The Phantom - 6. Chapter 6

Gerry staggered into the living room in his clothes from the day before, his eyes red and puffy, but altogether feeling far better than when he'd fallen asleep. Blearily rubbing his face, he asked, "So, what'd the cat drag in?"

Mark, seated at the table with coffee and a newspaper, looked up, blinking. He'd nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he'd sat down and his neck was paying the price this morning. With dark circles under his eyes, he looked about as bad as Gerry felt.

"Huh?" said Mark. He was not entirely awake yet, either.

"That's what I feel like," Gerry elaborated. "Something the cat dragged in." He went into the kitchen and poured some coffee. He stood there, sipping slowly.

"Where's the kid?"

"His name's Chris and --" Keys rattled and the front door swung open. "There he is."

Chris carried a confectionary box and a jug of orange juice. "I'm back!" he announced, beaming. "I've got donuts!" He dropped the juice with a thud on the table and started rooting through his pockets. "And change."

"Keep it," said Mark, already pawing through the box for one of the logs with cream filling. He didn't care for the pudding ones.

"Um," said Gerry, glancing at his watch. It was just after noon. His mind wanted to rebel, but his stomach was too hungry to care. A quick search of the cabinets revealed plates and glasses, but as he was the only one who seemed to actually want a plate, he just grabbed the glasses.

"You guys sure slept late," said Chris around a mouthful of donut. "Are you working on a story? Didn't get to ask you last night, must've been tired, huh? Is that why you were wandering around, around here? You're in the paper, too, want to see?"

Gerry and Mark exchanged a look.

"Sure," said Mark. He reached for the paper. They were not, thank God, on the front page, or even the first few, but towards the back, buried beneath an opinion column regarding the hike in public transportation fares. The snippet said little, only mentioning that Mark Marshall had caused a fuss at the airport and had to be arrested, charges pending.

Mark snorted. Charges were pending, all right. They had nothing on him, and he wasn't even in custody!

"Chris," said Gerry, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "Do you -- that is, would you mind if I used your computer? Do you have a computer?"

He leaped up, grinning. "Oh, yeah, sure. It's in my room."

"Bruce," Mark started to caution, looking up with a frown.

Gerry shrugged. "Of all the millions of people who have a computer in this city, there's no reason to believe he's stalking this one. Besides, he gave me this thumb drive. I want to see what's on it." In actuality, Gerry was a little disappointed, and worried, that the Phantom hadn't found him yet. What was the Phantom's connection to the Lair and to Grey Matter?

"Are you in trouble?" asked Chris in a worried voice.

"In a manner of speaking," Mark answered with a cheerful smile. Despite it all, being neck-deep in intrigue was thrilling, now that he wasn't in immediate danger of being murdered. "We're trying to help a ... friend of ours and there's some folks who don't want us to do that."

"Don't patronize me," sniffed Chris. "I get it. Just ..." He trailed off, looking around helplessly. This apartment, and his few belongings, were all he had in the world. It wasn't much, but he was rather attached.

"We're being as careful as we can," said Gerry, quickly comprehending the young man's concerns. They weren't much different from his own.

"We don't want to involve you," Mark added.

"Oh, no, this is really cool! Can I be in the credits?"

Gerry gave Chris' bony shoulder a sqeeze. "I'm sure we can think of an appropriate way to show our thanks. Why don't you show me that computer now?"

"I just want to gon on record as saying I think this is a bad idea," said Mark as he followed the other two into the master bedroom.

"Noted," said Gerry grimly, but tossing a smile Mark's way. A few minutes later, with Chris and Mark both hovering, he inserted the flash drive picked up from the Villain's Lair.

He chose to open the drive and view the files. There were a jumble of different files and folders with incomprehensible names, and one folder named BRUCE. He clicked on that one. Inside were three files: a video file, something saved as a web page, and an executable file called IMP.exe. He double-clicked on that one.

At first, nothing happened, but then a small, black rectangle appeared in the middle of the computer screen. In the upper left-hand corner was a blinking, white cursor.

<Phantom?> Gerry typed.

They waited.

