Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1) (15 page)

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Chapter 20

Local Office of Homeland Security, Helena, Montana:
Rick Alders was seated at the conference table in his office, flipping through a file folder of paperwork he had on Jon Sherrard, when the two uniformed individuals were ushered into his office. Closing the folder, he slid it underneath a second and then stood up, offering his hand to each of them individually, merely a formality on his part. “Major Bolson,” he greeted, his voice devoid of any friendliness. “Lieutenant Martz. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Bolson said, taking note of the agent’s cool demeanor as he politely placed his hand on the back of an empty chair. “May we?”

“Please,” Alders said, indicating the two chairs on the opposite side of the table. The two military personnel sat and then looked at him expectantly. He knew the routine. Clearly, they were here to see just how much he knew without divulging much, if anything, themselves, which was perfectly fine with him. However, what he planned on sharing with them was about to shake the very foundation of their world.

“I suppose you’re wondering why we asked to meet with you,” Bolson began after a bit of an uncomfortable silence.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” Alders replied, deciding that keeping his cards close to his vest in the beginning was his best approach. “But why don’t you humor me and let’s see how much or little I actually know.”

Bolson cast an uneasy glance at the lieutenant and then cleared his throat and nodded. “Very well,” he began. “We’re here to talk about the report you filed,” he said and then waited patiently for Alders to fill in the blanks.

“Come on, major,” Alders said, a thin smile on his face. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

Alders leaned forward, both hands folded on top of one of his file folders. There was a barely-contained fury simmering just under the surface and he narrowed his eyes. “All right, major,” he said. “I’ll play your game. For starters, my educated guess is that you and your fellow techno nerds, at the behest of our government, created the granddaddy of all computer viruses. Whatever the reason for it, it doesn’t matter anymore. This Horde or whatever you’re calling it, somehow got loose in cyberspace, which is what prompted your visit to me today, because I happened to mention it in my report about some desk jockey out gallivanting around in cyberspace, right?”

“Sir, I don’t think we need to be hostile about anything,” Alders said, trying to disarm the man before it got out of hand.

“No,” Alders snorted. “This isn’t hostility, major. I’m merely demonstrating my disdain for your black ops project.”

“Sir, this wasn’t a black ops…”

“Spare me the denial, major,” Alders spat. “We’re on the same team, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of what happened. And don’t worry, because I don’t care about the specifics. I don’t care how you did it or what makes it tick. I only care that it does exist, it does tick, and it’s loose on the internet.” He paused before finishing. “Or was.”

This prompted another look between Bolson and Martz, and it was Martz who spoke up this time. “Agent Alders, can you explain what you mean by
was
?”

“You haven’t been able to find it, have you,” he stated. “And I’m guessing that with all your techno contacts all over the world, you’re wondering why you haven’t had any additional reported sightings or contacts from this thing in some time now. Am I right?”

“Sir…”

“Am I right?” he snapped, turning his glare on the female soldier.

Martz finally nodded, but Bolson picked up the conversation and steered it back in his direction.

“Agent Alders, I apologize if we’ve done something to get off on the wrong foot here, but I want to make sure we get back on track,” he said. “I’m not going to take the time to go into details of the project because I’m assuming you have at least the basic premise of what happened. What I’d like to talk about is your report.”

“What specifically?” Alders asked smugly.

“In your report, you stated that this FutureTek employee, Jon Sherrard, apparently had a run-in with the Horde program, while his conscious was separated from his body.”

“Sounds preposterous,” Alders baited the man.

“It does,” Bolson agreed, but he did not back down. “However, I’m guessing that you do believe it and that you believe that it somehow corresponds with the disappearance of the program from the world at large.”

“Go on.”

“May I ask why you believe that?”

“You really want to know?”

“We do,” Bolson replied, keeping his voice neutral.

“Very well,” Alders said, crossing his arms and looking at each of them in turn. “It’s out.”

“What’s out?”

“Your virus.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following you,” the major said, shaking his head in confusion. “Please explain.”

“Your virus is out of cyberspace,” Alders explained. “It’s in the real world now. Our world.”

“You realize how outrageous that sounds,” Bolson said, again keeping his voice carefully neutral. In truth, as ridiculous as it did sound, he and Martz had discussed that very possibility the day before and during their flight in. Their conversation had leapfrogged off their discussion about what would happen if the virus came into contact with a human conscious and into the realm of what might happen if the virus had indeed made a transition from the actual computer world into the flesh and blood world of the human brain. It was a scary scenario, full of unknowns. How this agent had come to the same conclusion was even more troubling.

“I know exactly how it sounds, major, and I stand by my words,” Alders stated.

“Why?”

“Because of this,” the agent said, opening up the folder in front of him and sliding a pair of pictures across the table to the two military personnel. “These are pictures of one Bethany Edwards,” he explained. “The first is of her body in the front hall of her home. No forced entry. No apparent violence, beyond the obvious trauma to her head. The second picture is one of the autopsy photos. As you can see, her skull has been emptied.”

“Standard procedure in an autopsy, sir,” Bolson began, but Alders cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Her brain was removed at her home, not on the medical examiner’s table,” he said icily, sliding a third picture over to them. “This photo was taken at her home before her body was moved and, if you look closely, you can see through the empty eye socket to the back of her skull. She is already missing her brain.”

“What are…,” Martz began, but again, Alders cut them off.

“Her brain was taken by whoever or whatever killed her,” he said flatly. “The deed was done at her home, with no surgical tools or instruments of violence. There was very little blood at the murder scene and no brain matter. Her brain and most of her blood was simply gone.”

