Reboot, p.6
Reboot, page 6
She was running against the clock, but she was still running, still winning. And she had enough natural-born genius and AI-given instinct to give her an edge.
You think you can recruit kids as smart as me and not have us bite you in the butt? thought Eva with a satisfied little smirk. Then she glowered at the locked door of her room. You don’t know how wrong you are, Roy Lykos.
Flexing her fingers, then stretching her arms, she closed her homework assignment and once again began tapping on her keyboard.
<<>>
Plan B?
Eva kicked back her chair and jumped to her feet, clenching her fists in frustration. Of course these creeps were going to have a plan B. Maybe in the back of her head she’d realized that all along, but seeing it there in Yasuo’s files was like a punch to the gut.
Yasuo Yamamoto and Roy Lykos were both—what was it Slack called them? Squillionaires. Eva had always thought that word was hilarious. It didn’t seem so funny now. They didn’t need money funneling through official Wolf’s Den channels, not when Yasuo could finance their whole secretive research project.
Yes. It looked like Yasuo was one of the bad guys. Not Yasuo— Yamamoto, Eva angrily rechristened him in her head.
Sitting down again and taking deep breaths, she stared fixedly at the downloaded files. The decrypted list scrolled upward under her quick fingers.
Lee Minseo
Wu Bao
Leanne Winchester
Devon Ifill
Ion Anghelescu
Baxter McCain
Tanya Kuznetsov
Eva was more than familiar with the names. They were the fastest hackers in the school, the best tacticians, the systems analysts with the sharpest instincts. These students were the elite squad of an elite school.
But she was most familiar with the final name on the list, the one in square brackets:
[Eva Vygotsky]
Those brackets made her spine shudder. She was different, Eva knew that already, but it was clear they had her marked down as such.
She rubbed her temples. What was she? A rogue element? She wasn’t distinguished from the others because of some lack of ability; she had enough confidence to know that.
Was she less important than the others? Or more important?
A bug, a glitch? Eva felt a sudden pang of certainty. That had to be it. Ghost in the machine. But why? What was it about her that merited those sinister brackets?
She’d been one of Mikael’s earliest experiments, so Eva assumed she’d had some life-threatening crisis early in her young life. The trouble was she didn’t know what it had been. Her memories began on that trans-Siberian train where they’d found her. Passed from department to department, from one international legal force to another, she’d ended up at the Wolf’s Den, and for a while she’d found peace and the isolation she loved.
But there was something wrong with her, that Eva was certain of. The way Adam and Leo’s malware had affected her via her laptop; the skull-crushing headaches that seemed too skillfully timed to be natural. Her AI treatment had been the 1.0 version. Something had gone wrong. And those square brackets told her that Lykos didn’t know either.
But he wants me here, and not because he likes me. He needs something from me.
Frowning, Eva clicked through to the financial plans: where was Yamamoto getting the cash flow for whatever he planned? Squillionaire he might be, but not all his assets could be liquid. No, there it was, a footnote in the shape of a simple Excel document: the plan to mine Bitcoin exchanges, undetected. Eva allowed herself a tiny, satisfied smile.
“Recruit the best, Lykos,” she whispered to the computer, “and you and Yamamoto better watch your electronic backs.”
Once again, she minimized a window and clicked on the more detailed plans. None of it seemed to make sense, but she had a more or less photographic memory. If she stored this in her brain, she could ask the Ghost Network, if she ever saw them again . . . No. She shouldn’t think like that. When she saw her friends again, they would work out together what Lykos and Yamamoto were up to.
A cold shudder rippled through her. How long could her friends stay safe, with those two hunting them? Eva dreaded to think what might happen if Lykos got control of the Ghost Network. She was stuck here on a remote island, the captive of Lykos, while John, Slack, and Salome tried to dodge his searching tentacles. He can’t get ahold of them. He just can’t. But what could she do to help prevent that from here?
Eva hated Lykos all the more for making her feel so unusually helpless. He can’t have me either. I don’t care what he does; I won’t ever work for him. And I won’t let him get his claws into my friends.
The screen blurred in front of Eva’s eyes. She was so, so tired. Drowsily, she blinked. I could fall asleep right here.
No. She was asleep. At least, the conscious part of her brain was. Eva felt a sort of helpless, paralyzed numbness, even as something else, something subconscious, sparked to life in her head. To all outward appearance, she must have looked almost comatose, but it was as if programs were running, constant and insistent in the background. Command prompts flashed by unseen; reams of data flickered across her synapses.
Eva felt a surge of helpless horror. IIDA! She was sure it was the Mother Computer. Was this what John felt when IIDA accessed his brain?
It was horrible. There was no resisting it: the program ripped through the information on the screen in front of her, analyzing, compressing, selecting, and interpreting. Data poured into her brain in a torrent.
Upload complete
She was terrified.
Commence decryption
And she couldn’t move a muscle.
Analysis 70% done
She wanted to move her fingers, wanted to shut down the laptop, but even that small movement was beyond her.
