A Game Called Chaos (2 page)

Though cleaned up, the building's exterior still sported some features from its factory days, including decorative molding and wrought iron fire escapes that snaked down each side of the building. The grounds around the complex were beautifully maintained, every tree and blade of grass in its proper place. The afternoon sun reflecting off the nearby river painted the building in gold and silver light.

Joe whistled softly. “I bet this place sets Royal back a pretty penny every month.” Frank nodded in agreement.

“Royal lives on the second floor,” Chelsea said. “We can go up because there's no doorman during the day. But how are we going to get in?”

Joe ran a hand through his blond hair and smiled roguishly. “We're pretty clever about that,” he said.

The three of them went through the lobby and
climbed a stairway that curved gracefully up to the second floor. The stairs emptied out onto a long narrow hallway. There was a door at each corner of the hall.

“Royal's condo is the one on the far left,” Chelsea said, indicating one of the doors on the riverfront side. “He's got an amazing view of the river.”

As the trio approached the door, Joe stopped abruptly and put a finger to his lips, hushing the others. “It sounds as if someone's inside,” he whispered.

“Maybe he's come back!” Chelsea said. “I didn't see his car in the lot, but . . .” She approached the door and knocked tentatively. “Mr. Royal? Steven? It's me, Chelsea Sirkin.” The sounds stopped; no one came to the door.

Frank's eyes narrowed. Something didn't seem right. “Let Joe and me handle this,” he said to Chelsea. He put a hand on the doorknob and turned it; the door wasn't locked.

Frank gently pushed the door open and poked his head inside. Joe peered over his brother's shoulder to get a look, too.

“Chelsea,” Joe said, “is Royal a bad housekeeper?”

“Well,” Chelsea started, “he's not the neatest person . . .”

“A
really
bad housekeeper?” continued Joe.

Chelsea stepped forward to see what Joe meant. A small gasp escaped her lips as she peeked inside.

The doorway opened directly into the living room of the condo. It was a huge room with a high ceiling and a row of sliding-glass doors that led onto a balcony that overlooked the river. Royal apparently used the room as a workplace, too; a computer sat atop an old desk near the far wall. The whole place looked as though a hurricane had hit it.

Papers lay scattered all over the floor. The drawers of the desk had been pulled out, emptied, and left open. Pictures hung crooked on the walls, as if someone had searched behind them. The cushions had been removed from the overstuffed sectional couch and left on the rug. Looking toward the adjoining dining-room/kitchen area, Joe could see that someone had searched the pantry, too.

“Chelsea, did the police search the condo when you called them?” Frank asked.

“I don't know,” she replied. “They said they'd checked and had seen no sign of foul play.”

“Then my guess is that whoever we heard in this room a minute ago ransacked the place,” Frank said. He bent down and examined the lock on the outside door. “Looks like it's been picked by someone who doesn't really know what he's
doing. Plenty of fresh scratches around the lock hole.”

A subtle movement on the far end of the balcony caught Joe's attention. One of the sliding doors had been left slightly ajar. “Look,” Joe cried, pointing to a figure on the balcony. “There he is!”

The Hardys sprang into action, bolting across the room and pushing open the sliding door. When the man on the balcony turned and saw them, he jumped over the railing.

“He must have made it onto the fire escape,” Joe said. “I'll follow. You try to stop him out front.”

“Right!” Frank replied. He darted back through the apartment, almost knocking Chelsea over as he headed for the front door.

Joe was right—there was a fire escape about six feet below the balcony. By the time he leaped onto it, the culprit had reached the ground and was beginning to run toward the parking lot.

There was no way Frank would reach the guy
in time if he had a car nearby. Joe had only one thing to do. Climbing over the railing of the fire escape, he tried to pick a soft-looking spot on the manicured lawn below. Then he jumped.

The ground didn't turn out to be as soft as he'd hoped, and Joe had the wind knocked out of him. He hadn't broken anything, though. “Hey!” he called after the man he was chasing. The man looked back and stumbled a bit, but continued running.

