Purity in Death

"I don't think that's an unreasonable question."

"You wouldn't. Why do you think that I think this is justified? I feel no twinge of remorse or pity for someone like Fitzhugh and suddenly I'm the side of terrorists?"

"I didn't mean it exactly like… Maybe I did."

"You think I'm capable of finding any justification in what happened to that poor boy, Halloway?"

"No." She felt vaguely ill. "But the others."

"Perhaps I can believe the pure philosophy of it. That evil, real evil, can and should be destroyed by whatever means possible. But I'm not stupid enough, and not quite egocentric enough to believe there can be purity in the spilling of blood. Or that it can be done, in general, without law and courts and humanity."

"In general."

"You would pin that, wouldn't you?" He nearly laughed. "We can't think just the same on this issue."

"I know that. I guess it shouldn't bother me. But it does. Damn it, Roarke, it does."

"So I see. I can't be pure for you, Eve."

"I don't want that. This whole thing has me tangled up. Maybe because I can't feel pity for someone like Fitzhugh or George either. I can't feel it, and at the same time I'm outraged, I'm insulted that anyone,anyone felt they had the right to sit back and push a button that murdered them. Then call themselves guardians."

"I'm not saying you're wrong. I don't believe you are. But my morals, we'll say, are more flexible than yours. Even so, to make myself clear to you as you seem to need it, I don't subscribe to their means, their methods, or their agenda. If and when you confront evil, you do it face-to-face and hand-to-hand."

As she did, he thought. As he had himself.

"And you don't flog your message to the public like you were selling a new line of bloody sports cars. Eat some of that sandwich, will you?"

"I guess maybe we're a little closer on this than I figured." Steadier, she picked it up, took a bite. "God, what's in this?"

"I'm fairly sure it's everything. The boy eats like food's about to be ba

She took another bite. "It's pretty good. I think there's corned beef in here. And maybe chocolate."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least. Are we back on track now, you and me?"

"Yeah. Much as we ever are."

"Before we leave this topic, I'll tell you one more reason I did what I did this afternoon."

"Because you like to show off?"

"Naturally, but that isn't what I was going to say. I did it because whatever else I feel or believe or don't, I believe in you. Now, why don't you have some coffee to wash that back, then we'll show you what we've got."

She wasn't an e-man, but she could follow the basics. Even, if she pushed, the slightly more complex. But when she studied the printout of the data Roarke had been able to access from Cogburn's now-toasted unit, she might have been trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

"It's really jazzed," Jamie told her as he monitored the progress of the decoding program he'd devised. "Totally. Whoever built the program is an ultimate. No Chip Jockey could've done it. It's even beyond Commando level."

"While I agree, I doubt very much if this is the work of one programmer. The one thing we are sure of is this took superior programming knowledge as well as medical. Neurological."

"They'd need a team," Feeney agreed. "A first-class lab, equipment, and deep pockets. Isolation chamber."

"How much do you know, at this point, about how it works?"

"Eyes and ears," Jamie said as he swiveled from one unit to another, tapping keys. "Light and sound."

"Light and sound."

"Spectrum and frequency. You go on, pull up a nice game of World Domination to piss a little time away, and what happens is, you're getting bombarded with light and sound, stuff your eyes and ears can't register on a regular level. You know how they've got those whistles for dogs people can't hear?"

"Yeah, I know how it works."

"Okay, well, as far as I can tell, that's the idea with this virus. We haven't clocked onto the spectrum pattern or the frequencies, but we will. The beauty is, the virus runs through the system, but it doesn't make the computer sick, doesn't screw up any of the programs on it, or any the operator might upload after. It all just cruises along, without a hitch."

"And kills the operator," Eve concluded.

"Kills him dead," Jamie agreed. "We're working on how long it takes, but it needs at least an hour, maybe two to transfer the infection into the old gray matter."

"We haven't confirmed that," Feeney reminded him.

"The first shield failed," McNab added. "But it held long enough that we were able to pull out data that'll help us refine the next one."

"How long?" Eve demanded.

"We can put together another experimental in maybe two hours." McNab shrugged his good shoulder. "Longer if we have to wait until we break the code."

"Man, it is dense." Jamie picked up his Pepsi, slurped. "You break through one tier, and there're six more popping out. I'm going to run a short cut on an alternate unit, see if I can sneak through."

"Do that. And, Jamie." Roarke touched a hand to the boy's shoulder. "We'll need you to bunk here until we've cut through all this."

"Frig-o." He rolled his chair to another workstation, and hunkered down.

"Okay, let me give you the status, then we can all go back to work." Eve waited until attention focused on her. "You." She pointed at Jamie. "You're a drone. Be a drone."

He muttered, curled his lip, but turned back to his monitor.

"The ME's findings to date concur with your theory of audio and visual points of attack. He also reports that once the virus begins to spread, it is, most likely, irreversible. The latest victim, Mary Ellen George, was, according to witness reports, asymptomatic as early as eight days ago. After that point, we've found no one who had any contact with her."

"In analyzing the scene, I concluded that the victim, feeling unwell, took herself to bed, attempting to alleviate discomfort with over-the-counter. She blocked her incomings, pulled down the privacy shades and burrowed. She also took her laptop unit into bed with her, thereby certainly speeding the infection along with continued exposure."

"Fitzhugh locked himself in, too," Feeney offered.

"As did Cogburn, until he was incited by his neighbor. In Halloway's case, he was infected on the job but elected to hunker into your office. We'll assume that seeking this sort of shelter or isolation is also symptomatic."

"Programmed in," Roarke said, "to decrease the chances of outside interference or injuries."

"Agreed. Purity doesn't want hysteria or condemnation from the survivors of i

"A very volatile combination."

"Bet your ass," she said to Roarke. "Which forces the NYPSD to play the same combo. The mayor's office and The Tower are spi

"A good choice of symbols," Roarke commented. "Attractive, intelligent, strong without being overbearing."

"So you say," Eve sneered.

"Symbolically speaking. By using her as spokesman rather than the mayor, it generates the impression this is not a crisis but a problem. By pushing you forward, it adds the element of competence and doggedness. The city is in good hands, caring hands. Female hands that, traditionally, tend and nurture as well as protect."

"What a load of horseshit."

"You know, it's not." Baxter spoke up. "Pain in the ass for you, Dallas, no question, but it's a good angle. You both look good on-screen. Nice contrast. Like, I du