Reuters.com
CyberStorm Voice-Over Actor Found Dead, New York, NY—Expatriate British actor Lionel Crawly was found dead in his apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side early today. Crawly gained a modicum of fame in the online gaming community as the voice of Oberstleutnant Heinrich Boerner, the notorious villain of the bestselling game Over the Rhine. Police sources indicate that the body of the elderly actor lay undiscovered for several days and that the cause of death is unknown pending an autopsy—although poisoning is suspected.
Agent Philips did not contact Sebeck or Ross directly. Nonetheless, Sebeck felt the heavy presence of NSA security all around his house. Two windowless vans sat curbside near his driveway, and federal agents shooed away reporters foolhardy enough to approach his residential block—although, in the tumult of media attention following the fiery destruction of Sobol’s estate, no one focused much on the cop who discovered the Sobol connection. Control of the Task Force had been transferred to Washington, which meant that Sebeck and the entire Sheriff’s Department were out of the loop. That was fine with Sebeck. It gave him time to focus on something he’d never given a damn about: computer games.
In general, Sebeck viewed computers as a necessary fact of modern life. His chief complaint was that they gave a false sense of precision to poor thinking. But then, technology was like religion—you either had the faith or you didn’t.
It was almost midnight, and Sebeck scanned his keyboard to find the hotkeys that would twirl his barbarian character around. The majesty of a fully textured 3-D wilderness filled his computer screen. In the foreground, giant rats were overcoming a muscle-bound barbarian.
Sebeck’s son, Chris, stood next to him. “Dad! They’re kicking your ass.” He laughed and covered his eyes.
Sebeck glanced at the screen. He started hitting keys at random. His barbarian had the digital equivalent of an epileptic fit, while the rats brought him down. “Damnit.”
“Oh man, you suck.”
Sebeck gave Chris the evil eye, and the boy held up his palms in submission. “Just trying to help.”
“Yeah, you’re a hell of a teacher.”
“You should just let me do it for you.”
“This isn’t a game, Chris.”
“Yes, it is a game.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ve been after you for a year for a subscription to The Gate. What’s the difference if I play for a while?”
“Because the psychopath who killed Aaron Larson created this game.” He cast an angry look at his son.
Chris was taken aback at the harshness of the reaction.
Sebeck collected himself. “Chris…”
Chris adopted the intense indifference unique to angry teenagers. “No problem.” He stood up and walked out—only to pop his head back in the doorway to say, “I was just trying to help, Dad.” He stormed down the hall, then thundered upstairs.
Sebeck stared at the floor. He’d screwed that up—like most aspects of fatherhood. Listening to himself speak sometimes Sebeck wondered who the hell he’d become. In high school he’d been a laid-back guy. But that was before all this. And why was he not repentant? Even now he sat at the desk with a vague feeling that he should feel bad—but he didn’t. Instead, he felt justified by the importance of his work. It was a coping mechanism he’d honed to a razor edge over the years.
He focused on that work again.
The computer game, The Gate, seemed infantile. Apparently, loads of people were eager to spend fifteen bucks a month to wander around an endless 3-D wasteland bashing rats, slugs, and zombies over the head. No wonder Sobol was rich. Sebeck didn’t see the appeal in it, and aside from the arcane hotkey commands required to turn around quickly, it wasn’t much of a challenge. Certainly there wasn’t any thought required.
His home phone rang. Sebeck eyed the cordless handset suspiciously. He glanced at his watch. It was just after midnight. He picked it up and pressed “Talk.” “Sebeck residence.”
Ross chuckled on the other end. “Giant rats? You let giant rats kill you?”
Sebeck frowned. “You saw that?”
“I was watching you from a nearby hill.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“It’s involved. Suffice it to say there are ways.”
“Jon, tell me again why it’s not stupid to be running this game on my computer. The Gate is supposed to have a back door in it.”
“We’re trying to draw the Daemon out. You backed up your hard drive like I told you, right?”
“Chris did—although you can delete the whole damned thing for all I care. All I ever find on here is spam, porn, and pirated music.”
“Look, there’s something strange happening off the northern coast of Cifrain. I want to check it out, and you’ll need to be tougher to come with me.”
“I’m still stuck in this Briar Patch.”
“Forget about that. I went on eBay and bought you a real character—not that newbie Conan cut-out you’re running around with now.”
“What do you mean bought? CyberStorm sells better characters?”
