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  “Not soon enough for Little.”

  By now Lucas was leaning into the conversation, trying to hear what Randy was saying while enjoying the smell of Meredyth.

  “Little's on the list,” replied Randy.

  “And Maurice and Emily Shirley?”

  “Ahh... ahh... no, not on the list, but Palmer's there, and so is Whitaker and some of Whitaker's family.”

  Lucas interrupted, telling her to ask about Bennislowe.

  She asked and turned to him, her face stark. “Yes, he's listed.”

  “And David Ryan Gunther, the kid whose skeleton was found close to Whitaker's estate but whose head was never found.”

  “No, not listed,” replied Meredyth after passing along the inquiry. She then asked Randy, “But why target these particular men for... for e-mail murder?”

  “That's just it. Nowadays, if they have your social security number, they can tap into your financial status, your inheritance, how much you paid for your house, the details of your divorce. It's only a keystroke away.”

  Meredyth thought about this for several lengthy moments, about how easily young people were led astray, how easily minds were warped and put under the control of some guru or another, anyone with a platform from the racial hatred doctrines preached by the KKK to the cult dicta of a Jim Jones of Guyana infamy.

  “God, still, you're talking cyberspace murder, Randy, and I'm just not sure I'm ready to accept that.”

  “But we've got FBI crawling all over this case,” added Lucas into the mouthpiece. “Damn, then that cinches it,” Randy shouted. 'They've got to know something screwy going on with their vampire list.”

  “Maybe you're right. We'll talk to them about it.” 'Tread lightly. No one's supposed to have access to the list.”

  “Then how did you get it?”

  “Illegally.”

  “Of course...”

  “Be careful out there, Meredyth.”

  “I will... we will.”

  Randy hung up, leaving Meredyth and Lucas to puzzle over all that he had left them to ponder: an FBI demonology list, the fact several men who'd died so horribly were coincidentally on this hit list? Murder by computer e-mail, the fact the arrows were the tip of the iceberg. Could someone in the FBI be involved? Was the paranoid ghost of J. Edgar working through some brash young Republican elite guard in the FBI? Were Bullock and Price the vanguard of these driven fanatics? The questions continued into the night.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  After Meredyth and Lucas had discussed every detail of Randy's call and their debate wound to a close, Lucas began pacing the small hotel room like a nervous puma, and she complained, “Will you sit down; light somewhere.”

  He turned in mid-stride, his eyes clear and malevolent, but the malevolence was not directed at her, she knew. “Maybe we'd better find Bullock and Price, put it to them. See their reaction, you know, face-to-face, man-to-man, all that.”

  “Yeah, and maybe with a woman present, we just might get a read on 'em, you mean?” she replied with a smile. “It might prove interesting. Still, I'm having a hard time believing that murder could be committed by an electronic cult over the Internet. Talk about wired... wired for murder...”

  “Every other crime in the country has gone high-tech, so why not murder?”

  Lucas telephoned Sheriff Hindman, who put him in touch with Bullock and Price, who agreed to meet them for dinner to talk over mutual interests in the case. The FBI men were staying at the landmark hotel, Alex Johnson, in downtown Rapid City. Lucas got the sense the men were counting coup. Bullock didn't rub it in or even say it aloud, but he and Price had been expecting their call.

  “We'll be there by seven.”

  “Meet us in the restaurant. We'll dine together on Uncle Sam,” offered Bullock.

  “Yeah, well, Uncle Sam does owe my people a few meals,” Lucas said, trying to keep it light, gaining a grunt of understanding from Bullock before the man hung up.

  Lucas and Meredyth stepped into the beautifully refurbished, turn-of-the-century hotel exactly at seven. The decor was rustic, early western, so much so that Meredyth felt strange to be walking on the carpet. It looked handmade, something that ought to be hanging in a museum. The same applied to the American Indian designs and paintings adorning the walls. Antlers and moose heads and stuffed deer, cougar and other animals also stared down from on high. Meredyth expected to see Teddy Roosevelt step through the next doorway.

