Cyber Genius (26 page)

***

Tudor’s Take:

Tudor scrunched up his shoulders and stared at the
computer screen, aware of all the wankers studying him as they strolled past
his cubicle. He didn’t care what they thought, but it was hard to work under
scrutiny. Besides, the machine didn’t have enough RAM to run his software, and after
working with Graham’s super satellite connections, the internet here was a
total shambles.

He thought he had the code to patch the spyhole
and
stop his monster, but he couldn’t
test it. He was debating going back to the house when he heard a commotion on
the other side of the cubicle farm. Had this been school, he could have ignored
it. But adults normally didn’t create that kind of aggro.

Tudor got up and made his way through the strangely empty
newsroom—in the direction of excited voices.

“Russian hackers!” someone was shouting with authority.
“It’s a terrorist attack on our economy. I’ve been warning you!”

“The only terrorist involved here is Wall Street,” someone
else yelled. “Wall Street can turn off the panic-spigot anytime, but they
haven’t. One bad program won’t ruin MacroWare.”

“Yeah, but the collapse of the internet will,” a woman’s
voice insisted.

Her warning was almost drowned in a sea of loud theories.
Tudor hid outside the break room, trying to work out what had them arguing.
These were journalists, he understood. They thrived on trouble. But the mention
of Russian hackers had his insides churning.

“Someone just reported Goldrich’s website down,” a louder
voice yelled. “So are two more brokerages and three of the major banks. I’d say
it’s a cyber-attack on our economy.”

Just as he’d feared, it had all gone pear-shaped. Gutted, Tudor
closed his eyes against panic.
His cookie
monster had escaped its cage?
How? It wasn’t designed to go anywhere—unless
some nutter adulterated the program. A few code changes . . .
and it might attach to documents from an infected site and travel anywhere the
document did—and keep traveling and chewing and multiplying.

If Ana was right and someone was spying on banking
committees through the beta program...

The Frankenstein monster might really devour the internet.

Swallowing his alarm, he returned to his computer. He needed
access to a lot of speed and a lot of servers, really fast.

What better place than the MacroWare office just blocks from
here?

***

Ana paces anxiously

Once the Goldrich hall was clear, I slipped out of the
restroom, studying my cellphone like everyone else. With the internet on the
eve of destruction, I worried that I hadn’t heard from any of my family or
friends and might not again if communication servers crashed.

Clusters of people stood in the corridors, shouting into
their instruments of Satan, so I assumed phone lines were still in place.
Whether the mortgage company survived depended on the security of their backup.
They had only the spyhole and themselves to blame for this fiasco.

I really liked the idea that Goldrich and Rose had been
hoist by their own spying petards and Tudor’s nasty little monster. I had no
proof, but I had a glorious feeling that Rose’s evil empire had just been shot
down by its own villains.

If it weren’t for my concern over our money, I’d burst into
song. Well, maybe not.

Knowing that Goldrich, Top Hat, and hotel management were linked,
possessing evidence that they practically owned MacroWare execs, I cheerfully
abandoned them to their drama.

Motive
was
becoming a little clearer—money being the root of all evil and all that.
Opportunity
 . . . not so
clear. Paul Rose and his cadre wouldn’t be caught dead in a hotel kitchen.
Logistics—completely escaped me.

Out on the street, I tried calling Tudor. No luck again. I
rang Nick but his greeting wasn’t as sunny as usual.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Pretty scary,” he admitted. “They’re calling it a terrorist
cyber-attack. Wall Street just cut off trading. The White House has advised
shutting off vital websites. The embassy is monitoring the situation for fear
the worm will infect British computers next.”

“You need to talk to Tudor and Graham. I have no clear
understanding of what Tudor’s monster is capable of, but it sounds as if it may
have mutated. The attack might be real, but if it’s just Tudor’s program, then
it won’t go anywhere without that hole in the operating system. Advise your
people to remove any beta software, and don’t accept any attachments from
anyone.”

I wanted to go to MacroWare headquarters, but programming
really was Tudor’s bailiwick, not mine. I’m a researcher, and sometimes a harpy,
but I had no real programming training. I regretted my lack of education for
many reasons.

