The Sapporo Outbreak (4 page)

Skinner sat forward. "Three billion? Well - I don't pretend to understand the technology driving it all, but if there's some pretty expensive equipment in a cupboard somewhere, then it doesn't surprise me. Really Andrew, when you try out this new game it's like walking into a different world. It feels ...
real
. I guess that level of reality needs billions of dollars to feed it?"

"Maybe your right Ben, but it's ringing bells in Homeland Security. A lot of this has been built on the quiet, through different holding companies and offshore vehicles. It's taken a while for us to piece it together, and it's hard to believe all this is for one, big game. And another thing. These data centres are spread all over the world - the biggest somewhere in Japan - and they're going to be capturing data and God knows what else about almost every adult American. We don't like it Ben - it doesn't smell right."

"I'm not sure what you want me to tell you Andrew. I'm a criminologist. I can tell you that they've built a hell of game, and that the bad guys in it are pretty damn realistic. But still - it's just a game. A truly amazing game, but just a game."

"Y-e-a-h." Morris stretched out the vowels, seemingly reluctant to continue. "That leads me to my last question. How well do you know Kaito Tanaka? Should we be worried about the man?"

Skinner paused for a second, surprised by the unexpected question, and then broke into a broad smile.
 

"Tanaka? Kaito Tanaka? Don't tell me Homeland has him tagged as a bad guy? Tanaka's smart and very eccentric - the ultimate nerd-made-good. He's enthusiastic, and sure he's a little crazy. But I can't see him as a someone Homeland should be concerned with."

Morris' face darkened. He pushed forward, the leather squeaking as he moved.

"Ben. The world knows Tanaka as the WhiteStar guy. An eccentric gaming nerd turned multi-billionaire. Let me tell you how Homeland see him. We've been looking at this guy for two years now. Do you want to know what the combined resources available to Homeland has uncovered?"

Intrigued and a little disturbed by his friend's ominous tone, Skinner slowly shook his head.
 

"No."

"Nothing Ben, nothing. Sure - we know Tanaka's background, we know about his wife and daughter, we know about starting his business in a Japanese cafe. We know all the stuff that's in the brochure. But we don't know the
man
at all. It's like he's managed to hide in plain sight. Everyone knows
of
Tanaka, and yet no one really understands him, what makes him tick. What about you Ben? He contacted you personally, and you've worked with him for the last eighteen months. What can you tell me about Tanaka?"

Skinner's brow furrowed.
 

"It's funny Andrew. I've spent eighteen months dealing with the man. I've met him maybe a dozen times in half a dozen different countries. I've spent days in his presence. Yet - when I really think about it - I can't say I know the man at all."

Morris nodded as if he expected it.

Skinner continued; "Jesus Andrew, I've build a career understanding people - and turns out I've missed this guy completely. Now - that
is
interesting."

#

5pm Tuesday, Santa Clara County (Minus 29 Hours)

Three years earlier, on an icy-cold grey winter's morning with the wind howling up the Delaware River, Dr Stanley Kosner decided to leave New Jersey. To leave a career, his wife and some bad memories behind and take up the position of Lead Medical Examiner at the Santa Clara County Coroner's office.
 

It was the second best decision he'd ever made. The first had been the divorce.

It was late in the afternoon, and the winter sun was starting to set. Kosner was looking forward to calling it a day, since his move to California he'd found his days had slid backward. He got up for a run before the sun rose, and was getting tired by dinner. He was already regretting his early start and long run this morning, and stifled a yawn as he tried to focus.
   

Dr Kosner combed his thick grey hair with the outstretched fingers of his right hand, then hunched forward to read from the ring-bound folder on his polished oak desk. The low drone of the air conditioning vent in the ceiling was the only sound humming softly as Kosner methodically read through the forensic report. A minute or two later, Dr Kosner carefully closed the folder, sat upright in his high-back leather chair, clasped his hands together and gazed at his visitor. Sitting in a worn brown leather chair arranged to face Dr Kosner across his large, impeccably organised desk was the investigating officer, Santa Clara Police Detective Steve Clark.
 

