J. Robb - Purity in Death

"Good luck." When Eve went in, Mira sipped her wine, looked at the flowers and the bright, bright bird. And daydreamed a little.

Eve stopped by the lab first, then just backed out again. There was some discussion, debate, or argument going on in the sort of tech jargon that invariably gave her a headache.

Deciding they'd let her know something when they had something to let her know, she swung into the room Baxter was using as an office.

"What's the word?"

"I've got many names connected to one or more of the vics that are in the system. Cops, lawyers, Child Services, medicals, the handful of complainants that weren't sealed. Broke that down to names that popped on at least two of the vics and ran those. Just zipped the data to your unit. Our pal Nadine Furst covered the George trial. That putz Chang's down as media liaison."

"I guess that figures." She sat on the edge of his desk. "What's your gut?"

"That if we've got any family members involved, and we do, they're in the sealeds. You're stewing about it; you're carrying wounds over it; you want your privacy."

"Yeah, that's mine, too. And if you're going to talk to anyone about it, about what you're carrying, it's going to be somebody who was there with you. Somebody who knows and stood for you and yours."

"You're looking at Clarissa Price."

"And looking hard. You know anything about DS Dwier, out of the Sixteenth?"

"Nothing I didn't read in his file when he popped. Want me to ask around?"

"Yeah, quietly." She hesitated. "Does it bother you?"

"Looking at another badge?" Baxter puffed out his lean cheeks. "Yeah, some. It's supposed to bother us. Otherwise, we'd all be IAB, wouldn't we?"

"There you go. You can bend the line. You can even move it a little sometimes. But you can't break it. Break it, and you're not us anymore. You're them. Dwier broke it, Baxter. That's my gut."

She pushed off the desk, walked around the room. "You've used Trueheart a few times, right?"

"A couple. Good kid. Fresh as a daisy yet, but eager."

"If I brought him in on this, would you use him?"

"I've got no problem dumping some…" He sat back, cleared his throat. "You asking me to train him?"

"No, just… okay, yes. Sort of. You're second grade, so you qualify, and he could use somebody to work him, rub some of the dew off him without dulling the shine. Interested?"

"Maybe. I'll take him on this one-contingency. We'll see how we fit."

"Good." She started for the door, then stopped. "Baxter, why'd you transfer in from AntiCrime?"

"Couldn't get close enough to you, honey." He winked suggestively, and when she just stared blandly, shrugged. "Got restless. Wanted Homicide. Never a dull moment."

"You can say that again."

"Never a-"

"You're such a jerk," she replied. And turning ran straight into Roarke.

The man could move like a ghost.

"Sorry to break up this tender moment," he began. "But we've got a second shield ready. We're about to run it with one of the Fitzhugh units."

"Who won the coin toss?"

He smiled. "It was agreed, after some debate, that the initial operator would continue in that function. Do you want to observe from in here, or your office?"

"We'll use mine. It's bigger." She closed a hand over his wrist. "No heroics."

"I'd never qualify for hero status."

"I order a shutdown, you shut down." Her hand slipped down until their fingers linked. "You got that?"

"Loud and clear. You're in charge, Lieutenant."

Eve drank coffee because she wanted something to do with her hands. Feeney sat at her desk, manning a secondary unit they'd brought in as a control. If something went wrong in the lab, he could crash the system remotely.

Jamie hovered over him, so close they looked like one body with two heads.

"Why can't we do the whole thing remote?" Eve asked.

"You lose operator instinct," McNab told her. "You got him right there, at the infected unit. He can make judgment calls in a blink."

"Besides-ow." Jamie rubbed his belly where Feeney's elbow had landed.

"Besides what?" Eve demanded. "Don't pull this e-solidarity crap with me. McNab?"

"Okay, okay, in simple terms we can't be sure the shield will filter out the infection during an interface. It could, probably would, spread from one unit to another. We figure that's how it pumped into the eight units we hauled out of Fitzhugh's place. Infect one, infect all. Efficient, time-saving, and thorough. So if we try a remote, it could leak into the other unit, potentially through the whole system."

"We need more data to confirm," Jamie piped up. "Then we'll create a shield to handle that area. Priority was shielding the operator while he extracts the data. When you're dealing with a remote, and a multisystem network, the units have a language. They, like, talk to each other, right? The infected unit's got a different language, compatible, but different. Like, I dunno, Spanish and Portuguese or something."

"Okay." Eve nodded. "I get that. Keep going."

"Me and McNab, we're working on what you could call a translation deal. Then we can zap it in, run sims. We'll shield the whole system. We figure we'll be able to link to CompuGuard and shield the whole damn city."

"Getting ahead of yourself, Jamie. One thing at a time." Feeney glanced up at the wall screen where they could see Roarke attaching the sensors.

"Gonna run your medicals. You copy?"

"Yes."

"Medicals normal. You're good to go."

"Booting."

Eve never took her attention away from the screen. Roarke had tied his hair back as he often did when he was working. And his shirt was carelessly open. His hands were quick and steady as he slid the disc into its slot.

"Loading the filter. Estimate seventy-two seconds to upload on this unit. Loading Jamie's code breaker. Forty-five. Running diagnostic from point of last attempt. Multitasking with search and scan for any programs loaded within the last two weeks."

He was working manually, with those quick and steady hands, relaying his intentions in a voice that was brisk and cool, and beautiful.

"Disc and hard copy of data requested, as accessed. Upload complete. We're shielded. There now, Jamie. Fine job. Data's coming up readable. Here now, what's this? You see the data on monitor, Feeney?"

"Yeah, yeah, wait.Hmmm."

"What?" Eve shook McNab's good shoulder. "What are they talking about?"

"Ssh!" Such was his concentration, he didn't notice her jaw drop at his command as he drove his chair closer to the screen. "That is so total." Forgetting himself, he started to push himself up. And his dead hand slid off the arm of the chair.

For a moment, he simply froze, and Eve's throat filled at the look of shocked panic on his face. Then he adjusted the chair smoothly, bringing it to a different position so he was higher and straighter, with a better view of the monitor.

The room was full of jargon again, rapid questions, comments, observations as foreign to her as Greek.

"Somebody speak in English, damn it."

"It's bloody brilliant. I shouldn't have missed this on the first pass." Roarke reached over to another control, keyed in commands by feel. "Ah, bugger it. She's trying to fail-safe. Not yet, you bitch, I'm not done with you."

"Shield's breaking up," Feeney warned him.

"Shut down," Eve ordered. "Shut it down."

"It's still at ninety percent. Hold your jets there, Lieutenant."

Before she could repeat the order, Feeney interrupted. "He's all right yet, Dallas. Medicals are holding. Son of a bitch's pulse barely shows a blip. He must run on ice. Roarke, go to shell. Try the-"

"I'm in the flaming shell." His voice was a mutter, and Irish now as a shamrock. "And I've already tried that. Clever bastard. Look here, look at this. It's voice printed. Can't override manually. Fuck it, there she goes."