Greg Bear - Quantico

William put on his gogs and waited for the display to come up. The data and graphics looked greenish blue in the daytime, red at night. A little bell dinged in his earnode. He heard his own pulse magnified. He sounded nervous. He checked the pong sensor that detected human stress chemistry. The watch displayed three green lights, one yellow. Yeah, he was nervous. So was Rowland.

William glanced up at the Eyes in the Sky-cameras jutting out over the intersection from a power pole on the corner. A red light was on-surveillance was underway. The Masters of the Universe, agent instructors in the second floor command center above the Bank of Hogan, were waiting to pass judgment. MAVs-Micro Air Vehicles equipped with cameras-buzzed overhead.

William and Rowland were to take point once the suspects had been spotted. Team two and team three would serve as reinforcements and backup as each arrest was made. Team four would stand ready to intercept fleeing vehicles if necessary.

‘Team one to all teams,’ William said. Their grid lights blinked in his gogs. ‘Are we set?’

‘Team two in rear view of your position,’ came the response through their earnodes. That was Matty’s soft drawl-George Matty and Al-Husam had been partnered, almost certainly to Matty’s displeasure. He was a deep Mississippi boy and generally kept quiet around Al-Husam, but so far had played things professionally. And well he might. Al-Husam was special, they all knew that. Bigger judges than the Masters of the Universe were looking down on Quantico this year.

‘Team three here. We’re at Tolson Arms.’ Team three was Errol Henson, Nicky Di Martinez, and Carla Lee. They were in the dark blue engineering van, equipped for surveillance and carrying the Lynx server.

‘Team four setting up on State Street.’ Team four was Finch and Greavy, heavy-set men with bulldog expressions and quiet, efficient manners. ‘We’d like video hookups as soon as possible. Let us know which way they’re coming, gang.’

‘Apartment twelve at Tolson has motion,’ Lee said. ‘Lights are on.’

‘What’s parked out front, team three?’ William asked.

‘Five cars and a pickup,’ Errol Henson responded. His voice trembled. They were all high with excitement, like a brace of puppies chasing ducks for the first time.

William glanced at Rowland. She pressed her lips together.

‘Our suspect, Geronimo del Torres, is driving a 1959 Chevy Impala, primer gray with mottled paint, tinted windows, a work in progress, according to our sheet,’ Lee said.

‘We don’t see it,’ Henson said. ‘I like Impalas.’

Someone else said, ‘I catch and eat Impalas.’

‘Identify, joker,’ Farrow growled in all their ears, his voice like an angry God.

‘Team two, that’s me, Matty, sir.’

‘Tongues in neutral, team two.’

‘Yes, sir. Wit, sir.’

‘Team three here. A man and a woman, both Hispanic, are leaving unit twelve. They’re getting into a late model blue Camaro, license plate Wonka MF8905. Neither resembles del Torres.’

Hogantown police activities involved residents of five fictitious states: Graceland, Oceania, Sylvania, Wonka, and Numbutt. White-collar criminals usually came from Sylvania, smart crooks and contraband dealers of any stripe from Graceland; violent crooks from Wonka; drug dealers and dumb-asses from Numbutt. Profiling on that basis, however, was discouraged.

Matty pushed his head back against the neck rest. ‘I watched you in Rough-and-Tough. Very impressive.’

‘Thank you,’ Fouad Al-Husam said.

‘Natural born killer instinct.’

‘Not so killer,’ Al-Husam said. ‘They are images and cutouts, not people.’

‘Felt real to me. I wanted to throw up.’

‘Perhaps so did I,’ Al-Husam said.

‘Arabs don’t naturally like killing? That’s kind of news, isn’t it?’

‘I am not Arab,’ Al-Husam said, and he looked out of the car side window to avoid showing his irritation.

Matty glanced at Al-Husam. ‘I always feel like praying before going into practicals. How about you?’

Al-Husam nodded. ‘A little prayer,’ he said.

‘You pray five times a day, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘I hope you don’t need to get down and pray right here,’ Matty said. ‘That would be inconvenient.’

Al-Husam took a shallow breath.

‘Five times a day. That’s more than my grandma used to do. She and my mama put me off praying. They were always asking for little things. “God, make my garden green. God, let me grow the prettiest roses, the biggest tomatoes. God, I hope the pot roast doesn’t burn.” See what I mean? But going through Quantico, I totally get it. “God, don’t let me screw up.” Where do you pray when you have to?’

‘Wherever there is room. Shall we concentrate?’ Al-Husam asked.

‘I am concentrating. Got it. Hoo-ah!’ Matty exclaimed, and touched his gogs.

Al-Husam jerked in surprise, that this man should proclaim Huwa, the name of the essence, Qul Huwa Llahu Ahad-Say, He is God, He is One.

‘That plate was on the board,’ Matty said, triumphant. ‘Let’s run a check before the others catch it.’

‘Of course,’ Al-Husam said.

William twitched in his worn bucket seat. ‘We had a bulletin on that vehicle,’ he said to Rowland. ‘I saw it in the briefing room.’ He pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages, then resorted to the button pad hidden in his sleeve, to bring up the case on his gogs. Before he could find what he wanted, in his ear he heard Matty saying, ‘We ID that as belonging to a Constanza Valenzuela, registered guest worker from Honduras, no criminal record, nothing on VICAP.’

William frowned intensely at Rowland. ‘I’m sure there’s more,’ he said. Both worked their keypads. William’s face brightened and he parted his lips.

Al-Husam broke in before he could speak. ‘We have info that Ms. Valenzuela has gone missing in Wonka and that her car has not been located.’

‘What’s a stolen car from Wonka doing here in Virginia?’ William asked, muting his headset. ‘Highly suspicious.’

‘Confirm with a case number, Al-Husam,’ Farrow instructed. ‘Give the other teams all you have so they can log in and exercise their own judgment.’

Now it was Al-Husam’s turn to be slow.

Rowland butted in and read out an FBI Crime Index Case Number, issued to the Wonka Department of Public Safety. ‘VICAP not yet filed,’ she added.

‘Why no VICAP, Ms. Rowland?’ Farrow asked.

‘Recent missing person report,’ Rowland answered crisply. ‘Wonka authorities do not yet know whether a violent crime is involved, sir. That could be a car filled with buyers or partners. Or a mule’s car. It could lead us to the Impala.’

‘We’re on it, team three,’ said Matty. ‘Will follow.’

‘Team three will backup,’ Henson offered.

‘Negative,’ William said. ‘Team two is sufficient. Let’s head toward the Dogwood and see if we can find that Impala on our own.’

‘Roger that, team one,’ Henson said.

Rowland nodded and turned the old Caprice around in the middle of the street, heading toward the Dogwood Motel.

Team four reported they had bubble gum at the ready.

‘Just relax,’ William said. ‘We’re doing fine.’

Rowland narrowed her eyes.

If the Impala suspected it was being tracked, then eluded them and left Hogantown-which, of necessity, had few real escape routes-then Farrow would be very disappointed.

A map of the area around the motel popped up on William’s display. His eyes were tearing up-the image in his gogs was too bright. The map began to wriggle. None of the students had been fitted-these were generics and his tended to slide down his nose. He blinked and looked far left, then back. The view cleared. He saw two red dots moving south on Rosa Parks street-team two and team three. A small video square in the upper right corner showed what the van was seeing: team two’s Ford Crown Victoria and the suspect blue Camaro with Wonka plates. Traffic was light in Hogantown today. It would almost certainly get worse once they made their stop. Farrow liked to keep up the pressure and the presence of too many civilians in the line of fire would certainly do that.