Daniel Suarez - Daemon

Sebeck felt as though reality had ripped apart and he was floating in the realm of fantasy. Sobol’s game world was more real than this. Sebeck’s unseeing eyes never noticed the lone camera crew he was hauled past, nor did he notice the attractive blond reporter standing with a microphone.

“This is Anji Anderson, live in Calabasas, California, bringing you a shocking exclusive report as federal agents apprehend Detective Sergeant Peter Sebeck of the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department. Sebeck—previously the lead investigator in the Daemon murder case—now stands accused of participating in one of the most audacious frauds in modern history. Federal prosecutors claim that Sebeck played a key role in a conspiracy to defraud a mentally impaired Matthew Sobol out of tens of millions of dollars. Money that was later used to purchase options in CyberStorm stock. Stock that eventually collapsed, netting the conspirators an estimated $190 million dollars. The FBI, in cooperation with the Secret Service and Interpol, has reportedly made three other arrests in two countries tonight. But at this hour, two things are clear: Matthew Sobol was apparently an innocent victim in this deadly plan, and much to the relief of authorities, the Internet Daemon appears to be a hoax.”

Natalie Philips stood flanked by The Major and half a dozen NSA agents in the shopping plaza. FBI agents were still cordoning off the scene. She beheld the FBI SAC, Steven Trear, with a look somewhere between disbelief and disgust. “You let Jon Ross go ?”

Trear stood in the center of a knot of FBI agents. “He was questioned and released. We found no evidence that Ross was involved with Sebeck prior to this week. And he’s been cleared on the Alcyone Insurance worm. Do you know something we don’t?”

Philips looked to The Major, who pounded a nearby café table in frustration, then tipped it over with a crash.

Trear threw up his hands. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

Philips motioned to a nearby NSA agent but spoke to Trear. “We just came from Woodland Hills. Jon Ross was taken into custody last night, booked on malicious vandalism and making terroristic threats.”

Trear squinted at her like she was nuts. “ Jon Ross?”

Philips accepted a file folder from the NSA agent. “The DA dropped the charges after intervention by Peter Sebeck.” She opened the folder and handed it to Trear. “Your preliminary background check didn’t include a fingerprint comparison. The real Jon Ross had a DUI conviction three years ago. Those records don’t match the man you brought in for questioning in Thousand Oaks. Neither do his photos.”

“Hold on a second. You’re telling me—”

“He’s an identity thief. He’s not the real Jon Ross.”

Trear started thumbing through the folder. “Why the hell was this kept from us?”

The Major answered instead. “Need-to-know basis.”

“Bullshit.”

Philips checked her watch. “You interviewed him for what, an hour?”

“He’s already been extensively interrogated, and he was traumatized. We turned him over to the paramedics.”

“Brilliant.”

Trear moved toward her, finger pointing, “Listen, missy ….”

The Major interposed himself and physically pushed Trear back. This caused three of Trear’s agents to launch to his defense. The scene quickly resembled a brawl on a baseball infield. Shouting filled the air as more NSA and FBI agents jumped in.

The Major had Trear by the tie.

“Get your damned hands off me!” He extricated himself from The Major’s grip as a couple of his agents yanked the burly man’s head back. The scene calmed a little, and Trear glared at The Major. “I want your name, agent! I’ll have you up on charges!”

The Major stared back even harder. “You don’t have sufficient clearance for my name.” He produced credentials from his jacket pocket—his photo next to a long alphanumeric sequence in bold letters. “Special Collections Service. I’m here on the highest authority concerning a matter of national security.”

One of the FBI agents nearby scoffed, “What the hell do you think Sebeck’s arrest was?”

Trear barked at him, “Quiet!” He looked back at The Major. “Special Collections Service?” Then he looked at Philips with a slightly different regard. “What the hell do you have going on here, Philips? Who called out the black bag men?”

Philips tried to contain her irritation. “He doesn’t answer to me, Trear. He’s got his own orders, and I’m not privy to them. Look, the man posing as Ross could be involved in this.”

“If you had a warrant out for Ross, why weren’t we told about it?”

“It’s not that simple. This is a national security operation, not a criminal investigation.”

“That’s crap, Philips. You guys are stovepiping information. The bureau is supposed to be a customer of the NSA.“ He looked at The Major. “And what does the CIA know, I wonder?”

Philips was conciliatory. “I notified Fort Meade. It takes time for them to contact you. This all happened in the last three hours.”

“Surely the NSA has heard of phones . They’re those things you tap.”

“Why weren’t we told about Sebeck ?”

They stood glaring at each other.

Another NSA agent came running up. “Agent Philips. Ross just used his Amex card five minutes ago at a car rental place down the street. We put out an all-points bulletin.”

“E911 tracking?”

“We’re talking to the cell phone company now.”

“GPS in the rental car?”

The agent shook his head. “He rented a subcompact. No onboard GPS.”

“Flag his license plates on the freeway plate readers.” She turned to Trear. “I know you’re angry, Agent Trear, but we could really use your assistance on this. Ross could be the one behind the Daemon. He certainly has the technical know-how.”

“The Daemon is a hoax, Agent Philips. When is the NSA going to catch up with us on this?”

“Look, whether you think the Daemon is a hoax or not, the man posing as Ross has been involved from the start, and he’s escaping. Can we get your help?”

Trear took a deep breath and nodded to his men.

Straub turned and shouted, “You heard the man!”

Ten blocks away, Ross tossed his cell phone onto the back of a lumber truck waiting at a stoplight. The rental car ruse combined with the moving cell phone should buy him some time.

Ross headed in the opposite direction as the truck pulled away. The Feds probably wouldn’t take long to figure out Ross wasn’t who he claimed to be, and by then he needed to have taken another identity. He walked with composure onto the parking lot of a nearby Mercedes dealership, still wondering why he’d gotten himself mixed up in all this to begin with. And what the hell had happened to Detective Sebeck? The Daemon must be behind it. This was the type of reversal Sobol was famous for. It’s what Ross had tried to warn the Feds about. Now he needed to figure out Sobol’s plan, and for the time being at least, the only priority had to be getting out of this area. Ross straightened his tie and walked calmly through the glass doors of the Mercedes dealership. He strolled between the showroom models, scrutinizing window stickers. An aria from The Marriage of Figaro played softly on the showroom speakers.

Several police cars raced past on the road outside, lights and sirens blaring.

A sharply attired salesman approached Ross, hand extended. “How are you today, sir?”

Ross looked up. “Bored, but it’s nothing a sports car won’t fix.”

The salesman laughed politely. “Well, what are you driving now, Mr….”