Joe scrambled to his feet and resumed the chase. The man was angling for the far corner of the parking lot now, and Joe knew that would give Frank and him a chance. As Joe hit the asphalt parking lot, he spotted Frank coming out of the front door. The culprit hadn't seen Frank because he was making a beeline for the lone car parked on the far side of the lot.

The man reached the car, a white Toyota compact, and fumbled with his keys. Frank got there just as the man finally got the door unlocked. “Hold it!” said Frank, leaning on the car door so it couldn't be opened wide enough for the man to get in.

The man spun and raised his hands in a defensive gesture. Frank balled up his fist, ready to throw a punch if the guy made a false move. As Joe reached the car, the man said plaintively, “I give up! Don't hurt me!”

Joe almost laughed, but Frank remained stern. “Who are you? What were you doing in Royal's condo?”

The man relaxed a bit. “I . . . I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

“Look, you,” Joe said, taking a menacing step forward, “don't give us any trouble.”

The man backed up and raised his hands again, even though it was obvious to both Hardys that he had no idea how to defend himself in a fight. He was only about five-foot-eight and had curly reddish hair and a rectangular-shaped face. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and pants.

“I'm Zeb Winters, a friend of Royal's,” the man said. “I came by to see him.”

Just at that moment Chelsea caught up with the brothers. She had a cell phone in her hand. “Should I call the police?” she asked.

“We're not sure yet,” Joe said. “Do you know this guy?”

Chelsea looked surprised. “Why, yes I do. He's Zeb Winters.”

“And he's a friend of Royal's?” Frank asked.

“Ha!” Chelsea laughed. “Bitter rival is more like it. He and Royal have been trying to one-up each other for years.”

Winters crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. “And I've won that battle more times than I've lost.”

“Okay, wise guy,” said Joe. “Now tell us why you're really here.”

“Why should I?” Winters said.

“Because somebody ransacked that apartment, and right now you're our number-one suspect,” Frank said.

“Hey,” Winters complained, “Royal's place was tossed before I got there.”

“We have only your word on that,” Joe said. “If you didn't wreck the place, tell us why you came.”

“Okay, okay. I came to confront Royal. I've seen his Town Called Chaos demo on the Internet, and I
know
that Royal stole my 3-D source code to make it. Town is way above Forest of Chaos, and Royal just doesn't have that much programming talent. Everybody in the industry knows that Anne Sakai was the brains behind that partnership. Royal's got a talent for marketing and promotion, yeah, and he's a pretty fair hacker, but there's no way he wrote that program himself.”

“Who's Anne Sakai?” Frank asked.

Winters stared at Frank as though he couldn't believe the question. “Who is Anne Sakai?” Winters repeated. “She was just the woman who put Steven Royal on the map! She did the lion's share of programming on the first two Chaos games—everybody knows that.”

“I remember that,” Joe said. “Katherine Chaos was supposedly modeled on Sakai herself.”

“Katherine Chaos was with Royal on the strategy book we saw, right?” Frank asked.

“She's the game's main character,” Joe replied. “She's an adventurer like Indiana Jones, and a real looker, too. That's one of the reasons the Chaos games have been so popular.”

“Yes, and that was Sakai herself in the picture with Royal.”

“Wow,” Joe said. “So the character
was
based on her.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “Where is this Sakai? If she and Royal broke off their partnership, we may want to talk to her, too.”

Winters laughed. Chelsea said sheepishly, “You can't talk to her. She died in a plane crash two years ago.”

“Yeah,” Winters added. “Sharks got her body. Pretty nasty. She kicked off right after Caverns of Chaos. Royal had to do Forest of Chaos solo, which is why it stank. And that's why I know that Royal stole my source code. He
had
to because Sakai isn't around to help him with the programming.”

“And I suppose you found proof of this in his apartment,” Joe said sarcastically.

“Well, no,” Winters admitted. “Like I said, I went up to confront Royal, but no one was home. His door was unlocked, though, so I went inside. I saw the place had been tossed, so I decided to
look around on my own. Then you guys showed up. Who are you anyway?”