After hanging up on Nick, I tried calling Graham again.
Protecting the world from itself was a lonely job. I thought he might need
human contact occasionally. Or a mosquito buzzing in his ear.

“Tudor isn’t answering my messages,” was his greeting—but at
least he’d answered.

“Not a good sign,” I agreed without argument. “I’ll try to
have Sean check on him, but it’s crazy out here. Without a computer, I’m
helpless. Any new direction I need to follow?” I asked this out of panicked
politeness. I was already aiming for the Metro.

“Tudor’s worm is corrupted almost beyond recognition,” he
reported. “There are IT departments around the globe gleefully accessing any
beta hole they can find, and in return, Tudor’s malicious worm is attaching
itself to everything they copy. If it gives you satisfaction, I’d say that all
these amateur spies are downloading infected documents and passing them on to
all their buddies.”

I whistled happily. “So the villains destroy themselves.
Karma rules.”

“Except they’re taking the rest of the world down with them,
and the Russians and Chinese are exploiting the beta problem with vigor. We
need Tudor working to close the hole and stop his monster because management at
MacroWare is running around placing blame and accomplishing nothing.”

He sounded exhausted. It would be nice to lead the kind of
life where we comforted each other with hugs. That wasn’t happening anytime
soon. “I know Tudor’s working on it, but I’ll talk to him. I want to have a
chat with Adolph. We need to get to the bottom of the murders so you can return
to your office.”

“Miss me?” Graham asked with what almost sounded like real
human humor. “Civilization as we know it comes first. Find Tudor.”

He hung up, of course. He was a busy man. I got that. But he
was also a paranoid robot who’d shut down anything resembling human emotion.
Some days, I approved of the robot.

I stood on a street corner, trying to reach Tudor. Or Sean,
who might know who to call in the office. I watched as frightened
businesspeople rushed by, staring in disbelief at their mobile lifelines.
Mostly, the non-business types appeared ignorant of imminent disaster. Mothers
walked babies. School kids trooped in and out of buses, chattering.

Bombing the internet in no way resembled bombing buildings.
It took a long time before economic carnage became visceral. That didn’t make
the destruction any less fatal.

I hoped and prayed that hospitals and vital resources like
police and fire departments weren’t so advanced as to be playing with beta software.
The internet affected everything in our lives.

Tudor still wasn’t answering his phone or texts. Neither was
Sean.

I hadn’t worried about my little brother while he was at
school. We’d never really talked in years. I shouldn’t be concerned now, but I
was.

Even as I thought that, my phone rang with the
Jaws
theme I’d designated for Magda, the
Hungarian Princess.

I didn’t need her asking what Tudor had done now or offering
helicopters. I let the call go to voice mail and headed for the Metro.

Once my phone quit thumping, I called Mallard. Unlike the
rest of us, he could usually be counted on to be home. “Have the police
concluded we’re not hiding in the woodwork yet?” I asked.

“They have departed the premises with a warning to alert
them as soon as you return,” he intoned solemnly.

“Bugged the place, did they? That’s not legal. We’ll ask
Oppenheimer who to sue.” Graham had the whole house bugged, so this was just
business as usual. “In the meantime, have you seen our resident alien? He isn’t
answering his calls.” If there was any chance of bugs, I wasn’t using Tudor’s
name.

“There is no one here but me. I shall see that the car meets
Miss Elizabeth Georgiana at school.”

I glanced at my watch. It was well past lunch, and I was
running on empty. I liked being there when EG got home, but it didn’t look like
this would be one of those days. “Thanks, Mallard. We’ll owe you big time. Hold
the fort.”

My bratty little brother had a bad habit of disregarding
calls and dropping off the radar. Besides, Sean should be with him, and there
wasn’t a darned thing I could do to make Tudor work faster. I’d only had an
apple and a breakfast bar all day. The hotel was on the way to the newspaper
office. I could do double duty, take time for a fast bite of food and make a
call on Adolph.

I texted a threat to Tudor and left voice mail with Sean.

