They brought him outside to a waiting car. It was an unmarked Jeep Cherokee knockoff—what some of the expat Americans had taken to calling “Cheeps.” They opened the door for him, and Ross got in. He noticed that there were no door handles on the inside, and a wire mesh stood between him and the front seat. He was now their prisoner.
The officers got in front and drove off in dense traffic without a word either to each other or to Ross. They drove for only a few minutes before pulling to the curb on a highly fashionable restaurant block. The place was bustling with shoppers and young professionals.
The men got out and opened the door for Ross, who stepped onto the sidewalk and met the gaze of his captor. “I’m confused. Am I bribing you or not?”
The man just grabbed Ross’s arm and along with his partner they moved toward an upscale martini bar done in clean Scandinavian glass and hardwoods with a minimalist logo that was so hip it would be indecipherable to Chinese and Scandinavians alike. The place was packed with cigarette smoke and young, mostly Chinese white-collar professionals who quickly parted to let the grim-faced plainclothes policemen through.
Soon they approached a booth in the rear of the bar—the only quiet corner. The tables all around it were conspicuously empty. There, a young Chinese man in a well-cut suit waited with a frosted martini glass in front of him. He smiled as he saw Ross approaching.
Ross couldn’t help but return the smile. It was Shen Liang. Shen was an old friend from Ross’s dot-com days in Portland—back in the late nineties. Before everything went to hell. Shen had been a kid just out of Stanford back then—barely familiar with America and Western culture. He was a brilliant young mind who’d taken in everything the Chinese universities had to offer at the time and was hungry for more.
Ross and Shen had worked together at a start-up Web company named Stiletto Design—“Cutting through the noise” was their motto. It was the quintessential Web commerce shop with high ceilings, exposed brick, Aeron chairs, ping-pong tables, and soon-to-be-worthless stock options. They were expanding like mad in those days, designing merchant solutions for banks, insurance companies, and half-assed Web start-ups. Young men and women working long hours and late nights—it was a great place to be a young single person. The memory was just a haze of work, alcohol, and sex.
As Ross sat down, Shen extended his hand and spoke in perfect American English. “Jon Ames. Or I guess it’s Jon Ross, nowadays. What’d you get married or something?”
“It’s complicated, Liang. You look like you’re doing well.”
Shen motioned to the nearby plainclothesmen and said something in Mandarin.
The lead officer nodded, and both men departed.
Ross watched them go, then turned back to Shen, who was nodding. “I am doing well. I wish I could say the same for you.”
Ross gave him a quizzical look.
“Jon, you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“Then this isn’t a social call?”
Shen grimaced and motioned to a beautiful young woman in a miniskirt. She came to the table immediately, and he pointed her to Ross.
“I’ll have a Stoli, straight up with a twist, please.”
“Of course, sir.” She hurried off.
“Russian vodka. How telling.” He focused an appraising look at Ross as he lit a tiny cigar. “So . . .” He put his gold lighter away. “After all these years I find out that your name isn’t really Jon Ames.”
“Liang—”
“And that Interpol has a global red notice out on you. That you’re the FBI’s Most Wanted Man. Imagine my shock.”
“Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“We were buds, Jon. And now it turns out you were an identity thief and a stock swindler?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me you were a spy for the Ministry of State Services back in the old days, either.”
He gave Ross a disbelieving look. “Who was a spy? They paid for my education. I was supposed to come back with ‘mad skillz.’ How is that spying? It’s not like I pretended I wasn’t Chinese.”
“I seem to remember someone wasn’t planning on coming back to China. I seem to remember someone talking about a Web video start-up—”
Shen held up his hand and looked around. “All right, all right. Would you cool it with that shit? And by the way, you were my witness. That was before YouTube. I had that idea before YouTube.”
“We were on dial-up back then, Liang.”
“That’s not the point. I nailed that.”
“And yet, here you are, working for the government.”
Shen rolled his eyes. “I don’t work for the government, or at least I didn’t work for the government until some asshole started fucking with our networks and they reactivated me.” He saluted. “Now it’s Captain Shen, thank you very much.”
“A PLA Cyber warfare battalion? That seems alarmingly conformist for the Shen Liang I knew.”
Shen nodded grimly and took a big sip of his martini. “Yeah, well, I really screwed up in America, Jon. I had to come back here after that, and I had gone way off reservation. I had to get powerful friends fast to dig out from that mess. I had to be stellar.”
“And is that how you wound up at Wuhan Communications Command Academy?”
Shen stopped mid-puff and narrowed his eyes at Ross. He pulled the cigarillo from his lips. “How the hell do you know that?”
“And how you wound up working with the General Equipment Department, modifying Western router chipsets?”
Shen moved to cover Ross’s mouth. “Would you shut up? What are you, crazy? How the hell do you know that?”
“We’re reaching a crossroad, Liang.”
“This isn’t 1999, Jon. The Web isn’t a toy anymore. Network technology is power now—world-domination-type power. This is a deadly serious business. Stop playing around.”
