Daniel Suarez - Kill Decision

“How many people in your organization?”

“It’s way bigger than what you saw. I’m not a nobody, Odin. We manage operatives all around the world.” Evans smiled at the thought. “I remember getting a thrill penetrating government networks, but this… hell. Nothing like the thrill of influencing events. It’s amazing what a few people and a little money can accomplish online. Our puppets have turned whole elections. Especially when the oppo-research people give us something to go public with. And then our puppets up-vote the shit out of it, even if it’s no big deal. We can create public outrage from almost nothing.”

McKinney gestured to Evans. “How can you be proud of this? What you’re doing is creating false consensus. A ‘popular’ movement that doesn’t exist.”

“The term is astroturfing, and, yes, it’s quite a challenge.”

Odin nudged McKinney back as she started getting angry. “Focus on the mission, Professor.”

Evans chuckled as he sipped his mai tai. “Is she really upset?”

“People need to know what these guys are doing.”

“Pffftttt! Give me a break. Everyone knows. Why do you think they all want a piece of it? Detecting and neutralizing opposition or promoting your agenda-that’s what social media’s for.”

“The purpose was to get around media gatekeepers.”

He waved her off. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. Everyone on the Internet is talking about television and everyone on television is talking about the Internet. The whole damned thing is a self-licking ice cream cone, and you’re blaming me? The big boys have taken over. They’re fencing the Net off. Hell, even the CIA has a social media desk with hip young intelligence analysts ‘monitoring the threat/opportunity profile’ and reporting back in 140-character bursts of TWITINT.”

Odin stepped between them. “Who are these PR firms that hire you?”

“Big. Owned by D.C. law firms. Powerful. Jacked into everything — all the data moving through society. Cell phone geolocation. Purchase records. E-mail, IM, social networks. They’re mining it all in real time to find opposition to their clients’ interests. To spot trouble and opportunities. If someone’s talking about something they’re interested in-they know about it. And they can change the public conversation if necessary, modify public perceptions-rewrite reality in real time. It’s impressive. They could make Mother Teresa into the devil and Adolf Hitler into Saint Francis of Assisi if they wanted to.”

McKinney stared at him with utter contempt.

He started making another drink. “Don’t hate the playa, Professor. Hate the game. At least I’m not a bottom-feeder like the data cosmeticians and trash consultants-monitoring celebrity effluent to tell a consistent ‘brand story.’ Everything the public sees is managed. If there’s a valuable brand to protect-whether it’s a person or a dish soap-these fuckers are out there protecting it, shaping the narrative. I mean… who the hell follows dish soap on Twitter? How does anyone believe that shit’s real?”

Just then McKinney noticed one of Odin’s ravens alight upon the balcony railing beyond the glass. It looked agitated, caw ing silently beyond the double-insulated panes and hopping along the metal railing in alarm.

Odin stopped cold, and then turned to Evans. “You never disappoint, do you?”

Evans looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Odin pulled the pistol again. “You sent out a distress signal.”

“What are you talking about?”

Odin grabbed him by the collar and pulled him completely over the bar, sending barstools scattering as Evans landed on the floor with a thud. “When did you make the call, Morty? When!” Odin ground his knee into the back of the guy’s neck, pinning his face to the wooden floor.

“Ahhh! Fuck! I didn’t! Odin!”

McKinney shouted, “Odin, for godsakes-”

“Who did you call, Morty?”

After a moment of gasping, Evans held up a hand in submission. “My handler. Back at the office-when you broke in. I own the building. I get an alert when my floor button is pressed. I recognized you on the elevator camera-beard or no beard. For chrissake, Odin, we spent a year and a half in the asshole of the world-you think you’re not burned into my memory? I should have taken the jail time.”

Odin cast a see-I-told-you-so look at McKinney, then slammed Evans into the floor again. “You’re about to find out why that was stupid.”

McKinney could see that the raven had flown off. “Enough! Whatever it is, it’s going to be here momentarily.”

Odin got up and pulled Evans to his feet. “Where’s your escape route?” He reached around behind the bar and opened drawers until he came up with a nickel-plated Colt. 45. “I see you didn’t have the balls to try and cap us yourself. Who are they sending?”

He nodded at the gun. “That’s for personal protection.”

Odin checked to see that it was loaded and set the safety. He handed it to McKinney. “Here. If he tries anything, shoot him.”

McKinney took the gun but shook her head. “I’m not killing anyone.”

“Do you know how to use a pistol?”

She nodded. “Yes, I had a boyfriend who was a cop. He taught-”

“Christ, how many guys have you dated?”

“Oh, you’re going to turn this into a double-standard debate now?”

He held up his hands. “Forget it.”

Evans looked at them both. “What’s the deal with you two? Are you actually a couple?”

Odin grabbed Evans by the shoulder again. “Back exit. Where is it?”

“What do you mean, back exit? What am I, Pablo Escobar? It’s a Florida condo. Look, I can make a call. I can. I promise. I’ll call off the hit. I swear.”

Odin was looking around for anything useful. “You don’t seem to understand, Morty. They’re not going to reward you for turning us in. You know too much now.”

“Oh, come on.”

McKinney stepped between them. “How long do you think we’ve got?”

Odin paced. “Special Operations Command is here in Tampa. These people might have anticipated I’d go there looking for help-which is why I avoided it. But it also means they probably have assets close by.”

Just then Evans’s eyes grew wide as shadows appeared around the window. “What the hell is that?”

McKinney and Odin turned to see a swarm of black dots-like a flock of birds approaching the tall windows.

Evans pointed. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s the future, Morty. And I don’t think it cares what side you’re on.” He glanced at McKinney. “Do you recognize your algorithm, Professor?”

She studied their behavior as the cloud kept growing outside. “I don’t know yet.”

Evans watched the swarm gathering. “You’re shitting me! That’s what you do? Design swarms of robot birds?”

Suddenly one of the fluttering bots outside bumped against the window glass and exploded with the force of a shotgun shell-blasting the safety glass apart into a million beads that collapsed and spread across the floor, creating a six-foot-wide, twelve-foot-tall opening. A fresh breeze and the buzzing sound of ten thousand beating mechanical plastic wings filled the living room. The creatures spilled through the opening and into the room, blocking the path to the front door.

Evans shouted, “This way!” and motioned for them to follow. He headed down an adjacent hallway, deeper into the cavernous condo, as the swarm continued to pour through the opening. Evans raced down a wood-floored hallway, past expensive-looking but sterile artwork and closed doors. “What the hell are those things?”

Odin pushed McKinney ahead of him as he took rear guard. “They’re a swarming weapon.”