At 6'2" and 220 pounds, Clark cut an imposing figure. One of the few African-American detectives in Santa Clara County, his large frame and blunt approach disguised a sharp, analytical mind. Over time Clark had become the main man on difficult cases.

The leather chair groaned as Clark shifted his weight and fixed his eyes on the doctor.
 

"So, Doctor...." Clark paused for a second, unhurried, calm - as if this sort of carnage happened every day, "...can you tell me how a 13-year old girl, who must weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, could tear apart a fit young woman?"

Slightly unnerved by Clark's hard stare, Kosner subconsciously flicked the photographs in the forensic report lying on his desk. "It's difficult to say - this really is a very unusual incident. The girl has what appears to be traumatic self-inflicted wounds, significant corneal abrasion, a detached retina and deep tears on her eyelids and the skin around her eyes."

"So what? She tried to scratch her
own
eyes out?"

"All I can tell is that these injuries are very serious and - judging from the location and direction of the wounds and tissue under her nails - appear to be self-inflicted. Obviously, I can't tell you why she would do this to herself. There's no sign of drug or alcohol abuse in the young girl. Your department's report reveals no previous incidents of any kind. On the contrary, it appears she was a smart, gentle model student from a supportive, well-balanced home."

Clark's expression darkened. He shuffled forward again, his knees now pressed against the polished wooden desk. "Doctor, I don't need you to tell me what it's not. I'm here so can tell me what it is - or at least what it
could
be? You have to give me something to work with."

"Believe me, I understand how you feel Detective. I haven't seen an attack of this nature before from a fully grown adult, let alone from a young girl. It's not just the ferocity, it's the form it took. The bites to the face and neck are extremely deep, and it appears the girl chewed the flesh during the attack.
 

The behaviour of the girl during the attack is similar in some ways to a condition know as 'Furious Rabies'. In these cases, the infected animal can not only kill or seriously injure other animals that it comes into contact with, but inflict serious injuries on itself. However, there's no reported incident of this crossing over to humans and, if it had, the blood test would have picked this up. Although I haven't any personal experience, other coroners have reported similar injuries over the past few years. However, in every one of these cases the psychoactive drug Methylenedioxypyrovalerone was present."

Clark shrugged. "In English please, Doctor."

The doctor nodded. "Of course, I'm sorry. You might know this drug by one of several street names, such as MDPK, Cloud 9, Peeve, Magic Maddie or Bath Salts."

Clark pushed back into the worn brown leather chair and let out a frustrated sigh.
 

"Cloud Nine? But the girl came up clean."

"Yes Detective, I'm aware of that. That's why this is such an unusual incident and why I took the liberty of consulting a colleague of mine about this. Dr Edwards is the Professor of Psychiatry at UCS. Having reviewed the case notes, Dr Edwards feels the girl that attacked Mrs Brennan may have been suffering from an extreme form of paranoid delusion. I'm inclined to agree."

"So - you're saying she was crazy?"

Kosner paused, torn between his natural desire for accuracy and the need to get his message through to the detective.
 

"I'd say deeply delusional Detective, the girls rage most likely driven by fear. Both Dr Edwards and I suspect the girl was living in her own world, separated from reality. And whatever was happening in this private world of hers was sufficiently terrifying for her to attack without regard for her safety. The only silver lining to this tragedy Detective is that it's almost certainly an isolated incident. I seriously doubt we'll be seeing another attack like this for a very long time, if ever."

#

8pm Tuesday, Washington D.C (Minus 29 Hours)

"Yes sir, your guest is already seated. Shall I take your coat?"

Ben Skinner nervously glanced past the Maitre d' and into the dining area, resembling a first class dining room in some 20s ocean liner. The constant hum of conversation and Nina Simone drifted through the air as a team of waiters in black moved through the carefully lit room in choreographed ever-smiling efficiency.

"Ehm, yes. Thank you." Skinner hurriedly peeled off his leather gloves, unbuttoned his classic three-button cashmere dress coat and handed both to the Matrie d'. Without skipping a beat, the man smoothly passed both to a petite young waitress behind him. With a faint nod and a smile, he waved a cuff-linked sleeve toward the other diners. "Please follow me sir."