“No. People do. Students and the terminally unemployed build up characters the hard way, then sell them on eBay for quick cash. I bought you a knight of Cifrain for three hundred and eighty dollars.”
“Three hundred eighty dollars? People actually pay that much?”
“Market forces. Busy professionals play these games to cool off in the evening. They have money but no time. Then there are skilled gamers with no money but lots of time. It’s a natural ecosystem. Whole economies exist in these virtual worlds. A baron with lands can go for a couple thousand. I can loan you some equipment, but I want it back.”
“I’ll see if the department can reimburse you.”
“I don’t need real money, Pete, but the Cloak of Aggis I will want back. You ready to go?”
“I’m still trying to get the hang of the controls. Just what the hell do people see in this game, anyway? It’s just bashing the same monsters on the head. And by the way, this artificial intelligence that everyone’s going on about is nothing spectacular.”
“You haven’t even scratched the surface. You’re in the training ground.”
“The training ground?”
“Did you even read the FAQ?”
Silence.
“Okay, look: the Briar Patch is the starting level you need to graduate from before you can play in the main world. It keeps the world from being overrun with spastic newbies—no offense.”
“None taken.”
“Don’t worry about combat commands right now. We’ve got to get moving.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until Agent Philips contacts you?”
“No point. The NSA is eavesdropping on your Internet and phone traffic, so they’ll have a record of whatever we discover. You know how to end your game, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Log off and get back to the title screen. You do it by hitting the Escape key a few times.”
“All right, all right.” Sebeck did as he was told. He resisted the temptation to save the current game and clicked all the way back to the main screen. “I’m there.”
“Good. You’ll need your hands for the controls. Can you put me on speakerphone?”
“My son’s got a headset here.”
“Perfect. Hook it up.”
Sebeck hooked up the phone headset and put it on. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Click the ‘Logon’ command.”
“Okay.” Sebeck waited a few moments.
“When it prompts you for the logon and password, enter the following values…” Ross spoke slowly, “Logon: CLXSOLL3. Password: 39XDK_88.”
Sebeck used hunt-and-peck typing to enter the values, then he clicked the CONTINUe button. An unfamiliar screen came up, showing a heavily armored, muscular human form rotating in space. It was like Leonardo da Vinci’s sketchbook with heavy weaponry. At the top of the screen were the words “Character Name: Sir Dollus Andreas” in large type. Dozens of stats and hyperlinks appeared alongside the frame containing the spinning human warrior. “What the hell is this?”
“Your new character.”
“This guy looks dangerous.” Sebeck started clicking around the character sheet. It looked similar in format to his original barbarian—but all the categories were greatly expanded. He clicked through lists of weapons. “What’s a Vorpal Sword?”
“Something I want back. We need to start out by getting information.”
“Okay, what do I do?”
“Click the SPAWN button. I’ll meet you outside your villa.”
“My villa?”
“You’re a knight. You hold a manse from the local lord.”
“What’s a manse?”
“It’s land that produces income to support you as a knight. Just hit the SPAWN button, please.”
Sebeck sighed and hit the SPAWN button. In a moment the screen faded out. His hard drive was clicking like mad.
“Did you spawn yet?”
“It’s working on it.” The screen faded in to reveal a large medieval bedchamber lit by smoky torchlight. Sebeck’s point of view was from the foot of his canopied bed. Three men stood before him. The computer graphics were pretty impressive; so were the movements of the animated characters as they fidgeted and one shoved the other to pay attention.
The lead man bowed. The others followed suit. “Good morning, my lord.”
Sebeck noticed two armored men standing guard at the bedchamber door. He spoke into his phone headset. “Okay, Jon, I’m in. I’ve got some guys talking to me.”
“They’re probably your servants. To find out what you can do with people, point at them and right-click. A menu will come up.”
Sebeck clicked on the lead servant, then right-clicked. A menu appeared:
Follow me
Guard me
Bring me…
Leave me
Stop what you’re doing
All of you, out of my sight, motherless dogs!
Sebeck selected the last command, and everyone in sight shrank back and scurried from the room—including the guards at the door. The door slammed behind them. Sebeck chuckled heartily. “This is just like the office.”
Ross’s voice came over the phone. “You called them motherless dogs, didn’t you?”
“How could I resist?”
“Just get to the street, please. I’m waiting.”
