God Hammer: A novel of the Demon Accords (14 page)

I found the board meeting fascinating, but the impromptu press conference was a real education.

He wasn’t smooth, he wasn’t polished, and he was blunt as hell, and the reporters loved him for it.

“Is it true the corporation is in dire straits?” one voice yelled above the others, loud enough to get Chris’s attention.

“No.  If you’re asking if we’ve had our issues with digital attacks and illegal hacking, then yes.  But guess what?  We solved them.  Which is probably why you’re here,” he said.  That statement did the impossible and shut them up… at least for a few seconds.

“Can you explain that?” another voice called.

“Look, some market pundit or another wrote an article with detailed information about this corporation and the attacks it has suffered.  Much of that article is true.  We certainly have been hacked at, code spliced and sliced, and had our people threatened.  But hey, look who you’re talking to.  We’re used to being attacked.  Granted, it’s usually by things from Hell Street, not hacks from Wall Street, but an attack is an attack.  So we did what we always do—defended ourselves and began to track down our enemy.  This article that has so handily come to light is just another last-ditch attack.  An assault on our stock price rather than our computers or, in the case of that elevator over there, our people.  But we stopped the elevator; we’ve protected our computers, our satellites, our foreign offices, and our sources of revenue.  And along the way, we’ve made some radical innovations in computer technology, and particularly cyber security.  Groundbreaking stuff that will likely
add
to our profits.  So to answer your question, no we’re not on the verge of collapse. We are, in all likelihood, on the verge of greater profits,” Chris said.  He looked annoyed yet sincere and his response was completely unscripted and obviously off the cuff.  It made an impression on his audience.

“Are you saying that the traders who are rushing to short the stock when the market opens are wrong?” another reporter asked.

“Listen, if you want to short ticker symbol VAMP tomorrow, go ahead.  People listen to short-term news blips all the time.  Over the short haul, the market is completely psychotic. You might make some money. But if you want to know where the stock will be three months, six months, or a year from now, my guess is higher.  Let me ask you this: What would you pay for unhackable software?  Computer security software that not only defends but counter attacks?  Not to mention all the stuff you already know about… the medical treatments undergoing foreign trials right now, the real estate, and all that,” he said.

“Do you really have a cure for cancer?” floated out of the group.

“I’m not answering that one.  I will tell you that the results are promising and that we are following all FDA procedures and guidelines. You’ll have to talk to Tanya about anything further.  I’ve already said too much,” Chris said.

“What about the Angel Flights?” another asked.

“We donate a lot of money to Angel Flights… what about them?”

“The flights to India and Thailand?  The sick patients coming home cured?” the same reporter answered.

“Listen, both countries have different requirements for drugs than ours. If you’re hearing good things, then it backs up what we’ve been saying all along.  These drugs will prove viable, safe, and effective,” Chris answered.

“Is it true that President Garth instructed the FDA to hold up approval of the vampire drugs?”

“I have no idea.  I don’t have a regular dialogue with the President.  Listen, we’re done here.  You’ll need to track down your answers with Garth, his administration, and the FDA.  And you’ll need to make up your own mind about VAMP,” Chris said, starting to turn away.

“You’re saying any price drop makes it a value?” someone asked.

He glanced back at me and I saw a gleam in his eye, a kind of eureka look.

“Value is a great word.  Let’s talk about Demidova Corp’s value.  We exist for one reason—to support our mission of protecting this country and its people.  Part of that mission is to produce a reasonable return on our investors’ money, but at the end of the day, we’re here to stop threats… to this country and others.  But wait—isn’t that the government’s job, you might ask?  Yes, except the President and all the resources that back him don’t have our unique skills,” Chris said.

“The demons are pretty much gone,” another reporter said.

“Are they?  For good?  You know that for sure?  Gotta dead colleague down below that’s feeding you the scoop through the office Ouija board?” he asked the reporter, getting a laugh.  “Because I don’t know that.  Have you ever fought a demon?  Any of you?  No?  Well let me clue you in on a little secret… they don’t stop.  Ever.  They’re like the Term-in-ator,” he said changing his voice to a bad German accent. “They’re out there… it’s what they do… it’s all they do.  So I think you all might need us.  There are new quasi-religious groups popping up all over the world, some worshipping the very things we just got rid of.  Who knows what they will do?  New experiments in quantum mechanics that could open a door to Hell or someplace we don’t even know about.  The multiverse is alive and well, and we’re on the map.”

“Do you think one of these Satanist churches is behind this attack?”

“I think whoever it is sees us as a threat.  My advice is that they should reexamine their threat list and their asset list.  We belong on the asset list.  Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now.  You caught me unprepared.  My better half will likely give you more complete information before the markets open,” he said.

“Don’t sell yourself short, God Hammer. Nobody gives better interviews,” a voice yelled out.

Chris snorted.  “Gives
away
is more like it,” he said, getting a final laugh before he turned and led us back to the elevators.

“That was… inspired,” Smitwick said.

“Maybe.  It looked like an opportunity to send a message to our enemy.  Maybe try to have it reevaluate our threat status,” he said, looking at me.  I shrugged.

“You never fully explained it in the meeting,” Smitwick pointed out.

“Because it’s extraordinarily dangerous.  It attacks threats to the country and to itself.  Talking about it can get you labeled a threat, Ian.  Trust me: you don’t want that.”

