Matrix Man Read Online Free Page B

here."
    "Are you still the insubordinate son of a bitch you used to be?"  
    Corvan smiled. "Yeah, Frank, I guess I am."
    Neely's face seemed to light up and his right hand found Corvan's. "Good. Then give them hell forme."
    And with that, a spasm ran through Neely's hand and he died.
    As Corvan let go, he realized there was something in the palm of his hand—a square of paper wrapped around something hard, a video disk approximately the size of an old-fashioned quarter.
    When Corvan stood, he managed to slip the disk into a pocket while he pretended to wipe his hands. Suddenly he realized that he was still on, that millions of people were waiting for him to say something, to bring the piece to a close.
    He wanted to tell them the truth, that he'd been had and they along with him. He wanted to tell them that Frank Neely had been murdered, but he couldn't prove it. So, like thousands of journalists before him, Corvan settled for something less than the whole truth, and swore a silent oath that he'd learn the rest.
    Corvan turned a full circle so that the audience saw Horowitz being carried away on a stretcher, troopers searching the tents, and prisoners with their hands on top of their heads. His auto-iris closed down as he looked into the sun and opened up again when it had passed.
    Kim thought about going to the robo cam and decided not to. Corvan's view was both dramatic and telling. It matched his words.
    "People died here for reasons which aren't exactly clear. As you saw, one of them was an old friend of mine, Frank Neely, a man who had seen happier days, and called himself Captain Video. Why did Frank and his friends come here? What did they hope to accomplish through their illegal broadcasts? Was this bloodshed necessary? Those questions and more will be asked and answered during the next forty-eight hours. But no matter what the answers turn out to be, neither side of this conflict has any reason to celebrate. Rex Corvan reporting for News Network 56 from Canada's Banff National Park."
    Kim faded audio and video together and saw New York take it away. Meanwhile she continued to monitor the two cameras. Corvan was looking down at his dead friend, and Captain Dietrich was looking at him.
    Kim zoomed in on the officer's face. All traces of boyish charm had disappeared, and if looks could kill, Corvan would've been dead ten times over.
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    Carla Subido leaned back in her executive chair and examined Captain Hans Dietrich through narrowed eyes. They'd met during her year in Africa, both part of Numalo's sprawling network of friends and acquaintances, both tools of his enormous ambition. And while they'd discovered a certain similarity of world views, that had nothing to do with Dietrich's presence in her office. No, Dietrich belonged to Numalo, bound to the African by ties which Carla could only guess at. Ties which kept her from trusting him too much, from telling him that Hawkins was dead, that she'd changed the world.
    The German officer looked tired, his cammies were rumpled, and his combat boots were smeared with Canadian mud. Good. He'd placed duty before personal comfort. Carla liked that. She allowed Hans a rare smile and saw some of the stiffness go out of his shoulders. "Have a seat, Captain."
    Dietrich obeyed by choosing one of the two straight-backed guest chairs. They were made of highly polished oak and offered no padding whatsoever. Like everything in Carla's life, the chairs had a purpose. They encouraged people to speak concisely and leave. She watched Dietrich search for a comfortable position and fail to find one.
    "So, how'd things go?" She'd seen Rex Corvan's report, but wanted to hear Dietrich's version as well. A great deal would depend on what he said.
    Dietrich looked at Carla and felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. She was perfect. Her lipstick and nail polish were an exact match for her red dress. The gleam of gold at her throat and ears provided just