Burn Code

Thirteen

I lifted my hand towards Paul and he mirrored the gesture, fitting his fingers to mine. As I accessed his PIP, he gave me a look.

“What are you doing?”

I uploaded a batch script to his data store. “I know what to search for now. Run this — if you have any of Grendel’s code, it’ll search for it and quarantine it. It will also find your video hack.”

Amused, his eyebrow hooked. “Did you have this last night?”

“Maybe,” I said with a smirk.

He fought back a smile, but it dimpled his cheeks anyway. “You couldn’t give it to me then? You had to blindfold me?”

“I needed to make sure my reprogram code worked. Besides, as I recall, you rather enjoyed it.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Paul rolled his eyes. “You’re horrible.”

“I know.”

He squeezed my hand. “Be careful.”

“I always am.” I nodded. “I just need to sniff him out and I’ll find him.”

“What makes you think he’s going to be there?”

“Ego. I’ve bruised his.”

Anticipation made the wait antagonizing. Grendel knew by now of his failure and that I managed to rewrite his code. How else could he send me Paul’s files without having programmed a back door? Once I slammed it shut and built a wall over it, he would either run away licking his wounds or go after me hard.

I placed bets on the later.

Grendel didn’t disappoint.

When Zanika walked into Brændende Malkestald, the same scan slid over my connection and ports as the first time. Instead of putting up a block, I let him run his code. My own surprise I built for him was a door I wrote in the recode. It dipped in and paused before latching on to the only thing it found.

He took the bait, downloading the very same trojan he had used to hack me.

“I’m impressed. Most do not slip my traps, Miss Blume.” His deep voice came from behind me, it’s accent rolling the words. Grendel smiled when I turned. “I admire your inventiveness.”

“Impressing you was the furthest thing from my mind,” I said flatly, concentrating on the signals coming in from the worm as it unpacked and spread.

He shrugged and tugged at the sleeves of his suit before adjusting his neck. It gave the appearance as if he was warming up for something and suddenly I was nervous.

“You really shouldn’t have let Mr. Christiaansen keep a copy of my work, Miss Blume.”

I couldn’t suppress the panic. Oh God, poor stupid Arne — why didn’t he listened to me?

I desperately tried to establish a two-way with Arne, to warn him. None of his known contact numbers answered the pings.

“His talents lie elsewhere, not in coding.” Grendel smiled. “He might be able to read it, but he is grossly outclassed in writing it.”

Paul! Paul could find Arne’s frequencies and level a jack on him for his own protection. I initiated the text.

“Come now, Miss Blume.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and revolved a circle around me. “Did you really expect that I would be having this conversation with you and not be prepared? You think I am that nieve?”

What is it? The words appeared in my optics attached to Paul’s frequency.

Arne Christiaansen loaded Grendel’s code!

“No doubt you are trying to contact him to warn him or even—” He broke off to scratch his temple. “—yes, call Detective Fesserton, but I assure you it is futile.”

“What have you done?”

Realization that he anticipated this hit me like hammer. The fact that I possibly led Arne to his death made the agony even worse.

“He was curious. You know what happens to curious cats, don’t you?” Grendel stepped closer. He raised a finger and ticked it back and forth. A mocking smirk spread over his lips.

Livid, I growled. “I will find you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.”

All of Arne’s frequencies are dead, Cara.

The words scrolled across my vision and punched the air from my lungs.

As Grendel’s avatar began to shimmer out, the media walls of Brændende Malkestald came to life. They usually displayed advertisements, earning extra money for the host depending on how many people looked at them -- even more if the embedded links were followed.

Any ad revenue tied to the video that flashed would have made someone millions. My heart hit the bottom of my stomach as I realized Grendel hacked the hangout to play one of recordings Paul unwittingly filmed. It was a perfect distraction — there wasn't a chance to track his exit.

Catcalls and cheers echoed through the room as all my naked glory was on display. I searched for the source to try to cut it.

You there? Paul’s follow up message caught my attention and I turned away from the screens.

How did he die?

I’m not there yet to confirm that he is dead.

I found the port Grendel hacked through at Malkestald, but he built redundant relays. Each time I closed one, a different video started. It was a very inventive coding hydra.

When I get my hands on Grendel, it won’t be pretty.

Buried in the code for the videos was a download link. Pounding a fist on my thigh, I swore. Now I had a server to spike before too many copies were distributed.

I’ll stop you, Cara.

Finally I got the last switch and the walls went black much to the dismay of the crowd. Months of scouring was in my future to find the remnant traces of the videos as they were circulated from person to person, host to host.

I located the chain of host servers with the videos and hacked their logs before leveling the largest denial of service spike I had in my data bank. At least with the logs, I could locate PIPs of anyone who managed to download the files, but stopping a further spread was impossible.

For your own sake, don’t discuss it further with me.

Paul was left no other alternative than to be what he always had been — an obstacle to overcome.