Analysis 98% done
Please stop, please stop
Analysis complete
This time, Eva sprang up so abruptly that her chair tumbled over. Gripping the edge of the desk, she panted for breath. Her mind had the information she needed now—even if she didn’t want it.
“You criminal jerks,” she whimpered, barely audibly.
If Lykos and Yamamoto couldn’t have the Ghost Network, they’d make their own. The kids on the regular list were the subjects.
And the one in square brackets . . . Eva herself . . . this was why they were holding on to her. Thanks to IIDA, she knew it swiftly and for certain. She was plan B: they needed what was inside her. She was going to be used for data harvesting. For DNA harvesting. If all else failed, if Lykos and Yamamoto couldn’t get their hands on her friends, they could use Eva to create their own Ghost Network.
I’m not just the prototype. I’m the raw material.
“Do you think that ancient temple’s real?” Akane shut one eye, tilted her head, and wrinkled her nose. “Something about it looks off to me.”
“It’s about as real as the Trump Taj Mahal in Vegas,” scoffed Salome. “That’s a fake if ever I saw one. I bet they sprinkle sand on it every morning.”
Youssef had halted the Land Rover on a broad patch of hard earth that formed a yard in front of the Temple. The Ghosts scrambled out, stretching their stiff limbs. Morocco might be beautiful, vibrant, and fascinating, thought John, but after awhile they’d all stopped listening to Youssef’s cheery narration on the highway. It had grown unbearably hot in the Land Rover. The two girls had started playing games on their PSPs. Slack had fallen asleep, drooling on John’s shoulder. John had stared unseeing out of the window, replaying his father’s words over and over again in his head. They’d all woken with a start when Youssef announced their arrival.
Together, as they tried to get the blood flowing in their legs once again, the Ghosts stared up at the mighty walls of an ancient-looking red palace. That dusty golden sunlight encased its walls, making them glow. Its brickwork was decorated with intricate calligraphy and tiling, and the roof was a fantasy combination of high towers, sharp domes, and ornate crenellations. The facade of the temple was marked by lancet and horseshoe arches, and through the biggest of them John could make out a shady courtyard that was also surrounded by a cloister of pointed arches. At least that would be a retreat from the relentless, stifling heat.
“At the absolute earliest, 2012,” said Salome firmly. “Look at the mortar between the stones. It’s barely dry.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” John scolded her.
“I think it’s pretty convincing,” said Slack.
“Alaska Boy,” grinned Akane. “You’ve never seen a building older than the Fairbanks Courthouse?”
Slack stuck out his tongue at her.
Youssef was watching them all as he hauled their luggage from the car. “Shall we go inside, then?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Slack cheerfully. Picking up his bag, he marched eagerly after Youssef.
“I wonder if they’ve got a virtual-reality climbing wall?” asked John, catching up with his friend.
“A sliding glass roof, like in a supervillain lair,” laughed Salome behind them, as they all strode through the courtyard toward an ornately carved wooden door. “I loved that part of the Wolf’s Den.”
“I hope it has the fully equipped gym,” said Slack wistfully, “with those amazing VR screens.”
“And I hope you’ll all stop going on about how fabulous the Wolf’s Den was,” remarked Akane, acerbically. “I didn’t get to go there, remember?”
“This’ll be just as good,” John reassured her. “All the Centers are linked, and they have similar—” He stopped short.
Youssef stepped back from the door and gestured for them to go inside. Even from the Temple’s doorway, John could see how different it was from the Wolf’s Den.
Maybe that was another disguise, like the faux ancient temple? The passageway looked shabby, with cracked plaster that had been hastily and recently applied. Plain plywood doors led off it, with ordinary Yale locks rather than slick, invisible, electronic systems. Youssef led them past half a dozen of those uninspiring doors. One of them happened to be open, and John caught a glimpse of the interior: a dingy office with utilitarian furniture, a mismatched desk lamp, and a beige rug.
Akane’s expression was almost unreadable, thought John as he glanced at her. There was maybe a touch of disappointment there, but he caught the swift smirk of a smile too. Akane had always felt a bit left out because she hadn’t been one of the Wolf’s Den gang. She must be amused that he, Slack, and Salome were all even more surprised than she was. He couldn’t really blame her.
“You’ll notice some differences from your previous school,” remarked Youssef dryly.
“You’re not kidding.” Slack’s tone was bleak. “Where’s the gym?”
“Outside. We call it the desert,” laughed Youssef. “You’re supposed to toughen up, not build exquisite biceps.”
“I thought they were the same thing,” grumbled Slack.
“Toughen up?” asked Salome, raising her eyebrows.
Youssef didn’t reply. He turned airily, and they followed him into the central hall: half assembly area, half cafeteria. At least it was lighter here; high open windows let in muted sunlight, and dust motes floated in its beams. But there was no selection of exciting food outlets. There was one serving counter and rows of folding tables with plastic seats attached. The whole place smelled a little musty. Throughout, there was a tang of cement, sawdust, and varnish, as if work had only recently stopped.
“This is . . .” John simply couldn’t think of another word. “Different.”
“Hmm,” said Akane. “You guys led me to expect Google HQ.”
“Well, the Wolf’s Den kind of was,” said Salome bleakly.