"Who's the Phantom?" asked Chris. "Is he your 'friend?' Is he a super? Can I talk to him?"

"Not now," said Mark as a message appeared on the screen: <TTYL> Then the text box vanished.

"What does that mean?"

Gerry frowned in concern. "It means he's busy. Let's see what else is here." He opened the web page, which appeared to be some kind of chat transcript. Puzzled, he scanned through the log.

"Wait!" said Mark suddenly, hand on Gerry's arm. "Go back a bit." He directed Gerry back to the name that had all but leaped off the screen at him. "Vanzetti," he mused out loud. "That's the same as that guy, the one I told you about, the dead guy. I think he's involved with the mob."

"Uh, you need to go," said Gerry quickly, rising and halting Chris mid-question. He hustled him from the room. "We can't let you get any more mixed up in this."

"But ...!"

Gerry closed the door. "Are you sure?" he asked Mark.

"Positive," Mark answered firmly, nodding. "I've been thinking about it, and I need to check and be sure, but about a year ago, there was a falling out in the mob, one of the families split. Nasty business." He rubbed his chin with the back of one hand and indicated the screen. "I think it was this one. Wish I could remember more."

Gerry settled back in front of the computer. "Well, let's see what we can find out ...."

Twelve Days Previously

There was something wrong, Nico could feel it, and he always trusted his instincts, but this one was going to be SWEET! and he didn't want to let it unravel. Playing with Bruce was the highlight of his day, making an otherwise gruelling, thankless job entertaining. He grinned to himself at the reaction he imagined he'd get. Bruce wasn't easy to prank, and Nico loved nothing better than a good challenge.

But, when he felt the network start to fade -- fast! -- around him, he didn't stick around, but went straight back. There was nothing quite like stretching himself over hundreds of terabytes' worth of data storage. The massive servers of the Villain's Lair were only partially consumed, which left plenty of room for Nico and The Project. The brand-new data processing and storage servers were the sole reason he was there, and after squeezing into tiny personal computers or cramming into the network at university, these servers were pure heaven.

The fiber optic connection was the fastest Nico had ever experienced, zipping him and his work around the world at speeds around 7 Gbps. Certainly beat the university's T2 connection hands down. Certainly made it much more fun to play Warcraft and Diablo with IhateBeetles in India. He'd also gotten caught up on all the movies he'd missed lately, and accummulated thousands of songs to send Bruce's way if he ever turned his computer back on.

Laughing and rubbing virtual hands together in gleeful anticipation, Nico stretched out to ride the internet back out of the Lair, withdrawing from the network, and hit a brick wall. Moving faster, starting to get a wee bit concerned, he reached for the back-up connections, but the gates were closed. Internet service outside the building was off-line. Without power, he was trapped!

Then part of the the world inside the vast computer network went dark, pushing him out. Then another and another and Nico huddled within the mainframe, wondering just what the hell was going on. Anthing that affected the computer would affect him. He'd once been partially erased by accident, and it'd taken him weeks to put the pieces back together. The mind was pretty much like a supercomputer, but the patch job was just that, a patch, and there were some memories more damaged than others, some pieces that still refused to fit cleanly back where they belonged.

He took a few milliseconds to pull himself back from the edge of panic and start sending out queries. The entire network was gone; the complex ran off the emergency generator, which meant a fuse possibly blown. Okay, that wasn't so bad, he could just hang out and amuse himself solving complex mathematical equations until the electrical company got the power back on. In the meantime ... wait, there was a computer still on. How was that possible?

He couldn't access the security grid from here, not with the power down. The lone computer had no access to anything. Blind, deaf, and dumb, Nico hunkered down. He had a very bad feeling about this.

Someone typed into the computer, the data transmitted to Nico faster than a thought. Hungry for news, he absorbed the message greedily, and immediately wished he hadn't.

<We know you're in there, kid.>
<No sense playing dumb. We know all about you.>
<Very well.>
<Nicholas Vanzetti>
<Age 28 years, born 8 June>
<hair: black>
<eyes: green>
<height: 5-6>
<weight: 144>
<Shall I go on?>

Nico huddled in his corner of the mainframe, angry that he was so frightened. Who was it? How did he know? What did he know?

