21. Alexei #3
“It occurred to me,” I say slowly, “that in an age where literally everyone is traceable, the most valuable commodity is anonymity. So this is what I’ve been working on.
” I turn my old laptop around and pull up the basic structure I’ve built.
“I want clients to be able to totally erase any trace of their online presence,” I say, “in real time. And to create a new identity on the fly, using their existing biometric data. Funnily enough, it was the John Owens thing that gave me the missing piece to fill in the idea. It’s the same sort of concept, only instead of transferring one ID to a host of different people, the people themselves become the fluid factor. ”
Lars is clicking through it at the speed of light.
“Wait a minute.” He stops and looks at me.
“Am I reading this right? You mean that if someone had access to this, they could literally become someone new every day if they chose? So if someone used facial recognition, for example, or fingerprints or even DNA testing, the results would only point to the latest identity you’d created for yourself? ”
“Not only that.” I click into another part.
“The platform would automatically erase any trace of previous identities and insert online evidence supporting the new one according to the information you input. And it would continue to crawl in the backend of the web to detect and erase anything that could give you away.”
“Holy shit.” Lars stares at the screen in silence long enough that I start to get nervous.
“I’m not going to lie, motherfucker,” he says finally. “I like this one. I like it a lot.”
“Yeah.” I feel the tingling euphoria I always do in these moments, like standing at a cliff edge, getting ready to jump. “Me, too.”
“I’m going to call it Phantom,” he says absently, still clicking.
“Phantom.” I grin. “I like it.”
“I did think about Specter,” he goes on without looking up. I know he isn’t talking to me, just moving his mouth while his mind races a hundred miles an hour. “But not even your gorgeous ass can compete with Daniel Craig’s 007.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Not as much as you will be after I start poking holes in this bad boy.”
After he’s taken it in, he sits back in his chair and looks at me. “If this is what happens when you get sent to hide on a yacht, I’m fucking making you stay here.”
I huff with silent laughter.
“No.” He leans forward, studying me intently. “I mean it, Lex. This is the big one. It’s your fucking Mercura.”
I nod slowly. “In more ways than one. This has to stay deep in the black, Lars. It’s why I’m building it in the Miami bunker. I want to keep this so deep no fucker can find it unless they’re invited, and so expensive even fewer can afford to pay for the privilege.”
“But we can scale it,” he says, slipping from his stool and starting to pace eagerly. “Make lighter versions for commercial consumption.”
“Exactly.”
I can feel it in front of us, starting to take off, but I’m not quite ready to fly. Not yet. “We need to nail this other shit down first, Lars.”
“Yes,” he says, but he’s still pacing, and I can almost hear his mind whirring at warp speed.
“Lars.” I snap my fingers in his face.
“Huh.” He stops pacing.
“We need to keep it on the hard down-low until the rest of this shit is tied up. We work on it privately and in fucking secret.”
“I get it.” Lars meets my eye directly. “And I get why you didn’t tell me what that server is for.
I’m not going to say Mickey wouldn’t be a fucking asset on this.
” He grimaces. “But I get why you want to keep it between us. Mickey’s allegiance will always be to Roman, and respectfully, that fucker would come in his pants if he got a sniff of this. It’s right up his alley.”
I nod. I’m almost ashamed of how relieved I feel.
“Wait.” His eyes narrow with unsettling perception. “Tell me you’re not building this just so you can use it to disappear with Ofelia?”
Since that’s almost exactly what I’ve been thinking of, I stay silent.
“Because if it is,” Lars says in an unusually hard tone, “count me out. That girl deserves more than a life on the run with a dangerous fucker like you.”
Don’t you think I know that?
“It’s a moot point for now anyway,” I say, as lightly as I can, “until the servers are built and we actually develop it.” When his grim expression doesn’t change, I give him a wry smile.
“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” I say dryly.
“Since your voice would just live rent-free in my head, there’s no chance I’d run anywhere without telling you first.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then, reaching for the Akvavit, he pours himself another shot and tosses it off.
