404: A John Decker Thriller

by J. G. Sandom

  “Fuck me,” she cried. “Fuck me hard.”

  Decker wrapped a hand around her throat and held her fast to the table. Then, he bit her neck, just below her left earlobe, and continued to bite all the way down to her shoulder.

  She moaned and tightened her grip on his hips.

  Decker shoved his hands under her buttocks and lifted her easily to the edge of the table. He sat down on the chair, holding her legs open the whole time, and buried his mouth in between them. He ran his tongue the full length of her slit. She was soaking wet. Her juices flowed all over his face. He buried his tongue deep inside of her, then ran it up to her clit, tugging gently on the labial skin with his lips on each side on the way.

  Lulu continued to moan. Her hips bucked as he licked and sucked on her clitoris. Keeping one hand under her buttocks, supporting her back and lifting her into his mouth, he reached around with the other and slowly and gently inserted a finger inside of her. She was so wet, the digit slid into her easily. He added another, curling them up as if he were beckoning to her, pressing the tips of his fingers deep into her flesh, all the while sucking and licking her clit.

  Moments later, he could feel her lower body begin to tense up. Her breathing quickened and she bore down on his fingers. “Oh, fuck...fuck...fuck you, you fuck,” she cried as she ground into his face. Then, her back arched, she screamed and, grabbing the back of his head, pressed his face deep into her pussy. She came and she came, the orgasm rushing through her like a spasm of fire.

  Decker withdrew his two fingers. He continued to lick but this time avoiding her clit, for fear that it would be far too sensitive following her orgasm.

  She grabbed the back of his head. She pulled him up by the hair, drew him close and then kissed him hard on the lips. But, just as he began to kiss back, she slid off the edge of the table, pushing him down to the chair.

  For a moment, she stood there above him, her face flushed, breathing hard, before falling to the floor on her knees. She grabbed at his robe and pulled it open, releasing his penis. It sprang up directly into her face. Without hesitating, she opened her mouth, and slid all the way down to the base of his cock.

  Decker was amazed. It was difficult for most women to fit half his cock into their mouths without choking, but Lulu had clearly mastered her gag reflex. She slid up and down on his penis, burying more than seven inches deep in her throat. Then, slowly but surely, she rose, sliding her tongue up the underside, until only the head remained locked in her lips. She took her right hand, wrapped it round him, and started to work his cock up and down, licking and sucking the head the whole time.

  Decker moaned. He could feel himself grow harder and harder, until he was afraid of coming too soon. It felt so good and it had been so long since he’d been intimate with anyone that he was worried he might not be able to restrain himself. So he pushed her away.

  His cock popped out of her mouth. Lulu smiled up at him as he stood, picked her up, and tossed her back on the table. Her head banged on the surface but neither of them seemed to notice. Decker was too far gone now to care. He lifted her thighs in his hands, pulled them roughly apart, and thrust into her whilst still standing. His cock slipped into her easily, she was so wet. He began thrusting and thrusting, rotating his hips to gain even more leverage. He thrust and he thrust, at the same time covering her breasts and her neck with rough kisses.

  “That’s it, fuck me,” she cried. “Go on. Harder. Fuck me hard, John.”

  And he did. He fucked her as hard as he could, over and over, so that her buttocks lifted off of the table with each grinding stroke. One of the lobsters fell to the floor, followed by a whole tray of oysters, but neither of them even bothered to look.

  After a moment, he pulled her closer to him until she slipped off the end of the table. She started to fall to the floor but Decker snatched her up with one hand, and flipped her around. He tossed her onto the table again, this time on her stomach, pulled her legs apart, and entered her from behind.

