ceiling, illuminating a section of the wall. It appeared to be the basement of a shattered tower. Several barred windows ringed the walls in the shadows. It was a dead end.
Gragg looked back the way he’d come. No wonder Boerner let him in here—now he was trapped.
Gragg wondered why Go Mets! wasn’t flaming him in the chat window for player killing. Perhaps if any of the first squad survived the diversion attack, he could convince them to move up and help out. Gragg hit the TAB key to bring up the player list. To his surprise, no one else was playing on the server anymore. There weren’t even any spectators—which is what you turned into after getting killed. All thirty-one human players had disconnected. It was strange. He closed the player list. Maybe they were shunning him for player killing?
Gragg’s avatar moved around the dark room. He noticed the wall where the sunlight struck it. There, in the center of the sunlight, a texture map of chiseled stone spelled out a cryptic message:
m0wFG3PRCoJVTs7JcgBwsOXb3U7yPxBB
Gragg stared at it for a while. What the hell?
Just then he heard a familiar voice off to his left: “ Amerikaner .”
Gragg spun left and emptied his Colt in the direction of the voice. It was Boerner all right, standing behind a latticework grate cut into the wall. His shadowy form was partially hidden by the grate. The bullets didn’t seem to have any effect. Apparently the game engine treated the latticework as a solid object—like a bulletproof confessional.
In a few seconds Gragg’s pistol was empty. As he stood there, his gun still aimed at Boerner, the SS officer took out a lighter and lit a cigarette at the end of a long black filter. The orange glow lit up his hawkish, Aryan face for a moment.
The Oberstleutnant’s dark eyes turned to Gragg’s avatar. “You haf played long. Haf you no job?”
Gragg’s jaded eyes widened in amazement.
Who the hell created this map?
Boerner continued to smoke calmly. On a lark, Gragg hit a hotkey for game taunts. His avatar shouted at Boerner: “I think the Germans are out of real men!”
Boerner frowned. “Stop zat nonsense.”
At his computer, Gragg stood up, kicked his chair back and gripped his head in mute amazement. His eyes quickly returned to the screen.
Boerner took another drag on his cigarette. “Are you a brain-dead punk”—he motioned to the text centered in the sunlight on the wall—“or do you haf useful knowledge, yes? If you do, use your key, and ve vill meet again.” He clenched his teeth on the cigarette filter, smiled darkly, then turned and walked away—laughing his (literally) trademark evil laugh. It echoed in the halls.
Gragg watched him go, then turned to face the writing on the wall again. He hit a key combination for the in-game camera to snap a screen capture.
The moment he did so, he was ejected from the game. The Houston Monte Cassino server never appeared in the public listings again.
Chapter 10:// In the Air
R oss leaned against Sebeck’s unmarked police cruiser. It was parked on the shoulder of Potrero Road. “Do you need directions to Woodland Hills, Sergeant?”
“Just a brief detour.”
“What is this, the first murder scene?”
“Down that dirt road.” Sebeck pointed back at the closed steel gate. He stood in front of the steel winch box. A police warning tag hung from the winch housing.
Sebeck noticed that the steel cable was coiled on the ground beyond the chain-link fence, stretching out of sight downhill. The county probably lowered it to avoid any additional accidents. “Hang on a sec.” Sebeck keyed a handheld radio. “Unit 992, this is D-19, over.” Sebeck looked to Ross again. “We have a patrol unit guarding the murder scene down below.”
A voice crackled over the radio, “Unit 992, over.”
“I’m at your 20. I need to raise this cable. Is the area clear down there? Over.”
“Ten-four. Area clear, D-19. Over.”
“Stand by. Out.”
Sebeck clipped the radio
Gragg looked back the way he’d come. No wonder Boerner let him in here—now he was trapped.
Gragg wondered why Go Mets! wasn’t flaming him in the chat window for player killing. Perhaps if any of the first squad survived the diversion attack, he could convince them to move up and help out. Gragg hit the TAB key to bring up the player list. To his surprise, no one else was playing on the server anymore. There weren’t even any spectators—which is what you turned into after getting killed. All thirty-one human players had disconnected. It was strange. He closed the player list. Maybe they were shunning him for player killing?
Gragg’s avatar moved around the dark room. He noticed the wall where the sunlight struck it. There, in the center of the sunlight, a texture map of chiseled stone spelled out a cryptic message:
m0wFG3PRCoJVTs7JcgBwsOXb3U7yPxBB
Gragg stared at it for a while. What the hell?
Just then he heard a familiar voice off to his left: “ Amerikaner .”
Gragg spun left and emptied his Colt in the direction of the voice. It was Boerner all right, standing behind a latticework grate cut into the wall. His shadowy form was partially hidden by the grate. The bullets didn’t seem to have any effect. Apparently the game engine treated the latticework as a solid object—like a bulletproof confessional.
In a few seconds Gragg’s pistol was empty. As he stood there, his gun still aimed at Boerner, the SS officer took out a lighter and lit a cigarette at the end of a long black filter. The orange glow lit up his hawkish, Aryan face for a moment.
The Oberstleutnant’s dark eyes turned to Gragg’s avatar. “You haf played long. Haf you no job?”
Gragg’s jaded eyes widened in amazement.
Who the hell created this map?
Boerner continued to smoke calmly. On a lark, Gragg hit a hotkey for game taunts. His avatar shouted at Boerner: “I think the Germans are out of real men!”
Boerner frowned. “Stop zat nonsense.”
At his computer, Gragg stood up, kicked his chair back and gripped his head in mute amazement. His eyes quickly returned to the screen.
Boerner took another drag on his cigarette. “Are you a brain-dead punk”—he motioned to the text centered in the sunlight on the wall—“or do you haf useful knowledge, yes? If you do, use your key, and ve vill meet again.” He clenched his teeth on the cigarette filter, smiled darkly, then turned and walked away—laughing his (literally) trademark evil laugh. It echoed in the halls.
Gragg watched him go, then turned to face the writing on the wall again. He hit a key combination for the in-game camera to snap a screen capture.
The moment he did so, he was ejected from the game. The Houston Monte Cassino server never appeared in the public listings again.
Chapter 10:// In the Air
R oss leaned against Sebeck’s unmarked police cruiser. It was parked on the shoulder of Potrero Road. “Do you need directions to Woodland Hills, Sergeant?”
“Just a brief detour.”
“What is this, the first murder scene?”
“Down that dirt road.” Sebeck pointed back at the closed steel gate. He stood in front of the steel winch box. A police warning tag hung from the winch housing.
Sebeck noticed that the steel cable was coiled on the ground beyond the chain-link fence, stretching out of sight downhill. The county probably lowered it to avoid any additional accidents. “Hang on a sec.” Sebeck keyed a handheld radio. “Unit 992, this is D-19, over.” Sebeck looked to Ross again. “We have a patrol unit guarding the murder scene down below.”
A voice crackled over the radio, “Unit 992, over.”
“I’m at your 20. I need to raise this cable. Is the area clear down there? Over.”
“Ten-four. Area clear, D-19. Over.”
“Stand by. Out.”
Sebeck clipped the radio
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