Now, whenever that computer logs on to the Internet, this virus checks a specific site for a date. If it finds a date there, it decides that it will wipe that computer's hard drive on or after that date.'
Gideon leaned back and shook his head. 'They're doing this?'
The old man nodded. 'There may even be some chance that they've hidden some of this computational ordnance in the operating systems of these computers. It doesn't even require a mole in the software company. It just requires them to engineer it in and deliver it into the target area before the commercial package arrives. Eighty percent of the software in the third world is pirated. A conservative estimate is that a third of it has been tampered with. An early copy of a basic software package will propagate itself throughout the area with little or no help from outside.'
'Then a war starts,' Gideon said. 'And every computer in the target area dies.' The old man paused to allow that to sink in. 'Now this is all speculation. I don't have exact information on Zimmerman's work. But what we do have suggests that her knowledge was being used to develop this kind of information warfare software—military and paramilitary computer viruses. She seems to have been involved in some sort of breakthrough. Something we don't want the IUF to have access to.' He waved to the other man, the driver. He left the room. Gideon couldn't see where he went, but he got a sense that he went down into the basement. 'It's now your turn. Tell me what you two discussed in the restaurant.'
After Gideon had gone over the conversation, with Ruth's reluctant help, the old man left them and the anonymous driver returned and escorted them to a room upstairs. It was a small bedroom with only a pair of cots, a table, and a table lamp sitting on a stool. The one window was covered with plywood, and the door didn't lock—it only had an empty hole where the doorknob would go.
The driver said, 'You can rest here while we decide what's going to happen.'
Once the door closed, Ruth started yelling. 'What the hell do you think you're doing? You're playing games with Julie's life—our lives. You don't even know who these bastards are.'
Gideon sat on the bed and massaged his leg. 'My personal bet is Israeli, and they stepped in when we were getting shot at. That counts for something.'
'Because they want something. These guys aren't the government. Have you thought about the fact it might be treason to help these people?'
'Whatever Julia was doing, the contents of our conversation weren't classified material. And last I checked, Israel was still our ally.' Gideon looked up at Ruth. 'Forgive me if my faith in my own government is slipping.'
'Damn, damn, damn—' Ruth started pacing, pounding her right fist into her upper thigh. 'Why the hell do they care what we were talking about? I don't know any government secrets. The only way I knew Julie was AWOL was because the Feds—and you—came to question me about it. . .'
Gideon shook his head. By most reasonable measures he had all the answers right now. Julia Zimmerman worked for the NSA, she went AWOL—abducted, recruited, or sold her services to—the International Unification Front. The U.S. intelligence community must have gone absolutely nuts trying to locate her. Whatever Zimmerman was doing, she needed a Daedalus, and the IUF hired some Central American thugs to liberate one while one of Zimmerman's old grad students hired a driver. The CIA—or whoever—captured the Daedalus thieves and set up an ambush for the delivery. And, unfortunately, Lionel decided to sell his information to Gideon.
It was a more complicated screwup, but still just a screwup. . .
Why did it still feel as if he hadn't come close to what was really going on?
'Damn it, are you even listening to me?'
Gideon looked up. 'What?'
Ruth made a disgusted face and said, 'Sheesh. I was asking you about what you plan to do to—' The lights flickered. 'What?'
Gideon stood up, somewhat unsteadily. The lights flickered again, and stayed out this time. Suddenly the only light was a dim sodium glow filtering through gaps in the window's plywood.
'What are they doing?' There was a thin note of hysteria in Ruth's voice.
'Quiet.' Gideon whispered harsh and sharp, and went so far as to place his fingers on Ruth's lips.
There was a dim sound from downstairs. Running feet. Unmistakable confusion. Whatever was happening, it wasn't just for the prisoner's benefit.
' I think,' Gideon whispered, 'we better get out of here.'
He felt Ruth edge up behind him. 'What's happening?'
'I'd like to believe it's just a blackout—but I'm not a strong believer in coincidence.' He edged into the darkened hall holding up a hand for Ruth until he was sure the way was clear. The hallway was long, narrow, and almost pitch-black. One end faced stairs down, the other faced stairs to the attic. Cautiously, he waved Ruth after him.
From somewhere came the sound of breaking glass, then a dull thud.
There was something visceral in the sound that made Gideon back up from the downward staircase.
'Wh—'
Ruth didn't manage to voice the complete syllable before an explosion tore through the first floor and the concussion knocked Gideon backward on top of her. Suddenly the air was hot and thick with smoke and the hallway was illuminated by a dim ocher glow that reflected from the walls of the staircase.
Then the gunfire started.
'Oh, God . . .' Gideon could feel Ruth shaking beneath him.
Gideon rolled onto his knees and shook Ruth's shoulder. 'Are you all right?'
'I think s—'
'Then move toward the attic before we're trapped in here.' Gideon half-dragged Ruth away from the downward stairwell. Despite his words, he was feeling all too trapped already. This second, his main
concern was moving away from the flames, and the too-familiar dull thudding of silenced gunfire.
Up the stairs was more of the sodium glow from the streetlights outside. The light came in three directions through glassless windows. Light also leaked in through the unfinished rafters where old fire damage had eaten holes through the roof. Gideon ducked instinctively as he rounded the top of the stairs. There was a nasty feeling of exposure up here that sank home when he saw the floor near the front side of the house.
Sprawled beneath the street-facing window was a body. Ruth must have seen it about the same time he did, he heard her gasp behind him. The corpse's head was a misshapen shadow, and on the ground nearby lay a broken pair of expensive binoculars.
'Stay down,' Gideon whispered. 'That guy must have been keeping an eye on the street for them.' Must have been the first one to be taken out.
Gideon crawled out into the attic. The floor was rough, unfinished plywood that hadn't even been nailed down. As he inched from the stairwell, he saw two video surveillance cameras looking out the other two attic windows. Cables snaked around to a card table where a trio of dead monitors faced the front of the building, and where the dead guard had been sitting.
Gideon crawled up to the side of the dead man. Ruth whispered at him, 'What are you doing?'
From below came the sounds of staccato thumping, more gunfire, punctuated by the sound of another explosion. The smell of smoke was drifting up from the stairwell.
'Getting a weapon—I hope.' Gideon looked at the corpse and grimaced. The man had taken a round— probably from a rifle—in the right eye. The shot had gone through the lenses of his binoculars, and obscure pieces of shrapnel were sticking out of what was left of the man's face. He had been wearing a throat mike, but he hadn't lived to get a warning off to his fellows.
Gideon patted him down and found a shoulder holster. He pulled out what appeared to be an automatic pistol with a silencer. In hunting for the safety, he discovered that he was handling a Micro-Uzi that wasn't any larger than his own gun.
'Gideon! There're people coming.'
Gideon turned toward Ruth and had the ominous realization that the gunfire below had ceased.
He switched the safety off of the Micro-Uzi. 'Get over here, and keep down.'
Ruth started moving uncertainly toward him. She had barely made it a quarter of the way to him when a shadowy form turned the corner of the stairwell. Gideon fired one burst from the Uzi that at his awkward angle missed, but the shadow froze. 'Don't shoot!'
Gideon recognized the voice of their anonymous driver.