Sebeck hit the Up arrow to get himself moving. He eventually discovered the keyboard stroke to open doors, and soon he was walking through the halls of his villa. Servants scurried this way and that on apparent errands. They all bowed their heads as he passed. It was pretty impressive, but Sebeck wondered what the point of it all was. It’s not like he could really enjoy the comforts of the place. It was just computer graphics.
He made it to the main hall, and from there Sebeck could see double doors with four men on guard. As he moved toward the front door, two men in rich-looking robes with fur collars and necklaces approached him from the wings.
“My lord, a word, please. I hope you’ve considered our proposal. The price is fair. What say you, my lord?”
Sebeck was confused. If this was his house, who the hell were these guys? “Jon, I’ve got a couple of shysters accosting me in my own foyer.”
“Might be a deal the previous owner of the character had going.”
“Are you serious? This game remembers what you do?”
“Do they look important?”
“Sort of.” Sebeck right-clicked on the man. A selection of responses appeared:
I’ll sell for 500
Offer more money
No, I’ll never sell
I’ll think about it
Sebeck’s mouse accidentally hovered over the guard in the background, and the menu listing went away. Sebeck right-clicked on the guard out of curiosity. Another list appeared:
Attack…
Guard me
Guard this place
Leave me
Sebeck selected Attack…. When he did so, the mouse cursor started trailing a red line from it, with a fixed point leading from the guard. The game was apparently asking him to select the target. Sebeck clicked smack dab in the expectant face of the bearded merchant.
An echoing shout went up in the room as not just one but all the guards pulled swords and came screaming toward the merchant.
The man’s face actually registered fear. “No! To me! To me!”
Sebeck’s warriors converged on the men and started hacking them with swords. Animated blood spattered the floor as the merchants tried to flee. Sebeck’s warriors hemmed them in. The merchants shrieked pitiably. That’s when Sebeck heard pounding on the front doors. A couple of his guards peeled off just in time to meet a dozen swordsmen in what looked to be chain mail. They burst into the foyer screaming like banshees and rushed to the merchants’ defense.
A general alarm bell went up in the house. Shouts were heard all around. “We’re under attack!”
Sebeck muttered into the phone. “Oh shit…”
“Why are those swordsmen running into the villa?”
“Okay, I may have fucked up here.”
“Damnit, Pete, you couldn’t get out your front door without causing a brawl?”
“It’s under control.” Sebeck was trying to remember the command to get a sword into his hand. This character was incredibly confusing. There was so much to choose from—too much. Suddenly a wild-haired swordsman was on him, screaming and swinging like a maniac. “Uh-oh.”
More of Sebeck’s men were coming in from the wings, but not enough. Already some of his men lay dead. The merchants had good bodyguards, and they were moving out the door under close protection now.
The bearded one looked back and pointed to Sebeck. “I will have vengeance upon you!”
Sebeck muttered into his headset. “Yeah, yeah…”
Suddenly the merchant jerked and dropped to the ground with a black arrow in his back. His two bodyguards scanned the terrain outside, and one of them suddenly dropped dead as well. The remaining guard ran for the road.
A horn sounded, and the merchant’s men-at-arms retreated, bringing the surviving younger merchant along with them. As they made their way through the doorway, another black arrow appeared in the younger merchant’s forehead, and he, too, pitched forward, dead. The remaining men-at-arms scattered, running through the gardens and over the low hedgerows. Sebeck’s four or five remaining guards gave chase. One of them turned back in the doorway and shouted to a servant. “Summon the town watch!” Then he was gone. The servant ran off through the villa shouting, “The watch! The watch!”
In a moment Sebeck stood alone among the dead. On closer inspection, some were groaning and twitching, obviously injured. This was frighteningly detailed. Sebeck scanned the room, hitting the arrow keys to move about.
He almost jumped out of his digital skin when he turned to see a fearsome-looking hooded assassin appear out of thin air a foot from his face.
Ross’s voice came over the phone. “Boo.”
“Stop screwing around.” Sebeck noticed that this avatar was different from the ones he’d seen so far—a glowing call-out box hovered over its head. The box was labeled “Entro-P” and a series of green bars were stacked up to the left of it, like a graph. It was a ninja with a floating name tag. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“You really screwed things up, you know that?”
“I don’t remember you teaching me how to play this game.”
“I plead guilty. I just didn’t think your first instinct would be to attack an unarmed old man.”
“He was annoying me.”