  They located the FBI men in the restaurant off the lobby. Bullock and Price looked as stiff and formal as ever, but they seemed pleased that the Texas authorities had come groveling to them. There were handshakes all around, and after ordering drinks and a look over the menu, Lucas brought up the possibility that some nutcases had formed an Internet club through which members were controlled and selected and told to murder people on an FBI list of cultists or vampire worshippers.

  Bullock laughed in Lucas's face.

  Price's frown deepened his wrinkles. “Give us a break, Stonecoat.”

  “I thought we were here to share information, gentlemen,” Meredyth instantly reacted. “Now, it's no secret you're here because of the list, the Vampire List, and the fact that people on that list are being murdered by self-appointed vampire stalkers and demon killers. Isn't that right?”

  Bullock bit his tongue and finally released the air he had inhaled, instantly dropping his poker face. “How the hell did you get that information?”

  “Are we on the same side or not, Agent Bullock? Are you guys onto some sort of weird X-Files kinda case here or not?” pressed Lucas.

  “All right... all right, we deal. You tell us what you know, we'll level with you about our interest.”

  Between them, Lucas and Meredyth filled in the blanks for the FBI men. Both Price and Bullock listened with rapt attention, amazed at the amount of information pulled together by the duo.

  By now the waiters had delivered four sumptuous dinners, two of stuffed salmon, two roast buffalo plates, Lucas having talked Meredyth into trying the unusual. She was pleased with the sweet flavor and that it was not tough, as she'd imagined, or fatty or greasy.

  “We've been trying to locate these cultists on the Internet,” said Price, “have a team of the best minds in computer land working on it day and night, but we're dealing with people who really know how to hide their tracks.”

  Bullock quickly added, “They're not sloppy like you see with the porno freaks on the Internet. They close up holes as they go, plugging us out. They're cleverly disguised bastards, these people.”

  “At the same time, they have access to... to anyone,” Price assured.

  Bullock added, “Anyone with a public persona. Anyone with a birth certificate, a driver's license, car registration, voter's registration, if you license your pet, get a divorce, file for bankruptcy, inherit property, they know about you, and they can stalk you.”

  “The average person on a PC could build a whopping good picture of your life and your financial transactions for just a little trouble,” commented Price.

  “Hell, nowadays, a single stop at a data company like CDB Infotek, for a five or twenty subscription rate you can scan hundreds of thousands of public record databases— electronic versions of county, state and federal court files,” continued Bullock.

  “Matter of fact, there's a private investigation firm in your own city of Houston, Intertect, that can do in one hour what ten years ago would've taken a week,” agreed Price. “Employers hire these guys to check on prospective employees. But then again, Intertect isn't too particular who they take on as clients.”

  'They can tell if you've ever been charged with fraud, were ever sued, or had ever sued anyone else. A nationwide search can quickly turn up assets, hidden or otherwise, such as a second home, luxury car or boat,” added Bullock. Lucas understood completely, saying, “If you're in an auto accident or injured in some other way, a lawyer might want to check you out to know how deep your pockets are.”

  “Even
information supposedly not available to the public is floating around out there on you.” added Price. “Your bank account and credit card numbers, your brokerage records—”

  “Social security recs and tax returns,” offered Bullock.

  “It's all an impostor needs to check your balances.”

  “Despite federal law that restricts access to those with a... a legitimate need to know,” began Bullock.

  “Such as prospective creditors, insurers, or employers,” added Price.

  Lucas groaned and rolled his eyes. “But all anyone has to say is that they intend using the information for a legitimate purpose, and they're in, right?”

  “So anyone answering yes can get the files?” asked Meredyth.

  Bullock confessed with a rueful smile, “That's how Dan Quayle's credit history wound up in Business Week in 1989, yeah.”

