Daemon

heard this suggestion from time to time from men of Vanowen’s generation. Lindhurst chose his words carefully. ‘Russ, our competitors deliver market information in seconds to their clients, and we need to also. That doesn’t even begin to cover the fact that we need information just as much, if not more, than our clients in order to make a profit. If you turn off these systems, you may as well lock the doors.’
    Vanowen was already nodding. ‘You’re right. Of course, you’re right. But damnit, I knew this would happen one of these days with these goddamn computers.’
    Lindhurst let this Nostradamus-like postdated prediction go uncontested. ‘Let’s be explicit, then: you go about your normal schedule. I’ll see what I can do about the problem, and when you return, we meet first thing. In person and off-site.’
    ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t simply call the authorities?’
    ‘Look, even if we decide to contact them, the more we know about what’s really going on, the better. We’re only talking about a few days more, and this thing has been inside us formonths. Remember, the slightest hint that there’s trouble, and this thing is liable to pull the plug on all our data.’
    ‘But would it really do that? Then it would get nothing.’
    ‘This isn’t a
person
, Russ. It’s a logic tree. That’s like wondering if a computer has the courage to put the letter D on-screen if you tap the ‘D’ key. I suspect that a few employees have handed over control to the Daemon. I’m hoping I can quietly discover who and convince them to change sides again.’
    Vanowen waved that topic aside. ‘I don’t want to hear details. Just tell me when you’ve solved it. Now get out of here, I’ve got to get ready to leave.’
    Lindhurst put the remote down. He moved to leave but then turned back toward Vanowen. ‘What’s in Moscow, Russ?’
    Vanowen scowled. ‘What?’
    ‘I’m just curious why you’re heading to Moscow. Are we setting up a branch office there?’
    Vanowen pointed to the door. ‘Go solve this problem, will you, please?’
    Lindhurst regarded Vanowen for a moment more. He knew the old man was hiding something from him. He just didn’t know what.
    But for once, Lindhurst had a few cards up his own sleeve. Cards that the old man’s generation didn’t even know existed.

Chapter 32:// Message
    Black screen. Suddenly a gleaming chrome logo hissed in from the left while ultrapasteurized techno music thumped in over the title:
    News to America
    The title twirled into infinity as inset video images crisscrossed the screen, and the music built in tempo. Anji Anderson pushing a microphone at a businessman covering his face. Anderson helping a handicapped child take her first steps on artificial limbs. Anderson typing feverishly at a laptop keyboard in the open air while columns of black smoke towered over a city skyline behind her. Fast cuts following fast cuts. Half a second each. The human brain had to scramble to identify the image, determine whether it presented a threat, and just barely resolved it in time for the next image: Anderson standing, arms akimbo, glowering at the camera in the middle of Times Square while her name slid into place beneath her belt line. The music stopped cold.
    The screen flipped immediately to black. A color photograph of a small child faded in. A boy smiling into his birthday cake, surrounded by friends. Anderson’s voice rose. ‘Peter Andrew Sebeck was born in Simi Valley, California, only son to Marilyn and Wayne Sebeck. He was their ray of hope after the loss of their first daughter to leukemia two years earlier. Outgoing, well liked, Peter was a model child.’
    Another picture resolved over the first. It showed Sebeck in a high school football uniform, holding his helmet on his knee, once again smiling.
    ‘Peter appeared to have the perfect life. But his early promise was cut short when he fathered a child at the ageof sixteen with Laura Dietrich, a girl he’d known only a short while. Within a year they married. Friends described it as a cold marriage, devoid of tenderness. Yet, to all outward appearances, Pete Sebeck was still a model citizen. He joined the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department at age twenty-one, took night classes to earn a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, and rose quickly, becoming a twice-decorated officer and later a sergeant of detectives. To his fellow deputies, he was a no-nonsense officer and a family man – a