Extinction

officials at NSA, and they remember you well over there. I’ve heard great things about the work you did in Africa in the nineties.”

“I appreciate your help, General. So what did Layla do?”

Yin frowned. “The question is, what hasn’t she done? Over the past year hackers have compromised the Pentagon’s networks a dozen times, and your daughter appears to be involved in nearly every incident.”

Shit. Jim had been afraid of this. He’d warned Layla two years ago, but of course she hadn’t listened. She was a computer prodigy, brilliant but reckless. She’d started writing her own software at the age of twelve, and by her sixteenth birthday she was hacking into her high school’s network and downloading her teachers’ personnel files. All of Jim’s lectures and punishments had no effect whatsoever, but by the time she started college she seemed to be over the worst of it. She had a stellar freshman year at MIT, acing all her courses. But her grades slipped during her sophomore year, and then she announced she was dropping out. She said she was going to do volunteer work for InfoLeaks, the Web site infamous for publishing classified military documents. Jim was devastated. Of all the thousands of things Layla could’ve done with her life, she’d chosen the one that would hurt him the most.

He clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. “So you have evidence that she hacked into the networks?”

Yin nodded. “We traced the attacks to code names and IP addresses she’s used in the past. We compiled all the evidence and handed it off to the FBI, and they’ve already issued a warrant for her arrest. They’ve narrowed her whereabouts to the New York City area and begun searching for her there.”

Jim turned away from Yin so the general couldn’t see his face. This was his nightmare come true. “So why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just to give me a heads-up?”

“No, I want to help. The Pentagon recognizes the extraordinary sacrifices you’ve made, so my superiors have authorized me to make a proposal. If you contact your daughter and convince her to surrender, we’ll withdraw the most serious charge against her. She’ll still go to prison, but the sentence will be lighter. One or two years instead of five to ten.”

Jim shook his head. He and his daughter had once been inseparable. She was only seven when her mother and brother died, and in the years afterward Jim had devoted his life to her. He’d showered her with love and attention, maybe too much. But now he couldn’t do anything for her. Not even the simplest thing. “I can’t contact her,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to reach her.”

Yin looked askance. “You don’t have a phone number?”

He shook his head again. “She thought if she gave me her number, I’d use it to track her down.”

“What about friends, acquaintances? Is there anyone she keeps in touch with?”

“No, she cut off everyone. Layla’s a determined girl. When she does something, she does it thoroughly.”

“Well, when was the last time you spoke with her?”

“About a year ago. She called me from a blocked number. The conversation didn’t go well.”

“What did you discuss?”

Jim stared at the general. He wanted to say, None of your fucking business, but he thought better of it. “I’d rather not go into the details.”

Yin pressed his lips together. He looked displeased. “Your daughter’s hacking efforts were focused on Defense Department networks that hold information about our remote surveillance programs. She was apparently seeking documents on the unmanned drones operating in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Did she ever discuss this topic with you?”

What the hell’s going on? It sounded like Yin was seeking more evidence against Layla rather than trying to make things easier for her. “First of all, we never discussed anything like that. And second, why are you bringing this up?”

“She also seems very interested in China. We believe she’s been investigating the recent arrests of several Chinese dissidents involved in the pro-democracy movement. Did she ever talk about that?”

Jim pushed back his chair and stood up. He was cutting the visit short. He didn’t trust this guy. “Look, I can’t help you. You better go.”

Yin stood up, too. “You’re being evasive, Colonel Pierce. But I’m not surprised. I had a feeling you’d make this difficult.” Moving swiftly, he reached into the jacket of his uniform and pulled out a pistol, a 9mm semiautomatic with a silencer attached to its muzzle. Then, before Jim could brace himself, Yin pointed the gun and fired.

Jim felt the shock of the impact. It spun him clockwise, but he managed to stay on his feet. He waited for the burst of pain, but he felt nothing. His right arm had gone numb. Yin had shot him in the prosthesis, just above the elbow. The bullet had severed the wires in the Terminator arm, which hung limply from his shoulder.

The man grinned, clearly pleased with his marksmanship. “Sorry, but I’m not taking any chances. I heard you put weapons in those arms of yours.”

Jim slowed his breathing and focused on Yin. The man obviously wasn’t a brigadier general. He wasn’t American either. He’d discarded the Midwestern accent and now he was stretching out his r’s—hearrrrd, yourrrs—in a way that sounded familiar.

“Who the hell are you?” Jim asked.

“Before we talk, you’re going to take the arm off. I still don’t like it.”

“I can’t take it off. You busted it.”

“You’re lying. If you don’t take it off in the next ten seconds I’ll shoot your left arm in the same place.” Yin shifted his aim, moving the muzzle to the left. “As you may have noticed, I’m an excellent shot.”

Reluctantly Jim detached the prosthesis. He considered throwing it at the guy, but Yin was too quick. Keeping his gun aimed at Jim’s chest, he backed up to the section of the workbench that held the stacks of circuit boards and the vise. “Now drop the arm and walk toward the bench. Very slowly.”

Jim tossed the prosthetic arm aside but immediately started looking for another weapon. He saw a ball- peen hammer on the workbench, about four feet to the right of where Yin stood. It was a smallish hammer, a one-pound tool that Jim used to test the sturdiness of the electrical connections in his prostheses, but it was better than nothing. As he stepped toward the bench, he tensed his left arm, getting ready to dive for the tool. But before he could make his move, Yin leaped forward. The guy was fast. He grabbed the hammer and swung it at the right side of Jim’s head. Off balance, Jim couldn’t raise his left arm in time to block the blow. The hardened steel slammed against his skull. He fell to his knees and blacked out.

When he came to, he was lying full-length on the workbench, parallel to the wall. He lifted his head, which hurt like hell, and saw Yin binding his legs to the bench with copper wire. Jim tried to get up, but he couldn’t move. His left arm was clamped in the vise at the bench’s edge.

After Yin secured his legs, he stepped toward the vise and grasped the long handle of its screw. “Now let’s try again,” he said. “Where is your daughter?”

“Fuck, I was telling the truth! I don’t know where she is!”

“Please don’t waste my time. I know about your work with Arvin Conway. So don’t try telling me that you’re not involved.” Yin shook his head, then turned the screw. The steel jaws of the vise squeezed Jim’s forearm.

The pain was horrendous. It took all of Jim’s will to stop himself from screaming. “Christ! Why do you want Layla? What’s she done to you?”

“Your daughter stole some documents from us. I suppose she got tired of breaking into the Pentagon’s networks and decided to try ours for a change. That was a mistake on her part.” He turned the screw again.

Jim groaned and his eyes watered. Yin let go of the screw and leaned over the bench, propping his elbow on Jim’s chest. “We’re very serious about the security of our networks. Especially the one your daughter tampered with.”

Jim turned away from the bastard. Gritting his teeth, he looked past Yin’s face and concentrated on fighting the pain. But as he did so, he noticed something unusual. When he looked down the length of the bench, past Yin and past his own shoes, he saw something moving. It was the hand of the prototype arm he’d built for Steve Dugan. The prosthesis lay on the other end of the bench, ten feet behind Yin, but its hand was opening and closing as Jim writhed in agony.

Holy shit. He was connected to the prototype. He was wirelessly sending it