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

military equipment, airplanes and weapons, a shot of Beyonce in bed with George W. Bush. When Jobime saw me eye it she explained, "George was in on the joke."
    I stepped up to the large framed photograph. "It's amazing how good they’ve gotten at this stuff. The shadows are perfect…"
    "Scammel was one of our best. He'd been with us for over twenty years, almost back to the punch card days." She paused, then swallowed. “He is lying over there behind that desk. We haven’t touched anything or gone near the body.”
    "Do you want to leave me here for awhile?" I asked her.
    "It's OK. My father was a doctor. I saw lots of blood by the time I was twelve." I wasn’t convinced. I’d seen a lot of blood too, but that didn’t make it any easier.
    We walked around a large desk unit, and there was Frank Scammel, the programmer/designer. There was more than a lot of blood. He was about forty-something, longish thinning hair. He wore a white Grateful Dead T-shirt, a laughing skull on the back leering up at me. He was lying on his face, blood surrounding him on all sides, one arm twisted underneath. He was a big guy, almost as big as me. Only more fat. Or at least I liked to think so. Soft and white around the middle too. I walked around the pool of congealing blood. He’d been here for a while.
    “When was it reported?" I asked.
    "Four this morning our shift supervisor rang in and found him. She called out one of our security people, David Dodge."
    “ And Dodge. What did he do?"
    "He cordoned off this room, and locked down the building. Then called Washington Homicide."
    "Locked down?"
    "No one leaves. No one enters. Standard stuff."
    "You're saying since four o'clock no one has been allowed to leave?"
    She nodded.
    "Why didn't we get a call until 7:25 AM?"
    She hesitated. "Lock-down takes a while. You can talk to Dodge about it. Internal security matters… "
    "Excuse me?"
    "The project he was working on?" she pointed to the body. "We had to remove the files and documents."
    I scratched my head, my eyes narrowing. "That's evidence, Jo."
    "It's also national security. The work we do is highly classified,” she said flatly.
    "You move evidence, Ms. Vienna, you break the law. It may be national security, but it's still breaking the law."
    "My orders come from the Director at Langley. That's our law around here. You can talk to him. He reports directly to the President."
    I glared at her for a minute, then turned back to the body. She threw in the reference to the President like it should end the conversation. I was guessing I wouldn’t be talking to either the President or the Director of the CIA in this case. I would be buried in the basement along with all the other old files. Then I smiled, a big self-effacing grin that I hoped would be hard for her to resist.
    I shook my head. The brass was always there. Sometimes you just couldn’t see them. But you could always smell them.
    "You CIA types. National security. Covert operations. The problems of the world on your shoulders. Weighty matters. And then here lies Frank, valued employee, now dead. And I'm just a cop off the streets who can't do a damn thing to help you figure out why. Cause the evidence's gone." I closed my book and filed my pen away in an inside pocket. Then I turned for the door.
    “Where are you going?" she asked.
    "Gonna call the boys in blue to come pick up this mess. Not much more I can do here."
    "But you haven't even looked at anything, done any investigation!"
    I stopped, shoved my hands into my coat pockets. "I know a cleaned room when I see one. You people are good. Really good. All that's left is the blood. And I'm sure you have something in your bag of tricks to make that go away too."
    I reached for the door, and then turned back to the color wall photo. "By the way, can I get you guys to do one of those with me in bed with Beyonce too? That would look great in the rec room." She stared at me. I stood there, my shoulders hunched over, trying to