Code Zero (7 page)

“Tell me,” she said. It was gently said, an offer instead of a demand. And it was part of our rhythm. We each had a lot of complications in our personal history; we’d each been battered by the circumstances of lives lived in the storm lands. She had every right to be more emotionally screwed up than me, God knows, but Junie was far more balanced. More at peace with who and what she was. The same cannot be said of me.

“Bad night,” I said.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t shut my head down.”

She kissed my shoulder.

The winds of morning kept tearing the clouds into gray and white tatters.

“Those kids?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Joe … I remember you once telling me that if the bad guy deals the play then he owns whatever happens. Those are your exact words.”

“Clever words, too. I should put them on my business cards.”

“Come on, Joe, what else could you have done? And don’t tell me that it’s not the point. We both know it is.”

“You’re quoting Rudy.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, and there was an edge of irritation in her voice. She was a smart and empathic woman, and it was unfair of me to say that she was cribbing lines from anyone else.

“Sorry. It’s just that Rudy’s been harping on me with that for a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe you should listen to one of us. I think it’s fair to say that he and I know you best. Okay, Rudy knows you better and longer than I do, but I know you, Joe. I do. And I know that sometimes you look for ways to beat yourself up over things that are beyond your control and aren’t your fault.”

“It’s more complicated than—”

She cut me off. “I
know
it’s more complicated than that. Of
course
it is. The life you live is extremely…” she fished for the right word, “…
difficult
. The things Mr. Church asks of you, the things you ask of yourself, not only push your body to dangerous limits, they constantly put you in situations where there is no good option, only options less terrible than others. I’ve seen that, Joe. I saw what you had to do to protect me the day we met, and what you had to do in order to save everyone from disaster. I saw it. Just as I saw the hurt in your eyes afterward.”

I said nothing. Her body was a warm anchor to a better world and I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of her arm and breast where they pressed against my side.

“The question, my sweet love,” she said softly, “isn’t whether you did something wrong. You didn’t. You couldn’t do anything other than what you did. No, the question is whether you need to go back to the fight. We both know that this kind of war won’t really end. Terrorism is a fact of our lives. It’ll be here forever because there will always be hatred in the world and technology has gotten so user-friendly that anyone can reach out through the Net to do harm or cook up something in a cheap lab. I spent years talking about this sort of thing on my podcast, and it’s not all conspiracy theories. This is our world.”

“I know, but…”

“But do you have to be the one to fight everyone’s battles, Joe?”

I said nothing. I didn’t dare, because I knew what my answer would be.

“Joe … listen to me. If you’re fighting because you’re afraid to stop fighting, then you’re fighting the wrong war. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

I watched the carrion bird circle high in the sky.

“Not yet,” I said.

Interlude Two

The Hangar

Floyd Bennett Field

Brooklyn, New York

Seven Years Ago

Miss Artemisia Bliss looked out the window. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?”

Midway through the interview Dr. Hu left the room to make a call, and when he returned he told her that they were going to take a drive. Without telling her anything else, he escorted her down to the lobby, where they were met by two very tall, very imposing men in dark suits. Hu knew that she was sharp enough to peg them as Secret Service or the equivalent. Outside, they got into a black Escalade that had a third man behind the wheel. The big car headed straight to the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel.

Now they were in Brooklyn, heading west on I-278.

“Am I allowed to know where we’re going?” asked Miss Bliss.

“You’ll see,” said Hu.

She nodded, accepting the conditions.

“You’re fond of games,” said Hu, coming at her out of left field.

She gave him a full second’s appraisal, then nodded. “Sure. Video games, mostly. Some RPG stuff and simulations.”

“I’m going to shock and possibly offend you,” said Hu.

She said nothing.

“According to your debit card purchase history, you’re a frequent flyer at GameStop and other stores. Are you angry that I know this?”

“I’m not pleased,” she said, “but not surprised. I’ll bet you know all sorts of things about me.”

She smiled when she said that, and Hu’s pulse jumped a gear. Was that a flirty smile? There was definitely some kind of challenge there. He kept his composure intact, however.

“Thorough background checks are necessary for reasons you’ll discover shortly.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” She paused, then prompted, “Games—?”

“Right. Games.”

“What about them?”

“That’s what I want you to tell me,” said Hu. “What’s your interest?”

“Amusement?”

“Please.”

She shrugged. “The real answer is kind of boring.”

“Try me.”

“I like to solve problems,” she said. “The tougher the challenge, the more fun it is.”

“You bought the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. How’d you do on the Water Temple level?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. Did you beat it?”

“When I was like … ten?”

“You survived the jet ski level of Battletoads?”

“Sure.”

“What was your best time?”

“It’s not about best time. It’s about remembering where you died in previous tries. I only played it six times, and beat it on the seventh try. I didn’t have a stopwatch running.”

“Have you done a speedrun?” he asked, referring to one his own favorite aspects of gaming, which was a play-through of a whole video game or a selected part of it, with the intent of completing it as fast as possible. Although Hu didn’t compete with other gamers except a kid named Jerome Williams—known familiarly as Bug—recently hired by Mr. Church. They were neck-and-neck at speedruns of most games.

“Sure. Everyone does a speedrun once in a while.”

“Did you do one of Battletoads?”

“No,” she said. “Haven’t played it since I beat it.”

“Why?”

“I beat it, and then beat it again,” said Bliss. “What would be the point?”

“To beat your best time…?”

Hu smiled. “What about Halo: Combat Evolved, the Library level? To beat your best time…”

Bliss snorted. “Overrated. I beat that on my second try. I expected more.”

“Super Mario Sunshine, the—”

“Corona Mountain level,” she finished for him.

“How fast did you beat that level?”

