"Art Bailey, ma'am," the man said, and held out a firm, square hand.

"The Truth Team Commander," Eileen said, shaking the hand and gesturing to a chair. "Still no Lowell."

"Nope, he's still out of it," Art said, and sat in the chair abruptly. Eileen looked at the droop of the shoulders and the cast of the eyes and realized Art was more than distressed- he was completely exhausted. The man should have ruddy skin tones with all those freckles, but he was a shade closer to gray.

"Tell me about the Game, Art. I want to find out who killed Terry, and the best way to do it is to find out what happened."

Art nodded. Eileen had thought that with the blond hair Art would have blue eyes; instead, they were a deep and opaque brown. The color gave a somber expression to the otherwise round and cheerful face.

"All right, where shall I start?"

"Tell me everything that happened today. Just start when you got up and go through everything," Eileen asked. Art shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head. He put a hand to his lips and pinched the lower one. Major Blaine was a lip biter. Art Bailey was a pincher.

"My day started at four-fifteen, I got up and showered and fixed the coffee for Meg and me. She gets up at five to get the kids off to day care at six-thirty, so I always get the coffee made and feed the dogs before I leave at four-thirty."

"You do all that in fifteen minutes?" Eileen asked.

"I'm a time-and-motion kind of person, Miss-"

"Reed. Call me Eileen."

"Eileen. I read this book when I was a kid, it's called Cheaper by the Dozen, you ever hear of it?"

"I think I saw the movie," Eileen said, amused.

"Yeah, there was a movie too. Anyway, the dad and mom were time-and-motion-study experts. And the dad would experiment with how quickly he could get dressed in the morning-b.u.t.toning up his vest from bottom to top, for instance, because it was faster. I do the same thing-that's one of the reasons I'm in this job."

"Okay."

"So I have everything ready to go, I'm out the door in fifteen minutes flat, the only thing I slow down for is a kiss for Meg. And I'm in here thirty-two minutes later-that includes the drive, parking, going through the retinal scanner, badge check, capsule doors ..."

"I know, I know," Eileen said, and Art chuckled rustily.

"An amazing amount of work to get in here, isn't it? I hardly notice it anymore, actually.

"So I have to open up the Gaining Center, which means I go through a checklist to see that all doors are closed and locked, all the terminals are shut down, all the printers are empty-"

"You check all the doors?" Eileen asked sharply.

"Yes, there are three. And I sign a doc.u.ment in each door along with the time, to verify that I've checked it. The lists are changed when the sheet of paper gets full-I know where you're going with this," Art said, holding up a hand as Eileen opened her mouth to speak. "There should be lists going back to the time the doors were hung on this Center."

Eileen nodded, and wrote in her notebook. Art waited politely for her to finish.

"I also check the safes where cla.s.sified information is stored, and sign off those too. Then I log on to the master terminal, and if it's an ordinary day I do whatever needs to be done- test new software, get new machines set up or old ones upgraded. This morning is a Game Day, so Joe and I-"

"When did Joe come in?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, that's right. He got there at five-thirty, so he helped me check the rooms in the center."

"Check them for what?"

"Pop cans, mostly," Art said. "We do our testing in here and it becomes pretty frantic before a game. So before we have a Game, we have to clean up house. The janitors vacuum and carry out the trash, but they never touch papers on the desks. One of the rules. We know exactly what is going to happen in the Game, and the Observers who come here don't."

"Observers?"

"The audience members, sorry. So Joe makes sure there are no telltale notes, like 'Don't forget to release ground weapons when the German sub launches off Bermuda.' " Art's smile died as he remembered that the weapons were not released, and why. His eyes reddened and he blinked rapidly.

"So Joe got here at five-thirty and checked the rooms with you?"

"Yes." Art frowned and pinched his lip. "Miss Reed, I just don't know how anyone could be in there this morning. Joe checked the rooms, and later, so did I. Nelson always checks them too. Then I make a run on the computer systems. I usually choose some scenario that will really wring out the system-"

"Scenario?"

"Yes, um, like a story? I play the Enemy Commander and I launch from four subs, then I play the Blue Commander and I launch back, then I try to shoot down everything in the air, I like doing that one."

"You shoot down our missiles?" Eileen asked in astonishment. She had never heard of such a thing.

"Well, only in my Games, Miss-Eileen. I play the President so I get to say that it's all been a big mistake, and Missile Defense shoots down everything that's flying. It's a lot of work for the computers, and so I know that everything is up and running smoothly for the Game."

"That's what you did this morning?"

"Well, no, actually Joe and I played a different one this morning. He was Enemy and I was Blue and the rules were, the launches had to match size for size. And they had to target the same places the other launch fired from-am I making sense to you?"

"No."

"Like that old game, Battleship, we guessed where the other person had their ships. Except we guess where the other person is going to launch their missiles."

"I think I see. So after that?"

"After that, we sit around and talk until the donuts and the coffee arrive."

"Who brings that over?"

"Oh, one of the cafeteria people-oh." Art's face showed sudden dismayed understanding.

"Who was it today?"

"Clarice. I don't know her last name. She rolled the cart in and unloaded the donuts and the coffee urns, and then she left. I know she left because Joe and I always get the best donuts and the first cups of coffee-it's one of our little perks."

Eileen made a note.

"Clarice wouldn't-" Art began, and stopped. He looked at Eileen with confused and sorrowful eyes. "Somebody did, eh?"

