Net Force

He glanced at his watch. Just after eleven, local time. The party had been in the restaurant nearly two hours. Their vehicles were parked in the front. The diners would be in sight for plenty of time.

He lowered the weapon.

Eight minutes later, the door to the restaurant opened.

Ruzhyo put the silicone earplugs into his ears. The sound of a high-powered rifle shot inside an automobile could easily destroy unprotected eardrums.

Six men emerged, talking, laughing, taking their time.

Ruzhyo raised the rifle. He took a deep breath, let half of it out, held the rest. He clicked the safety off, lined the glowing crosshairs up on the second man in the group, put the sight picture on the man's forehead, right between the eyes…

He squeezed off the shot.

With a rifle, you don't hear the one that kills you.

The man was dead before the sound of the bullet reached him.

Ruzhyo put the rifle down on the floor of the car and started the engine. He pulled out of the travel agency's parking lot and drove away. Traffic was light this time of the evening. He was half a mile away, at the entrance to the elevated freeway, when the first police car flew past, lights flashing, siren wailing, going toward the restaurant.

He did not look back. There was no need. Nobody was following him.

20

Thursday, September 30th, 8:01 a.m. Grozny

'You have another call, Dr. Plekhanov,' Sasha shouted from the outer office. The intercom still operated only sporadically, but that hardly mattered now. 'Mr. Sikes, from Bombay Municipal Systems.'

Plekhanov smiled. The phone had certainly been busy the last couple of days. Exactly as he'd expected it would be.

The plantings were beginning to bear fruit. After the computer foul-ups had killed hundreds of people in Bombay, those in charge would have called Bertrand, the second-rate programmer who had installed their security system. And while even Bertrand was skilled enough to see what had been done, he would be unable to offer a guarantee that he could stop it from being done again. So they had called Plekhanov — whom they should have called originally — and why, yes, he could most assuredly guarantee them that no such security breach would happen if he installed a new protective system. Of course he could make that assurance: There were only a handful of programmers expert enough to slip his wards, only one who would bother, and that one's interests—his interests — would best be served if the system stayed unbreached.

Given how people worried over such incidences, it would take only one or two more assaults on the stoplights and buses of big cities before most — if not all of them — came running to Plekhanov for his help. So by the time the movers and shakers of the municipal transportation systems for all of Asia's major cities met for their annual get-together later this year in Guangzhou, China, most of them would be in Plekhanov's camp. He would, after all, do excellent work for them, at better than reasonable prices. They would all owe him. They would all want to keep him happy, so as to avoid suffering fates similar to those unlucky enough to be the victims of what had to be terrorists. Who would bother to rascal a transportation computer save a terrorist? Where was the profit?

'Hello?'

'Vladimir? Bill Sikes, Bombay Transport.'

'Ah, Bill, how are you?'

'Not so good. You heard about our problem?'

'Yes, I am afraid so. A terrible thing. I am so sorry.'

'Yes, well, that milk is spilt, but we don't want to lose any more. Can you help us out?'

'But of course, Bill. Of course I'll help.'

'Another call!' Sasha yelled from her desk. 'From Korea!'

Plekhanov leaned back in his chair. His smile was truly a happy one.

Thursday, September 30th, 8:15 a.m. Washington, D.C.

Tyrone Howard met his friend Jimmy Joe in the strip club called Big Boobs. It was off-limits to boys their age, and neither of them were within years of being old enough to be there, but they wore adult personas and had enough skill to pass a casual scan. Slipping into an R-rated VR room in a public newsforum was something anybody with half a brain could do. All you could see was naked women here; the XXX-rooms were harder to sneak into, and besides, Tyrone didn't want to risk that. His parents would flay him if they found out, and since his dad worked with a player like Jay Gee, he could find out if he wanted.

'So, Jimmy Joe, you scan anything?'

'No mucho, spiderboy. Lotta strand-poppin' on the FEN, though.'

Tyrone nodded. Far East Net had been DFB — data flowin' bad — the last few days. He'd seen that himself. The mad programmer was kicking serious ass there.

On the stage in front of a flashing light show and a driving bass beat, a tall blue-eyed brunette showed the audience that her hair color was natural. Boom, bop-a boom! He stared. She smiled at him, not knowing that his appearance was a fake. Of course, her appearance could be fake, too. She might be a sixty-year-old fat man.

If you were hunting for truth, VR wasn't the best place to look for it.

'I'm gonna hit the OHTs and see if there's any feedback,' Jimmy Joe said. 'You just know some wirehead with a strainer program and no life is catching minnows. Maybe one of them can lead us to the big fish.'

'Scan and download that,' Tyrone said. The brunette stripper had left the stage. A new one came out. Well, well, look at that: Belladonna Wright herself. This was Jimmy Joe's doing, the override and image-craft such that the new woman wore Bella's face and body. No way would Tyrone risk that, even in VR. If Bonebreaker found out, that would be… bad.

'I'm gonna ride,' Tyrone said.

Jimmy Joe grinned real big. He made the sound of a chicken clucking: 'Buck-buck-buck-buuucckk!'

'You right about that. I'm not ready to spend six weeks regenerating bone tissue, monkey-boy. Especially for an overlay that even isn't real.'

'Your loss,' Jimmy Joe said. 'Who is gonna know?'

'Only takes two words in Bonebreaker's ear and you're pretzel-boy.'

Jimmy Joe shrugged. 'Better to burn it than bank it.' He turned to watch the ersatz Bella shuck her costume.

'Me, I'm ridin',' Tyrone said. But he sneaked a quick look as he headed for the door.

Maybe he'd take a pass at CyberNation, see what was up there.

Thursday, September 30th, 8:20 a.m. Quantico

Parked in the Viper across the street, Jay Gridley watched Tyrone Howard leave the strip joint. The boy didn't see him. He smiled. The colonel had asked him to check up on his son from time to time, and Gridley didn't mind doing so, but he wouldn't mention this. Teenage boys were curious, and a VR stripper was a lot less dangerous than some of the stuff a kid could get himself involved with, on- or off-line. If a teenage boy wasn't interested in looking at a naked woman, that would be the time for his father to get worried.

No harm, no foul.

Tyrone mounted his Harley and roared away. Gridley watched him leave before he started the Viper's motor. He had plenty of other stuff to worry about.

Thursday, September 30th, 11:55 a.m. Quantico

Toni Fiorella stretched in the gym, warming up her knees. She looked up and saw Rusty enter. He waved at her. He was already dressed to work out.

He was a pretty good student. Very flexible, if a bit too much addicted to speed and power, neither of which