  “People, strangers to you, nowadays can turn up anything on you—the fact your home has a pool, the number of vehicles you drive, your political party affiliation, what charities you donate to, the magazines you subscribe to,” Price further explained.

  “Not like the FBI would consider such tactics,” grumbled Lucas.

  “All right, true, touch6 as they say. We led the way in this kind of surveillance, but now it's out there. Anyone surfing the Internet can play FBI,” countered Bullock. “Look, I was a special agent in the division of the Secret Service that investigates electronic financial crimes for seven years, and I don't trust my account number in Internet providers' files.”

  “Hell,” grunted Price, opening up wider now, “there's fifty-six thousand IRS employees alone who have access to the computer system where taxpayer records are stored. Thirteen hundred of them were investigated in 1994 for snooping violations in the confidential records of their neighbors, friends and celebrities.”

  “Some altered files to generate higher tax refunds for their friends,” volunteered Bullock.

  “All the gibberish you see on an e-mail map... it maps out the path the commands have gone through. A system administrator or hacker—like the one you obviously have working for you”—Price pointed a finger—”at any way station can read a copy of your message, so it's downright insane to send information naked over the Internet.”

  “Price means unencrypted.”

  “Downloads leave footprints in the computer system through which they pass, too,” added Price, a statement that made Meredyth and Lucas think of Randy Oglesby's safety. Still, Meredyth had told Lucas that Randy was taking extreme precautions, explaining that for his last “break-in” he'd used a PC at a Circuit City in a downtown Houston mall. 'Try and trace that,” she'd said to Lucas.

  “Banks and financial institutions are now using encryption to protect transactions,” Bullock told them. “Encryption scrambles the data much like airwaves are scrambled on. pay TV, and for the same reason, to protect against voyeurs as info travels the Internet. If it's not encrypted, it's not taken seriously.”

  “Once you're on the Internet, you're open to theft unless you've set up a fire wall,” Price explained.

  “Fire wall?” asked Lucas.

  Price frowned and said, “A security technique that isolates that part of the computer system accessible by modem.”

  “Hell, I found out about this stuff early on, went home and removed the checking account numbers from the Quicken files on my home computer,” observed Bullock.

  “Well, that's overkill, Tim,” Price argued.

  “I don't think so.”

  “Unless some hacker's got a specific reason to target you, your hard drive is probably not so tempting a target compared to large corporate and governmental databases.” Price looked into Meredyth's eyes and added, “I would not spend time worrying that someone's breaking into your PC through a phone line. It would take a lot of time, and there's not much upside.”

  “Unless maybe the guy's a creep and is stalking her,” challenged Bullock.

  “You miss the point, Tim. Hell, InfoBase in Conway, Arkansas, claims to have data on ninety-five percent of the U.S. households, all compiled from public records, credit bureaus, consumer questionnaires, telemarketing and mail order companies' files. The hacker or stalker or stalker-hacker doesn't need to tap into the lady's machine; he can do it through the third party and do it more safely.”

  “Sounds like anybody can play Big Brother; sounds like Brave New World,” said Meredyth, a bit shaken.

  “For sale: your estimated income, your home's market value, your available home equity, what merchandise you buy, donations you make, your marital status, occupation, and children's ages, your hobbies and interests. Now imagine a con man who is interested in your money.”

  “Hobbies and interests?” She was dumbfounded.

  “The information requested on those little cards you fill out called warranties and guarantees puts you on Info Bases's Chip head list.”

  “A stranger can easily learn what you buy and what you read.”

  “That is scary,” she agreed.

  “The benefits of staying off modems and out of Nets,” replied Lucas. “Sometimes the old ways are better... or at least safer?”

  Meredyth and Lucas conferred quickly and just as quickly agreed to share everything they knew about the series of killings they had been pursuing from their home base in Houston. They described the Cold Room files she had unearthed, the similarities in the string of deaths going back so many years, and the fact no one had to date put them together, and now this—the obviously hacked or stolen FBI list of self-proclaimed vampires and demon worshippers.