“We had a great time back then. You remember we all thought technology would change the world?”
“Well, it didn’t. Our parents were right, Jon. It’s scary how right they were. Nothing changes. Only the faces change.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I seem to remember you having great hopes for democracy in China.”
Shen glared hard at him as the cocktail waitress returned with Ross’s drink. Both men were quiet until she departed.
Shen shook his head and reached for an ashtray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, we have democracy in China. People get to vote with their money, just like they do in America.”
“But if only money talks, those without money don’t get a voice.”
“Well, the smarter people tend to make money, so I don’t see what the problem is.”
“What happens if someone takes your money away?”
Shen cast a wary look at Ross.
Ross continued, “Because that’s what we’re talking about here, isn’t it? Someone has threatened to confiscate your company if you don’t perform. Is that how a free person lives, Liang? In fear of the powerful?”
“Freedom is overrated. You can be completely free and starving in an igloo in Antarctica. Business is what makes people’s lives better, not democracy. The world is filled with dysfunctional democracies, paralyzed by idiots with votes.”
“Liang—”
“Jon, do you know that the World Bank said that over half the Chinese people lived in poverty in 1980? You know what it is now? Care to take a guess? It’s four percent, Jon. Four. Economic development did that, not democracy.”
Ross nodded. “But that’s the deal they offer, isn’t it? They’ll bring economic development in exchange for you not participating in politics—but that economic development is hollow and has no longevity. Have you seen the markets? It’s already fraying at the edges. Believe me, by the time it ends, you’ll realize they have all the power and you don’t matter. Prosperity is not prosperity if they can just take it from you.”
“So you prefer America then? Like they’re prosperous? They owe us more money
than there is on the planet. America is finished. Why are you helping them?”
Ross frowned. He took a moment to digest the question, taking a sip of his drink first. “Helping them? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t even start with me. You know exactly what I mean.”
Ross nodded. “So, you brought me here because you’ve got a problem. A problem you think the Americans are behind.”
Shen just studied him for several moments. “You haven’t asked how I found you.”
“I don’t have to ask. I already know how you found me.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”
“Because I’m the one who told you I was in China.”
Shen paused, looking darkly at Ross. “You’re fucking with me now. That’s why I hated playing poker with you.”
“I’m not bluffing, Liang.”
“Yeah, where did I get the information then?”
“That e-mail you received from Jun Shan. That was me.”
Shen almost bit his cigarillo in half. He glanced around the restaurant again and just shook his head. “Jon, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“The PLA reactivated you to find out why the back doors in router chipsets are beginning to fail in North America and Europe. They’re in a panic, aren’t they?”
Shen ground out his cigarette and pushed the ashtray away.
“What the fuck is going on? Who are you working for? The Americans?”
“It isn’t what you think, Liang.”
“Why does a Russian want to help Americans? They’ve been shitting on Russia for decades. They’re imperialist scum.”
“So you want to recruit me, comrade? Is that it?”
“Communism. Capitalism. Who gives a shit? Look, Western imperialism has undermined China since the British started dumping opium here to pry open the tea market. Now that China is taking her rightful place in the world again, the U.S. and Britain are doing everything they can to keep us down. Join us, Jon. I can open a lot of doors for you—especially for a man with your talents. There is virtually unlimited money to be made.”
Ross sipped his vodka. “That’s a great offer, Liang. And I do appreciate it, but I’m going to tell you what’s really going on here. And you’re not going to like it.”
Shen pushed his drink away. “Damnit.”
“You remember why Interpol is looking for me—why I’m wanted by the FBI?”
“Yeah, because you masterminded the Daemon hoax.”
“It’s not a hoax, Liang, and I didn’t mastermind it. There is an open-source cybernetic organism called the Daemon that is spreading across the globe. It’s created an encrypted social network called the darknet, based on an online video game. Millions of people are joining that network and using it to reinvent human society.”
Shen sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Jon, goddamnit! I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m not kidding, Liang. I’m a seventh-level Rogue in the network, and I have powers and abilities that allow me to—”
“You’ve really lost your fucking mind. I can’t believe it. It’s like you don’t even care.” He pointed out the windows. “I told them I would handle this. I told them to back off. That I could turn you, but after you leave here, Jon, they are going to take you away, and put you in a place so dark you won’t ever be seen again. And I won’t be able to help you anymore. Do you understand what I’m telling you? They’re going to disappear you, Jon.”
“I understand. It’s okay.”
“How can it be okay? You’ve got to tell me what’s really going on, Jon, or they’re going to beat it out of you.”
“It’s okay because I had to come to China. I couldn’t learn what I needed anywhere but China. Because what happens here, Liang, affects the entire world. And what your people did was defeat a system that might have been used to oppress billions. I needed you to know that. The Chinese people want to be free, Liang. Just like all people. I’ve seen it. Just like you’ll see it.”
“Jon, they won’t let you leave here.”
“It’s okay. I have this.” Ross held up a single titanium ring with a crystal embedded in the surface. “It’s a magic ring, Liang. Very powerful.”