“Okay, a little tip: everything has consequences in this world—as in the real one. See the dead merchant on the floor? That’s the patriarch of the House of Peduin and a leading merchant. He had many friends, and he provided the local nobility with much of their liquidity—i.e., cash. This is an agrarian society, so cold hard cash is hard to come by. Even my character has used his services.”
“You’re the one who killed him.”
“But I wasn’t seen trying to kill him. See how that works? Just like the real world. Once you ordered your men to kill him, it was important to slay all the witnesses. Even then, you might have spies in your household.”
“Enough. So what? Some digital graphics are upset at me. Who gives a shit?”
“I bought your character because he was useful. He had title, lands, and income from his holdings. These things would have come in handy where we’re going—particularly your following of men-at-arms and any alliances you might have had with regional nobility. But now you’ll be branded outlaw and your lands and title will be forfeit.”
“All right. I owe you a character. Should we buy another one?”
Ross chuckled. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.” He sighed. “No, let’s see if we can get out of town alive.”
“Town? We’re in a town?”
“Yes. This is your autumn villa. The one used during market season. It’s in downtown Gedan.”
“As in the taverns of Gedan?”
“That’s right. Although, thanks to you, we won’t be visiting any taverns. C’mon.”
Ross’s assassin led the way, waiting impatiently as Sebeck tried in vain to navigate his character through the doorway and out to the road.
“You’re like a retarded Sir Lancelot.”
“Look, unlike you, I have a life, and I don’t have hundreds of extra hours to spend learning to play this game.”
They made it out to the road, and Sebeck finally got a good look around. This was a surprisingly complex-looking world. They stood on a narrow cobblestone street in a picturesque medieval town. A bell tower stood above what looked to be a square, and the bell was ringing. Birds even flew past in the morning sky. “Holy Moses. This is really something.”
“Incoming…”
A mob of armed men headed down the otherwise deserted street in their direction. They didn’t look friendly.
“Goddamnit, I didn’t want to use this, but we’ve got places to go.” Ross’s character made some animated, generic hand gestures.
“What are you up to? You casting a spell or something?”
“No, I’m using a magical device.”
Suddenly a shimmering portal opened in midair in the middle of the street. It revealed a tunnel that appeared to enter some extra-dimensional space.
“Why don’t you just sprinkle them with pixie dust?”
“I’m going to sprinkle you with pixie dust in a second. This is a fantasy world. Whether you think it’s cool is irrelevant. Several million people do think it’s cool, and the Daemon is using this to propagate in reality—so stop poking fun and get your psycho ass through the portal.”
“Okay, okay.” Sebeck ran his character through the portal. He immediately came out on a windswept hillside in knee-high grass. The hillside overlooked a rocky coastline. The sea shimmered in the algorithmic sunshine. It was beautiful. He turned to see Ross’s assassin run through the portal, a shouting mob close on his heels. Ross snapped the gate shut just as the crowd reached it. They were now alone on the hillside. The sound of the wind sweeping across the grass was their only companion.
“Where are we now?”
“About two hundred miles north.”
“Well, that is handy. So what’s up here?”
Ross’s ninja avatar pointed. “Turn around and take a look off the coast.”
Sebeck’s character started backing up.
Ross barked, “Left arrow key.”
“Oh.” Sebeck searched for the left arrow key on his keyboard. His view swiveled until he was looking off the coast again. There, in the distance, he could make out a jagged islet—perhaps a mile offshore and partially obscured by mist. Sitting atop the islet was a towering castle in jet-black stone.
“Hello. Dr. Evil’s beach house.”
“Chat rooms say it appeared the day Sobol died. No one has even gotten close to it and lived.”
“We’ll need to tell the NSA. They need to impound these servers.”
“These servers are in China. Or maybe South Korea. The companies that own them are politically connected there.”
“Well, the Feds can exert a lot of political pressure.”
“So can corporate executives.”
They stood staring at the castle. It was Sebeck who broke the silence.
“Why didn’t you transport us inside the castle?”
“I tried. This is as close as we can get. I can’t use scrying devices to see inside either.”
“Sobol’s locked it up tight.”
“Basically.”
They stood there for several more moments.
“So, how do we get in?”
“Is it me, or did I just say that no one has approached the place and lived?”
“We’ve got to find out what Sobol’s up to. Better our cartoon skins than our real ones.”