A woman entered through double swing doors at the far end of the hall and walked toward them, her boot heels clicking on the cement floor. She was tall and lanky, with dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail.
“Hello, and welcome to the Scarab’s Temple! I’m Marguerite Lagarde, and I’m the director of this Center.”
“Hi. Salome Abraham. It’s nice to meet you,” said Salome. The others joined in, warily muttering their own names.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your time here.” Marguerite glanced around and shrugged. “It’s a little more basic than what you’re used to, I think, but you’ll get used to it. And there’s plenty of equipment for your training. I’ll take you downstairs now. Youssef will make sure your bags are transferred to your rooms.” She nodded pleasantly at him.
“What’s downstairs?” asked Akane.
“In the basement we have an extensive network of exascale computers.” Marguerite gave an actual, genuine-sounding laugh. “I confess I don’t know exactly what those are, but—”
“Exascale computers?” John’s eyes lit up. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so dreary after all.
“A billion billion calculations per second,” grinned Slack. “That’s what they are, Ms. Lagarde.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Jake. I was told you’d be excited. All I know is that they’re brand new, just installed. I’m afraid I don’t know much about computers. I do have an iPad. Ha ha!”
All four Ghosts stared at her, then at each other.
A tinge of a blush crept across Marguerite’s cheekbones. “I’m not here to be a computer expert, I’m afraid,” she said defensively, “so that’s one thing I won’t be able to help you with. We do have brilliant teachers, I assure you, but I have other skills. I’ve been an aid worker in combat zones—Libya and Syria, among others—and I’m very knowledgeable about advanced survival. That’s what I’m here to help you with.”
“Uh,” said Salome nervously. “Advanced survival?”
“Suits me, anyway,” declared Akane. “Sounds fun!”
“Salome, you know who we’re up against,” murmured John. “Advanced survival doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
“Come with me and I’ll show you those lovely computers to cheer you up,” said Marguerite, turning toward the double doors. “I know you must be a little disappointed with your surroundings,” she went on as she led them down a circular concrete staircase lit by dim wall bulbs. “But the Scarab’s Temple is very new, and it was set up quickly, and we’ve had problems processing the funds from HQ. And . . . well, we don’t have the cash from multinational tech corporations that the other Centers have access to. Our patron funds this Center from his own resources.”
Surprised, John exchanged an apprehensive glance with Slack. His father had provided the resources for this?
The Scarab’s Temple might not be the Wolf’s Den, but Mikael was pouring everything he had into it. He must be—and then some.
And that meant it might be the most important Center of all.
Outside the Scarab’s Temple, the sun was fiercely intense. John almost recoiled as he stepped out of the shade and onto the beaten path that led to the sports arena. A hundred feet away, blurred in the glare, he could make out nimble figures playing a fast-paced basketball game.
“I want to stay with the ‘lovely computers,’” whispered Akane with a mischievous grin.
“Aw, don’t make fun of Marguerite,” Slack whispered back, nudging her. “She’s no tech genius, but she’s a sweetheart.”
“Slack,” sighed Salome, “you have to stop falling for everyone with an XX chromosome.”
“And be a bit more skeptical of everybody,” muttered John. “Trust no one.”
Slack gave him a surprised glance, but he scooted closer to Akane too, as if to reassure her that she was the only one for him. John rolled his eyes.
Another door in the side of the Temple opened with a heavy creak, and Youssef walked out toward them. He folded his arms and met each of their curious gazes in turn.
“You’ve seen the interior? The classrooms, your sleeping areas?”
“Yes,” said Salome bleakly.
The classrooms had been small and as dusty and sparse as the dining hall. The bedrooms, despite smelling of fresh paint, had been downright blight. John had thought they felt like prison cells, with their gray blankets and utilitarian sinks, but he reminded himself that looks weren’t everything. So long as Lykos was in charge, the stunning Wolf’s Den was the true prison.
“Good.” Youssef nodded. “It’s not luxurious, but the Scarab’s Temple is exactly what you four need right now. You’ll be safe here to train to the peak of your abilities—in hacking, in self-defense, and in survival. You’ll need everything we can teach you if you want to elude your enemies.”
“You teach survival?” asked Slack. “As well as driving?”
“Marguerite takes care of extreme survival training,” said Youssef dryly. “My specialties are algorithms, data structure, Boolean algebra, and AI.”
“Oh.” Slack stared at the ground, a blush creeping over his cheekbones and ears.
John almost laughed but managed to stop himself. Since he’d met him, Slack had been acting like Youssef was little more than a cab driver. John felt a little sorry for his friend, but Slack’s obvious mortification was pretty funny.
“I’ll have a student show you the sports facilities,” said Youssef, turning toward the ongoing basketball game. “No fancy virtual-reality screens, but you don’t need those to build a high level of fitness—I assure you. At the Scarab’s Temple, you’ll get all the screen time you need in class. Ah! Hello, Collins. Come here for a moment.”
The boy who walked toward them was very tall and muscular, his close-cropped head held at an arrogant angle. He stared down his aristocratic nose at Slack with an air of disdain.
