from what he had heard about the cost to their military due to their computer disruptions, that seemed too steep a price. Even if CyberNation knew the U.S. was responsible, they were in no position to start an all-out computer war.
Not yet.
This needed looking into further. Seurat had contacts in the States, people who ought to be able to find out more. Time to use these contacts. He did not like being a target, no matter who the shooter might be. . . .
Locke sat in his rented truck—one that had been made to look like a plumber’s vehicle—and pretended to write a work order. The front door to CyberNation’s HQ was visible in the truck’s large, outside rearview mirror, and this was what Locke watched while ostensibly filling out the paperwork. The good thing about pretending to be a plumber—and he wore an old coverall with the word plombier stenciled on the back—was that people paid you little attention if your truck sat parked in a neighborhood for hours. With the French, if they saw you sitting in the truck doing nothing, they assumed you were goofing off, and dismissed that with a Gallic shrug. Lazy bâtard, oui ?
Locke smiled at the image. He had little French to speak of, enough to have dinner or catch a taxi, and it would not have mattered if he was adept in the language—the French looked down their long noses at everybody who was not them, no matter how well they might speak their tongue. Them and their foolish quest to keep the language pure.
The CyberNation building had been a hive of activity since he had arrived, and the comings and goings of high-level employees had a certain frantic nature that Locke took to mean that Shing’s machinations had, at least to some degree, worked.
Plus he had bribed low-level employees—guards, secretaries, and the man who delivered lunches—and while the precise nature of the problem was not something upon which they could report, they could definitely confirm that something was going on—and that CyberNation’s leaders weren’t happy about it. No, not happy at all.
Locke had reports from the United States that the military had also suffered under Shing’s hand, and he would, in due course, travel there and check it out personally.
He had to give Shing credit, though. So far, it seemed as if he had been able to do everything he had claimed. Of course, that had to continue for the greater plan to unfold properly. If Shing was stopped, there was a backup plan, a more hands-on method that Locke would implement, but he hoped to avoid that. Not because he was worried that it wouldn’t work, but the risks entailed would require time and energy better spent elsewhere.
A policeman walked by on the sidewalk. He looked at the truck.
Locke smiled and nodded at the flick, then went back to his pretend paperwork. He was obviously not pure French to look at, and the policeman apparently did not wish to talk to him and suffer the expected butchery of speech by a low-life foreigner.
Arrogance was a pain, even if it was useful. Locke could hardly wait to get to the U.S. They were so much more easygoing over there.
He caught movement in the mirror. Ah. It was Seurat, the czar of CyberNation, emerging from the building. As he did, a limo pulled up and the Frenchman entered it.
Locked started the truck’s engine. From what he had learned, Seurat was an automobile buff—he liked to drive. That he was not in one of his sports cars probably meant he was, as Locke had also heard, traveling. A fan of fine cars did not leave an expensive vehicle in an airport or train station parking lot exposed to the elements and the possible dings from the carelessly opened doors of other drivers.
Company presidents traveled all the time, and probably this was no more than a business trip; still, given the problems CyberNation was currently facing, it was not a bad idea to at least check it out. Knowledge was indeed power.
The limousine pulled away from the curb, and Locke followed