Destiny unpauses. She leads him down to their room from the night before. She perches on the edge of the bed again, passive.
Jeff feels excited, and guilty for being so.
‘Can we do something a bit more . . . hardcore?’
Destiny smiles an exaggerated grin. ‘Sure, what would you like? I can do role play, S & M, custom . . .’
The options float in text in front of him.
‘What can you do with custom?’
‘Whatever you like. You can change my appearance, personality.’
‘OK . . . how about we give you . . . auburn hair?’
‘Sure.’ Destiny complies, her hair shimmering with static as its colour changes into a perfect auburn pantone.
‘A bit shorter in height, smaller, heart-shaped lips.’
Destiny’s body reconfigures itself.
After a few more adjustments, Destiny is starting to look very familiar. She looks like Rose.
Jeff moves to kiss her. She kisses back. But it doesn’t feel right. Not for what Jeff wants to do to her. Another time, perhaps, when he is more comfortable in this reality.
‘Actually, no, this isn’t going to work for me. Let’s try tall, jet-black hair, bit of a tease.’
‘Define tease.’
‘Plenty of make-up.’
Destiny’s hair morphs back into black, make-up blooms on her features and her legs, abdomen and arms lengthen.
‘Say when.’
‘OK, stop. Bigger eyes.’
A few more tweaks and Destiny is a dead ringer for Pandora.
‘Perfect,’ he says. He kisses the Pandora avatar hard before taking her on the bed. He explores all the options for the whole night. Hours pass, and it’s early in the morning by the time he is done.
Destiny, showing no sign of tiredness, looks up, her face pixelating briefly. ‘A new option has just become available.’
‘A new option?’ Jeff’s curiosity overcomes his fatigue. ‘What does it do?’
Destiny’s face shreds with interference lines for a second.
‘Secret. You have to say yes.’
Jeff really is tired and his head aches. But he wants to know.
‘Yes.’
Black pixels burst out of Destiny’s eyes, nose, mouth, every orifice – pouring across the bed, across the carpet, up across the walls, floor, ceiling.
‘Oh shit . . .’ Jeff leaves the bed, hurries to the door. The buzzing, oozing black pixels crawl up, shimmering over the simulated handle. The door won’t budge.
‘Help!’ he shouts.
Jeff remembers. What was that help thing that the Nymph mentioned? Two taps on the wrist?
He taps his wrist. Twice. Nothing.
‘Come on, damn it!’
He watches as the swarm of pixels coalesce on the ceiling and the whole room is plunged into a pitch-black void.
‘Hello?’
His voice echoes. His surroundings are completely corrupted.
Shit. It’s crashed and I’m stuck in it.
Jeff sits on the black floor. He is about to turn his visor off when an options screen flicks into life, floating right in front of him:
Pier
Dungeon
Basement
(Please select option and enter)
Not liking the sound of the last two, he taps pier. The black mass retracts from the walls, floor and ceilings until only a large patch is left on the opposite wall. The pixels shift and gradually expand to reveal a sunny coastline and beach in the distance. Jeff paces towards it. There’s no sign of Destiny or the bed. As he walks, planks of wood emerge from the sand, telescoping and fanning out. He gasps as a pier, with moving rides and blinking lights, rapidly grows itself. He steps out from the Erotix room and into the pier subprogram. He squints, thinking he sees the silhouette of a beautiful woman, waiting . . .
She turns towards him and smiles. But there’s not much warmth there, and Jeff hopes that WadeSoft can improve it with the next system upgrade.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hello, Jeff.’
He pauses. That’s not his user name. Seems like this is a more personalized experience.
‘What’s your name?’ he asks.
‘My name? My name was Iris . . .’
Jeff makes to reach out to touch her hand, but he can’t move his arm.
‘What the . . .?’
He tries again, but he cannot control his limbs.
A screen appears in the air in front of him.
CRITICAL ALERT
FIDELITY SAFE OVERRIDE ACTIVE
61.