“I admit that this is a very strange murder scene, sir, but what does this have to do with your report?”

Alders smiled sourly and retrieved another picture from his folder. This one bothered him even more and he quickly slid it across to Bolson. “This is what’s left of my dog,” he said quietly. “It was mutilated and killed in my home just last night.”

Bolson stared at the picture, immediately understanding the cause of the agent’s distress. But he failed to see the connection and when he looked up, his face showed only his confusion.

A fifth picture came across the table, one that Alders purposefully avoided looking at. “I had an emergency autopsy done on Max this morning because I needed to know,” he explained, reaching out and tapping the picture of the shaved and shriveled body of what had once been a beautiful canine and wonderful friend. “Max’s legs were severed from the body. They appeared to be garroted somehow. However, his body exhibits the same type of puncture wounds in his head that Bethany Edwards had. More importantly, his brain is missing, as well, along with most of his bodily fluids. Just like Bethany Edwards.”

“So you’re dealing with a copycat murderer and one with a unique way of killing his victims,” Bolson said. “I still don’t see the connection.”

“Tom,” Martz said, laying a hand on his arm, her eyes on Alders. “I think Agent Alders is trying to tell us that he believes the Horde is responsible for these deaths.”

Alders leaned back and placed a finger to his nose with a nod. “Give that soldier a promotion,” he said softly.

“Whatever makes you think this is what’s going on?” Bolson asked, keeping his voice calm although inwardly he was nearly shivering. The agent’s explanation went a lot further than just the man’s thoughts. Alders had proof. And that proof lent a lot of credence to his own fears about what might have happened with the Horde. At the moment, they were fears that he knew he was better off leaving buried. But to hear them given life from someone else, he found that he had no choice but to begin giving them serious thought. That was beyond frightening to him.

“I think your virus hitched a ride out of cyberspace,” Alders answered his question. “I think when Jon Sherrard returned from his little foray into the last frontier, he didn’t come home alone.”

“Are you implying that the Horde project is inside this Jon Sherrard?” Bolson asked, trying to force the disbelief into his voice, but failing. He found himself believing the agent more and more.

“No,” Alders answered slowly, knowing the soldier was intent on not believing what he was saying. No matter. That would only make the end of their conversation all that much more shocking. “I’m saying your virus is
part
of Jon Sherrard. And through Mister Sherrard, your virus has murdered a human and a dog. My dog.”

“Agent Alders,” Martz spoke up, not so easily convinced by the story, even if she had given it considerable thought. “Forgive me for saying, but this is crazy. You know how this sounds, right? This is straight from the SyFy channel or the X-Files.”

“Lieutenant,” Alders said. “Let me ask you a question. Indulge me for another minute, if you would.”

Martz nodded and held up a finger when it looked like Bolson was going to interrupt. “Please continue,” she said simply, wanting to let the man talk.

“Your virus, this Horde,” Alders began. “I’m guessing it’s a pretty kick ass piece of software, right?”

“You could say that,” Martz agreed.

“And this Horde of yours…it would be able to run through the files of a single laptop or desktop computer in no time flat, correct?”

“If it had indeed infected a system, then yes,” she answered. “The Horde has incredible processing power, more than even we have been able to comprehend.”

“Could it get past a top-level government encrypted password?”

“Well, that would be more challenging,” she answered, “but given time, it could likely accomplish that.”

“How much time?”

“That’s hard to say,” she shrugged. “Maybe a few hours to crack the security? Bear in mind, I’m only hypothesizing. There are a lot of variables that could affect that timeframe.”

“Fair enough,” Alders nodded. “But what if the Horde had already infected the hard disk? What if it had direct access to the data on the drive?”

“Then the password wouldn’t matter,” Martz said. “Access would already be guaranteed.”

“Okay, then I have one more question,” Alders said, leaning forward once more. “What if a human/Horde hybrid existed and somehow plugged itself directly into the hard disk of an encrypted desktop computer?”

“Sir, with all due respect, do you hear yourself?” Bolson finally broke in.

“I hear myself quite clearly, major. But there is one more fact that I haven’t shared with you yet,” Alders said, ignoring the soldier’s disbelief. “During the break-in at my house last night, my computer was accessed. Every file was reviewed – every document, system file, and executable. They were all accessed at the same time, all within just a few seconds of each other.” He paused and, when he knew he had their full attention, he dropped the first bombshell. “There were no prints on the equipment, nor on the desk. However, there were three clear prints lifted from the top of my desk chair where this person pulled it out to sit down.”

“Jon Sherrard’s,” Martz guessed.

Alders nodded.

“So Mister Sherrard broke into your house and accessed your computer,” Bolson said. “He had the foresight to clean his prints from the equipment, but forgot the chair. This doesn’t prove any of what you’re claiming.”

Alders opened his file and slide his final picture across the table.  It was a picture of his desktop tower. Holes had been punched into the side of it, eerily reminiscent of the same holes that existed in the skulls and bodies of both Bethany and Max. While the two military personnel looked at the picture, their eyes revealing their feelings, Alders reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the final piece of evidence, the second bombshell. It was encased in a small glass specimen tube and he reached over and placed it on top of the picture, drawing their gaze.

“This was found
inside
my computer,” he said quietly, as they looked closer at it. “Unknown biological, roughly two inches long, barbed tip, apparently torn from…well, something,” he explained as Bolson reached out and tentatively picked it up. “DNA test came back just before you arrived. I had it matched up to a sample on file at the hospital from a recent patient of theirs.”