As they navigated between tables filled with the expensively dressed power brokers and wealthy Georgetown residents, Skinner suddenly felt out of place. The hotel had performed miracles, cleaning and pressing his shirt and the single-breasted Hugo Boss suit in record time. He had dressed for the occasion, and yet as he gazed around at the Washington insiders plotting, scheming and living politics, Skinner realised he'd never fit in here. Power, politics, greed - the raison d'etre for Washington's elite - left him cold.
 

The Maitre d' slowed to a stop, and Skinner very nearly careened into the back of him. Unruffled, the man smiled while pulling out a heavy Georgian period chair. "Your table Sir".

Skinner stepped toward the table and, for a moment, stood motionless and stared. Thirty four year old Psychologist Eva Santos gazed up at him and smiled. Her smooth brown skin contrasting with the white cotton off the shoulder evening dress, her thick, wavy black hair falling over her bare shoulders.
 

"Ben - it's good to see you. I was beginning to think I'd been stood up."
 

Gathering his thoughts, Skinner smiled back, leaning over and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I'm so sorry Eva, I really am. I had an odd little issue crop up as I was leaving today's presentation."

Settling back into his seat at the table, Skinner took a short, sharp breath and tried his best to focus on the conversation rather than the beautiful doctor sitting opposite. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?"

"Not at all. I arrived 15 minutes ago. I'm staying not too far away, at the Morrison House in Alexandria. I figured I'd get here pretty quickly, but I got held up by the snow on the way through Rosslyn. It's no problem Ben."

Skinner relaxed a little, "Oh good - how is Michelle? Did she mention we caught up last week?"

"She did Ben, and she really appreciated it. She told me to thank you - she likes hearing your stories, says you have a way of painting a picture. Told me to watch out for you - she thinks you sound ... charming"

Santos giggled as Skinner squirmed. She had introduced the professor to her sister several months earlier. Michelle had been blinded in a car accident when she was 13 and Eva was 18. The accident had killed both parents, and she had taken on the role of parent and big sister. Together they'd learned to cope with Michelle's loss of sight. Their bond was unbreakable. Skinner didn't know it, but he was the first man Eva Santos had ever introduced to her sister.

Santos was delighted when - a few hours earlier - Michelle had smiled and told her that she wholeheartedly approved of the handsome professor.
 

Santos smiled warmly back at Skinner. When they first met in spring last year, she'd been on the downward spiral toward a breakup, and Skinner had been a breath of fresh air. Smart, funny and self-effacing, he'd been wonderfully supportive as she nursed some fairly raw emotional scars. They'd been thrown together as part of a small team of consultants engaged by WhiteStar Corporation to assist in the development of their next generation game. The work involved taking leaves of absence from their day-to-day work and travelling the world to visit various test facilities, and during their far-flung travels they had grown very close. Over the last few months, their warm friendship seemed to be evolving into something more. Santos was ready, and despite Skinner's endearing shyness, she felt he was to.

Skinner nodded, he seemed a little distracted. Santos continued, "Anyway, I got here, and I'm really pleased I did. I've been looking forward to this since you called."

Santos grinned. That seemed to get his attention. "Really? I have to. I, I mean ... since I called you. Erm - you know what I mean Eva - it's great to see you!".

Santos burst out laughing at Skinner's awkwardness. For weeks now she had noticed him act more nervously around her. By any measure, Ben Skinner was a catch. Handsome and despite his success, - she was fairly sure he was the youngest ever Chair at the University of Maryland. He was certainly a very humble man. Santos knew women noticed Skinner whenever he entered a room, she'd seen heads turn as he walked toward her table tonight. Yet he seemed oblivious to the attention, or at least, ambivalent.
 

Noticing Skinner looked a little crestfallen, Santos said, "Ben, I really have missed you." She leaned forward and placed her small warm hand over his. Skinner felt a rush of excitement as he gazed back into the brown eyes of Dr Eva Santos. Tonight, for sure, he was going to gather the courage to tell her how he felt.