Read Online Influx by Daniel Suarez - Free Book Online Page B

Sometimes not.”
    “Were we able to get a camera serial number from the video?”
    “No—old equipment again. The techs found pieces in the bomb crater.”
    “Betacam?”
    He nodded. “Yeah. Jerry-rigged with wireless for streaming to the Web, just like the others.”
    “Bypassed technology—cul-de-sacs of innovation. That’s Cotton’s signature, all right.”
    “What do we do about the YouTube video?”
    “Does it show anything graphic?”
    Falwell shook his head. “No. It whites out at the end.”
    “Then get me a listing of IP addresses that accessed it before this attack hit the news. Cotton’s thorough, but his Winnower pals might not be as sharp. One of them might have checked from a stateside computer to see that their ‘masterpiece’ was uploaded successfully. They’ll make a mistake sooner or later, so we need to cover every angle.”
    “For antitech zealots, these guys sure know their way around technology.”
    “Hypocrisy is the least of their malfunctions.”
    They had now arrived at the edge of the blast crater. Big blocks of masonry, twisted I beams, and thousands of singed documents, computer parts, pieces of furniture, and inscrutable machine parts were scattered across the pavement. Numbered evidence flags were stabbed into the ground here and there.
    She sniffed the air and let out an involuntary whistle. “Another ammonium nitrate bomb. A big one this time.”
    “Lab’s running the chemical taggants in the fertilizer, but I’m willing to bet it originates from that ’06 boxcar shipment used in the past two bombings.”
    Davis kneeled down to examine a singed origami sphere skewered in place with an evidence tag. The geodesic facets were symmetrical. Perfect.
    Falwell nodded toward it. “They’re finding those things all over the place.”
    She stood and noticed the burned-out, crumpled wreckage of what was clearly an expensive sports car, partially buried beneath fallen masonry. New York vanity plates were visible: “
MKT WIZ
.” Davis looked back at Falwell.
    “Aston Martin One-77.”
    “A little upscale for the neighborhood.”
    “Belonged to one of the victims. How’s two-point-four million dollars grab ya?”
    She shot a look back at him. “You’re joking. For a car?”
    “Only seventy-seven were produced, thus the name. I guess they’ll have to start calling them Aston Martin One-76s now.”
    “And the owner?”
    “An Albert Marrano, executive vice president at Shearson-Bayers, a hedge fund in New York. He and a colleague were in the building; ID’d on the videotape along with other victims. The techs are still going through the human remains. Bones. Some organs. Fingers. Initial estimate is we’ve got pieces of six bodies—which matches the video they uploaded.”
    Davis looked down at another numbered evidence marker stabbed into the ground next to fresh tire tracks running through old snow. The tire tracks ran near the wrecked Aston Martin. Pieces of debris had deformed them in places. “Fresh tracks—just before the blast from the looks of it.” She looked behind the Aston Martin and traced its route through snow patches as best she could. “Arrived after our investors.”
    “ERT’s looking into it.”
    “Pull video from intersection cameras for a mile in every direction. When the techs narrow down vehicle types from the tires, let’s go through the videos—see if we can’t eyeball our Winnowers without their masks as they arrive or depart.”
    He made notes. “You got it.”
    “So were the Wall Street guys just unlucky to be here? Or did they inadvertently tip Cotton off to something he didn’t like? Have Dwight run a check on every press release, investor newsletter, or media interview that hedge fund has done in the past year. See if they ever mentioned this firm.” She turned to look for an intact business sign. No luck. “What’s this company called, anyway?”
    Falwell flipped through his notes. “Chirality Labs.”
    “What sort of