The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [52]
Deirdre leaned closer to the screen. Some of the data windows contained menus and commands she recognized; they belonged to various systems in the Seeker network she had accessed in the past. However, most of the windows contained unfamiliar interfaces, their indecipherable menus composed in glowing alien symbols. Atop everything was a single flashing crimson word: Seeking . . . Trembling, she reached out to touch the computer.
The screen went dark. Deirdre jerked her hand back. Had she damaged it somehow? Then her heart began to beat once more as glowing emerald words scrolled across the screen.
Search completed.
1 match(es) located:
/albion/archive/case999–1/mla1684a.arch
>
So it had found something. But where? Deirdre didn't recognize the server name; wherever this file was located, it wasn't in a database she had ever searched before.
And why should it be? This is Echelon 7. And if Hadrian is right, this file is something just about no one in the Seekers has access to.
She drew in a breath, then typed a quick command.
Display search file. [Enter]
The cursor flashed, and the computer let out a beep.
Error. Unable to access file mla1684a.arch.
File does not exist.
>
Deirdre swore. “What do you mean the file doesn't exist? You just found it, you stupid computer.”
She forced herself to take a breath. It was not a good sign when one started berating inanimate objects. Forcing her hands to hold steady, she typed another command.
What happened to search file? [Enter]
File mla1684a.arch has been deleted from the system.
>
That made even less sense. How could the query have found the file in the first place if it had been deleted? Deirdre typed with furious intensity.
When was file mla1684a.arch deleted? [Enter]
File mla1684a.arch was deleted from the system at time stamp: Today, 22:10:13
>
A coldness stole over her. She forced her eyes to focus on the wall clock—10:12 P.M. Two minutes ago. The file had been deleted from the system two minutes ago. But that had to be . . .
“Just a few seconds after your search query located it,” Deirdre whispered.
She pushed back from the table and reached for the phone on the wall. Fumbling, she punched the number of the flat where Farr had been staying. One ring, two.
Someone had deleted the file the moment after she found it. Why? To keep her from reading it, of course. But then why leave the file on the server where she could find it in the first place? Her mind whirred like the computer.
Maybe deleting the file would have drawn attention to it, Deirdre. Maybe whoever erased it didn't want to do so until they absolutely had to—until the file was found. So how were they watching it?
She had to talk to Farr; he would know what to do.
Three rings, four. “Come on, Hadrian, answer. Bloody hell—come on.”
A click. The ringing ended, and a robotic voice spoke in her ear. “The number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel you have reached this recording in error—”
Deirdre slammed the phone back onto the wall. No, it was no error. Farr had left. But where was he going? There had been something about him earlier—a power, a peril—she had never seen before. Then, with a shiver, she remembered his last words to her.
You see, there's still one class of encounter we haven't had yet. . . .
Deirdre sank back into the chair, staring at the computer screen. It was the first thing every Seeker learned upon joining the order: the classification of otherworldly encounters. Class Three Encounters were common—rumors and stories of otherworldly nature. Class Two Encounters were rarer, but well represented in the history of the Seekers—encounters with objects and locations that bore residual traces of otherworldly forces. And Class One Encounters were the rarest—direct interaction with otherworldly beings and travelers.
But Farr was