  He could hear her breathing accelerate. Decker increased his pace, fucking her even harder. With one hand, he leaned on her back, on the tattoo which ran from the nape of her neck to her buttocks, pressing her tight to the surface so that her breasts spilled out on each side of her chest. With the other, he held her down at the back of the neck. She was pinned in his arms now, incapable of escape even if she’d wanted to. He kept thrusting inside of her, harder and deeper. She was so tiny, he was amazed she could take it.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she cried. “I’m coming again. Fuck me, John. Keep fucking me, please,” pleaded Lulu, until the words were swept away by her passion. It was as if her mouth couldn’t contain both the syllables and the heat of her breath. She started to scream. He thrust and he thrust, and she came once again in a hot rush of blood. Her voice simply ran out. There was nothing left, he could tell. She was spent.

  As she lay there, her muscles spasming over and over, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He thrust into her until he felt the blood pressure building, the telltale premonition of impending explosion, and suddenly—as her vaginal muscles contracted around him—he came.

  While his brain told him to pull out, Decker’s cock kept him pinned deep inside of her as wave upon wave of pure pleasure rushed through him. He groaned and collapsed on her back.

  She was still panting, her mouth only an inch or two from his ear. He listened as she started to laugh. It was almost hysterical. Then, in a kind of cataplectic collapse, she started to cry.

  Decker turned his head and looked at her face. Her eyes were still shut. Nonetheless, tears welled up from under her eyelids.

  “Are you okay,” he said, afraid that he’d hurt her.

  Lulu opened her eyes. She grabbed him by the back of his neck with one hand and brought his face close. She kissed him again and again. “I am now,” she said, finally. “I’ve been playing this scene over and over in my mind for days now. It’s about time you put me out of my misery, you fucking bastard.”

  “You sure curse a lot when you’re making love.”

  “Making love!” Lulu laughed. “Is that what that was? Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit, for making we wait so long.” Then, she laughed again. “Now get the fuck off me.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Friday, December 13

  Later that evening, as Lulu and Decker snuggled together in bed, she turned over and said, “Are you sleeping?”

  “Yes, I’m sleeping,” he answered. His back was to her.

  “No, you’re not. John. John? I don’t want you to worry about this.”

  “About what?”

  “About us, I mean. We’ve been thrown together and...What I mean is, it’s not every day that you’re fired upon by a drone, chased by cops, hunted. Our lives have been threatened. The adrenaline’s running.”

  “What’s your point, Lulu?”

  “I just don’t what you to feel that you owe me anything. More than a warm shoulder, I mean. You know.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “It’s just been one of those things.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” She paused. For a time she said nothing. Then, she added, “I was alone in those mountains because I ran away. I was tired of traveling.”

  “What?” Decker sighed and rolled over. Although the lights were turned off, there was enough ambient streetlight coming in through the windows that he could make out her face. She was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “I was mad at my parents, mad at them for pulling me out of school and away from my friends. So, I left them when they went to sleep. I had bribed one of our guides, you see, and he had promised to bring me back to Shanghai. But I was wrong about him. I was very young then, only twelve. Very foolish.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” Decker said. “It’s not...necessary.”

  “Yes it is. And I want to. I need to tell somebody. In the end, Chan said he didn’t want money in payment. That was his name. Chan. My guide.”

  “
Please, Lulu.” He reached out, put a hand on her mouth but she pulled it away.

  “When it was over, he left me. Right there, in the snow. He took my money as well. I hated him for that. It seemed, somehow, even more callous. I got lost trying to find my way back and ended up sleeping outside in the lee of a rock. I sucked my fingers all night. That’s why they froze. Like a little girl. Like a baby.”

  Decker rolled over and took her up in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said but the words seemed to falter, to dry up and wither on the tip of his tongue. “I’m...I know what it’s like to keep a secret.” He felt his heart pound in his chest.

  “I was in a coma for two months after the accident. My parents burned to death right in front of me and I guess I just didn’t want to wake up. But I did. Eventually.” Decker sighed. “Funny thing is, I survived the crash. I was in the back seat and I made it out before the car caught on fire. But I was dazed and confused. I tried to pull my mother out of the car but her door wouldn’t open. So I went around to the driver’s side as the flames filled the cabin. I heaved on my father’s door. I was pulling as hard as I could when the other car hit me. I was out in the street, you see. That’s what broke all the bones. The other car driving by on the highway. Just some guy running out to buy smokes.” Decker closed his eyes.

