Zero Day: A Novel by Mark Russinovich, Howard Schmidt Page B

some Russian code.”
    “Could be, could be. But like I said, the Russians have lots of computer-savvy people, and they lease themselves out to criminal groups.”
    “You think something like that happened to us?”
    “I can’t say at this point. I see sophisticated along with sloppy work. The virus might have been after your data or bank records, but something went wrong because the code was carelessly written.”
    “So you think this is about our financial data?”
    Jeff grinned. “I don’t know. I’m just speculating here. It might also be an attack meant to create the destruction it’s causing, or something gone awry. It’s possible it steals information, sends it out, then destroys itself to cover its tracks. I just don’t know enough yet.”
    Harold was long gone and no one was working in the outside offices. The building was quiet, almost as if it were asleep. “Let’s get some more coffee,” Sue said. In the break room she emptied the coffee machine, rinsed out the pot, filled it with bottled water, opened a container of coffee, and placed it into a new filter. She turned the machine on, then leaned back against the counter to wait. “So you still play video games,” she said with an amused look.
    Jeff smiled. “My secret vice. Actually, it’s all related. At least that’s what I tell myself. I prefer online first-person shooting scenarios. It’s how I deal with stress and it’s something I can do anywhere. I also like brainteasers.”
    “That’s where your work comes in.”
    “Right. I hate to lose. I’ll stick with a virus until I have it figured out, no matter how long it takes.”
    Sue arched an eyebrow. “That must get expensive for the client.”
    He shook his head. “No, there’s a point beyond which it makes no sense to keep billing. After I’ve fixed the problem, though, I’ll take the virus home and work on it there until I’ve got it.” He met her eyes. “How long have you been here?”
    Sue gave him her nonoffice smile. “Just over four years.” Pouring them each a fresh cup of strong coffee, she motioned to Jeff to sit down at the well-used table. Placing his coffee in front of him, she seated herself, took a sip, and sighed with satisfaction before continuing, “I’m from northern California, went to UC Berkeley for computer science. I worked at Microsoft, then took a job in San Francisco before moving here. I’ve worked at Cohen ever since. Until Saturday, it was a good job. Greene’s a pain sometimes, but as long as the system works, he leaves us alone, and Harold has no life away from work. Sadly, that makes two of us. And so you don’t have to ask, my dad’s white and my mom is third-generation San Francisco Chinese. Big scandal in the family. What about you?”
    “I’m from Philly originally. I majored in math, enjoyed computer science, so went to the University of Michigan for my Ph.D.”
    Sue flashed that friendly smile again. “I have to say, Jeff, you certainly don’t look like a computer geek.”
    He laughed. “Genetics, mostly, though I played rugby in college and football in high school.”
    “Then what?”
    “I taught at Carnegie Mellon, but like almost everybody who isn’t a suck-up, it became clear I wouldn’t get tenure. I went to work for the Cyber Security Division at the CIA, in 1998.”
    Sue lit up. “A spook, huh?”
    “Hardly,” Jeff said, eager to discourage any romantic notions about his CIA work. “I worked in a crummy office just like yours, only buried in the basement at Langley. Technically I was head of a three-man team called the Cyberterrorism Unit, but my two assistants were always off doing standard IT work for the division.”
    “What’d they have you doing, or can’t you say?”
    “No, I can talk about my duties, within reason,” Jeff said. “The only danger is I’d bore you to death.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Trust me, it wasn’t glamorous.” He filled her in on his years at the Company, telling her