his cup, he returned to his office, retrieved his coat and satchel, then headed to the nearest elevator bank. Though most of the building remained a mystery to him, he’d at least learned to navigate his way to the lobby.

As Lash took up position in the queue for Checkpoint III, his thoughts returned to the couples. Before she’d left, Tara Stapleton had pointed out the third supercouple — the Co

Wednesday. Any missing pieces of the puzzle had to be found before then.

He reached the front of the queue, waited while the glass doors slid open, then stepped into the circular chamber. Even this had become almost routine. It was an amazing thing, conditioning. You could get used to almost anything, no matter how remarkable. In the lab, he’d seen the effect in dogs, mice, chimps. He used it himself in biofeedback therapy. And here he was, a walking, talking example of its use in a corporate…

He became aware of a distant ringing sound. The light in the chamber, already bright, grew brighter. Ahead, beyond the second set of doors, he could see people ru

Suddenly, two guards appeared ahead on the far side of the glass. They planted themselves in his path, feet apart, arms at their sides.

He turned back the way he’d come, not comprehending. Two more guards now stood there. As he watched, more ran up behind them.

There was a brief series of tones, then the doors he’d passed through opened again. Guards advanced in two rows. One of the guards in the rear row, he noticed, held a stun device in one hand.

“What—” he began.

Quickly, and very firmly, the two lead guards hustled him back through the glass doors. The rest formed a security cordon around them. Lash registered a fleeting set of images — the queue falling back, wide-eyed; the walls of a corridor; a quick turn around a corner — and then he found himself inside a stark, windowless room.

He was guided to a wooden chair. For a moment, it seemed nobody paid any further attention to him. There was the sound of radios chattering, a phone being dialed. “Get Sheldrake in here,” somebody said. The door to the room closed. And then one of the guards turned to him.

“Where were you going with these?” he asked. In one hand he held up the four folders from the satchel.

In his confusion, Lash was unaware the satchel had been taken from him. “I was taking them home,” he said. “To read over the weekend.” Christ, how could he have forgotten Mauchly’s warnings? Nothing from inside the Wall ever went out. But how had they…

“You know the rules, Mr. — ?” the guard said, placing the binders inside what looked uncomfortably like an evidence bag.

“Dr. Lash. Christopher Lash.”

Hearing this, one of the security officers walked over to a data terminal and began to type.

“You know the rules, Dr. Lash?”

Lash nodded.