  “After two months, I woke up. I found myself helpless in the hospital trussed up like a chicken. Six weeks later, I was transferred to my Uncle Tom and Aunt Hanne’s house, to the bed in their guest bedroom. I spent almost six months of my life in that bed.” He ran a finger along the scar on his chin. “In the beginning, I had to be fed through a straw. Aunt Hanne—she fed me. And I guess, for some reason, she felt she deserved...compensation. You know. For all of the time she’d spent cooking and cleaning, I guess. And changing my bedpan. And sponging me down. She used to...We used to...”

  Lulu drew him in close. “It’s okay,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid and an invalid too. You were dependent on her. It was her job to look out for you, to take care of you. Instead, she exploited you, took advantage of you. That’s the worst part.”

  “No,” Decker said. He took a deep breath. “The worst part is I enjoyed it.” He waited for her to recoil but she didn’t. She simply kept stroking his hair. “She made me feel special,” he added. “Like she loved me. She said it wasn’t my fault that my parents had died.”

  “You are special,” said Lulu.

  “Is that why you told me your story?” he asked her. “So I’d let go of my secret?”

  Lulu sighed. “Kind of,” she said. “And here I thought I was being so subtle.”

  She cradled his head against her breasts, adding, “We all need to be loved, John. It isn’t a crime or a weakness. It’s what makes us human.” Then she kissed him.

  They ended up having sex once again. Except that this time, he let himself go. They didn’t fuck; they made love. And he found himself holding her with all of his might, as if he were afraid she might vanish—like a phantom, a succubus—and love itself would cease to exist. It was sweeter and richer than the darkest of chocolates. When it was over, Decker fell asleep in her arms, a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It was the first time in years.

  CHAPTER 47

  Saturday, December 14

  Decker woke up before dawn, as usual, and reached over for Lulu but she wasn’t there. He was alone. “Lulu?” he said, sitting up.

  He pressed a palm to the sheets. Not even warm.

  With a sigh, he got up and checked the bathroom. It was empty too. He took a quick piss and slipped on a terrycloth robe.

  Lulu wasn’t in the dining room either, which now smelled of seafood; no one had come to remove the feast they had shared.

  “Lulu? Lulu!” he cried.

  “I’m in here,” came the reply.

  She was in the office between the dining room and master bedroom sitting in front of a Mac Pro, a huge cup of coffee steaming beside her.

  “What are you doing?” he said standing behind her. She didn’t even look up.

  On the screen, he noticed a series of open windows: an article from the New York Times talking about Stuxnet; another quoting Defense Secretary Leo Pancetta, who warned about the risk of a cyber Pearl Harbor; and one about Iran’s CyberCorps and their likely involvement in a cyber-attack against Saudi’s Aramco in August. “What are you doing?” he repeated. Without knowing why, for no reason at all, he leaned down and kissed her on the back of the neck.

  Lulu shook him off. “Stop that,” she said.

  “My, aren’t we grumpy this morning.”

  “I found something,” she said.

  “What?”

  She minimized the windows and opened still others: Facebook; Twitter; Second Life. They all appeared to be social networks. No they weren’t, Decker noticed. Some were labeled Acxiom or Experian, Allied Data Systems, Datalogix or Rapleaf.

  “What is all this?” he inquired.

  “User profiles,” she answered, still clicking away at the keyboard.

  “Whose?”

  “Dead people,” she said.

  “What? What do you mean, dead people?”

  “They’re the personality profiles of everyone who’s been dying in these weird IP-based accidents over the last several days,” she explained.

  “What accidents?”

  “That plane crash near Chicago for one,” Lulu answered. “The Air Traffic Control System was hacked. And that railroad crossing event in Jackson, Mississippi.”