Shen stared at him, speechless, for several moments. “Oh my god. You really have gone insane.”
Ross slipped the ring on his finger. “I have to go now. But just remember, I came to see you because I wanted to tell you in person. The Daemon is real, and it’s bigger than all of us—because it is all of us. So maybe technology can change the world, after all. Take care, my friend.”
With that, Ross got up and walked away from the table, seeing Shen’s stunned face reflected in a nearby mirror as he left.
Chapter 15: // Political Inversion
“Dr. Philips, you’ve seen the news. The economy is in shambles. Getting a five-year guaranteed contract with built-in cost-of-living adjustments would secure your future. And you could still work within the national intelligence apparatus. A lot of your colleagues have already made the jump.”
Natalie Philips looked across the table at two sharply attired recruiters from Weyburn Labs. They were sitting in the agency cafeteria. It had been months since the incident at Merritt’s funeral, and she had already been folded back into the NSA’s Crypto division—albeit stripped of decision-making authority.
“You’re wasting your time, gentlemen. And I don’t appreciate being ambushed like this. ”
“Look, the public sector is a great place for backbenchers, but someone of your prodigious intellect could have a bright future.” He leaned forward. “You could still finish your current project—”
The second executive finished for him. “But at a substantially higher salary.”
“And performance bonuses.”
Philips betrayed no emotion. “But I’d be working for Weyburn Labs. There are potential conflict-of-interest issues that I don’t think help the mission.”
“National security is everyone’s goal, Doctor.”
“There was a time when I believed that.”
They looked at each other, affecting hurt feelings.
“Weyburn Labs has a long and fruitful partnership with the U.S. government. Our current CEO was a four-star general.”
She nodded as she poked at her salad. “That may be, but I’m not leaving the NSA.”
“And you really think your career here can advance after that fiasco with the Daemon Task Force?”
She glared at him.
Apparently sensing that things were going downhill, the other recruiter leaned in again and spoke softy. “You’re not the only bright person working on the Daemon. Big things are afoot, Doctor. Things not even you know about.”
“We shouldn’t be discussing this here.”
He edged even closer. “Building from your work, we’ve started to gain access to the darknet.”
She stopped eating.
“This is top secret information, of course.”
Philips eyed them both closely. “Who is doing this?”
“Come join the Weyburn Labs team and find out. . . .”
Just then a uniformed Central security officer walked up to the table. “Dr. Philips?”
“Yes?”
“You need to come with me, ma’am. Deputy Director Fulbright needs you in the Ops Center, ASAP.”
Philips shot one last look at the recruiters, then stood with her tray.
The security officer grabbed it from her. “I’ll get that, ma’am. Please just proceed to the CSS vehicle waiting curbside.”
“Gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Think about what we said, Doctor.”
Ops Center 1 was a dimly lit digital front line of uniformed military personnel manning rows of computer monitors. They were there to categorize and prioritize America’s various raw intelligence feeds, but today Ops Center 1 was also thick with Department of Defense brass and men in nicely tailored suits. They stared at Philips and whispered am
ong themselves as she was ushered by two air force officers into a nearby conference room where the door was immediately closed behind her.
Inside the darkened conference room, more military officers and suited executives stared up at a large video screen, which displayed what looked to be live footage of a foreign city—somewhere in China, judging by the street signage.
The moment Philips walked in, Deputy Director Chris Fulbright grabbed her by the elbow and escorted her toward the center of the room. Normally soft-spoken and reserved, Fulbright was keyed up and edgy. Something serious was going on. And if they called her in, then that could only mean it involved the Daemon.
“It looks like Jon Ross has surfaced again.”
A wave of surprise hit her—and then worry. “Where?”
“Shenzhen, China.”
“China?” She was about to ask how he’d managed to get there, but that was, of course, a ridiculous question. Jon Ross was an identity thief and hacker—he could be anyone he wanted to be. And if Loki was to be believed, Ross was now a Daemon operative to boot. She just nodded. “A world-class manufacturing hub. High-end electronics.”
“That makes sense then. Our intelligence shows the Daemon has become increasingly embedded in the high-tech manufacturing supply chain of Asia—and that the Chinese know there’s some new force exerting influence domestically. They still don’t seem to know what it is. They think it has something to do with the Falun Gong—or other political opposition groups.”
“Who found Jon?” She braced herself for the answer.
“PLA Cyber warfare unit. Someone connected with General Zhang Zi Min—head of the MSS. They’re carrying out an op to grab Ross right now. . . .” Fulbright gestured to the central screen, which even as he spoke showed shaky video of heavily armed SWAT teams lying in wait around building corners. There were scores of them. A low-flying chopper passed momentarily in front of the frame, occluding the view. “We got word of it in unencrypted intercepts. I don’t need to remind you that—aside from you—no one knows more about the Daemon’s architecture than Jon Ross. If the Chinese grab him—”
“The Ragnorok module. They’d be able to use the Daemon against us.”
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