“So you weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a program?” Smitwick asked.  Chris explained the whole thing to him.  I spent that part of the conversation thinking about what Chris had attempted.

“It’s a start,” I said when Chris wound down his spiel.  He looked at me expectantly.

“We still have to talk to the programmers, but you’ve fired the opening salvo in a new campaign.  We’ll need to keep it up.  Do you know any friendly reporters?  Ones who might be on our side?” I asked.

“Brystol Chatterjee comes to mind,” Chris said, musing over my question.

“Oh, I met her earlier today.  She would be a good start.  I think Anvil monitors everything—e-mails, web traffic, media.  The more positive spin we can generate, the higher the potential to trip over from threat status to asset status.  But I think that will require some positive classifications by the government,” I said as the elevator doors opened into the parking garage.

“Yeah, unfortunately you are likely right.  We’ve been avoiding contact with any and all of Uncle Sam’s people,” he said, leading me to a row of black SUVs and vans.  The SUVs were a version of the Ford Explorer that my aunt’s partner Darci sometimes drove for the sheriff’s department.   The model was the Police Interceptor Utility. They were all the rage with police departments across the country. There were eight of them, all midnight blue and two big, high-top Mercedes panel vans, also blue.

“This is our fleet. Think you can ward them up?” Chris asked.  Smitwick was still with us, I noted, watching me with fascination.

“Yeah, Darci often rides around in one of these and when she brings them home, I kinda dress them up a bit.  The ones I’ve done are quietly known as the
lucky
patrol units,” I said.

“Lucky?” Smitwick asked.

“Darci is Declan’s aunt’s partner.  She’s a Vermont sheriff’s deputy.  When Declan wards something, it becomes protected to a subtle degree, right?” Chris asked, turning to me.

“The wards seem to increase the probability of the things going right for the vehicles, passengers, and driver.  Less likely to crash or be run into, less likely to break down or blow a tire. It’s not at all guaranteed—I mean, if you hit the thing with a sledgehammer, it’ll dent.  But you’ll be more likely to strike inaccurately, have your strikes glance off rather than hit directly, stuff like that.”

“It will become harder to hit?” he asked, frowning. 

I felt myself frown back.  “More like things will go wrong for you.  I had a bet with my Krav Maga instructor once about who could split wood better.  Just a friendly one, nothing riding on it.  We each had a round of wood to split, cut from the same tree, same size.  Except I warded his with a yellow Sharpie that blended in so he couldn’t see it.  His spitting maul kept hitting the knots or getting stuck in the wood. Every spot he wanted to hit, he missed; that kind of thing.  After twenty minutes of pounding, he wore away the wards and got the wood cut, but I was already done.”

“Ah, I see.  Tell me, did he find out?” Smitwick asked.

“Oh absolutely.  We told him.  Actually, he asked if I had used magic to cut mine and I told him I used magic to make sure he
didn’t
cut his,” I said.

“Was he angry?”

“Surprised at first, then he insisted on testing it further.  I had to ward some padding we used for sparring, put it on, and then he beat it till it didn’t work anymore… while I wore it,” I said.  “Took him a long time and a lot of hits to break the wards.”

“Hmm, effective revenge while testing the limits… smart,” Smitwick said.

“Yeah, that’s Levi.  But it taught me that nothing is foolproof and I have to keep the wards fresh for the best effect.  So I update the ones on Darci’s body armor all the time,” I said.

“Fascinating,” he said, staring at me intently, a distracted smile on his face.  Then he shook himself.  “Oh, right.  I must be off.  My driver should be over by the entrance.  Have a productive evening, gentlemen,” he said, gliding away.

I pulled a Sharpie, dark blue, and started on the first Explorer.  Chris said nothing for a moment, head tilted as if listening to something I couldn’t hear.  Then he nodded to himself.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Of what?  Mr. Smitwick?  Or the board meeting?  Or the reporters?” I asked.

“Yes—all of the above,” he replied, casually hopping to the roof of the next Explorer PIU, ending up sitting cross-legged on it.

“Mr. Smitwick is scary sharp.  Katrina said it’s his vampire power—to perceive stuff.  Other than that, I can’t tell you much about him.  The board meeting was surprising.  I pictured a lot more
yes Tanya
,
of course, Tanya
.  I didn’t at all expect a Dustin Cryor, who seemed secretly hostile or at least a giant pain in the ass,” I said.

“Welcome to the world of big business.  Cryor bought a boatload of the stock when it went public.  Loaded up and got some business cronies to do the same.  All of them together ended up with a big enough block to get him on the board.  Since then, he’s been trying to either get us to use his tech, which I wouldn’t trust on my calculator,” Chris said, “ or maneuvering for influence with the rest of the board.”

“Like you don’t trust his stuff to do the job or you think it would be riddled with his own back door access codes?” I asked.

“It works, but I’ve noticed he has lots of confidential information on companies that use his product.”

“As to that article on the reporters, I think you did great with that.  And I think starting to try and reframe ourselves is good, too.  We’re going to need government help with that, though, if only in the form of internal e-mails talking about the benefits of Demidova Corp to the nation.  It’s like the too big to fail companies of the financial crisis.  We need to be strategically important to the country.”