Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [109]
That, at least, is something, Jeff thought as he closed the computer, put it away, then leaned back in his seat. They still haven’t put it together but are starting to. When someone finally did, Jeff couldn’t help but wonder how much damage the reaction itself would cause.
He listened to the engines for several minutes, then glanced over at Daryl again. This is crazy, he thought for the hundredth time since hearing the shots. We’re not secret agents.
Earlier, once they’d been satisfied no one was chasing them, Jeff had grabbed a taxi and had them dropped off at Central Park. He’d found a large open field, and from there, convinced he could see anyone approaching, trusting the outdoors rather than a closed space, he and Daryl had discussed what to do.
“Do you think we should go to the cops?” she asked, even though, when she’d suggested this earlier, in Jeff’s hotel room, they’d dismissed the suggestion. But bullets fired from an assassin’s gun now gave weight to what then had seemed a far-fetched scenario.
“No. They wouldn’t believe us. We might be detained as witnesses or even suspects, and there’s no time to lose right now. If we don’t put a stop to this, no one will. There’s simply too much at stake to take such a chance.”
Sue’s face was tight with anxiety. They stood in silence for a long minute.
“Do you think the cop is dead?” Daryl finally asked. “What happened to the other man? The one who was chasing us.”
Jeff shook his head. “I don’t know about the cop. He went down. The other guy ran to the corner, but it didn’t look like he chased us past that.”
“Who do you think he is?”
“The same guy who killed Sue and Joshua Greene.”
Daryl nodded. “Me too. But why us?”
“Sue and Greene were tortured. Sue must have told him who was helping her.”
“Maybe we should get a gun. I mean, if it’s up to us to defend ourselves.”
“In Manhattan? And, trust me, I’d be more a threat to us with a gun than anyone else. I’ve never so much as shot one.” He scanned the park and saw no one approaching them.
“You should warn Harold—that’s his name, right?”
“Good thinking.” Jeff called the IT Center and reached Harold, who’d had no trouble accepting the need to disappear. He’d told Jeff he was already considering it and had just the place.
Daryl sat on the grass. Thirty feet away, a young couple were helping their child learn to walk, clapping with pleasure every time he managed three or four steps. Jeff started working his BlackBerry with his thumbs. “I’ve got us on a flight to Moscow, leaving from Newark tonight. You got your passport?”
Daryl looked at him with excitement. “Never leave home without it. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“Our problem isn’t that someone’s trying to kill us. Our problem, Daryl, is that in nine days Muslim terrorists are going to unleash an enormous, sophisticated attack on the Internet and the United States. And we’re the only ones in a position to do something about it. If you’ve got a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”
Much had happened since Jeff had first set foot in that Manhattan law office. In some ways it was a lifetime. He’d gone from a significant, if relatively mundane, job to realizing that his life was on the line, though he was still just a small part of the solution to a much bigger and more important problem. But there was more. He finally understood where he’d gone wrong in the weeks and days leading up to 9/11. He’d been too passive, too trusting. He’d looked to others for solutions.
Now he understood he should have raised holy hell. When Carlton had ignored him, he should have gone up the chain and kept going up until someone listened. If that had not been possible, he should have gone public, no matter what the risk to his career.
He’d known he was right and he’d known what needed to be done.