Crossover Earth '98

12...

11...

10...

With each number that flashed on the computer monitor, Dave LaRouche sweated just a little more onto the starched collar of his waiter's uniform. His arms, already numb from struggling against the rough hemp rope that bound him to the metal sculpture, gathered for one last futile tug against his restraints.

9...

8...

7...

The blaring of the fire alarms had faded into the back of his mind several minutes ago. They had distracted him from his helplessness for about fifteen seconds, and from the flashing numbers on the screen in front of him for maybe twice as long. And from the ominous device attached to the terminal for a full minute. But just beyond the ringing he could hear the sound of emergency sirens. They were here, but it was too late. Too late.

6...

5...

4...

He took a look around the painfully conservative lobby, so decorated to suit the needs of the financial corporations who rented space here. The presentation was absolutely ruined by the presence of a half dozen motionless bodies. Lou and Ian, the security guards. Leslie. Don. Richard. Danielle... he had had such hopes... Morbid self-pity was interrupted by the sound of a fireman's axe breaking the window on one of the front doors, the chains still preventing easy access for the emergency crews. "RUN!" he heard himself shout hoarsely, the sound completely lost in the noise.

3...

2...

1...

Instinctively he braced for the worst, his eyes clenching shut. A warm feeling crossed his thigh as his bladder released. "Great, I wet my pants." he thought to himself, then immediately cursed himself for such a horrible set of last words. Wait just a minute. If I have time to think about my last words, then what...? His eyes flicked open to take in the last sight of his life.

Pleasant dreams, Dave.

The fiery explosion gutted the bottom two floors of the building.


Copycat: King's Gambit                                                                  Steve Stackhouse


:Loading...

:Now on-line. Hello BRIAN KEY. You last logged on at 16:25:37 on 4/19/98.

:You have ONE e-mail message. Read it (y/n)? y

:Loading...

:Hey there, Spaz!

:

: 47) Nd2 Qc6

: If Rxc6 then Rb1+ and mate in 2

: Otherwise Qxg2 leads to mate in 4

: Once again our game imitates reality. Care to lose yet again?

:

: -Bobbi

Brian's fist struck the armrest of his seat violently. The two men sitting in the seats behind him exchanged a significant look and a twenty dollar bill while the woman at the front of the airplane's cabin glanced over her shoulder with an amused smile.

"She beat you again Brian? That's what, seven games in a row now?"

"Maybe you should give it up, she's obviously got your number." This from the semi-well attired gentleman behind him. His clothes were expensive, if more than a little gaudy, giving him that much sought after Miami Vice look. At least that's how Lance Berg liked to think of it. "Besides, should you really be playing chess with someone you're trying to track down? Remember, you're dealing with a lunatic."

Brian shut off the laptop with a snarl and a nearly audible grinding of his teeth. A single sharp tug on his tie loosened it enough to be easily removed, and he laid back as far as he could within the seat. "That's the problem. She's a brilliant lunatic, so you can't tell which way she'll jump. She's impossible to analyze - you can't dissect her or predict her. Which means she isn't a lunatic at all..."

"Can't think of anyone who's ever beaten you EIGHT in a row before." remarked the t-shirt and jeans attired newly-wealthy young man. His appearance screamed computer geek, and it was a good assessment of his job within the group. His smile went from playfully teasing to apologetic quickly at a pointed glare from the woman in front, "Calm it down, Tanya. Just having a little fun."

"I know where your fun usually leads. Last time it nearly got you thrown out without a parachute." Tanya asserted as she rose to her feet, tossing a pile of papers in front of the youth. "Here Joel, why don't you run these into the database, see if anything comes up." Joel's face fell visibly at the stack before him, then began thumbing through it quietly as he accepted the reproval. With the current situation, they didn't need any distractions.

"Any word from Detroit on the bombing, Tanya?" Brian's voice cut through the silence a few moments later. He had the somewhat rumpled look of the terminally driven workaholic, and tieless was about as relaxed as he ever seemed to be. Even when he was celebrating some accomplishment there was an edge to his activities, something boiling away just beneath the surface.

Tanya shook her head slowly from side to side negatively. The question was a pointless one, really, since the police were under orders not to so much as touch the scene except to get survivors out. "Nothing yet. We've got nine dead, including two fire fighters who happened to be too close when the blast occurred. Seven injured from the shrapnel. God only knows how much property damage."

"Not exactly her MO. Maybe there was a timing flaw?" Lance chimed in, "I mean, she usually doesn't leave bodies lying around."

"She did once. Remember?" Tanya countered, leaning across the back of the seat with her arms crossed over the top. "Maybe these two are related somehow."

"THAT, folks, is what we are going to attempt to find out. All you're doing right now is guesswork. We don't earn our money on guesswork." Brian rose out of his seat and began to walk towards the back where a small table covered with a United States Governmental Seal was surrounded by a few chairs. "So who's up for a game?"


The crowd had been mostly dispersed by the time they arrived, leaving the police officers with very little to do except mill around and gawk at the devastation. Most of the lower level of the office tower had been destroyed and glass covered the the streets from the broken windows of the nearby buildings. The barrricades surrounding the block kept the early morning traffic away from the scene, but a few of those walking past paused to add their own stares before moving hurriedly on to their own jobs.

"Blasted slow traffic... Lance, go find whoever's in charge of this circus and get him over here five minutes ago. Joel, you get your gear set up in the van. Tanya, you're with me. Let's move people." Brian uncurled from his seat and strolled across the plaza with a purposeful gait, barely slowing down to flash his ID to the waiting officers. Tanya followed quickly at his heels, carrying an oversized briefcase and flashing her own identification.

The pair of them exchanged a nod as they carefully picked their way through the rubble. The actual investigation would take hours, but the early evidence was fairly grisly. They did their work in silence, slowly circling toward the center of the blast, pushing broken stone and glass out of the way with their feet.

"Senior Detective John Adams here, I'm... I mean I was in charge of the investigation." The detective grinned and extended his hand as Brian looked up, "You must be the Federal investigators."

"That's us. I'm Brian Key and that's Tanya Meier. What have you got for us, Detective?" Brian shook the hand strongly, once, then released and looked around with a deep breath.

"Not much, I'm afraid. We've got officers watching every major highway and means of public transportation out of the city, but the odds of getting anything that way are horrible. Especially if Cheshire's behind this..."

"She's not."

"... You know better than... What?"

"Fischer isn't behind this. She's not this sloppy. Her MO is surgical strikes, not careless destruction. Take a look at this." Brian and John walked over to one of the bodies, horribly mangled by the explosion, "See this? All this damage from the shrapnel, but there is one right here that was cut nice and straight. Directly across the throat. Haven't checked them all out yet, but I'll bet most of these were killed that way. Before the blast."

"But I thought she was supposed to be a vicious killer. That's what all the news reports say, anyway."

"Third rate propaganda. You know how the media is about their stories. A bombing isn't sensational enough these days without a few major injuries."

"Brian, you better take a look at this." Tanya's voice called the two of them over to the main desk. "This one here. No wounds like the others, but he was tied up at the time of the explosion."

"Damn, that ties it. Lance! Get me the Director. We've got big problems here. Detective, not a word of this gets to the press. You hear me? Not a single leak or I'll have your stripes." With that Brian stormed off, leaving a gaping Detective Adams behind.

"Is he always like this?"

"Just on his good days. I think he likes you. Give me a hand with this, I think I've found a few pieces of the bomb itself..."

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