“There’s another what-if,” Shaw said. “Hong-Sung’s giving away goggles to U.S. military personnel. Presumably other government workers too.”
“To capture classified data, you’re thinking?”
“Maybe.”
“My.” Avon considered this. “You’re talking a huge amount of data to process. Private companies couldn’t handle it. You know what the Chinese government has? The TC-4. Thirty-five petaflops. Most powerful supercomputer in the world. They might be able to handle the load. But, I have to ask, how does this involve my game?”
Shaw: “The second victim? Henry Thompson? He was writing a blog about how companies steal data from gamers. Maybe Hong-Sung — or some other game company — didn’t want the story to appear and somebody mimicked a psycho gamer and killed him.”
“How can I help?”
“I need to talk to somebody who’s got a connection to the company. Best if he works there. Can you make that happen?”
The implication being that since it was, after all, his game that was the hub of the crime, even if it wasn’t Avon’s fault, a little cooperation wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“I don’t know anybody there personally. Hong is secretive, to put it mildly. But it’s a small world, SV is. I’ll make some calls.”
57
Though he was inherently restless, Colter Shaw was not necessarily impatient. Now, however, with Elizabeth Chabelle missing and in grave danger and with the Gamer prepared to play out the final act in his Whispering Man game, he wanted Eddie Linn to show up.
Avon had made a half dozen calls and found a connection to Hong-Sung; a man named Trevor, whose further identity Avon didn’t share, would put Shaw in touch with Linn, who was an employee of HSE. This cost Avon something significant; it was clear that he would license some software to Trevor, at a discount, in exchange for setting up a rendezvous between Shaw and Linn.
Shaw was presently in the appointed place at the appointed time: a park, carefully planned and maintained. Serpentine sidewalks of pebbled concrete, bordered by tall, wafting grasses and reeds, flower beds, trees. The grass as bright as an alien’s skin in a C3 game. A tranquil pond was populated with sizable fish, red and black and white.
The grounds were balanced in color, laser-cut trim, perfectly symmetrical.
Setting Colter Shaw on edge. He liked his landscapes designed by the foliage and water and dirt and rocks themselves.
As he walked along the path he caught a small glimpse of Hong-Sung Enterprises’ U.S. headquarters. The building was a glistening mirrored copper doughnut. To the side were four huge transmission antennas.
Presumably, just what was needed to beam stolen data into the ether.
Linn had told him to sit on a particular bench, in front of a weeping willow, or one nearby if this one was occupied. Shaw noted why: it was out of sight of the company’s offices. The preferred bench was free. Behind it was a stand of thick boxwood, a plant that smelled of ammonia.
Now the impatience factor was cresting and Shaw, thinking of Elizabeth Chabelle on a sinking ship, was glancing at his phone for the time when he heard a man’s tense, tenor voice. “Mr. Shaw.”
Eddie Linn was a tall, narrow man of about thirty. Asian features. He wore a polo shirt with an HSE logo on the left chest and dark gray slacks that were slightly baggy.
He sat down next to Shaw, whom Trevor would have described to Linn. The man didn’t offer his hand. Shaw had the ridiculous thought that Linn didn’t want to transfer DNA, which might be used for evidentiary purposes.
“I just have a few minutes.” He frowned. “I have to get back to my office. I’m only doing this because...” His voice was fading.
Because Trevor had something on Linn. Extortion is a distasteful yet often very effective tool.
“Did you hear about the kidnappings?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. All over the news. Terrible. And one victim killed.” Speaking high and quickly.
Shaw continued: “That man was working on an article about stealing data from gamers. We’re speculating that he was looking into Immersion.”
“Oh God. You don’t think Mr. Hong had anything to do with it?”
“We don’t know, but a woman’s life’s at risk. We’re following up every lead. This is one of them.”
Linn fiddled with his collar. “Who are you? Mr. Trevor said you were like a private eye.”
“I’m working with the police.”
He wasn’t listening; he stiffened instantly as footsteps sounded, the faint grit of soles on sidewalk. Shaw had heard it only after Linn’s reaction.
Linn put his hands on the seat of the bench and Shaw believed he was about to sprint away.
The threat, however, turned out to be two women, one pregnant and pushing a baby carriage that held a tiny sleeping child. They chatted and sipped iced-drink concoctions. The friend was younger and Shaw caught her glancing into the carriage with hints of envy in her eyes. The two women — one an accountant, he gathered, the other the mother — sat down on the neighboring bench and talked about how few hours of sleep they each got.
Linn, visibly calming, continued, though whispering now: “Hong is a tough man. Ruthless. But killing someone?”
“You write code,” Shaw said. “That’s what Marty Avon told me.”
“Yes.”
“For Immersion?”
His eyes scanned the park. Seeing no threat, he leaned closer to Shaw and said, “A while ago. For an expansion pack.”
“I want your impression of an idea we’re looking at.”
Linn swallowed. Shaw realized he’d been doing that a lot since he sat down. “Okay.”
He gave Linn his hypothesis about stealing data via the Immersion goggles. “Could that be done?” Shaw asked.
Linn seemed stunned as he digested this. His first reaction was to shake his head. “The cameras on the goggles are high-resolution. It would be too much data... unless...” A near smile crescented his thin lips. “Unless they didn’t upload video, but screenshots, JPEGs, compressed some more into an RAR archive. Yes, yes, it could work! Then up it goes along with the other information to the mainframe here. It could then be processed and sold or used by the company itself. We have divisions that do advertising, marketing, consulting.”
“I think there’s also a risk that Hong is stealing sensitive government information,” Shaw said. “He’s giving away thousands of copies of Immersion to soldiers.”
Alarmed, the HSE employee flicked his fingers together. He’d just fallen down the rabbit hole of government intrigue.
“What is it?” Shaw said. He’d noticed the man’s eyes faintly squint.
After a moment: “There’s a facility in the basement of the building. In the back. No regular employees are allowed in there. It’s got a whole separate staff. Visitors show up by helicopter, go in, do whatever they do and leave. We heard it’s called the Minerva Project. But no one knows what it’s about.”
“I need you to help me,” Shaw said.
Before Linn could respond, though, Shaw was aware of a rustling sound behind them.
No, no, Shaw realized suddenly: a woman four, five months pregnant isn’t going to have a newborn. She’s pushing a doll in the carriage. He stood and gripped Linn’s arm and said, “Get out of here now!”
Linn gasped.
But it was too late.
The pregnant woman was pushing aside the carriage and rising. Her “friend” was speaking into a microphone on her wrist and the source of the noise behind them turned out to be two minders, bursting from the boxwoods. The large Asian men’s motions were perfectly choreographed. One held a Glock on Linn and Shaw and the other emptied their pockets.