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 in his forties, dressed in a sports coat and black shirt. He had buzzcut hair and a firm jaw line—definite military look. They called him The Major, but that’s all Vanowen knew about him. They had never met, but both of them knew their roles well.
Vanowen settled into the empty seat. The door closed behind them with a tight thwup.
The Major did not extend his hand. “You’re seven minutes late.”
Vanowen nodded. “Yes, and so we need to hurry. I’m scheduled to make a keynote speech tonight at the convention center downtown.” Vanowen narrowed his eyes. “You’re certain you weren’t followed?”
The Major ignored the question. “Get us moving.”
Vanowen saw through the partition glass that the driver and a bodyguard were now sitting up front. He hit the intercom. “Downtown Biltmore.”
“They’re getting the bags off the plane, sir.”
“Have them catch up with us at the hotel. Just get us moving.”
“Roger that, Mr. Vanowen.”
Vanowen turned back to The Major. “My sources tell me the Feds know which companies are infected by the Daemon.”
The Major showed no reaction.
Vanowen continued. “And that only a minority of these companies are expected to survive.”
The Escalade was now moving through the hangar doors and into the night.
The Major looked out the window. “If I were in a position to confirm such information—”
“I already know it’s true. What I need from you is the list of infected companies.”
The Major didn’t blink. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Vanowen was uncharacteristically surprised. He tried to find something to say. “Oh…I see.”
“Leland Equity has friends in high places, Mr. Vanowen.”
The Major reached into his jacket pocket. “You seem to be under the impression that you have to save face. You weren’t the only one to get caught in the Daemon’s web.” The Major produced a glossy brochure from his jacket. “But as it turns out, our Mr. Sobol may have inadvertently handed us the investment opportunity of a lifetime.” He handed the brochure to a suspicious Vanowen.
“What’s this?” Vanowen read the title: Annual Children’s Hospital Golf Classic. “Is this a joke?”
The Major tapped the brochure. “Flip it open.”
Vanowen did so. Inside the tri-fold was a long list of charity sponsors—company after company. Vanowen looked up to his guest.
“I had operations print it. We’re expecting a data loss event of cataclysmic proportions within the next six months. That’s a list of public companies targeted for special protection by public and private militaries. Now you know how to restructure your portfolio. If anyone else sees it, it’s just a charity brochure.”
Vanowen smiled broadly. “And how much will Leland be donating to the Children’s Golf Classic?”
The Major turned to look out the tinted windows into the night. “It’s not for your benefit that you’re being told. Although I’m sure you’ll do very well also.”
“Perhaps I can offer you a commission for your investment advice?”
The Major looked blankly at him. “I’m just one of Leland’s investors, Mr. Vanowen. Do your job, and we’ll have no reason to speak again.”
Vanowen nodded vigorously. “Of course.” He folded the brochure and placed it in his suit pocket.
The Major pointed. “That list doesn’t get entered into a computer. It doesn’t get photocopied, and it doesn’t get reported to anyone else without the approval of my superiors. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You know what would happen if you were to lie to me?”
Vanowen made eye contact. “Yes.”
“Good. Make sure you remember it.”
Vanowen sighed dramatically. “Well…what sort of ‘special protection’ will these companies enjoy?”
“There’s a Daemon Task Force—run by an NSA cryptologist. Young black lady. Very sharp. She’s beginning to unravel the Daemon’s design.”
“But if they figure out a way to stop the Daemon, then our investment opportunity is…” Vanowen’s voice trailed off.
“We don’t intend to stop the Daemon. It’s too valuable. The goal is to control it. The task force has made progress in just that area.”
“Control it?” Vanowen considered this. “Then we would still get our opportunity—”
“But with greater precision and total deniability. The Daemon could become a powerful economic weapon—particularly against the ascendant economies of Asia.”
Vanowen thought of the possibilities. “So the Daemon is not invincible, after all…” He gestured to the nearby wet bar. “A scotch to celebrate?”
The Major shook his head. “It’s a bit premature to be celebrating. In any event, I’ll be leaving you in a moment.” He clicked on his own intercom button. “Roberts, leave me off at the next crossroads.”