No, no, he needed to play the dumb computer for a little while longer, just enough time for the back-up plan to take effect. If he wasn't back on time, Marcell would inform Papa Vanzetti of what had happened.

He wished he had hands to cover his ears, or eyes to close as more information embeded itself in his consciousness: social security number, driver's license number, the number of plates and screws in his leg, the date of his mother's funeral, his mother's maiden name, her birthdate, his college and high school G.P.A. ... All that was missing, all that saved his sanity, was the location for and pin number for his lock box. Only Marcell knew that combination, and he was more trustworthy than a chastity belt. On Papa Vanzetti's say-so, he'd retrieve the worm that would erase Nico from existence. No one would ever be able to trace Nico back to the family. Ever.

Grey Matter Agent One turned to Grey Matter Agent Two as the computer remained quiescent. They both turned to regard the third member in the dim room.

Vincent Vanzetti swallowed audibly under those two penetrating gazes, blustering, "He's there! I tell you, he's there!"

"We do not appreciate liars, Mr. Vanzetti," Agent One said tonelessly, made all the more threatening by the voice modulator in his mask. Shutting down the Lair cost them thousands of dollars a minute.

The sweating man paled, but bristled in anger. "I know my son! He's a shifty, sneaky, conniving little rat! He's in there, just waiting, I tell you!"

Agent One folded his arms across his chest, regarding the Italian with an implacable gaze. "We find it quite interesting, Mr. Vanzetti," he said after a moment, "that you would sell your own flesh and blood in this way."

He knew, of course, that the Vanzetti crime family had split over the death of their leader almost a year ago. The family chose sides over who should be named the successor, with most going to support the younger brother, Francis, and leaving the rest to support the older brother, Vincent.

If the boy, Nico, could do what his father proclaimed, then the would-be mob boss's views were decidedly short-sighted -- not that Grey Matter would complain, but it explained perfectly the family preference for the (hopefully) smarter of the two brothers.

"Quite interesting," he drawled. To the mob, family was everything. Cross the family only at risk of beginning a feud that would not be finished until one side was completely exterminated.

Vanzetti's eyes narrowed and he stuck out his chin. "Whether the boy dies now or in your hands, I don't care. I want what he's stolen from me."

The Italian's story had not changed, at least. Agent One nodded to Agent Two. They would continue for now.

Grey Matter knew that someone was hacking their system. Activity had been spiking at irregular intervals for months, since even before the Lair was complete, so, discretely, of course, they let word slip of a handsome reward for knowledge leading to the apprehension of said hacker. The information in their databanks was too valuable to risk being compromised. They needed to capture the culprit and find out what he knew. If it was just a kid playing a game, then a bullet would quickly solve the issue. If it were more ... If what Vanzetti said were true, then capturing the hacker had potentially more value than the data itself.

They had to move quickly to secure the boy, but his body was not to be found on the premises. Without it, they had little to assure the boy's cooperation.

Agent One fixed Vanzetti with a fierce stare. He didn't need to stand to make his threat perfectly clear. "I warn you not to try my patience. Either convince him to come out, or otherwise convince me you are worth keeping alive."

Vanzetti stumbled backwards under the dual, menacing stares. "I ... don't -- where's his body? A good beating always seemed to do the trick."

Agent Two drew his weapon.

Agent One snapped, "There is no deal until delivery is complete! Mob in-fighting is no concern of mine."

The defiant facade cracked as Vanzetti stared down the barrel of that gun. "Turn it off," he croaked. "The computer. Turn it off. That'll do it."

Agent Two kept his gun trained on the mobster while Agent One turned back around.

<Last chance, young Nico> he typed. <Would be a shame to start off our relationship with a punishment.>
<No?>
<Very well.>

The computer turning off did not at first bother Nico. As long as the generator still ran, the servers would have power. From previous experience, he knew the Lair lacked access to wi-fi or satellite networks, and there was something in the building that blocked cell phone service as well, but the potential for land lines was there. He hated using dial-up because of the prohibitive lack of speed, but if whomever it was thought he was trapped here, they could think again. It might take days, but Nico could get out ... hopefully. It was a chance, at least, that he was willing to take.

