Any fool could do fantasy; it took some skill to keep it believable.
Anyway, while it wasn’t as fast as a jet or even his pedal to-the-metal Viper, it was a real rush to fly along with the wind blowing in your face and ruffling your hair, to be able to leap tall buildings wearing the technological equivalent of seven league boots.
The way Jay figured it, if you couldn’t have fun, why bother?
Right at the moment. Jay was zooming over the new sixteen-lane South China Causeway, from just outside Xianggang. Hong Kong, heading north to Jiulong, on the mainland, looking for Wong Electronics trucks. These were easy to spot from the air, given that they had bright orange roofs, each of which was numbered. In RW, without a VR scenario enabled, the “trucks” were actually packets of binary information gathered and collated at nodes and squirted across the net. RW was just too boring.
Wong Electronics made some minor pieces of hardware, but they specialized in transmission software, readers and mailers, and certain kinds of security programs. Whoever had snuck into Winthrop’s computer had erected a couple of fire walls and dug two dead falls on his or her way out to cover his or her ass, and from the size and shape, even without the snipped off ID codes, Jay knew the walls “n” falls were top-of-the-line Wongware.
If he could locate, then sneak a ride on a Wong truck and get into their database, maybe he could find out who had bought the fire walls and dead falls. It would be a brute-force cruncher of a project, but he had access to the power. Maybe the breaker had gotten sloppy and left a trail he could follow.
Ah. There was one of the orange-roof trucks now, a couple hundred feet below and half a mile ahead. He’d just drop on down and stow away.
Breaking a lock on one of the trucks’ doors would be easier than taking his shoes off for a player of Jay’s ability.
He throttled back on the belt’s thrust and started to lose altitude. He would very much like to find out who had used Winthrop’s computer before she did.
It would be a loss of face she would hate, he’d be shiny as a new wet light chip, and he would love it: Oh, that? I ran the guy down, didn’t I mention it? Piece of cake, I’m surprised you didn’t do it yourself by now. No, no need to thank me. Lieutenant, I was just doing my job.
Jay reached the rear of the truck, shucked off the jet pack, and got out his lock picks. It took him forty-five seconds to get the door open. He closed it quietly behind him.
That’s Gridley. Jay Gridley… From a thousand feet above Jay Gridley, Platt watched, holding slow and level the little helicopter he’d found himself flying in when he’d dialed into Gridley’s scenario. Kind of neat, the rocket thing the guy wore, and the backgrounds were all sharp and laid in thick too. The little half-breed gook had some skill.
Of course, Platt had a little skill himself.
Plus he had access to all kinds of secret crap that a U.s. senator could put his hands on.
Anything that White could touch, Hughes could touch, and whatever Hughes had, Platt could play with. There were real advantages to knowing top-secret codes.
Platt could rascal stuff from the folks who built Net Force’s computers, folks who had done the original hardware and programming, and who knew where all the back doors were hidden.
You hired a guy to build you a castle, he was gonna know where the secret compartments were, “cause he put them there.
Platt watched the Net Force operative settle toward the orange roof of the Wong Electronics truck on the freeway below.
The man dropped his jet pack, opened the truck’s door, and climbed inside.
This was gonna be as much fun as going” upside somebody’s head. This little gook with his jet pack didn’t have a clue who he was dealin’ with. Not a fuckin’ clue. He was gonna get his ass kicked, and Platt was gonna love doin’ it too.
He let the helicopter sink a little.
When he was over the truck and maybe sixty feet up, he opened the copter’s window and leaned out, a twenty-five pound barbell weight in one hand He extended the weight, lined up, and let it drop.
The steel plate fell, hitting the cab. The driver swerved into the car in the lane next to him.
He slammed on his brakes and skidded to a halt.
Nobody got hurt, but it ought to rattle little Jay pretty good.
Platt hit the copter’s throttled, rose, and veered away. By the time Jay-Jay got his shit together, Platt would be long gone.
We havin’ fun now, ain’t we?
Chapter 20 Friday, December 31/, 4 P.m.
Quantico, Virginia
It was Jay Gridley who was the bearer of the bad news.
Alexander Michaels was feeling pretty good that there hadn’t been any more top-secret leaks into the net for the entire workweek. He was about to go home and enjoy a quiet beer or two on New Year’s Eve. He planned to be asleep by the time midnight rolled around, and with it the year 2011 and whatever joys and griefs it would bring. But as he was getting ready to leave his office to beat the traffic.
Jay came in with a couple of sheets of hardcopy in his hand.
“I think you ought to take a look at this.
Boss.” “It can’t wait until Monday?” “I don’t think so.” “Why don’t I like the tone of that?” Jay tendered the hardcopy. Michaels looked at it. He started to read it aloud: “Overlord Beasts of America: “Know you Beasts that your days are numbered. Know you Oppressors of the Disenfranchised People, that the Number of the Beast is 666, and that the Number fast approaches.
We, the Representatives of the People, we. The Frihedsakse, will bring Low You Despoilers of Earth, You Masters of Tyranny.” Michaels looked up from the hardcopy at Jay.
“Fried socks?
Freed sex?” “Close enough. Our universal translator says it’s Danish.
Means “axis of liberty.” his “Danish? I never heard of any Danish terrorists! Denmark is a peaceful, civilized country where you can let your old grandma go for walks alone at night without worrying she’ll get mugged.” “Sure. She won’t get mugged, but she might slip and freeze and maybe turn into a granny-side,” Jay said.
Michaels shook his head and continued reading: ” “For Your Wicked Ways are Manifest and Myriad, and we Shall Reveal your Sickness to All. All Shall Know You for your Evil, and the Weapons of your Sinful Ways Shall be used Against You, for the Power of Knowledge is the Light that All Demons Fear and the Power of Knowledge is given to the P.” “Brother,” Michaels said. He looked at Jay again.
“So why didn’t you add this one to the pile of other whackaloos claiming responsibility for the leaks?” “Read on, Mcduff.” “You cannot Hide from the Light of Justice, nor can You Run from the People’s Retribution, nor will Fortresses save You, for you are Hated by the P.” “A kind of loose interpretation of Machiavelli, that part,” Jay said.
“Against You the People will throw All that is needed to Defeat you. The End is Near. Prepare for your Doom.” It was signed “The Frihedsakse.” Michaels looked at Jay yet again.
“Next page,” Jay prompted.
On the next page was a list of numbers.
“As nearly as we can tell, those are the original posting times and dates for all the major leaks we’ve been running down. There are a couple there we missed. We went back and strained a lot of stuff posted then, using the Super Cray Colander.
We found a posting of the master list for last month’s new American Express customer names and numbers. The other posting we found reveals the codes for all the computer controlled railroad safety lights and switches on the main commuter line between Washington and Baltimore. A bright hacker could use those to pile half-a-dozen trains up into big heaps of smoking scrap before somebody figured out what was going on. We called American Express and Amtrak.” “Jesus.” “Unlikely anybody would know those specifics unless they posted them in the first place, Boss.” Michaels looked at the number. The last one in the sequence read: 12/31/10-aaeiancei “That’s tonight? December 31/, one second before midnight?” “Yes, sir. If these are the guys, they are going to leak some thing just as the New Year arrives.
Be my guess it won’t be a recipe for mulled wine.” “Shit.” “I hear that. Boss.” “Any way to trace this?” “Sure. We already did. Posted on a public BBS from a pay phone in Grand Central Terminal, New York City, at 3:15 P.m. today. Rush hour. New Year’s Eve.