Daniel Suarez - Daemon

Gragg sucked in a breath. He didn’t want to admit he was alone, but lying made him more nervous. He typed Yes at the console line and hit ENTER.

Boerner’s avatar kneeled down so he could “see” Gragg’s avatar around the console window. He smiled at him. “Gut. Haf you told anyone else about zis?”

Gragg hesitated again. What better way to get killed than to say yes? He remembered all too well the video images of body bags from Sobol’s estate. But what would that gain Sobol? Why go through so much effort just to kill someone?

Gragg typed No and hit ENTER.

Boerner regarded Gragg’s avatar, then suddenly thrust open the grate that separated them. The metal door slammed against the stone wall as Boerner strode forward to get right in Gragg’s face. “I vill later find out ze truth. Better zu admit it now if you haf told ozzers.” Boerner’s eyes bored into Gragg through the laptop screen. “Haf you told anyone?”

Gragg typed No again and hit ENTER.

Boerner smiled that wicked smile of his again. He patted Gragg’s avatar on the shoulder. “ Ausgezeichnet. Und haf you brought your bag of tricks mit you? Yes?” Boerner waited for an answer.

Gragg typed Yes and hit ENTER.

Boerner swept his arms into the air. “Open ze gate!” His words echoed in the cellar corridors.

Beyond Gragg’s laptop screen—in the real world of autumn cold—Gragg heard a metallic noise. He glanced up toward the front of the car. Suddenly the thick metal chain blocking the road dropped completely to the ground. The NO TRESPASSING sign clattered noisily on gravel.

“Fuck me! That’s it….” Gragg pushed the laptop away and fumbled for the car’s ignition switch. He started the car, threw it in reverse, and twisted in his seat to see where he was going. What he saw behind him stopped him cold.

Another thick chain had risen up not far behind his car. He could see it illuminated in his backup lights, along with the back of a metal sign—probably identical to the other one. In gravel and without a running start, there was no way he was getting through that thing. He started to panic. He glanced to the left and right. The birch trees on the left were impenetrable by car. To the right, he’d never get the car over that ditch. He heard talking and looked down at the laptop still facing him on the bench seat.

Boerner puffed on his cigarette there. “Relax, mein freund . If I vanted zu kill you, I could haf done so already. Move your car forvart, please.”

Gragg’s mind raced, gauging his chances of fleeing on foot—through the birch trees and into the fields beyond. That was crazy, right? He was out in the middle of fucking nowhere. This whole area could be filled with traps for all Gragg knew. How much planning had Sobol already displayed? It had to be Sobol. Gragg contemplated facing a real-world Boerner, and it dawned on him that running away on foot was a one-way ticket to zero health—without respawning.

Boerner stared at him from the nearby laptop. Gragg shook his head clear of that thought. Boerner wasn’t staring at anybody. It was just a bunch of texture maps arranged for a first-person viewer. Sobol was fucking with his mind. This was definitely not a cool situation.

Boerner shook his finger at Gragg. “You mustn’t be afraid, mein freund . Unless, of course, you lack skill.”

Gragg gave Boerner the finger and pulled out his cell phone. He took a moment to consider whom he might call. Surely not the police? Definitely not the police. How about one of his road-racing buddies? Or one of his rave bouncers? Bad idea. Right now, “Loki” was supposed to be dead. But they didn’t know him as Loki. His world was so full of lies he couldn’t keep them straight.

Gragg cycled through his saved phone numbers and selected his lead rave bouncer. Gragg put the phone to his ear. Nothing but static came back. He looked at the bar count. “No Service.”

Boerner was talking again. Gragg looked down.

“Your phone ist useless. Only Vi-Fi vill vork here.” His expression grew decidedly less friendly. “Move ze car forvart.”

Gragg put his phone away. He shifted the car from reverse back to drive. He took a deep breath, then took his foot off the brake. The Tempo rolled forward. Gragg realized someone might see his headlights from the road—so he kicked them on. Then he flicked on his high beams.

Up ahead an exterior light kicked on at the cinderblock building.

Boerner growled. “Drive benees zi light.”

As Gragg’s car rolled forward, he crossed the tree line and was suddenly in a well-lit, muddy clearing in front of the cinderblock building. There was another vehicle there—a badly smashed VW Vanagon with Louisiana plates.

As Gragg’s Ford Tempo rolled into the clearing, he felt the tires bog down in deep mud. In a second he was up to his axles in it and stuck like a fly on flypaper.

“Oh fuck…” Gragg groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pounded the steering wheel. What had he gotten himself into? He should run.

Boerner spoke again. “Mein freund.”

Gragg looked down at the laptop.

Boerner took another puff on his cigarette. “Zis ist fun, yes?” Boerner paused a moment. “Ist zis you, mein freund ?”

The console window populated with Brian Gragg’s full name, social security number, age, birth date, last known address, mother’s maiden name—a huge piece of his life. The adrenaline of pure, high-octane fear swept through Gragg. He almost screamed in terror. He honestly could not remember a time when he’d been more afraid. This machine knew who he was. It knew his real fucking name.

Boerner barked angrily, “Ist zis you? Answer!”

Gragg fearfully typed No in the console window beneath his personal information and hit ENTER.

Boerner loomed again. “If zis is not you, I haf ozzer names. But if you lie zu me, I vill find out. Und zer vill be no mercy. Answer again. Ist zis you?”

Gragg pondered Boerner’s cold eyes, then typed Yes and hit ENTER.

Boerner relented and went back to smoking. “Gut. Now ve may begin.” He put one hand behind his back and started pacing. “Run your Vi-Fi scanner again. You vill see a new netvork. You must gain entry zu it. Do not attempt zu leef here before you do. Auf wiedersehen .” Boerner swept out of the room. The moment he did, the 3-D iron grate snapped shut behind him. Immediately after that, the game shut down without warning, leaving Gragg staring at his computer desktop.

Gragg rubbed his forehead. This was a nightmare. At least he wished it was, but since it wasn’t, he figured he’d better get down to business. Boerner wanted to see what Gragg was made of? Okay. Gragg launched NetStumbler again. The SSID for the Houston Monte Cassino server was now gone. In its place was a new Wi-Fi access point with no SSID at all.

No doubt this one was going to be tougher. Gragg opened the NetStumbler logs and checked each entry. The new AP was running Wi-Fi Protected Access—WPA—a form of wireless encryption. Damn. He was hoping it would be WEP-encrypted. That would take only seconds to defeat. WPA had no structural flaws. It was as strong as its passphrase. But that would be the test, then, wouldn’t it? Hopefully, the phrase wasn’t more than eight or nine characters. Gragg would need to sniff the key exchange messages between the adapter and the access point, then crack the key off-line with a PSK dictionary (which he had on his laptop). He could use Air-Jack to force the key exchange by broadcasting a disassociate message. Gragg slumped in his seat. Hopefully there would be some client exchanges to monitor. But if this was a test, then that was the only correct answer. So fuck Boerner.