Daemon Read Free Page B

waved him off and kept his gaze on Larson. “So no one in this management firm created the work order that killed Pavlos?”
    “Seems unlikely.”
    Sebeck eyed the screen. “Is this sort of Internet work order system typical for a hole-in-the-wall company like this?”
    Larson shook his head slowly and smiled. “No, it’s not. This is pretty slick. The office manager said their parent company developed it for them. You’ll never guess who the parent company is.“
    “CyberStorm Entertainment.”
    Larson touched his finger to his nose. “Very good, Sergeant.”
    Just then the radios crackled to life again. Sebeck turned to listen.
    “Units in vicinity of Westlake. 10-54 at 3000 Westlake Boulevard reported. Be advised, 10-29h. 11-98 with building security.”
    Sebeck exchanged looks with the other officers. Another dead body had been found. “What the hell…”
    The address tugged at Sebeck’s memory. He pulled Gordon Pietro’s business card out of his pocket. At least his memory hadn’t failed him; the new body had been found at CyberStorm Entertainment.
     
    As far as Sebeck could tell, entertainment companies came in two flavors: shady operations skirting tax, drug, and racketeering laws, and phenomenally successful corporate empires wielding immense influence worldwide. There was very little middle ground, and the transformation from one to the other seemed to happen in the wee hours. With signage rights on a ten-story office building, CyberStorm had evidently made that transformation.
    The latest body had been found in a security vestibule—a tiny room controlling access to what the employees called a server farm. The small entry chamber reminded Sebeck of an air lock. The server farm was filled with rack-mounted servers—their LEDs flickering away in the semidarkness of emergency lights. Through the glass Sebeck could make out several employees moving about. They were still monitoring the machines.
    It was hard to see them clearly because the vestibule windows were fogged with a yellowish film—residue from burning human fat. The victim had been electrocuted in dramatic fashion.
    Sebeck stood in the dim glow of emergency lights alongside the building’s chief operating engineer, CyberStorm’s network services director, county paramedics, a city power company foreman, and the president and CEO of CyberStorm, Ken Kevault.
    Kevault was in his late thirties, tall and lean with spiky hair. His black, short-sleeve silk shirt revealed death skull tattoos on his forearms, and he had the sort of deep tan and wrinkles one gets after years of surfing. He looked more like an aging rock star than a corporate executive. He hadn’t said a word since they arrived.
    Sebeck turned to the power and light foreman. “The primary power’s been cut?”
    The building engineer responded instead. “Yes, sir.”
    Sebeck turned to him. “Then those computers are running on backup power?”
    “Right.”
    “Let’s get that room evacuated.”
    “There’s another exit like this one, but it could be just as dangerous. I told the techs to stay put for now.”
    Sebeck nodded. “Who can tell me what happened?”
    The engineer and network services director looked to each other. The engineer already had the floor. “About a half hour ago, one of the CyberStorm guys was electrocuted going through the inner security door. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the techs said he was standing there with smoke coming off his shoulders for about thirty seconds before he keeled over. And there he is.“
    Kevault let out a hiss of disgust and shook his head ruefully.
    Sebeck ignored him. “The CyberStorm guys? So you’re not a CyberStorm employee?”
    The engineer shook his head. “No, I work for the building owner.”
    “And who owns the building?”
    Eyes shifted from person to person for a moment or two until Kevault spoke up. “It’s part of a real estate investment trust, with a majority share held by CyberStorm.”
    Sebeck