“You better not,” he says lightly, “or I swear to God I’ll haunt your every line of code.
” He downs another shot, turns back to the laptop screen, and just like that, the storm is gone and he’s wired, eyes gleaming once more.
“Oh, motherfucker.” He punches my shoulder then rubs his hands. “This is going to be fun. What’s the next move?”
“We build that server center, completely on the down-low. And while we do that,” I say, feeling almost ridiculously euphoric to have him back and on board, “we unravel this mess and fix it.” I click back into the Compass Initiative screen.
“Boring.” Lars makes a face, but as he follows suit, I can see the determination in his eyes, the suddenly renewed focus. It’s a strange thing, but I’ve always found that having a big idea helps us both deal with the boring shit.
“I will say,” he says, clicking rapidly through Kristi Hunter and Tyler Thorne’s site, “that whoever is funding this Cock Initiative has serious coin. These events are bigger than a Taylor Swift concert.”
“Compass Initiative, not Cock Initiative. And Taylor Swift?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Seriously?”
“Hey.” Lars holds up a palm. “Talk to the hand, bitch. Benny made me go to her concert, and I’m now officially a convert.”
I give him a narrow look. “You and Benny are going to concerts together now?”
“That boy can take me anywhere.” He says it lightheartedly enough, but I don’t miss the faint catch in his voice. I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually seen Lars fall for someone. I want to give him shit about it, but oddly, I’m reluctant to.
“And while we’re on the topic of Taylor Swift,” he goes on, clearly keen to move past the moment, “I wouldn’t say a negative word about her to your lady love, or you might find yourself overboard. Tay Tay is practically a religion for Ofelia and her friends.”
One mention of her name, and just like that, I’m derailed.
Ofelia, hair gleaming in the golden sunlight, giggling over a cocktail.
Gliding through the water in the string bikini I can’t wait to tear off.
Naked on the sunbed, barely meters from where I’m sitting right now . . .
“Motherfucker.” Lars snaps his fingers in the air in front of me. “Focus. Although by that dreamy-eyed stare, you’ve got more interesting things to focus on.”
I put my middle finger up. “Fuck you.”
“Not if I fuck you first,” he says cheerfully. “And while we’re on the topic of fucking.” He gives me a sly wink as he pours us both enormous drinks. “Would you like to know why, exactly, it’s taken Mickey so long to install that secure room in Ofelia’s house?”
“I thought he was just pissed about doing it.”
“Oh, no.” Lars shakes his head slowly. “It’s far better than that.” He gives me a coy look that makes me grin despite myself.
“Come on, you big gossip queen. Out with it.”
“Fine.” He takes a theatrically slow sip of his drink. “Mickey,” he says finally, with almost gleeful satisfaction, “has got a serious hard-on for someone.”
“Oh.” I shrug. “Good for him.”
I don’t give a fuck.
“No, it really isn’t.” Lars looks like he’s fit to burst. “The object of his desire is Lourdes.”
I give him an uncomprehending look. “And that should matter to me why, exactly?”
“You really know nothing, John Snow.” He rolls his eyes.
“Ofelia and Mickey have a deal: she doesn’t tell Roman what Mickey gets up to, and in return, he doesn’t date her friends.
Like, ever.” He raises his drink to me. “I believe that means the information I just gave you is what you Russians call kompromat.”
Oh, is it fucking ever.
I take a long, satisfying pull on my drink, unable to stop a filthy grin spreading across my face.
I’ll have that secure room done in twenty-four hours.
“Let me guess.” Lars pulls out his phone with a wry grin. “Now you want me to message Mickey and set up a call in that secure room so you can apply pressure immediately.”
I pull him from his stool and into a hard, one-armed hug, my head spinning from how different my world feels from the stilted isolation of barely hours ago. “It’s good to see you, asshole,” I say as we turn toward the cabin.
“Yeah.” Lars plants a fat kiss on my head, making me grin. “You too, motherfucker.”