Daniel Suarez - Daemon

He got his emotions under control. “What did you do to Mr. Littleton?” He ripped off the Littleton ID badge. “Where is he? Dead?”

Ross laughed. “No, of course not.”

Merritt examined the badge. Plastic. It had Ross’s picture on it. But it was blank on the back, unlike real federal IDs.

“Not Littleton’s fault. He was eating lunch on a park bench. A digital camera with a zoom lens gave me a close-up image of his ID badge. I used a graphics program to paste in my own photo, then a portable card printer. All from the confines of my car.” Ross frowned. “No smart chip inside, though. So I couldn’t actually get into a federal building. But it’s very good for moving around the public spaces without arousing suspicion.”

Merritt pocketed the ID. “You’re under arrest, Mr. Ross.”

“The Daemon exists, Agent Merritt. No living person was running the defenses in that house. You know it’s true. Now imagine the exact same thing loose in the world, and you’ll have some idea what we’re up against.”

Merritt paused, but then shook his head. “No. I don’t know that. I was angry—”

“They didn’t tell you everything they knew. Didn’t you think it strange that they sent a hostage rescue team in to bridge a pit? It’s because they knew they were sending you against a barricaded suspect.”

“Tell your story in court.”

“I’m not an American citizen. I don’t think I get a trial.”

“Either way, you’re coming with me.”

Ross just gave Merritt an impatient look. “Agent Merritt, I watched you go through the metal detectors earlier. I know you’re unarmed.”

Son of a bitch.

“I, on the other hand, am armed—so I suggest you listen to what I have to say. Because after the shooting starts, there will be no more talk—and you may never get the answers to those questions that keep you up at night.”

They said Ross was slippery. Merritt did need answers. He looked beyond Ross at two Capitol Hill police walking in the distance. He knew he wouldn’t call them. Not yet.

He looked back at Ross. “Okay. I do want answers. For one: why on earth should I believe anything you say? If you were the mastermind behind the Daemon hoax, then, of course, you’d have a copy of that video. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“But why would I risk my neck to come down here to show it to you? What would I gain?”

Merritt tumbled it around in his mind, looking for the angle. He couldn’t see one, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “Then where the hell did you get it?”

“It was screened on the secret altar of the Dark Faction in the Kingdom of Cifrain.”

Merritt just stared at him.

Ross noticed the look. “Don’t any cops play online games? Cifrain is the largest kingdom in Sobol’s online computer game The Gate. What you’re looking at here, Agent Merritt, is a recruitment video.”

“A recruitment video.” Merritt said it matter-of-factly.

He recalled the news reports at the time of the estate siege. The Feds had shut down The Gate. CyberStorm relaunched it in China—and the lawsuits were still pending. But the game rocketed in sales after the crisis. The free publicity couldn’t have hurt.

Merritt remembered screen shots. He was thinking of the possibilities for a secret organization—meeting in the dark corners of an imaginary world.

“You’re saying that the Daemon is recruiting people inside a computer game? Recruiting them for what?”

“That’s the big question.”

“And how did you manage to get your hands on this video?”

Ross grinned. “Because I’m leet . I was good enough to attract the notice of the Daemon. And I successfully navigated the Ugran—the death course.”

“If this Daemon existed, why would it care that you were good at a game? So what? It just means you have lots of time on your hands….”

Ross raised his eyebrows and waited.

It suddenly dawned on Merritt. “…which is the case for most misfits.” Merritt was starting to see the devilish logic in it. Wasn’t Sobol famous for devilish logic? Hadn’t Merritt seen it at his estate?

Ross slid the DVD player back into his cheap attaché case. “The Daemon tested my knowledge of cryptography and networked systems. I was shown the video to establish the veracity of the Daemon’s claims. The entire estate siege was captured by Sobol’s security cameras. He has a clickable presentation in the inner sanctums of his online world. It shows every moment of the siege, from inside and outside the house. For the typical black-hat hacker, this video establishes beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Daemon is authentic.”

Merritt was shaking his head, but not vigorously.

“In fact, this video has gone viral in the darknet. Among Daemon operatives you’re something of a larger-than-life hero, Agent Merritt.”

“For what?”

“For surviving the worst that Sobol could throw at you. You’re darknet-famous.”

“What’s a darknet?”

“Not a darknet, the darknet. Imagine a network, like the Internet, but more sophisticated and much more exclusive, populated only by humans the Daemon has recruited.”

Merritt frowned.

Ross changed the subject. “In any event the Daemon detected my video applet, and I was ejected before I could capture the whole thing. If it knew my real name and address, I suppose I would be dead now. But it doesn’t know my real name. No one does. And no one ever can.”

Merritt wasn’t thinking about calling for backup anymore. What if Ross was telling the truth? Far from being over, something might just be starting. Something terrible. He looked up at Ross. “I’ll need to see more evidence.”

“That can be arranged.” He stood and motioned for Merritt to follow him. “Walk with me.”

Merritt struggled to his feet and limped after Ross as he headed off through the park.

“I’m innocent, Agent Merritt. So is Peter Sebeck.”

“The detective?” Merritt remembered the local cop who had been convicted in the conspiracy. “He’s on death row.”

“Yes. That’s partly why I’m here.”

“So that’s the angle; you’re here to free your partner.”

“For godsakes, who would be smart enough to steal a couple hundred million dollars, but then stupid enough to wire the money to tax havens controlled by Western intelligence agencies? Why would Sebeck keep fake passports in safe deposit boxes under his own name? Sobol stole Sebeck’s identity.”

Merritt smirked. “And this Daemon stole your identity, too, I imagine?”

Ross shook his head. “No. Sobol didn’t anticipate me, and his Daemon still doesn’t know who I am. But it’s trying to find out—because I’m the only one fighting it.”

Merritt regarded him. “So, who are you, Mr. Ross?”

“I already told you, no one—”

“I don’t want your name. I want to know who you are. ”

They walked on for a while in silence, Ross considering the question. Before long he turned to Merritt. “I came here on an H1-B visa.”

“A foreign tech worker?”

“Yes. I was brought in for Y-two-K remediation and stayed through the Internet bubble. They billed us out as expert developers to large multinational corporations at two hundred and twenty dollars an hour.”

“Who billed you out?”

“The Russian mafia.”

Merritt let out an involuntary laugh.

Ross sighed. “There was a lot of money sloshing around back then—and a lot of Russian tech talent. An illegal trade developed.”

Merritt’s instinct was to keep laughing. Except he couldn’t think of any particular reason why it couldn’t be true. It seemed all too possible. Was he being naïve again?