She considered. “It’s not about how fast, okay? Only gamer newbies or people who don’t game care about time. It’s about how. For Super Mario Sunshine, you can only get to Corona Mountain by clearing the seventh episode of all other areas. But the real challenge is the boat controls. You have to propel a boat by facing backwards and turning on the spray nozzle, then navigate through a section of platforms with either retracting spikes or fire. But you have to figure out how to use the Hover Nozzle.”

Hu tried another. “What about level forty of Dead Island?”

“Not really a fan of zombie games.”

“But you play them.”

She gave him another of those coquettish smiles. “I play everything.”

“Did you beat level forty?”

“Yes. On my third try.”

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game for NES? The underwater bomb disarm section?”

“Set the Way-Back Machine, but sure. When I was eight, I think.”

“You’re making me feel old.”

Another smile. “You’re not too ancient.”

“What’s the hardest game you’ve ever played?”

She had to think about that. “None of them are what I’d call skull-crackers. If I had to put one up at the top, maybe Super Ghosts and Goblins. I underestimated it because it was harder than I’d heard.”

“But you beat it?”

“Yes, and it taught me a lot about making assumptions.” She paused. “Excuse me, but are we really going to dissect every single game I ever played? I mean, is there a point to this?”

Instead of answering directly, he said, “Do you have any practical experience with game design?”

“Some.”

“It’s not in your résumé.”

“It was just for fun.”

“‘Fun’?”

“Well, for the challenge. I, um, hacked into the game programs for Halo, Battletoads, and Gears of War and wrote new levels.”

“Why?”

“Like I said—”

Hu shook his head. “I want the real answer.”

Miss Bliss took a moment, stalling by adjusting her clothes and shifting to find a more comfortable position on the bench seat. “I … have a few friends who are gamers.”

“Gamers of your caliber?”

“Pretty much.”

“And—?”

“I wanted to see if I could create game levels that they couldn’t beat.”

“Could they beat them?”

“The first few, sure. But the more recent ones? No.”

“Can those levels, in fact,
be
beaten?”

“Sure. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a game.”

Hu smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“I think you’ll enjoy where I’m taking you.”

“Meaning—what?”

Hu threw a different line into the water. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

She didn’t turn. “Specifically—?”

“In life,” he said. “With your career.”

Her response was casual, with no trace of defensiveness. “I don’t know. I’m keeping my options open.”

“And yet you applied for a job with us.”

“Sure, I applied for a job because the job description, though necessarily vague, was designed to hook someone like me. You dangled the bait of this being either under the DARPA umbrella or connected to it in some way. That’s where I want to be.”

Hu nodded. “And you think you’d flourish in a DARPA setting?”

She cut him a quick look as if she’d caught something in the way he’d inflected that question. Her eyes searched his for a long moment before she answered.

“DARPA … or something like it,” she said carefully.

Dr. Hu smiled as the Escalade drove through an opening in a rusted chain link fence. Frowning, Miss Bliss looked out at the building embowered by that old fence. It was a massive airplane hangar of the kind built seventy or eighty years ago. Many of the glass panes were busted out and the gray skin was peeling and long in need of fresh paint.

Miss Bliss began to ask, but Hu held up a finger.

“Wait,” he said.

The Escalade curved around and entered through a small side entrance just big enough for the SUV. Once inside, a door slid shut behind them and for a moment the vehicle was in total darkness. Then there was a shudder beneath the vehicle. The kind of tremble elevators gave. Even through the closed windows there was the sound of heavy hydraulics.

Lights blossomed around the vehicle and Miss Bliss stared in shock as the Escalade descended into what seemed like another world. Bright lights filled a vast chamber that was easily three times the size of the gigantic hangar. Where the structure above looked decrepit and abandoned, down here everything was new. Metal gleamed, computer screens glittered like jewels, hundreds of people moved here and there, many of them in white lab coats but others in blue or orange jumpsuits, green coveralls, the crisp gray of security uniforms, and even ordinary street clothes. Rank upon rank of the latest generation of Titan supercomputers ran the length of the room, their precious drives encased in reinforced glass.

The Escalade reached the bottom and the hydraulic hiss faded into silence.

Miss Bliss gaped at the room around her. Even from a distance any scientist could tell that everything here was cutting edge. Bleeding edge. Billions of dollars’ worth.

After several breathless moments, Miss Bliss turned to stare at Dr. Hu.

“I don’t … I don’t…” She stopped and gulped in a breath to steady herself. “What is all this?”

Dr. Hu adjusted his glasses. “You could choose to work for DARPA,” he said with a hyena grin, “or … you could come work for us.”

“But … but who are you? What is all this?”

“It’s something so new that it doesn’t even have a name,” he said. “We’ve been calling it the Department of Military Sciences as a kind of placeholder name. Something to put on congressional memos.” Dr. Hu stepped out and then turned and offered her his hand. “How would you like to help us save the world?”

Part Three

Burn to Shine

They played at hearts as other children might play at ball;

only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro,

they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them.

—GASTON LEROUX,
The Phantom of the Opera

Chapter Eleven

The Locker

Sigler-Czajkowski Biological and Chemical Weapons Facility

Highland County, Virginia

Sunday, August 31, 4:44 a.m.

On the day that she died, Dr. Noor Jehan had a premonition.

It was not an unusual thing with her, though she’d had them less often as an adult than when she was a little girl in Punjab. Since coming to America with her parents at age thirteen, her premonitions, once an almost daily occurrence, faded to a scattered few. They were rarely anything of note. She would look up a few seconds before a doorbell rang, or she’d take her cell phone out of her purse and hold it, knowing that a call was coming. A few times she bought scratch-off lottery tickets on a whim. Once she won fifty dollars and another time she won five hundred.