The next morning Rose is sitting with Baptiste, Owen and Brennan. In addition, Aaron Kendrick, the assistant director of the Bureau in Washington, is watching proceedings on a video link. Caviezel is at his side, jotting notes on his pad with his stylus.
Rose is describing everything she has on the case, the home hacking and what they found at the cabin last night. Kendrick is studying her with his intense aqua-blue eyes, like a hawk might as it circles its prey. He’s wearing a charcoal suit and blue shirt, offset by a dark red tie. Kendrick is a ruthless career climber, and even Baptiste is uncharacteristically quiet.
When Rose is finished, Kendrick says: ‘What I want to impress upon all of you is that we need to get a result from this little maverick team we’ve got here. The attorney general is breathing down my neck. I’m getting heat from governors, senators, mayors – they all want this bastard taken down. If Koenig is now toying with Special Agent Blake, then we need to send a clear message.’
‘What do you want the message to be?’ asks Baptiste.
‘That you don’t fuck with the FBI. You don’t hack into our computers and you don’t threaten one of our agents. Does anyone have any idea what this photo means?’
Lying in front of them in a sealed plastic evidence bag is the photograph they found at the cabin. It’s a picture of a young couple sitting on a park bench. A teenage male with an attractive blonde woman roughly the same age, although with her make-up it’s hard to be sure. There’s something about the look of the pair of them that makes the image appear dated.
‘It could be Koenig,’ Rose suggests.
Kendrick’s cellphone rings. ‘I’m going to have to take this call. Bottom line: if you don’t have something concrete for me in the next few days, I’m taking the case off you. It’ll go to Quantico where there are staff better qualified to deal with it and the computer systems are more secure.’
Kendrick leaves the office. Caviezel leans forward to close the connection and the screen goes blank.
‘Kendrick’s an asshole,’ Brennan mutters when the door has been closed.
Before Rose can agree, her smartphone vibrates.
JEFF’S OFFICE
It’s the third time they’ve tried to call her.
‘Sorry, do you mind if I . . .?’
Baptiste nods and Rose retreats to a corner of the room. ‘Agent Blake.’
‘Oh, hi, Agent Blake. This is Pandora Valler. I’m working with your husband on the campaign.’
‘Yes, he’s mentioned you. How can I help?’
‘I’m calling you because . . . well . . . He hasn’t shown up at the local campaign office today. No one can seem to get hold of him, or knows where he is. He’s not answering his smartphone and there’s no answer from his hotel room. Do you know where I can find him?’
‘Sorry. No.’ Rose is mildly concerned. ‘He didn’t tell me where he was staying. I’d have thought if anyone knew where he was it would be you, since you work with him.’
‘We’re just seeing if anyone knows. Sorry to have bothered you. Guess I’ll have to keep looking.’
‘Sure. Let me know when you do find him. OK?’
‘Will do.’
Rose ends the call. She feels a prickle of tension between her shoulder blades. With the hacking, with the photo . . . there’s been a lot of Koenig activity in the last few days.
‘What’s wrong, Rose?’ Baptiste asks.
‘It’s probably nothing. Jeff’s intern on the campaign has just called saying they can’t find him.’
Baptiste frowns. ‘How long has he been missing?’
‘He left on Saturday morning, and he’s late for an event this morning, so only a few hours, I guess.’
Baptiste nods. ‘I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll get a unit to stand by outside your home and your father’s, if you like. For Robbie’s sake. I’m sure Jeff will turn up fine.’
‘We could trace his smartphone?’ Owen says.
‘How?’
‘We ask Samer to help.’
‘No chance,’ Baptiste says, but nods at Rose. ‘Not yet at least. We’ll give it a little longer.’
Rose’s phone vibrates again. There’s a message. She reads:
Jeff is here.
Erotix. Room 77.
Meet me 11.00.
Just you, Rose.
Anyone else and Jeff fries.
