Joe Ledger: Code Zero Part 27

Dark gla.s.ses and a Starbucks drive-through helped.

It was going to be a tough day, too, because she had to finish proofreading the code for a video game simulation she was designing to help test the new VaultBreaker software. It was her idea to hire a bunch of gamers from outside the Defense Department to play the simulation without knowing what it was. She'd convinced Church-and Collins-that only real gamers could test the limits of the software. Her argument had been compelling enough to get approval. Collins had gone to bat for it, too, but from his own direction, and so far no one knew about her relations.h.i.+p with the vice president.

The simulation was a matter of pride for Bliss. It was one of the most elegant and sophisticated game modules in existence, a claim she was certain was true. It really burned that there was no way to take VaultBreaker and turn it into an actual commercial game. It was so devious and crazy, and so d.a.m.n much fun to play, that she was absolutely positive it would make a hundred million easy. Video games were big business-often pulling in more cash than big-budget movies.

The delicate work of proofreading game code, however, was not going to be a picnic with her head feeling like it was filled with spiders.

But as soon as she walked into the lab complex she knew that her day was about to get worse. Sergeant Gus Dietrich stood beside her desk, and instead of his usual benevolent bulldog grin he wore an expression of pinched disapproval.

"Hey, Gus, what's-?"

"Doctor Bliss," said Gus in a strangely formal way, "you need to come with me."

It was one of those moments when every guilty action ever taken, from jaywalking to s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her college roommate's father, flashed on the movie screens in her mind.

Do they know?

That was the real question.

Did they know about the duplicated files and all the samples she'd taken while collecting evidence at more than thirty DMS crime scenes?

Did they know?

How could they know?

Oh G.o.d, what did they know?

"Wh-what's going on, Gus?"

He shook his head. "Aunt Sallie's waiting for you."

Dietrich refused to say anything else as he escorted her down hallways and up a flight of stairs to Auntie's office. The face of the woman behind the desk was locked into a grim scowl.

Bliss began to tremble, but she fought to keep it from showing.

"Sit," ordered Aunt Sallie. She jerked her head for Dietrich to leave.

When they were alone, Auntie leaned back in her big leather chair and studied Bliss through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"You know why you're here?"

"N-no."

"Really? No idea?"

"No!"

Aunt Sallie lifted a sheet of paper from her desk. Bliss couldn't read it, but it looked like an interoffice memo on the pale green paper used by Bug's computer division. Auntie put on her half-moon granny gla.s.ses and read from the memo.

"... between 3:51 p.m. and 7:18 p.m. MindReader recorded nineteen separate intrusion attacks. These attacks were targeted at bypa.s.sing the cycling encryptions. Four attempts were made during that time to bypa.s.s the pa.s.sword protection; and three attempts to clone the intrusion software. All attempts were made from the same workstation." She slapped the memo flat onto the desk. "Three guesses whose workstation was used for those attacks?"

Bliss couldn't even speak. The world seemed to have frozen solid around her, turning her blood to slush and freezing her vocal cords.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, girl, you f.u.c.king tell me what's going on right f.u.c.king now or by G.o.d I will have you arrested and I'll ram the Patriot Act all the way up your tight little cooze." Auntie was so furious that spit flew with every word. Her brown face darkened to a dangerous purple.

"But I-"

Aunt Sallie jabbed a warning finger at her. "Be real careful, girl. You tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the f.u.c.king truth, so help you G.o.d."

Time ground to a halt as Bliss's evolved self stepped back from the moment to take a cold, hard look at the situation. There were a lot of ways to play this, most of them bad. She could burst into tears and pretend innocence, claiming that she was just curious. That was even partly true, though it sounded lame enough to walk with a limp. Bliss dismissed it with a mental sneer.

Or she could act genuinely surprised that what she'd done was in any way improper. Aunt Sallie might buy that on the grounds that the policies about not trying to hack MindReader were not so much written as generally understood, and it was impossible to prove the extent to which something like that was grasped. But that was likely to be a long and acrimonious tug-of-war, and Bliss didn't like her chances of winning. It would also never remove the stink of suspicion.

Then there was the way her evolved self wanted to play it. It was totally out of character with the Artemisia Bliss who'd been working here for three and a half years, but not entirely out of character for the Bliss who'd been interviewed by Dr. Hu. Surely that interview had been recorded. Her att.i.tude and self-possession had to be part of her record, even if since then she'd played the role of a dutiful team member.

Yes, that felt like a good card. Maybe the only real card she could play without going bust.

Auntie's eyes seemed to exude real heat.

