Buzzworm (A Technology Thriller): Computer virus or serial killer? by Theo Cage Read Free Book Online

look.
    “Maybe you should send out your Security guy. A Mr. David Dodge. He’s expecting me. This is a police matter.”
    I straightened my tie simply to give me something to do with my hands. I wanted to rip the video camera off the wall. I’m a big fan of surveillance technology. I also gave big brother a flash of my revolver, which was strapped to my shoulder harness. The chrome handle always looks impressive on a color monitor.
    The door clicked ominously and a short woman stepped out into the enclosed lobby. I’m about six foot four and she might have been able to reach my chin with her hands — if she stretched and stood on tiptoes. Not quite a little person, if that’s politically correct. Just a very short woman with a very serious look on a face that hadn’t seen much sun this summer.
    “Hyde”, I said, “D.C. Homicide.”
    I don’t shake hands so I didn’t offer.
    She introduced herself as the head of the Technology Group. Vienna Jobime. She pronounced it ‘how-beam’. She wore a light blue smock, like a scientist would wear in a laboratory.
    Jobime led me through the lobby, down past the brick wall. A security guard asked for my ID again and passed a wand over me. I lifted my jacket and pointed to the gun. He waved me past. We stopped at a bank of modern elevators. Since the building was one floor, I had to guess we were going down. How far I couldn’t guess. I could only imagine the labyrinth below.
    "What do they do here at Building 213?” Or even a better question, where were the brass? In a case like this, management was always hovering nearby like a bunch of male lions after a kill. At this particular time they were real conspicuous by their absence. Of course here, they probably just watched you on their monitors. Kept their hands clean that way.
    "Jo," she said again, “Just call me Jo.” She looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time “Our jobs on 3B are pretty ordinary by anyone’s standards. We study satellite imagery. Computer enhance photos. Monitor telecommunications. The man who died? Frank Scammel? He was part of the photo enhancement team."
    We stepped off the elevator into an industrial-like hallway.. "You'll have to wear this badge," she said, handing over a security card with a chrome clip.
    She walked to her right and stopped at a large blue steel door. A black plate at eye level, which meant she had to stretch up to it, held a single camera lens. She faced the lens and passed her ID card through a slot on the plate. The door unlocked loudly. As they passed through into a large open space, I turned to her.
    "Is that one of those systems that scans your eyes?"
    That comment amused her. "No, it's much more sophisticated. The software actually recognizes my face."
    We stepped into a larger workspace. Deserted. "What if I look exactly like someone else or I have a brother that looks a lot like me, only not so good looking?"
    She was warming to me. I could see it in her face. "It's very accurate. If we took ten photos of you at different distances, under different light, added a mustache or a beard, even intentionally shot it out of focus, then asked the computer to match your face right now, against a million others - it would still find all ten in about 999 out of a thousand searches." I whistled. “You still need the card as a backup though. To fool our security you'd need an employees pass card and a nearly identical face. Pretty unlikely, I'd say."
    We arrived in a large computer workroom lit largely by the glow of dozens of large color computer monitors. Still no humans in sight.
    "Coffee break?" I asked.
    "We asked most of our personnel to leave this area for a few hours. Partly due to security," she waved at the screens, "and partly to give you some elbow room."
    "I'll need to ask them some questions."
    "That can be arranged privately," she said, holding a side door open. This was a smaller room, the walls covered with large color photos — some old politicians,