Shane Koenig
‘Sweet Jesus . . .’
Owen leans towards her. ‘Rose, what is it?’
Her stomach tightens into a painful knot as she holds up the smartphone for the others to see.
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Baptiste demands. ‘Is that a club or something?’
‘Or something,’ Owen replies. ‘Where you been recently? Erotix is on the StreamPlex.’
‘Oh great. More computer voodoo bullshit. How the hell are we supposed to meet anyone in the great big nowhere? Any way to verify?’ Baptiste says.
‘I can’t text back. There’s no number. It’s been blocked.’ Rose shows them the empty message ID.
Ding. Baptiste pulls out her own smartphone. ‘I’ve just got a video message. Says it’s for the FBI investigating the suit deaths.’
No one else in the room moves or speaks as she holds out her purple phone and presses play. The video is a tight close-up of Jeff’s face, his bloodshot eyes wild and staring. His breathing is quick and laboured like he’s in mortal terror of something he is staring at.
Rose gasps, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh God . . . No.’
Not Jeff. Please not Jeff.
‘Turn off your devices,’ Brennan says urgently. ‘If it’s Koenig then the bastard could be listening in.’
The team complies. Baptiste shuts the door, collects her thoughts. ‘Jesus. OK . . . we’ll run the trace on Jeff’s smartphone. Brennan, you can set that up. How are the firewalls looking?’
‘We’re getting there, but we’re still far from secure. Whatever that worm was that got in, the sucker took the files and left a whole load of malware behind.’
‘Damn it,’ Owen says. ‘Is there any network left that’s secure enough for us to sync with the StreamPlex?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Brennan says. He takes a deep breath. ‘I think we could use Samer’s help with this. I hate to say it, but the little shit knows his stuff.’
‘Better than you?’ asks Baptiste.
Brennan hesitates, then admits, ‘Yeah. Better than me. But we’re going to need an uncontaminated network first, and the thing is we can’t trust anything in the building. Or anything that’s been connected to it.’
Baptiste’s expression hardens as she comes to a decision. ‘There is another network.’
Confusion creases across Brennan’s face.
‘The Black Line,’ Baptiste explains. ‘It was used mainly for training operations before you came here, Brenn. Got left out when the systems were last updated.’
‘And how do I not know about this?’
‘No need for you to know about it. And this operation is going to be off the books. Kendrick is on the verge of shutting us down and there’s no need for us to tell him. At least not yet. If Koenig really is offering to meet online in the StreamPlex then we’re going to need everything we’ve got to trace this son-of-a-bitch to a physical address. And we’ll need one of those goddam suits, I take it?’
‘There’s the one from Maynard’s house down in the forensics office,’ says Rose.
‘You can only access the Black Line in the basement, so we’ll need to set up a secure connection as quick as we can. That is everyone in this room, no one else. We’re the only good guys I can trust to deal with this StreamPlex crap. We’ll track Koenig back to his lair and this time he is going down and staying down. And we want Jeff Blake coming out of this in one piece. Clear?’
Everyone around the table nods.
‘Then let’s do it, people.’
62.
Half an hour later, Rose and the team are standing in the cramped Black Line office in the basement. There’s a set of wheeled chairs around five monitors, and a reclining chair they have brought down from one of the senior agents’ offices. Brennan had wrapped the coiling power cables and USB port from the floor up to the headrest while Samer downloaded the system software from WadeSoft and installed and configured it. The StreamPlex connection set-up is complete.
Rose feels a shiver of anticipation. This is an undercover operation like no other.
‘Let me run another diagnostic, just to be sure,’ Brennan says. ‘I tested it earlier using my profile. OK . . . the network access to the Stream is secure. Maynard’s suit is a prototype, but the software is compatible. Even so, it might behave differently.’
‘You seem pretty confident with this stuff,’ Owen muses. ‘Is that because you’ve got a suit at home now?’
