“My name is Leo Krasner,” the voice said hesitantly, “and I want to report myself missing. This is not a joke. Um…” There was a rustling of paper in the background. “Please listen carefully. It is possible I have been abducted, but it’s… um, even more likely I’ve been murdered. If I have been, there is a very good chance my body can be found in a tunnel whose precise location I will now describe…”

As the tape-recorded voice of Leo Krasner continued speaking, the 911 operator grew less and less skeptical. It was too sober-sounding to be a prank. She typed the information-name, address, the possible location of the man’s body-into her computer terminal, forwarding it to the appropriate police dispatcher, who sat in the adjacent room.

Calls that come into 911 are “stacked” on the computer screen in order of priority, from a full Priority One on down to a Ten, a complaint about a barking dog or loud music in the middle of the day-which could wait or simply be ignored.

Although this was not an emergency situation, the call was treated as Priority Three, as are all “found bodies,” to which an ambulance was required to respond.

An ambulance, the fire department, the NYPD Emergency Service Unit, and a two-man car were all sent to investigate.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

“Can I help you?”

The receptionist for the Information Management Group at the Manhattan Bank greeted the large, unkempt man before her as if he’d wandered in off the street reeking of Night Train.

“Special Agent Ken Alton, FBI.”

The receptionist stared at the leather-encased badge, then back at Ken, as if unable to reconcile the two. “What can I do for you, Agent… Alton?”

“I need to talk to your boss,” Ken said.

“May I ask what this is in reference to?”

“Yeah. It’s in reference to this visit. Can you please get him?”

“Do you have an appointment-?”

“Right now,” Ken said.

With a grimace, the receptionist lifted her telephone handset and buzzed her boss.

***

Ken Alton had all but taken over the workstation belonging to the Information Management Group administrator, who stood by anxiously, watching. “I told you,” the administrator said, “we’ve run an exhaustive series of diagnostic tests, and our systems seem to be secure. No break-ins.”

“Do you have anything to drink?” Ken asked as he scrolled down a directory on the screen.

“Coffee?”

“I’d prefer Coke or Pepsi. Diet. Now, I need to know if you’ve seen any unusual transfers of funds in the last couple of days. Unusually large amounts, or anything unaccounted for, or… Hold on a sec. Just one second.”

“Yes?”

“Take a look at this executable file. This is in, like, a million places.”

The network administrator, a slight black man with graying hair so closely cropped it almost looked shaved, bent to look where Ken was pointing. “I’d have to get the manual,” he said.

“All right,” Ken said. “I want to take a copy of this file off the machine, put it on a nonconnected machine. Break it down into assembly language and see what it would be doing if it ran. Or maybe run it, and see what happens.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Don’t know. You tell me if this EXE should be here.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Ken looked up at the network administrator with alarm and said, “Holy shit, man! This is a fucking virus! If this thing ever runs-”

“What? What is it?”

“-Your whole system would be fucked. You got a serious problem here. Shut down all users.”

“What are you saying?” the administrator gasped.

“You heard me. Shut down the system.”

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t do that. This is the busiest day of the week! It’s a peak day for network traffic-”

“Go, man!”

“If I shut down the system, the entire bank grinds to a halt!” the man shouted at Ken, folding his arms. “Files can’t be accessed, transactions can’t be processed, every single branch office-”

“Will you just goddam do it?” Ken bellowed. “Send out a message to all users-”

“Look, you can’t just shut down the whole goddam bank like that! You think-”

“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus God. Forget it.”

“What are you-?”

Ken pointed at his monitor. He thrummed the keys, but the screen remained frozen. He ran a finger along the row of keys, then pressed his entire hand onto the keyboard, but nothing appeared on the screen. “It’s too late.” Ken said, his voice shaking. “Shit! I don’t know if it was timed to go off now, or it got activated by my taking a look at it.”

The network administrator turned to a monitor at the adjoining workstation and banged at the keys, but it too was frozen. Shouts began to rise from the adjoining desks, until the entire computer center was chaos. People were running down aisles; the place had gone mad.

“Frank!” someone shouted, running toward the administrator. “We got a freeze-up!”

“What the hell is going on?” the man thundered to the enormous room.

Ken replied, his voice now almost inaudible: “You got yourselves a virus that’s taking over the whole system, the whole bank. A serious, fucking, monster virus.”

***