It was disconcerting that Graham had actually been the only
one to answer my call. He normally ignored us, but he had an eerie ability to
know when disaster was about to strike.

I hopped a Metro car just before the doors shut, and for a
change, I tried prayer to any god that might be listening. I had a feeling a
higher source than little old me was needed to save the day.

Ana tackles the kitchen

I’d only formulated a half-assed plan for approaching
Adolph by the time I arrived at the hotel where presumably Graham was still
staying. I didn’t know how many security cameras Graham could follow at one
time, so I didn’t bother waving at them as I entered the hotel restaurant.

I was convinced Adolph was the key piece to my puzzle, but
he was elusive. I couldn’t think of any way of tricking him into revealing what
he knew, and he had no reason to speak to me that I’d been able to dream up.

I’d learned that Maggie worked catering conferences for
extra money, but normally she was day shift in the restaurant. I didn’t see her
as I asked for a table in a corner, where I could keep an eye on everyone in
the room. I’d been hoping for her aid, but I’m creative. I’d find another way
of reaching Adolph.

Perusing the outrageously expensive and not very
comfort-food-friendly menu, I wondered if I could charge the meal to Thomas
Alexander’s room. Thinking better of it, I ordered tomato soup and a cheese
sandwich. They weren’t on the menu but the waitress didn’t argue.

I had second thoughts about tomato soup as soon as she left.
Obviously, I hadn’t been thinking. Did botulism have a smell?

Could I end up in the same ward with the MacroWare execs?
I’d love to interrogate those guys, but with a murder rap hanging over Graham’s
head and the feds looking for Tudor, I figured I’d better keep my distance. I
certainly preferred not to gain entry to their ward through tomato poisoning.

Like everyone else in the almost empty dining room, I
punched my phone. No replies from Tudor or Sean. I texted Patra, just in case.
She was supposed to be in Atlanta, but she could be with Sean after they broke
the nasty news story about the beta program.

By the time I’d eaten my soup (diced tomatoes, basil, no
cream) and sandwich (I wasn’t venturing to guess what kind of cheese or herbs),
I’d dug into my cloud files and uncovered Adolph’s mobile number. If I was
going to develop food poisoning, I’d be sure to spill my guts on his shiny
shoes.

Maggie had told Adolph about the potentially poisonous salt shaker,
and
he hadn’t told the cops
. That, in
itself, was suspicious.

If Wilhelm was telling the truth, Adolph had made the salsa
that could have contained spoiled canned tomatoes.

Our unfriendly hotel chef also appeared to be benefitting
from MacroWare’s connection to Goldrich—which looked like an insider pay-off to
me. He had a spotty reputation with the law and alcohol and no good means of
climbing higher than a hotel kitchen unless he pulled strings.

And he’d been in the safe room when Hilda had been shot. I
didn’t think he had sufficient motive to be suspect Number One, but he looked
like a solid accessory. Of course, whoever had crossed the wiring was the real
accessory, but that could be any of a few thousand people.

Feeling stupidly safe knowing Graham was a few floors above
me, I rang Adolph. He didn’t answer. I wouldn’t either if I didn’t recognize
the number.

“I know about the salt shaker,” I told his voice mail. “And
Goldrich is going down as we speak, so your mortgage is already in jeopardy. If
you’re prepared to tell what you know, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop
you. I’m waiting in the dining room for the next ten minutes.”

I was giving Adolph the benefit of the doubt because I just
didn’t think he had sufficient motivation to kill five MacroWare execs.

I ordered coffee and waited.

***

Tudor’s Take:

All the pillocks were so busy arguing over potential
economic collapse that Tudor slouched out of the newspaper office without
anyone noticing. He felt as if he carried the weight of the bloody world on his
shoulders. Babies might starve if he didn’t repair what he’d broken.

Not that he’d
broken
the dodgy betaware. But no one had expected a worm to crawl in and start
burrowing through their files either.

The creepy kid song,
the
worms crawl in, the worms crawl out
, dug into his brain cells and couldn’t
be dislodged.

People had probably been
killed
because he’d found that beastly hole. The internet could still die
if his monster wasn’t stopped.