Daemon

drinking to the health of their business partners. Most tables sported two or three expressionless Terminator types scanning the patio for trouble and thumbing the handles of metallic briefcases. Anderson was finally doing serious journalism. If only her friends knew.
    Of course, she wasn’t here as a journalist. She was undercover as CFO of a Hong Kong fiber optic concern. She smiled. Her business card was spectacular, with a holographic cross-section of a bundle of fiber, glittering with light.
    Her new satellite phone emitted a melodic ringtone. She lifted up her sunglasses and pulled a small encryption chip from its location, clipped invisibly in her hair. She grabbed the phone from a nearby end table and fitted the chip into a slot on the side. Then she answered it. No need to say anything. She knew who it was.
    It was The Voice with her clipped British accent. ‘Can you get to a satellite news channel? Yes or no.’
    Anderson glanced around. She saw a television mounted over the hotel bar beyond tinted glass. It was always tuned to business news. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Go to it. CyberStorm Entertainment.’ The line clicked off.
    Synthetic bitch. She liked Sobol’s voice better. Anderson yanked the chip and stowed it, as though fixing her hair. She saw a Ukrainian enforcer staring at her longingly. She pointedly ignored him and wondered what sort of dental hygiene was prevalent in the former Eastern Bloc nations. She also wondered what physical security the Daemon could offer her.
    She gathered her things and clicked across the tiled patio to the refrigerated air of the bar. An Australian satellite newsfeed was already on, but muted. Anderson smiled brightly at Oto, the Tahitian bartender, in his starched collar and black vest. She wondered what horrific thing he did to deserve exile on Nauru. Probably hacked someone to death with a machete. ‘Oto, can you turn the volume up?’
    ‘Yes, Ms Vindmar.’
    Her cover name – a deliberately amateurish attempt at privacy, since she was traveling under her real passport.
    The crawl at the bottom of the cluttered TV screen flashed ‘CyberStorm Entertainment.’ The newscaster’s Aussie accent came up, ‘… from the American NASDAQ. CyberStorm Entertainment’s share price has plummeted 97 percent in the four hours following a press release by the
deceased
CTO Matthew Sobol, in which he claims to have placed a back door in the company’s Ego AI engine. Share prices of third-party game companies using CyberStorm’s software have also been punished since the news – and lawsuits are already in the works as products are yanked from store shelves worldwide. Analysts expect a cloud will be hanging over the entire PC gaming sector until the full extent of the problem is known.’
    Oto smiled in that good-natured way South Seas islanders have when noticing how fucked up the mainland is. ‘The dead are punishing the living, eh?’
    Strangely, Anderson swelled with pride.
That’s my boss for you
.
    But why had the Daemon phoned her about it? Something was up, and it had everything to do with Tremark Holdings, IBC. She was sure of it. She was also glad she didn’t have to figure any of it out – since the Daemon was handing her both the clues and the answers in its own sweet time.
    ‘May I join you?’
    Anderson jerked her head to see a handsome, square-jawed American in a floral print shirt and khakis standing over her. He was in his mid-thirties, but he had a trim waist, broad shoulders, and rugged good looks that made Anderson imaginea string of broken-hearted women stretching from Minnesota to Sumatra. He had that cool, self-assured air that effective people have.
    Anderson acted cool right back. ‘Can’t you see I’m catching the business report?’
    He straddled a bar stool next to her. ‘There are more convenient places than Nauru to do that. So what brings you way out here?’
    ‘An intense desire to be left alone.’
    He laughed. Then he leaned close and spoke sotto voce, ‘The better question is: what is Anji Anderson, previously of KTLZ TV, doing in Nauru?’ He laid his FBI credentials on the bar in front of her.
    Anderson’s eyes widened for a moment as she nearly panicked. She should tell him. But what would that do? The Daemon was taking care of her. It wasn’t her enemy. This was leading somewhere. Betraying it could ruin everything.
    She got ahold of herself. The Daemon had sent her here, and it knew everything. ‘I should have figured you for a