  “Mary-Lou Fleming?”

  She nodded. “Same thing. That incident at the Shannon nuclear power plant in Pottstown, PA. And the market crash the same day. Everyone thought it was some floor trader in Chicago with a fat finger who entered a trade for sixteen billion instead of sixteen million. It wasn’t him,” she added. “At least now, I don’t think so. I bet the system was hacked. One extra zero and the market lost a trillion dollars in value.” She looked up at him. “These people are dead, John, but new data points are being added about them each day. And not on their social networks alone. I mean data broker sites too. Like Acxiom, Experian, ADS.”

  The profiles were very complex, she continued, including: Google search terms; credit card and other financial profiling data; school, IRS and medical records; Flickr, Picasa and Pinterest updates; Facebook, LinkedIn and Tumblr posts; iTunes playlists; Tweets; phone records; call transcripts...Millions of variables. The list went on and on. Many of them were created using Zimmerman’s own websites, like ShopBorg and MnemeScape.

  “But who would update these profiles?” asked Decker. “Someone at Riptide. And why? What’s the motive, identity theft?”

  “They weren’t uploaded by anyone.”

  “What?” Decker said. “Someone must have done it.”

  Lulu shook her head. “No, not someone,” she answered. “Some thing.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Saturday, December 14

  Decker pulled up a seat next to Lulu and sat down beside her. He examined the Macintosh screen. Sure enough. All the profiles belonged to Mary-Lou Fleming.

  “What do you know about Autonomic Computing?” Lulu asked him.

  Decker shook his head. “You mean like our autonomic nervous system? The thing that controls our breathing and such?”

  “Yes, but in computers, not humans. In humans the ANS affects heart rate, digestion, breathing, even sexual arousal. Stuff that normally functions beyond our conscious control. Same with Autonomic Computing. It controls things like load balancing across multiple servers so that individual computers don’t get overwhelmed by too many requests. Software repairs are increasingly being done by computers themselves. Machines are even being used to design arrays in next-generation PCs.”

  “Machines...making machines,” Decker said, shaking his head. “Great.”

  “I read an essay in McKinsey Quarterly not that long ago that posits we’re in the midst of the emergence of a second, machine-to-machine economy, one whic
h will result in deep economic, social and political change, change as profound as the Industrial Revolution. Business processes that were once the province of humans are now being executed electronically in an unseen digital domain. We may have designed this new economy but we’re not running it. It operates independently and it’s everywhere, just under the surface, like water flowing underground—from the process that checked you in on your first flight to Boston to see me, to the powerful algorithms that drive currency trades at speeds so fast we can only track them in hindsight, creating trillions of dollars in wealth without a single human activity.

  “Robotic chatter on the world’s wireless networks will soon exceed the sum of all human voice conversations. When that happens,” she added, “operators will have to decide who waits in line to make a call or get email—the machine or the human. I thought we weren’t going to reach the Singularity for years.”

  “What’s the Singularity?”

  “It’s a notion put forward by computer pioneers like John von Neumann and Ray Kurzweil that posits the emergence of a greater-than-human super-intelligence through technological means.”

  “What are you saying, Lulu? Not your noöspheric notion again.”

  She sighed. “What was Zimmerman working on?”

  “Personality profiles.”

  “Exactly. And he built a profile using someone he knew the most intimately—himself. Then, he stopped. He shut the whole program down. Why? I don’t think it was because of Riptide. Riptide may have facilitated what’s happening but it isn’t responsible. No,” she continued. “Zimmerman stopped developing his cyber-doppelgänger for a whole other reason.”

  And then, finally, it hit him. Decker felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. “Because he didn’t like what he’d made,” he replied. “Is that it?”

  Lulu nodded. “Like Frankenstein’s monster. Somehow his cyber-doppelgänger reached a level of sentience that Zimmerman hadn’t anticipated. It didn’t want to be terminated, shut down, deleted and purged from the system. So it killed its own maker.”