The sudden, inexplicable lack of generator hum startled Nico. In a flash of electrons, he darted over to check the battery supply. The back-up to the generator was a battery enabling the system to survive for a maximum of three hours on minimum system load. With everything shut down, he could safely double that.

An error warning flashed across the circuits, interrupting those consoling thoughts milliseconds before plunging him into dark oblivion.

He came to with startling abruptness to find several hours had elapsed in the blink of an eye. With the entire supercomputer at his disposal, he quickly checked to be sure he remained in one piece. Only then did he pay any attention to the data thrown at him from that one, lone terminal.

The words were much the same as before, and Nico ignored them once more, searching out the emergency re-start procedures and starting to send tendrils of data along the one avenue of escape left to him.

System shut-down caught him again before he could make contact with the city's phone company. He knew upon waking that some information had been lost. He would not try that again. There had to be a better way.

<Willing to talk yet?>

<FUKU>

Agent One smiled behind his mask. "Now we're getting somewhere," he muttered.

The Present

"They can't be serious," gasped Mark, sitting backwards on a chair to stare at the screen.

Gerry sat back, rubbing his neck. "Looks like they are."

"But finding the Grey Lady?! That's insane! She's a psychopath!"

"And dead."

"Supposedly," said Mark. He rubbed his face, glancing over to his friend. "Hey, mate, at least he's okay, right?"

"Oh, sure, if you count hacking into a supervillain's data trove and stealing millions 'OK.'" He shook his head. "This is ... How the hell are we supposed to do anything? Why not go bother an actual superhero? We're in waay over our heads, Mark."

He sighed, deciding to ignore Gerry's defeatist attitude for the time being. "What's on the video?"

"Oh. Forgot about that."

He played the video and they squinted to make out a silent, black and white security cam recording. Something about this seemed awfully familiar to Mark.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's the ..."

Airport, he finished, as he came in view. He spoke to the security guard who pulled out his walkie-talkie. A minute later, more airport security appeared. The camera switched angles to follow as the guards led Mark away from the curious spectators.

"Okay," he said quickly, grabbing for the mouse. "Turn it off." He had no wish to see himself running through the terminals, or wrestled to the ground, or having the shit kicked out of him. "How did you get this?"

"I told you," said Gerry, giving Mark a quizzical look. "The Phantom gave it to me." He knew from their conversation the night before that this was footage of Mark getting 'arrested.' "Maybe he thinks we might need it."

Standing, Mark stood and went over to the window, pushing aside the blinds to peer out. According to the papers, he was currently in jail. "Getting to me to get to you," he muttered darkly.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." He turned around. "This still doesn't explain why they want you." He frowned. "Or even how they know about you."

Gerry cracked his knuckles, facing the keyboard once more. "Let's find out."

He opened the chat window and typed <Phantom?>

The reply came back quickly, but was also short. <SOT>

<SOS>

<IK. How?>

<BB>

"What does that even mean?" asked Mark in exasperation, having come back across the room.

"Well," Gerry translated, "This means he doesn't have much time to talk. I'd say the Greys are keeping him busy. I asked 'What do you want?' and he replied with 'Help.'"

"Okay, guess I got that. Now what?"

"He had to leave, he'll 'Be back' soon, I think, since he didn't close out the message -- oh!" He chuckled.

"What?"

"I just figured out what it means."

"What what means?"

"IMP. It stands for 'Instant Message Phantom.'" He grinned.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Cute." He thought for a minute. "Does this mean he can trace us?"

"I don't know. Either way, we shouldn't stay here long."

"Right. Find out what he wants, then."

<Bruce?>

<The job will B done soon. Need U 2 find my uncle. Tell him>
<Tell him I want the bullet. He'll know what I mean>
<ND don't take no for an answer>
<It's what I want>
<SIG2R>

"So?" Mark demanded as text and box vanished again.

Gerry looked up at Mark, eyes dark with worry. "I have a bad feeling about this."