  “What do you know about the Vampire List?” asked Meredyth of the FBI men.

  “It was discovered that the list was tapped into, hacked into, but only recently. Fact is, the list hadn't been updated or kept in serious repair for ten, maybe twenty years. A lot of nonsense associated with the list.”

  “Whataya mean, nonsense? If it's nonsense, then why's the Federal Bureau of Investigation interested?” asked Lucas.

  “Well, it started with the Hoover Administration, and you know what kind of paranoia ran rampant in the agency then,” began Bullock, whose eyes followed people about the room as he spoke. “There have been a handful of professed vampires who have acted on their insatiable need for human blood; in fact, the first such case that was of notoriety involved an FBI manhunt for a guy in California who did in fact drain his victims of their blood and drink the stuff. Since then, there've been several others, including the celebrated case of Mad Matthew Matisak—who, by the way, was not on the Vampire List compiled by the FBI, because, in point of fact, there's really no way to track all the wackos out there.”

  Price took the ball, continuing, “Anyway, that madman Hoover and others in the agency began keeping book on people who, for one reason or another, professed a liking for the vampire lifestyle. Needless to say, most of the list is made up from subscribers to Vampire Dreams, The Red Knight, The Blood of Lucy Wistera, and other such publications, along with vampire orders, cults and clubs.

  There are more than you might expect, and many of the members are playacting at the masquerade,

  finding something appealing in the whole mythos, you see, but some embrace it as a way of life, a religion even, a kind of devil worship, and these are hard-core believers who sleep in coffins and go about only at night.”

  “That doesn't fit Judge Mootry or—”

  “Perhaps not recently, but he may've become disillusioned with his religion, as anyone might; he may've changed his lifestyle and beliefs as he aged,” suggested Price. “Else he hid it well...”

  “He wasn't sleeping in a coffin,” said Lucas.

  “Coffins are harder than they look, and no room to stretch,” added Bullock with a laugh. 'Tell me this: Any graveyard dirt found under the man's bed?”

  “I didn't see any, but then, forensics had already come and gone.”

  “Check it out.”

  “Did he go about during the day?”

  “He was
a judge. Night court? Meredyth bit her lip. “Appellate court.”

  “Liked the black robes?” Price facetiously asked. “Check into it. You'll find he kept the lights in his courtroom dimmed and kept no mirrors in his chambers or at his home, or so our information has it.”

  “Eccentricity,” suggested Lucas.

  “Night person?” asked Bullock. “Did he party late into the night?”

  “Yes, he did, but he donated tons of money to charitable causes,” she countered.

  “He had lots of money to give. Nothing in the book says a vampire can't be a philanthropist, too” suggested Bullock. “Look, we're not saying that we believe he was a practicing, kosher vampire, okay? We're saying some people could and may well have perceived him as such, especially since he was retained on that damned list, and if the list did fall into the wrong hands...”

  “And perception is everything in this life, isn't it?” Price suddenly added. “By the time of his murder, the old man may well've been in the process of... of trying to buy his way back into the good graces of the Lord of Light. Who knows?”

  “In fact, one of his last major donations was to some off-center religious order based in Houston, a very generous sum,” agreed Meredyth. “Maybe he was a changed man.”

  “We all of us do things we later regret; who hasn't lied, cheated, stolen something from someone somewhere in a moment of temptation,” suggested Lucas. “And who hasn't championed a cause to later regret it?”

  “The FBI first began tracking Mootry when he was a college student,” Price said, thoughtfully sipping his coffee now. “He had become fascinated with the dark side of world religions, the black arts, cults, cultism. Even his selection of classes mirrored this interest, and for a time, he planned to be an archaeologist, which would have more readily masked his vampiric tendencies, I think; then something turned him around, and he began to see the beauty of the U.S. legal system, and he believed he could make a difference there. At least that's been our thinking, right, Bullock?”