Daemon

Ross, who already had his hands on his head. ‘What the hell is going on, Jon?’
    ‘I don’t know. But the Daemon’s got something to do with it.’
    ‘This is your last warning! Put your hands on your head, or we will open fire!’
    Sebeck felt his blood rising. He put his hands on the back of his head but looked to Ross. ‘Why are they looking at
me
?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    The Feds hit Sebeck like linebackers. They piled on him, pounding him into the concrete, wrenching his hands behind his back and handcuffing him. Then they patted him down and took his service Beretta away. The lead agent hissed into his ear. ‘If I had my way, I’d put a bullet in your head, Sebeck.’ He rammed Sebeck’s face into the sidewalk, and then they pulled him up roughly, shoving Ross aside. Blood flowed from Sebeck’s nose down his shirtfront.
    ‘Peter Sebeck, you are under arrest for the murder of Aaron Larson and other local and federal law officers, for conspiracy, wire fraud, and attempted murder. You have the right to remainsilent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law …’
    The world warped as Sebeck’s mind seemed to float four feet above his head. This was impossible. Every pair of eyes bored holes of hatred into him. How was
he
the Daemon? How was this possible?
    He turned toward Ross, standing now beyond a wall of FBI agents. ‘Jon. Jon!’
    ‘Pete, it’s the Daemon!’
    Agents pulled Sebeck along, and half a dozen others shoved him forward from behind. In a second, Ross was lost to sight in the knot of people.
    Sebeck felt as though reality had ripped apart and he was floating in the realm of fantasy. Sobol’s game world was more real than this. Sebeck’s unseeing eyes never noticed the lone camera crew he was hauled past, nor did he notice the attractive blond reporter standing with a microphone.
    ‘This is Anji Anderson, live in Calabasas, California, bringing you a shocking exclusive report as federal agents apprehend Detective Sergeant Peter Sebeck of the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department. Sebeck – previously the lead investigator in the Daemon murder case – now stands accused of participating in one of the most audacious frauds in modern history. Federal prosecutors claim that Sebeck played a key role in a conspiracy to defraud a mentally impaired Matthew Sobol out of tens of millions of dollars. Money that was later used to purchase options in CyberStorm stock. Stock that eventually collapsed, netting the conspirators an estimated $190 million dollars. The FBI, in cooperation with the Secret Service and Interpol, has reportedly made three other arrests in two countries tonight. But at this hour, two things are clear: Matthew Sobol was apparently an innocent victim in this deadly plan, and much to the relief of authorities, the Internet Daemon appears to be a hoax.’
    *
    Natalie Philips stood flanked by The Major and half a dozen NSA agents in the shopping plaza. FBI agents were still cordoning off the scene. She beheld the FBI SAC, Steven Trear, with a look somewhere between disbelief and disgust. ‘You let Jon Ross go?’
    Trear stood in the center of a knot of FBI agents. ‘He was questioned and released. We found no evidence that Ross was involved with Sebeck prior to this week. And he’s been cleared on the Alcyone Insurance worm. Do you know something we don’t?’
    Philips looked to The Major, who pounded a nearby café table in frustration, then tipped it over with a crash.
    Trear threw up his hands. ‘Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?’
    Philips motioned to a nearby NSA agent but spoke to Trear. ‘We just came from Woodland Hills. Jon Ross was taken into custody last night, booked on malicious vandalism and making terroristic threats.’
    Trear squinted at her like she was nuts. ‘
Jon Ross?
’
    Philips accepted a file folder from the NSA agent. ‘The DA dropped the charges after intervention by Peter Sebeck.’ She opened the folder and handed it to Trear. ‘Your preliminary background check didn’t include a fingerprint comparison. The real Jon Ross had a DUI conviction three years ago. Those records don’t match the man you brought in for questioning in Thousand Oaks. Neither do his photos.’
    ‘Hold on a second. You’re telling me—’
    ‘He’s an identity thief. He’s not the real Jon Ross.’
    Trear started thumbing through the folder. ‘Why the hell was this kept from us?’
    The Major answered instead.