“Find Saji,” he said.
“Acknowledged.”
The program he’d called was a subset of a larger FBI project that had been scrapped several years before. Officially, at least. Through a combination of GPS satellite and ground-based radio repeater triangulation, the software could identify the location of a particular cellular telecom signal, if it was on file.
Ostensibly, the project had been killed due to a lack of interest, but the real reason had been to avoid big-brother backlash — a concern that, unfortunately, was not completely unwarranted. Jay had used the program a few times for Net Force operations, and once, when checking the satellite logs, he’d seen that several other agencies within the alphabet soup of Washington’s security apparatus had Lazarused the software more than a few times.
A tiny map appeared, hanging in space where the vox input had been.
There she was—
While the program had been working, Jay found the codes he’d been looking for.
The Greenies were about to ride again.
A few weeks ago, he’d helped the District Public Works Department track down some hackers who called themselves the Greenies. They had been messing with local traffic signals using stolen codes they’d run through VR that could read traffic light IDs and change them at the push of a button.
At the moment, the only buttons they were pushing were on phones at the county jail. Jay prayed that those codes still worked.
He tied the search program to software he’d used once for following money across VR, changing the input parameters to track Saji instead. He tagged a locator for the nearest traffic signal on her route to the hospital, just… there, and set the light to go green.
Now, wherever she was, all the lights were going to turn and stay green until she passed them.
For a second, Jay thought about what he’d done. He’d just hacked public transportation for personal reasons — no excuse under the law, and if he was found out, there would be trouble.
True, he’d bounced the program across several hundred VR nodes in the net, spanning the globe several times, with spoofed router codes that would make it virtually impossible to trace. It was unlikely anyone else could catch him, but the risk didn’t matter. It was his son’s life, and there was nothing — absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for him. If somebody was going to be late on their commute because of what he’d done, that was just too bad.
He set the program to dissolve after Saji reached the hospital, and slipped out of VR. He had to get to his car—
He nearly ran over Thorn as he bolted through the door.
“Sorry!”
“Where’s the fire, Jay?” Thorn smiled.
“Mark’s on the way to the hospital with Saji — he’s having seizures!”
Thorn’s smile vanished. Immediately he said, “We’ve got a helicopter on the pad. Go there — I’ll clear it.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
Jay ran.
Now and again, General Wu had occasion to travel, and this time, it was to attend the retirement dinner of his old comrade, General Pei, a salt-of-the-earth fellow who had risen through the ranks from foot soldier to commander. Pei had been a peasant who had joined the army during the Cultural Revolution and progressed quickly in rank. This was due less to his military genius than it was by virtue of his uncanny ability to not offend anyone. Sturdy and steady Pei, he was known as. After rising to the top ranks, he had been put in charge of supplies at a base near Tibet, where he had served honorably for ten years before time to retire.
Now Pei was leaving, probably to go back to his family farm in the sticks, and his friends and comrades were going to raise glasses and toast his departure, knowing their own time would be coming soon enough.
The event was being held at a new military building on West Chang’an, south of Nunhai Lake and near the Beijing Concert Hall.
Since Wu had arrived more than two hours before the dinner was to start, he took the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit.
The area was thick with museums, including Monuments to the People’s Heroes, Mao’s Mausoleum, and the Museum of the Chinese Revolution, which were conveniently located across from the Gate of Heavenly Peace, which led to Tian’anmen Square and the Forbidden City.
There was also more than a little smog in the air, undoubtedly negating any health benefits the walk might confer. Wu smiled at this thought. He had been living on borrowed time since the riot at Manchu Station twenty-four years ago. A little smog wasn’t going to worry him.
The day was warm, with no rain in the forecast, so the air would stay murky for a time. There were more than a few people on the sidewalks, and foreign tourists strung about with cameras in loud shorts and shirts gaping at the buildings and monuments. It was always busy at the main gate to the Forbidden City.
Would that he had lived two hundred years ago, to have been a general in an age when it really mattered.
Even fifty years ago, it would have been a nicer walk. Now, there were McDonalds’ and Burger Kings and Kentucky Fried Chicken fast-food places, French bakeries, and signs advertising Coca Cola and The Gap and Ford automobiles. Holiday Inns and Sheraton Hotels. The Olympics in 2008 had left more such dross behind. Like pox sores on a beautiful woman, these things made Wu feel ill to behold, here in the heart of his homeland.
He liked to believe that he was a realist. He knew he could not single-handedly roll back the clock and erase all Western influence here. But perhaps he could undo some of it, and certainly he could make a difference. One did what one could.
And certainly he would do that.
He looked at his watch. Still plenty of time. He might stop in at the new military library, which was not far from Pei’s event. Or perhaps he would just walk. It was smoggy and warm, but he was fairly relaxed. He had seen Mayli just before he had left, gotten her report on Shing, along with her more intimate ministrations, plus he had managed to nap for a couple hours on the flight. One thing you learned to do in the military was sleep when the chance came up — you never knew but that you might not get another opportunity for a while.
Yes. He would walk through the city, and try to ignore the Western bastardizations as best he could…
19
Some restaurants you went to for the food, some for the ambiance. A few you went to in order to see or be seen. This one had it all — the chef, Antonio Cavelos, was a master in the kitchen. The decor was low-key, subdued, and with enough sound-absorbing material in the walls and ceiling that the place was relatively quiet, even though it was packed. There were dignitaries ranging from U.S. senators to ambassadors to movie stars. All of whom were interesting, though not, Thorn thought, as interesting as the woman sitting across from him.
“So, what do you think?” he asked Marissa.
“Tony can cook, no questions. Best eggplant parmesan I’ve had outside the old country.”
“Go there a lot? Wait — that’s classified, right?”
She smiled. “So, Tommy, how’s your love life?”
He blinked. This was a new area of conversation for them. “What love life?” he asked. “I haven’t had a date since you and I went to that charity thing in New York.”
“That wasn’t a date. We were working.”
“See?”
“Poor Tommy. Spending his evenings all alone.”
Where was she going with this? “I’m used to it,” he said.
She smiled. “How’s work?”
He paused, unsure whether he was glad she had changed the subject. “The usual. Well, except for us being taken over by the military and given a new mission which we don’t seem to be accomplishing at the moment.”