‘Hey, look, I’m a hardcore gamer. I like being in the games.’
‘Wow. Clearly you are paid way too much.’ Samer grins.
‘For once, the hype is justified. You do feel like you’re there.’
‘I’m sure between you, Samer and Owen we’ve got Rose’s back covered,’ says Baptiste.
‘What’s to cover?’ Brennan asks. ‘If Rose wants out, she just has to reach up and hit the escape button here on the helmet. See?’
‘Just like that, huh?’ says Baptiste.
Samer sighs. ‘This isn’t the Matrix. No one gets trapped in there. It’s no more harmful than a console.’
‘Really? I doubt Coulter and Shaw would have agreed with you,’ Baptiste replies. ‘If it was that simple then why didn’t they hit the escape button?’
Samer shrugs. ‘Some kind of a glitch, I guess.’
‘You guess?’ Baptiste turns to Rose. ‘Take no chances. You get a bad feeling about anything then you turn the gizmo off at once, you hear?’
‘Yes.’
Brennan indicates the clock on the wall. ‘Thirty minutes to go. Are you ready, Rose?’
Baptiste takes her to one side. ‘You don’t have to go in. We can get someone else.’
‘No. He’ll know. I’ll be fine. If Jeff is in danger then it has to be me.’
Rose strips down to her underwear. She picks up the rubbery black Skin, and the very feel of it makes her shudder as she recalls the sight of Jeff in his study.
Here we go, she says to herself.
She pulls her head through the tight opening, feeling the coolness of the black rubber snapping onto the soft, delicate skin of her neck. Next, she slides and pulls her hands into the sleeves, then wriggles her fingers into the gloves. Her feet and legs follow, and then her body is encased in the black Skin. She tugs at the fabric around her arms and legs, which seems a little loose.
‘OK, guys.’
‘Looking good in black,’ Owen says.
Brennan pats the recliner. ‘On here.’
Rose lies down, looking up at Brennan. It reminds her o
f a dentist’s chair. Brennan hooks the power cable into the socket just below her neck. Owen picks up the visor and approaches her. She looks up at the ceiling’s striplight as he slips the device over the tops of her ears, then towards her eyes. He slides the glass visor down, then plugs her ear buds in. Rose can see nothing. It’s dark.
‘Ready?’
‘All good.’
‘Powering up.’
At once the suit gives a jolt and then a cursor flickers three times at the top left of her field of vision, before text floats in front of her eyes:
Peek Industries
. . . conforming suit
‘Weird.’ Rose says, a little disconcerted.
She moves her limbs slightly. Suddenly the black Skin shrinks, the dense fibres being pulled tighter around her body.
‘It’s trying to crush me! I can’t breathe,’ she says.
‘Brenn?’ Owen calls out in alarm.
Brennan pauses. ‘Wait, it’s contracting to fit her size more precisely. It’s not called a Skin for nothing.’
‘Easy, Rose,’ Owen says, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.
‘Here we go. Loading up,’ says Brennan.
There’s blackness at first.
Then a flash of blue light as the visor scans her biometrics. The screen becomes partially transparent so she can see the room around her behind the bright text.
WS welcomes you to the StreamPlex
(Version 2.5)
Set up new account?
Yes/No
(Use audio or virtual keyboard as desired)
Rose raises her hand and sees a virtual limb come into view with the index finger pointing. She presses the YES option and speaks the required details and password, and after a few configuration questions, the Skin sync is complete. At this point she can hear Brennan sliding around on a wheeled chair.
‘OK, Rose, we’ve got a screen here that shares your video input from the Stream. We’ll see exactly what you see, and it’s all being recorded. The meeting point is Erotix 77, which is a male-only adult area of the StreamPlex. They run a body scan on every user. And in case we hadn’t noticed, you’re a woman.’
‘No shit,’ Rose says. ‘So what do we do?’
‘This is where our evil criminal hacker steps in. Samer?’
Playing With Death Page 27