“We're working with Viking Software,” Joe said. “We're looking for—”

Frank cut him off. “We're looking for someone who's been making threats against Royal and the company. And I'd say that you fit the profile.”

“Look,” Winters said, “I'm telling you that I didn't toss Royal's place.”

“Then why'd you run?” Joe asked.

“I thought maybe
you
were the ones who wrecked the joint, and maybe you'd come back for another go. I wasn't about to stick around to find out.”

“Well, I think you should stick around until the police check out your story,” Joe said. He pulled Winters's car keys out of the door lock and pocketed them.

“Aw, come on!” pleaded Winters.

“Just sit tight. The cops'll be here in no time,” Frank said. He nodded to Chelsea, and she punched the number into her cell phone. The Hardys turned to go back toward the condo.

“Hey!” Winters called after them. “Where are you guys going?”

“To make sure you didn't take anything from the apartment,” Joe said, trying not to smile.

• • •

When they got back to Royal's condo, Joe said, “Thanks for the save back there, Frank. I almost spilled to that guy that Royal is missing.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

Chelsea caught up to them. “The police said they'd be here shortly.”

“Then we'd better not waste any time,” Frank said. “I doubt they'll let us search the place once they get here. Let's fan out. Joe, you take the back rooms, I'll take the front. Chelsea, see what you can find on Royal's computer. Try not to disturb any more evidence than we already have.”

Chelsea and Joe nodded and the three set about their respective tasks. A few minutes later they gathered by the desk where Chelsea was working at the computer. Frank and Joe pulled up chairs and sat on either side of Phil's cousin.

“Only thing I found,” Joe said, “is this letter.” He held out a framed letter so the others could see it. “It's from someone named Ian Tochi. He says he's going to make trouble for Royal because of something in Forest of Chaos, though he doesn't say what.”

“I know what that is,” Chelsea said. “Tochi was an old friend of Royal's. He invented the Bombo Bear animatronic doll.”

“You mean that sappy talking bear that spouted clichés about loving everybody?” Joe asked.

“What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” said Frank.

“That's the one,” Chelsea said. “Anyway, Tochi got it in his head that the bear character in Forest of Chaos was a parody of Bombo. He's been making a stink about it ever since, but Royal never took it seriously.”

“Seriously enough to have it framed,” Frank said.

“That was just Steven's idea of a joke,” Chelsea said. “I think he likes ticking people off.”

“Which, I suppose, is why we're all here,” Joe said. “You find anything, Frank?”

Frank shook his head. Just then the phone rang. Royal's answering machine picked it up after one ring. “This is Royal,” the machine said in the game designer's voice. “I'm either off saving the world or conquering it. Leave a message.”

“Not a big ego,” Joe said sarcastically.

“Wait! Listen!” hissed Frank.

After the beep, the party on the other end of the line said, “This is Rosenberg. I'm waiting for you at my office, as you asked. But ten minutes from now, I won't be waiting any longer.”

“He must be waiting for Royal,” Joe said.

“Royal's sold us out!” Chelsea cried.

Frank and Joe got to their feet at the same time. “If we're lucky,” Frank said, “we can catch Royal and Rosenberg together.”

“How do we get to Rosenberg's office?” Joe asked Chelsea.

Chelsea stammered out quick directions, and the Hardys headed for the door.

“You stay here and wait for the police,” Frank told Chelsea. “We'll catch up with you after we talk to Rosenberg—and Royal.”

Joe tossed Winters's keys to Chelsea on the way out. He and Frank made their way from the building to their van. A glance from Joe as they passed told Winters that he'd better stay put. The rival designer leaned his chin on his fists and fumed.

Driving quickly but carefully, Frank and Joe arrived at the offices of Wondersoft nine minutes later. It was a five-story building that looked as though it had been constructed in the nineteen twenties. Like most of the buildings in Jewel Ridge, it showed signs of recent renovation. A tastefully painted sign on the glass of the front door read, Wondersoft. The Hardys dashed inside and past the guard at the door.