"Yes."

"We got our donuts and poured our coffee and then Nelson came over. He got one too, and we three talked over the schedule for the day."

"Is there a planned schedule?"

"Sure, always. It's in the safe; I could get one for you, but it's cla.s.sified."

"I'll talk to Major Blaine," Eileen said, and wrote "schedule."

"I think Lowell Guzman came over next, and then, oh, I'm not sure, really, the commanders started arriving, and the audience, and Joe and I had to get the simulation started. I couldn't tell you when people came in what order."

"That's quite all right," Eileen said. "You've been very helpful. Tell me about Terry. Do you remember her coming in?"

"I don't, really," Art said, puzzled.

"I've gotten the impression Terry was kind of unpopular," Eileen said mildly, and watched for Art's reaction. Art shifted in his chair uneasily for a moment.

"I didn't have any problems with her," he said finally. "I got along with Terry just fine, but I never did cater to her either. A lot of the other Gamers did, because of Lowell's position, but I don't report to anyone but Nelson, and I've been here longer than him. If Nelson tried to fire me he would be right behind me in the job line."

"I see," Eileen said. Art was obviously discomfited by this self-promotion, another endearing trait that made Eileen believe Art was everything he did not boast about being: the most valuable member of a very specialized team.

"When did you realize she'd been murdered?"

"When everyone else did, when Nelson opened the door. I couldn't believe it. I still can't."

"I just have one other question, Art," Eileen said, and leaned forward over the polished veneer of the table.

"Yes?"

"How did the murderer get in that room?"

There was silence, and a tiny squeak as Art's chair shifted on the oiled castors.

"I don't know. I really don't know," Art said helplessly, and shrugged once more. "As far as I know, it couldn't have been done."

Eileen leaned back in her own chair and sighed, ignoring the interior voice that kept saying, Out of your depth, out of your depth.

"I may be speaking to you later."

"All right, then. I'll get Jeff, he will probably want to take you for some lunch."

Eileen glanced at her watch and noticed with some surprise that it was already noon.

"Cafeteria closes at one, and there aren't any Taco Johns out this way," Art said wryly, and heaved his body out of the chair. "I'll get Jeff for you."

Eileen sat in the silent room, and it was only when Major Blaine opened the door that she realized who Art was talking about. Eileen couldn't imagine anyone calling the stiff Major Blaine something so personal as "Jeff."

"Want some lunch? And what are you laughing at?" Blaine asked, annoyed.

8.

Schriever Air Force Base.

Eileen and Major Blaine worked their way out of the first two sets of locking doors, pa.s.sed through the submarine airlock entrances, and went down a long flight of stairs. There were others in the stairwell, and the smell of food wafted pleasantly from covered Styrofoam dishes held in the hands of some of the people heading up.

"Lots of people eat at their desks," Blaine explained. "I discourage it in my office. We spend enough time inside as it is."

As if to underline his point, the door they were approaching opened and two young women in running clothes walked quickly through and headed down the stairs. Their clothes were damp with sweat and they were gasping.

"Locker room in the bas.e.m.e.nt," Blaine explained, his eyes following the trim figures as they disappeared down the stairs.

"Did Terry ever go running?"

"I don't think so. She kept slim through diet, not exercise. She wasn't athletic."

Eileen nodded. Blaine opened the door and they left the stairwell, entering a gla.s.s-walled corridor and an amazing flood of sunlight. The end of the corridor connected to another building, this one a more typical office complex with large expanses of gla.s.s.

"It's great, isn't it?" Blaine said, and lifted his head to the bright sky. "That building is like a d.a.m.n prison."

Eileen was surprised at the intensity of the relief she felt to see the sun again.

"Cafeteria is on the right," Blaine said. They walked into a lovely large dining room with huge windows. The blinds were pulled all the way back, flooding the room with light. The selection of food was st.u.r.dy and unimaginative, but looked well prepared. Eileen realized she was quite hungry.

"Have some of the soup," Blaine murmured. "We've got a frustrated chef out here who makes some incredible soups."

They filled their trays-the soup was mushroom; Eileen wasn't too interested but got some out of politeness-and found a seat near the windows. Most of the seats in the sunshine were filled. Hidden speakers played soft country music.

"I got the word before we came down. The ME should be here within about a half hour," Blaine said, and crunched into a salad. Eileen nodded, and dug in.

The soup turned out to be as good as advertised, hot and smoky and thick with fresh mushrooms.

"Very good," Eileen said with a sigh. "I hope I won't be having too many more lunches out here, but this almost makes me change my mind."

"You think you'll close the case that quickly?" Blaine asked, surprised.

"No, I think the Air Force OSI will be here to take this off my hands in a couple of days." Eileen grimaced, thinking of the distant and bureaucratic OSI.

"Well, that's good," Blaine said, with a totally infuriating smile of relief. "I'm sure they'll handle things after that."

"I'm sure they will," Eileen said, balling her napkin and tossing it on her tray.

They stood and brushed their clothes into place, and went to meet the Medical Examiner.

The Gaining Center door was now attended by a single young Army guard. The guard was white-eyed with excitement but standing rigidly at attention. Eileen thought the guard could have been no more than nineteen or twenty.

Blaine nodded at the guard as he clicked the key sequence to open the door. Eileen glanced back as they walked through the door and saw the young shoulders visibly droop with relief.