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“How much do you know, at this point, about how it works?”
“Eyes and ears,” Jamie said as he swiveled from one unit to another, tapping keys. “Light and sound.”
“Light and sound.”
“Spectrum and frequency. You go on, pull up a nice game of World Domination to piss a little time away, and what happens is, you’re getting bombarded with light and sound, stuff your eyes and ears can’t register on a regular level. You know how they’ve got those whistles for dogs people can’t hear?”
“Yeah, I know how it works.”
“Okay, well, as far as I can tell, that’s the idea with this virus. We haven’t clocked onto the spectrum pattern or the frequencies, but we will. The beauty is, the virus runs through the system, but it doesn’t make the computer sick, doesn’t screw up any of the programs on it, or any the operator might upload after. It all just cruises along, without a hitch.”
“And kills the operator,” Eve concluded.
“Kills him dead,” Jamie agreed. “We’re working on how long it takes, but it needs at least an hour, maybe two to transfer the infection into the old gray matter.”
“We haven’t confirmed that,” Feeney reminded him.
“The first shield failed,” McNab added. “But it held long enough that we were able to pull out data that’ll help us refine the next one.”
“How long?” Eve demanded.
“We can put together another experimental in maybe two hours.” McNab shrugged his good shoulder. “Longer if we have to wait until we break the code.”
“Man, it is dense.” Jamie picked up his Pepsi, slurped. “You break through one tier, and there’re six more popping out. I’m going to run a short cut on an alternate unit, see if I can sneak through.”
“Do that. And, Jamie.” Roarke touched a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll need you to bunk here until we’ve cut through all this.”
“Frig-o.” He rolled his chair to another workstation, and hunkered down.
“Okay, let me give you the status, then we can all go back to work.” Eve waited until attention focused on her. “You.” She pointed at Jamie. “You’re a drone. Be a drone.”
He muttered, curled his lip, but turned back to his monitor.
“The ME’s findings to date concur with your theory of audio and visual points of attack. He also reports that once the virus begins to spread, it is, most likely, irreversible. The latest victim, Mary Ellen George, was, according to witness reports, asymptomatic as early as eight days ago. After that point, we’ve found no one who had any contact with her.
“In analyzing the scene, I concluded that the victim, feeling unwell, took herself to bed, attempting to alleviate discomfort with over-the-counter. She blocked her incomings, pulled down the privacy shades and burrowed. She also took her laptop unit into bed with her, thereby certainly speeding the infection along with continued exposure.”
“Fitzhugh locked himself in, too,” Feeney offered.
“As did Cogburn, until he was incited by his neighbor. In Halloway’s case, he was infected on the job but elected to hunker into your office. We’ll assume that seeking this sort of shelter or isolation is also symptomatic.”
“Programmed in,” Roarke said, “to decrease the chances of outside interference or injuries.”
“Agreed. Purity doesn’t want hysteria or condemnation from the survivors of innocent victims. It seeks out specific targets. It seeks out media attention. It’s playing God and politics.”
“A very volatile combination.”
“Bet your ass,” she said to Roarke. “Which forces the NYPSD to play the same combo. The mayor’s office and The Tower are spinning their dish to the media. Deputy Mayor Franco is the spearhead.”
“A good choice of symbols,” Roarke commented. “Attractive, intelligent, strong without being overbearing.”
“So you say,” Eve sneered.
“Symbolically speaking. By using her as spokesman rather than the mayor, it generates the impression this is not a crisis but a problem. By pushing you forward, it adds the element of competence and doggedness. The city is in good hands, caring hands. Female hands that, traditionally, tend and nurture as well as protect.”
“What a load of horseshit.”
“You know, it’s not.” Baxter spoke up. “Pain in the ass for you, Dallas, no question, but it’s a good angle. You both look good on-screen. Nice contrast. Like, I dunno, the warrior and the goddess. Then you’ve got Whitney, Tibble looking all sober and stern, a few comments from the mayor at his dignified best stating his absolute confidence in the NYPSD and the system, and people feel calm and don’t riot in the streets and fuck up traffic.”
