Cybernation

on the porch and watching the world go by might not be the solution. You could get hit by a runaway bus sitting on the porch — that had happened to some guy in D.C. only a couple months back — instead of being shot by some psycho while you were leading a Net Force military team. God had His plan, and Howard’s number was gonna be up on a certain day, on a certain hour, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He’d thought that he’d been tempting fate, but after that bus had left the road and squashed a guy younger than he was who’d been sitting in a porch swing, he’d realized that death could come from anywhere at any time.

Run, John, and worry about the meaning of life later — it won’t get you through the obstacle course, all this thinking.

He grinned. That was true. There was a time to think and a time to move. Right now, moving was the order of the moment.

He took a final deep breath and began his sprint.

* * *

Michaels looked up from his desk to see Toni, dressed in business clothes, standing in front of him.

“Hey, babe.”

“Commander,” she said with a short nod.

“Uh…”

She smiled. “If I’m going to be working here, even temporarily, we need to keep it businesslike.”

“What, I can’t grope you in the hall?”

“Not unless you want a sexual harassment suit.”

They both smiled.

“Okay,” he said.

“So, what’s the situation?”

“Better than we’d hoped. Jay and the gang managed to find the problem with the server pretty quick. They had help from InfraGuard and the NIPC out of the CWG.”

“And how are the National InfraGuard Protection Center and Crime Working Group?”

“Same as always. If they could make a wish, you and I and all of Net Force would disappear in a reeking puff of sulfur and red smoke.”

Toni chuckled.

“Anyway, give them credit, they pitched in and helped Jay.”

“How’d the terrorists get in?”

“Passwords. They had them up to the highest level.”

“Social engineering,” she said. “They bribed somebody.”

He shook his head. “Maybe not. The VP in charge of Blue Whale’s security was killed a few days ago, along with a couple of ex-FBI bodyguards. At the time, it looked like a simple traffic accident — car ran off a cliff, no signs of anything hinky. That seems awfully coincidental.”

“Yes.” She started to say something, then noticed the shotgun in its case, propped in the corner. “What’s that?”

“A shotgun,” he said. “John Howard got it for me.”

“For what?”

He took a breath. “To keep at home.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, but with her being a new mother and all, he was halfway thinking she’d be against the idea. Instead, she said, “Good idea. We need a gun in the house.”

His expression must have shown his surprise. She said, “What, you thought because I like knives I have something against guns?”

“Well…”

“Silat teaches you to use the proper tool for the job. There are times when a gun is necessary.”

He nodded. “How is Guru?”

“She’s fine. Looks great, no slurring of her speech, seems to move like usual.”

“You aren’t worried that the baby will be too much for her?”

Toni grinned. “He woke up from his nap squalling. Didn’t want a bottle or his binky, wasn’t wet, no poop, just yelling his head off. Guru took him from me and he shut up as if she’d turned off a switch. Click! just like that, and he was cooing and grinning. I couldn’t believe it. I looked at him, said, ‘Who are you? What have you done with my baby!’ ”

Michaels laughed. “Get her to teach you that trick. That’s worth a fortune.”

“You’re telling me. Okay. So what do you want me to do?”

“Same thing you used to do. I’ve talked to the director, she doesn’t have a problem with you being here instead of there. You’ll be a consultant, so we can pay you. This most recent attack on the net/web is surely the responsibility of the same group who hit it before. And if they killed the VP to get the security codes, then they’ve raised the stakes. If they are willing to murder, this is going to get uglier before it gets prettier.”

Toni nodded. “I hear you.”

“So let’s get to it. Your old office is yours again. It’s good to have you back, Ms. Fiorella.”

“It’s good to be back, Commander Honey.”

He laughed.

12

Quantico, Virginia

Any amusement the FBI recruits might have felt on seeing Net Force’s Commander in a sarong over his sweatpants left at least several of those minds after Michaels slammed their owners onto the gym’s mats hard enough so they bounced. He enjoyed this way more than he should. He’d seen the grins when he and Toni walked in, heard a few chuckles from the recruits on seeing his clothes.

They weren’t laughing now, were they?

Toni had shown some simple self-defense moves, using Michaels as the dummy, and he’d dusted the mats pretty good himself. Then she called for volunteers and had him demonstrate the techniques so she could point out what he was doing and why.

He had earned the right to toss these guys, he figured, aside from the sarong-inspired amusement. He’d paid his share of dues. A couple months ago, when Toni had been working with him on his sparring, she’d put on a pair of boxing gloves and had danced in and out, throwing fast punches. He’d gone after her during one attack, trying to surprise her, and he’d forgotten to cover high-line while he was busy blocking a kick. For his inattention, he’d caught a right overhand smack in the left eye. Even with the glove, he’d worn a mouse and shiner for a week after she’d punched him. Of course, he had felt a certain amount of malevolent glee when he explained the shiner: Hey, what happened to you, you run into a door?

No, actually, my wife punched me in the face. She beats on me all the time.

People who didn’t know about Toni and silat hadn’t believed him. Of course, they’d thought he was joking.

“All right,” the FBI combat teacher said. “Everybody see what just happened there?”

The recruits looked puzzled for the most part. Well, no, they hadn’t seen it.

Duane Presser, the big Hawaiian said, “Don’t let that funny-looking sideways stance rattle you — watch his feet, how he angles in and sectors off. You concentrate on his hands, you’re gonna get tripped. You watchin’ his feet, he’s gonna whack you wid dat elbow. Watch alla him. And watch the distance — this stuff assumes a knife in hand, so you got dat extra half-step to worry about. You all see what I mean?”

“I see it, Chief,” one of the recruits said, his voice full of confidence.

Michaels looked at the man. He was young, maybe twenty-five, tall, and fairly muscular in his sweats and T-shirt. He had a couple inches in height and maybe fifteen, twenty pounds in weight on Michaels. He also had a buzz cut, and what was left of his hair was so still so black it looked like a raven’s wing. His skin tone and facial features indicated some Native American background in his ethnic tap. He’d been watching, not volunteering, and