“Who says we need to get inside to find out what it’s for? What if we put the place under surveillance? Watch comings and goings?”
“Great. So if a dragon and a fairy show up at the castle, what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? Put out a warrant for their arrest?”
“No, but we might get some idea of how to get inside. With a little luck, we won’t be observed from this distance, and—” Ross stopped mid-sentence.
Sebeck saw it, too. A huge shadow had cast over them from behind. It had a vaguely humanoid outline.
“Control-Down-Arrow turns you around, Pete. Do it now.”
“Control-who-what?”
“Control-Down-Arrow.”
“Hold it. Control…where’s the Down key?”
“Pete! For the love of Christ, the Down arrow is a single key. Hold it down and simultaneously hold down the C-T-R-L key.”
Sebeck did. His character pirouetted.
A jet-black figure, about twelve feet tall, towered over them. The figure held an obsidian rod and wore a black crown. Piercing, demonic red eyes glowed from deep sockets. No mouth was visible as it raised its arm, pointing at Sebeck. A deep, gravelly wav file played, “Detective Sebeck. You don’t belong here!”
Before Sebeck could do anything, a lightning bolt arced hotly from the rod, blasting his avatar to dust. His screen went black, and his entire machine crashed—never to reboot.
Sebeck grabbed the headset mouthpiece. “Jesus! It said my name, Jon. And it just fried my computer. What’s it doing now?”
Only Ross’s cursing came over the phone line.
After the demon wasted Sebeck’s knight, Ross went into defensive mode, ducking and retreating. There wasn’t time to invoke another portal; the demon turned upon him. It raised its rod and spoke again. “You guided him here. Are you NSA or a Fed?” A pause. “Or neither? We shall see….”
The hard drive on Ross’s laptop started clattering.
“Shit!” He ripped the network cable from the socket. The game was still running, so he pulled the AC power cord and the battery, too. His laptop was now inert, the screen black.
He slumped back into his hotel desk chair and took a deep breath.
Sebeck’s voice barked over the phone. “Jon! What the hell is going on?”
“I just disconnected, Pete. It was trying to find out who I was. I only had the game and a video capture program on this laptop, but I didn’t want to lose the video images.” He frowned to himself as he reinserted the laptop battery and placed the computer on the desk. His mind was turning over the possibilities. Ross stopped short. “Pete. I need you to come and get me out of jail.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just come to Woodland Hills and get me out of jail, please.” He ignored Sebeck’s questions and pulled off the phone headset, bolting through his hotel room door.
Ross sprinted down the exterior walkway toward the lobby. He brushed past two regional sales reps unloading luggage from a rental car and hauled ass on the final straightaway, banging through the lobby push doors.
The desk clerk was a fresh-faced, conspicuously Caucasian kid. He shot a stern glance up at Ross. “Watch the doors, please, sir.”
Ross slammed into the counter, breathing hard. “I need access to your billing system. It’s an emergency.”
“Perhaps I can assist you, sir.” He manned a keyboard, prairie-dog-like with his paws poised.
“Do you track Internet use on guest accounts?”
“Your Internet viewing habits won’t appear on your bill.”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you connect guest billing information to an internal IP address?”
“Sir, we are required by law to maintain—”
“Goddamnit.” Ross swung his leg up and started clawing his way over the counter, sending brochures and phones flying. “This isn’t about pornography.”
“You can’t—“
Ross slipped on a PBX phone and tumbled to the floor behind the front desk.
The night clerk locked his workstation, then pressed a button under the counter. “The police are on their way!” He raced for the back office just as Ross got to his feet.
“Wait!” Ross lunged for the office door, but the kid slammed it in his face, ramming a heavy bolt home. Ross pounded on it with his open hand. It was a security door.
The kid’s voice came through muffled. “You’re not the first idiot to look at porn on a hotel account, sir. But you just made it a whole lot worse.”
“This is a police emergency.”
“I didn’t see a badge.”
“Look, I’m working with the Feds on the Daemon case. Sobol’s house is five miles down the road. It’s not improbable that I would stay here.”
“You checked in weeks ago—before Sobol died. Just wait for the police.”
“By the time they get here, it’ll be too late. The Daemon is going to attack your servers to find out who I am.”
“I’m not listening, sir!”
“If the Web server is in there with you, just pull the cables out of the back. That’s all I’m asking.”
There was no response.
