Daniel Suarez - Daemon

The Voice insisted, “Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Anderson’s mind raced. She couldn’t let it go now. It was a machine—it wouldn’t judge her. Worse, she would never know the whole story if she declined. Didn’t a real journalist pursue the story no matter what? Wasn’t that admirable?

“Yes.”

Yet another pause.

“Do you believe in God? Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Anderson was taken aback. She hesitated, not sure whether she did or not. Then, “No?”

A pause.

She half expected a lightning bolt to smite her.

Suddenly the British-sounding female voice cut in, speaking with its clipped, synthetic efficiency.

“Your user ID is…J-92. Remember your ID…J-92. It is your identity. You have been assigned a role. If you deviate from this role—for any reason—you will be removed from the system. Follow all instructions, and the system will protect and reward you.”

Anderson was trying to gather her thoughts to say something, but then she realized there was no one to say anything to. She had cashed in her morals at a vending machine.

The Voice continued like the unstoppable force it was. “An airline ticket is waiting under your human name at the…Southwest Airlines…ticket counter at…Oakland International…Airport. Proceed to this location within the next…four…hours. If you speak to anyone else regarding this matter, you will be killed.”

The line went dead.

Anderson stifled a scream of terror. What had she done?

She looked up to see video footage of body bags being lifted into a coroner’s van on the evening news—mute testimony to the truth of the threat.

Sebeck knelt on the ground next to a black body bag. He stared emptily at the fading sunlight reflected on the black vinyl.

Ross watched from some distance away, leaning against the side of an ambulance. Five more body bags were lined up nearby. FBI agents consoled each other. There were tears on many faces.

Sebeck took a deep breath and finally stood. He turned toward Ross with a smoldering rage. “Jon!”

Ross followed as Sebeck strode through the tarpaulin walls of the makeshift morgue and into a crowd of FBI agents, local police, county tactical teams, paramedics, reporters, and technicians laying siege to Sobol’s estate. Literally hundreds of people ringed the place. City workers were setting up construction lights to illuminate the staging area as the sun began to set. The road was closed to civilian traffic, and something resembling a heavily armed county fair stretched along its length. Police from three neighboring jurisdictions were on hand.

Nearby homes had been evacuated. The Feds were in the process of quarantining the Daemon; power and phone people were cutting service to Sobol’s property. Sebeck could see their hydraulic lifts clustered around utility poles a considerable distance from the estate. He guessed power was being killed to the entire neighborhood, and diesel generators added to the general din.

Sebeck kept moving, tugging Ross through the crowd, alternately surging ahead, then turning back to face him.

“It can’t be a machine. There’s a living person behind this.”

Ross didn’t respond.

“Someone was controlling that Hummer.”

Ross looked grim. “My condolences on Deputy Larson.”

Sebeck glared at him. “Don’t you tell me that was software.”

“It could be done—using the same AI engine that controls characters in a computer game. We were the objective. We’re just infrared heat sources.”

Sebeck shook his head. “Bullshit.”

“Any word on Detective Mantz? He was hanging on to the trailer last time I saw him.”

“Broken leg and a couple of broken ribs. Someone is going to pay for this.”

“Sobol is dead, Pete.”

“I don’t care. Someone is going to pay.”

“I know you’re upset.” Ross gestured to encompass the scene. “Where are we going?”

“To find Agent Decker. He needs to hear your theory about how Sobol’s doing this. Maybe they can use the information to contain this thing.”

“Sergeant, the Daemon probably spread to the four corners of the world in minutes. It’s too late for containment. What you have to do is understand what it’s trying to accomplish and prevent it from accomplishing it.”

“It’s trying to kill people—wake up.”

Ross spoke calmly. “Pete, think about it: If all it wanted to do was kill people, why did it phone you to find out if you were present? Why didn’t it kill you in the courtyard when it had the chance? We all saw that Hummer stop and turn away from you. The Daemon has plans for you, and I’m sure it has plans for others as well.”

Sebeck fumed for a bit, but then what Ross said began to sink in. “We’ve got to find Decker.” Sebeck pointed at the county sheriff’s mobile command trailer a couple hundred yards away. “That’s probably where he’ll be.” He started walking toward it.

Ross grabbed Sebeck’s sleeve.

“What?”

“Why are police massing around the estate?”

Sebeck gave Ross a quizzical look. “What do you suggest they do?”

“The house is not important, Pete. It won’t contain any useful information.”

“The hell it won’t.”

“Let’s not replay this map. We’re wasting time.”

Sebeck raised his eyebrows. “So you think this is that much of a game to Sobol?”

“I think life was a game to Sobol.”

Sebeck sighed, truly lost. “Why would Sobol issue a press release forbidding the Feds from entering the property if there wasn’t anything important inside?”

“Will the Feds defy the demand?”

“ I would. Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Ross pointed. “That’s why Sobol did it.”

“You think he’s just pushing the FBI’s buttons?”

“More than that. He publicly drew a line in the sand against authority. They’ll have little choice but to cross it, and people will die. He’s manipulating them—to keep public attention focused on this location.”

“But why? If Sobol killed the two programmers to protect the secrets of the Daemon’s design, then what’s the purpose behind the Hummer? Isn’t it also to protect the Daemon?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why in the hell would he go through so much trouble?”

Ross thought for a moment, then looked back up at Sebeck. “What do you think will be the number one news story in the world tonight?”

Sebeck didn’t hesitate. “This.”

“Right. And that’s what we have to worry about: what is the Daemon about to do that requires the attention of the whole world?”

Sebeck glared at him again. “Oh, come on, Jon. My head hurts just from talking to you.”

“This didn’t happen by accident. Manipulation was Sobol’s specialty. These physical killings were to attract publicity. He’s issuing press releases.”