So Bliss untangled her fingers, leaned forward, and placed her palms down on the edge of the desk. She deliberately s.h.i.+fted her posture forward in a way that was a borderline physical threat.

In a voice as flat and cold as a reptile, she said, "Excuse me, but who the f.u.c.k do you think you're talking to?"

Aunt Sallie, veteran of a hundred violent field encounters, blinked. She said, "What?"

"You heard me. Who the f.u.c.k do you think you're talking to here? You drag me in here and accuse me of impropriety. Me? I bust my a.s.s all day, every day to make sure the DMS is cutting-edge. With my skills and my brains I could be a billionaire by now, filing patent after patent, kicking Bill Gates in the nuts with my designs. I could have made fortunes designing video games. Instead, I work for salary night and day to make sure that every threat we face is a.s.sessed and defeated as quickly as possible. I wrote the code for two thirds of the tactical software packages every one of our teams relies on when they go into battle. I designed the security simulations that keep every DMS facility secure from cyberattack and I co-designed most of the physical security systems. My programs are built into every workstation, every MindReader field kit, and even into some of the counterintrusion software Bug installed into MindReader itself. And who do you think came up with the idea for VaultBreaker? The f.u.c.king Easter Bunny? s.h.i.+t. You want to know why I tried to get into MindReader? Because I need to be prepared for when someone tries it for real. I need to understand the safety measures so that I can be ready with backup, with stronger and fresher systems, with new designs no one has ever thought up. That's why you hired me and that's what I do, and f.u.c.k you, but I do that better than anyone else."

Her voice was never once raised above an arctic snarl.

The moment held as the two women glared across the width of the desk and a frozen wasteland at each other.

"Making modifications on MindReader is not part of your job," said Auntie, but her voice had lost some of its edge. "All modifications are overseen by-"

"By Bug, I know. So what? He's smart, sure, but he isn't the smartest person in this building by a long stretch. You don't believe that, look at our last performance evaluations. h.e.l.l, look at our scores on game simulator speedruns."

Aunt Sallie did not reply, and Bliss knew that she'd scored big with that. Either Auntie already knew those scores or she hadn't checked. In either case she was short one card.

Bliss's heart was going a million miles an hour but she'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd let it show on her face. Instead she played her next card.

"Tell you what, Auntie," she said, her voice about twenty degrees colder, "why don't you go through the field reports of the last forty missions. Pick any teams at random, any missions. Then do the math to see whose software contributed most to preserving the lives of our operators and insuring the success of the missions. Match that against Bug or anyone else, then if you have anything to say to me we can do it as part of my exit interview. Otherwise I'm done with this bulls.h.i.+t and I have work to do."

She stood up, intending to use the objectivity of the height of a standing person over one sitting to put Aunt Sallie in a defensive position. Instead, Aunt Sallie smiled and folded her hands primly on her desk.

"Sit your a.s.s down," she said. Her voice was on the cold side of dangerous.

Bliss gave it a moment, then sat. Slowly, and with control.

"You spoke your mind, and it's nice to know that you have a backbone. After all these years I was beginning to wonder. And maybe you're being straight up and not simply wiping your a.s.s with the flag, but I have two things you need to hear."

Bliss said nothing, knowing that any response would weaken her hand. Instead she arched one eyebrow. Half interested, half mocking.

"First," said Aunt Sallie, "you do not have full clearance on MindReader, and that means you will attempt no further intrusions into the system. I don't care if there are missiles inbound and that's the only way to save the day. You. Don't. Hack. MindReader." Aunt Sallie s.p.a.ced those last four words like gunshots.

Instead of replying or acknowledging that, Bliss asked, "And what's the other thing?"

"Don't ever get in my face again," said Aunt Sallie.

Bliss leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She gave it a moment while she composed the best response, given the nature of the implied threat, the nature of her own faux pas, and the echo of her own words which still hung in the air.

"A lot of people are afraid of you, Auntie," said Bliss, her tone conversational. "Maybe they have reasons. There are a lot of tall tales floating around about you. And even if half of them are true then once upon a time you were hot s.h.i.+t. Well, here's a news flash, that's not even yesterday's news. It's last century's. You're a b.i.t.c.hy, foul-mouthed, and disgruntled old woman who likes to bully people and you probably get some kind of contact high every time you verbally b.i.t.c.h-slap someone. It's all very interesting and maybe it would make a good movie. But in the real world, in the world of right now, I'm more valuable to the DMS than you are. You're not a scientist and you're long past being a field agent, and this organization's entire effectiveness is built on geeks and shooters. I'm worth ten of you. Now either fire me or f.u.c.k off."