“Kid! This isn’t a joke. The Daemon has already killed more than a dozen people. If it finds out who I am—“
“Sir, I suggest you talk to the police about it.”
Shit. Ross stalked around the front desk. He manned the computer on the counter. It displayed a browser-based hotel management program. A logon screen stared him in the face. Ross flipped over the mouse pad and found a tiny Post-it note scrawled with logons and passwords. He used one to log on. “Well, that’s one advantage I have over the Daemon….”
Like most point-of-sale systems, this one was designed to minimize training requirements. Ross was presented with a standard switchboard form for the billing system. He chose Customer Accounts and searched for his name. He quickly found his billing record, but he couldn’t edit anything. The night clerk’s logon didn’t have sufficient privileges to change existing information—only to add new charges. Ross’s name and credit card number were clearly displayed. There was also a link for his Internet and phone charges. Damnit.
The server for The Gate would already have the hotel’s main IP address—so the Daemon would know precisely where to launch its attack. If the hotel ran a common hotel management system—as was likely—then the database layout would be public knowledge. “Son of a bitch.”
In the back office, the kid was on the phone with a 911 operator. Behind him stood a couple of rack-mounted servers, a router, and a network switch, their green LED lights lazily blinking. The whole rack was locked off to him, but a flat-panel monitor displayed the logon dialog for the server, bouncing around the black screen.
Then, like a floodgate opening, the entire bank of LEDs started fluttering like crazy. The network was slammed with IP traffic. Even the kid noticed it. He heard the hard drive straining.
“Hey! Whatever you’re doing out there, stop it.”
Ross cocked an ear toward the office but did not take his eyes off the computer screen. “Kid, I’m not doing anything. That’s the Daemon trying to bash its way in. It’ll try to get at the Web access logs to find my connection to its Web site. Then it’ll try to link my billing record with that IP address. I’m begging you: please open the door.”
Ross minimized the hotel billing app and interrogated the DNS server from a console window. Thankfully the server was not properly configured and permitted a zone transfer. This let him view the internal IP map of the network from his machine—complete with machine names and operating systems.
The clerk watched the LED lights flickering like a Vegas marquee. Suddenly the server monitor screen came to life. The logon dialog went away and the desktop appeared. The kid spoke to the 911 operator. “He’s doing something to our computers.”
Back at the front desk Ross typed like a maniac. Now he knew the OS of the Web server. He thought about the odds of cracking into the server in time to clear the Web logs. Not likely, and it was the first thing the Daemon would try for.
“Listen, open the door.”
“No way!”
Ross flipped back to the hotel’s Web application. He needed to go straight for the customer database. The file extension on the URL told him it was a scripted page. He started typing directly in the URL box of the browser, back-spacing to the hotel’s domain name—to which he appended the text: /global.asa+.htr
Then he hit ENTER.
To Ross’s relief, the hotel hadn’t patched their Web server, either, and the browser disgorged the source code of the application onto the screen. The developers had been lazy; near the top of the code, there was a database connection string and two variables for dbowner: one for logon and one for password. He was in.
In the back office the kid closely watched the server’s monitor. Command console windows kept appearing and disappearing on the screen—commands entered at blinding speed. The hard drives labored. Dialogs came up showing file transfers. There was no way a person could work this fast. He tried the server’s enclosure door. Locked. He couldn’t shut the server down if he wanted to.
Ross logged back into the billing application using the sysadmin logon he had found in the source code. He navigated to his customer record. This time all the fields were unlocked for editing. There wasn’t a DELETE button, so he rapidly filled the billing record with false information, replacing his own name with “Matthew Sobol”—along with a phantom address, a random phone number, and all 9’s for a credit card number. He was about to click SUBMIT when he heard footsteps running on the tile floor of the lobby behind him.
“Hands in the air!” The shout echoed in the lobby.
Ross turned to see two Woodland Hills police officers aiming Berettas at him from beyond the front desk. They squinted over their sights, with a two-hand clasp.
Ross tapped the SUBMIT button, then raised his hands. “It’s all right. I’m working on the Daemon case with officer Pete Sebeck of the Thousand Oaks police department.”
“Stop talking!” One of the officers motioned to the countertop. “Both hands, palms down on the counter!”
In the back office the kid stared at the computer screen. A DOS window was up, displaying a customer record:
Room 1318—No Name (999) 999-9999
CC#9999-9999-9999-9999
Then the server crashed.