Daemon

thing. Also, a substantial percentage of the infected sites are in foreign countries. Most Fortune 500 companies have their back-office data processing operations in India and Southeast Asia.’
    EndoCorp: ‘Borders mean nothing to us. We have private military provider and support firms in place in twenty-five countries, incorporated under a hundred different names. And we have influential voices in dozens more countries. Certain financial interests currently at risk are willing to underwrite this effort to protect the global economy.’
    NSA: ‘The moment you attack, the Daemon will destroy the infected networks.’
    FBI: ‘He’s right. There are too many targets to hit all at once.’
    The CSC representative looked soberly around the table.
    CSC: ‘That’s correct. That’s why we need to pick and choose. If we defend a cross-section of Western interests in numerous industries, the global economy can achieve survivability. But only if strategic investments are made in the shares of selected survivors. This can defray the loss of the other companies.’
    The directors were speechless for a moment.
    DARPA: ‘What about these “tools” that Sobol mentioned?’
    The faces shifted in his direction.
    NSA: ‘It’s a programming interface of some type included in Sobol’s message. Group A has a team analyzing the components now. They suspect Sobol might be extending some form of communication with his Daemon. Perhaps even rudimentary control.’
    FBI: ‘What kind of control?’
    NSA: ‘For starters, there’s a function that, on demand, destroys the data of any chosen Daemon-infected company.’
    Everyone immediately grasped the significance of this.
    DARPA: ‘And this is still being broadcast around the world in an encrypted beacon?’
    NSA: ‘Yes. Which means it’s only a matter of time until other governments have this knowledge, too.’
    CIA: ‘Sobol’s forcing our hand.’
    DARPA: ‘We’ll need to see that API as soon as possible. It could provide intelligence on the topology of the Daemon’s darknet.’
    FBI: ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we start communicating with this thing? We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
    NSA: ‘No one’s negotiating with anyone. This is an object library. We’re analyzing it.’
    FBI: ‘Look, we’ve been messing around long enough. We need to kill it. It’s taken over a big chunk of the Fortune 500, and it can cause irreparable harm to this nation.’
    CSC: ‘To the global economy.’
    NSA: ‘That’s the whole point: if we make one move against it, the Daemon will flush all that corporate data down the toilet. And if we ignore it, then some other government might invoke the Destroy function to attack us.’
    CSC: ‘We must attack it.’
    NSA: ‘I don’t think losing three quarters of the companies is an option.’
    EndoCorp: ‘You need to move on Sobol’s organization. Infiltrate it, identify all the ringleaders, nab them, turn the screws on them, and roll their whole damned group. We’ve done it before.’
    CSC: ‘You’ll need handpicked teams.’
    NSA: ‘Gentlemen, I hope we’re not disturbing your meeting.’
    They looked impassively at the director.

Chapter 36:// The Powers That Be
    A gleaming Dassault business jet taxied out of the darkness and into a brightly lit, spotlessly clean hangar. It rolled to a stop alongside a black Cadillac Escalade and a Chevy Suburban. The aircraft engines whined to a stop as men in suits removed their ear protection and approached the plane.
    The jet door was pulled open, letting down a short row of steps. In a moment Russell Vanowen, Jr., stepped from the plane, as always looking resplendent in a bespoke, black pinstriped suit. He cast his commanding gaze around the hangar. Everything looked secure. Only his hired security team was present. Korr Security Services – ex–Special Forces soldiers. Smart, capable, trustworthy.
    He strode toward the Escalade as one of his half dozen bodyguards stepped up to meet him.
    The man reflexively saluted, then stopped in mid-salute with some embarrassment. ‘Good evening, Mr Vanowen, your guest is waiting, sir.’
    Vanowen nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
    The guard opened the passenger door of the Escalade. Vanowen noted with satisfaction the thickness of the door. Kevlar laminate armor and inch-thick bulletproof glass. It was a discreet business tank.
    Vanowen ducked inside and was unsurprised to see a man waiting for him in the plush backseat. The man was