Nameless Night by G.M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

hell.
    The weight lifter reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. A couple of buttons popped as he was lifted completely off the floor. His attempts to kick and flail fell pitifully short. Another button popped and fell to the floor, where it bounced twice and then rolled under the upholstered bench, where people took off their shoes.
    “No,” gray suit said again.
    The big guy hesitated a beat and then set Ken Suzuki back onto his feet. Ken shuffled backward like a boxer. Gray suit stepped into the breach. He directed his voice at the assembled multitude in the front room. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter,” he said.
    “At this time we’ll need you to return to your rooms.” The gorilla whispered instructions into his collar mike.
    Took some of them longer than others to grasp what was wanted of them. But as was their nature, once they understood the request, they cheerfully acquiesced.
    Took a full five minutes before everybody but Helen and Ken were shuttled upstairs. When Helen cast a glance up the stairwell, she saw Paul Hardy standing at the railing looking down at her. A kind of raw electric energy ran between the two of them. She quickly looked away. “Again,” said gray suit. “How many computers in the building?”
    She held out the legal pad. “I want your names and—” He cut her off. “It’s up to you,” he said. “We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. You choose.”
    Ken moved up close to her elbow. She could feel Paul’s gaze raking her from above and desperately wanted to look up. She steeled herself. “Where’s your warrant? I want to see a warrant.”
    “We don’t need a warrant. This is a matter of national security.”
    The words sent a shiver down her spine. She looked back over her shoulder at Ken, whose anger had turned to confusion. “How could anything . . . how could these people have anything to do with . . .”
    she sputtered.
    “How many computers?” he asked again, his full lips articulating each and every syllable. When she again failed to answer, he sighed and pointed at the weight lifter. “Toss every room,” he said. “Bring anything you find down here.”
    Helen reached out and put a hand on his sleeve. “No . . . no . . .”
    she said.
    “Well?”
    “Four. Three in the TV room and one in my apartment.” She slapped her sides in frustration. “How could any of these people have anything to do with a matter of national security? I just don’t understand. It’s absurd.”
    “Perhaps you’d like to save yourself the aggravation of having us take your computers with us.” He held out a sheet of computer paper. Helen took it in her hand and read it. Three words. Her knees turned to jelly. It felt as if her spine had been removed. Ken darted forward and threw an arm around her waist, preventing her from sliding to the floor. She brought a hand to her throat and took several deep breaths.
    Gray suit stepped in close again. “Do I take it from your demeanor that you know who was doing this casting of nets on the Net?” Again he smiled at his own wordplay.
    “I . . . it was me. I was—” she stopped. Gray suit turned his head one way and then the other, looking at her like the old RCA dog. Indignation rose in her throat.
    “What right do you have to be looking at what I do on my own personal computer? What gives you the right to invade my privacy—” “Tut-tut,” he interrupted. “Really,” he scoffed. “You really must disabuse yourself of this personal privacy fetish. It’s so retro.” He held up a beautifully manicured finger. “First of all, our forefathers never mentioned the word.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Nowhere in the Constitution does the word privacy appear.”
    Helen opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn’t finished. “Secondly, in the age of international terrorism . . .”—he drew brackets in the air with his forefingers—“you know . . . post-9/11 . . . well, in