Later, back at her desk, Bliss tried not to smile.

An official reprimand went into her file. And that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on, since she worked for a secret organization. Besides, she could take her skills anywhere-even outside of the Department of Defense, DARPA, or any related group-and if she couldn't file patents on what she'd done as part of the DMS, she knew that she had a lot more game. She'd come up with something brand new. Something that would kick the a.s.s of everything else on the market.

That evening she lay in the warm circle of the vice president's arms in a hotel room guarded by Secret Service agents who were totally owned by Collins. The vice president's wife was on yet another charity trip. Bliss told Collins everything that had happened.

They both laughed until they cried.

Chapter Thirty-eight.

Surf Shop 24-Hour Cyber Cafe Corner of Fifth Avenue and Garfield Street Park Slope, Brooklyn Sunday, August 31, 1:17 p.m.

I tapped my earbud for Bug but got Nikki instead.

I told her about the attack and ordered her to put it into the system with A-clearance priority.

"G.o.d, are you all right?"

I had gla.s.s splinters in my hair and a case of the shakes I was sure would never go away. I wanted to curl up on my couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch daytime TV until I no longer believed that there was a real world.

"Sure," I said, "I'm just peachy. Listen, kid, have you guys made any progress on those text messages? 'Cause I got one right before the hit."

"Not so far, but-"

"Put more people on it," I barked, and told her about the one I got right before the attack. "These have to be coming from Mother Night. Which means she knows my cell number and she can bypa.s.s MindReader. I don't care what you have to do, but get this solved."

Then my brain s.h.i.+fted gears so fast that I nearly hurt myself.

"Wait a G.o.dd.a.m.n minute. The message before that last one. You always hurt the one you love. Christ, it sounded stupid at the time but it sure as s.h.i.+t doesn't now. It sounds like a threat. Junie is at FreeTech. I want two security guards bookending her and I want it right f.u.c.king now. And call her to let her know they're coming. Don't talk to me. Make it happen."

She was gone.

I stood trembling in the street, but now the shakes had nothing to do with gun battles or flesh wounds.

"No," I said to the day-to this awful, awful day. "No."

Chapter Thirty-nine.

Fulton Street Line Near Euclid Avenue Station Brooklyn, New York Sunday, August 31, 1:18 p.m.

NYPD transit officer Maureen Faustino stared into darkness.

"What happened to the d.a.m.n lights?" she asked as she reached for her flash.

A few feet away, her partner, Sonny Dawes, clicked his light on. The beam reached twenty yards down the subway tunnel before being consumed by the intense darkness. Faustino turned her flash on and swept it along the ceiling and the damp walls. Rows of security lights in wire cages were dark.

With her other hand, Faustino clicked her shoulder mike and reported the power outage. The dispatcher noted it and told them to proceed with caution.

Use caution walking into a pitch-black tunnel? thought Faustino. No s.h.i.+t.

"How far's the train?" asked Dawes.

"Dispatch says six hundred yards."

They looked at the utter blackness beyond their flashlight beams.

"Well, f.u.c.k a duck," said Dawes.

They glanced at each other for a moment, nodded, and drew their guns.

Faustino and Dawes were down here responding to a call from the conductor. There had been some cell calls from people trapped on the train, but those calls were badly distorted by some kind of interference, and then they all abruptly stopped. To prevent a collision, the transit company halted all other trains on that line, so now people were in stations all along it, getting impatient, getting p.i.s.sed, demanding answers.

No further contact had been established with anyone on the train.

Faustino swallowed nervously. Nothing about this felt right.

"Think we should call for backup?" asked Dawes.

"For what?" answered Faustino. Though, in truth, she wanted to do just that. She didn't, though. The transit authority had begun installation of cellular carrier boosters in the subway system, but there were still cell phone dead spots, and they seemed to be in one. Hardly justification to ask for additional units when everyone was already stretched thin because of Labor Day. Besides, they were both experienced at this sort of thing-the New York version of tunnel rats. Faustino had lost track of how many times she'd had to walk through these stone veins beneath the city.

"Let's go," she said, and together they moved single-file along a narrow concrete service walkway.

The smell was damp and electrical, with undertones of rot and waste.

The tunnels were bad enough when the lights were on. Vermin of every kind. c.o.c.kroaches big enough to mug you. s.h.i.+t from homeless people coming down here to take a dump. Syringes and crack vials underfoot-though Faustino could never imagine anyone coming down here to get high. And the constant drip of water and puddles that never seemed to evaporate.