Night Moves by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik Page A

make this tracking scenario a cake walk. No matter what he created, it wasn't going to make the job easier. If he made a haystack, the needle he'd be looking for would be microscopic; if he created a beach, he'd be trying to find a sand-colored smudge on a particular grain of sand. It was hard, period, end of mission statement, we don't need to see his ID, move along. But he was getting closer, nonetheless. A fat albino python sunned itself on a big branch to his left, well off the trail, no danger. Gridley grinned. It was the dog that didn't bark in the night that had pointed him in the right direction. The player who had broken the encrypted code in Pakistan was better than anybody Gridley had ever gone up against, no question. Better than the redneck from Georgia, better than the mad Russian, and--as much as he hated to admit it to himself-better than he was. This guy was a master, he'd have to be to do what he did, and he had not left a trail.
Well, not exactly. The tiger had left an also--a trail of omission, "TOO," thus brought to "also"--a concept that was impossible to convey to anybody who didn't know the VR field in and out, and exceedingly difficult to understand if you did know. It was a lot like trying to make sense of subatomic physics; it was counterintuitive.
The tiger who had eaten the goat went this way because there was no trail and ... because nobody could have gone this way.
Gridley hacked at a branch with heart-shaped dark leaves as big as dinner plates. The branch fell. The weight of the double rifle slung over his shoulder was oppressive, the belt with the bolstered Webley

revolver dug into his side. There was no trail here, but he was sure the tiger had gone this way. He cut
another branch, tossed it aside-He was right. It had gone this way. He got only a glimpse of it as it leaped. A flash of orange and black, huge teeth, a paw as big as a dragon's.
Then the tiger slapped Jay Gridley's head with that monstrous paw and the world went red--and away. Sunday, April 3rdLondon, England Alex Michaels came out of a troubled dream to the sound of his virgil playing the Aaron Copland fanfare. He sat up and glared at the device where it sat next to his bed in the recharger. What was cute in the afternoon wasn't so funny at two in the morning, even when it woke you from a nightmare about your ex-wife.
Next to him, Toni stirred.
Michaels got up, grabbed the virgil and killed the call tone, then headed for the bathroom. Once there, he turned on the light, shut the door, and activated the phone circuit. After glancing at himself in the mirror, he left the visual mode off. Naked, with a sleep-wrinkled face and pillow-hair, wasn't his best look.
The call was from Allison's office.
"This is Alex Michaels."
"Hold for the director, please."
Yeah, right. Wake him up in the middle of the night, but couldn't be bothered to make the call herself? She came on almost immediately.
"Michaels, we have a situation here. One of your men, a ... Jason Gridley? ... has had some kind of stroke.
He is in the hospital."
"What?"
"He was found when the shift changed at the controls of his computer." "A stroke? But--how? He's a kid! There's no history of stroke in his family." "You'll have to ask the doctors about that." There was a pause. "I understand that Gridley is your point man on virtual reality scenarios." "Yes." Jesus, a stroke? Jay? He couldn't get his mind around that. Jay was in his twenties.

"Could this have had anything to do with the investigation we are conducting into the situation in
Pakistan?"
What was she talking about?
"No, no way. You can't get hurt by a computer in VR mode, even with the power jacket at maximum, there's not enough juice. Why would you even ask?" "Because a British Intelligence computer operative and one in Japan have also had cerebellar events similar to Gridley's, both of them in the last few hours." "Not possible. I mean, it's not possible that they were caused by their computers." "Nonetheless,