The China Dogs by Sam Masters Page B

trio of pimped-up Macs running screens full of codes. “I struggle to operate just one of them.”
    â€œMy father bullied me into computer sciences at college, and I picked up a pile of know-how before I dropped out.”
    â€œYou’re good. You should go back and finish.”
    â€œAnd you shouldn’t pay people to break the law.”
    â€œLike they say, ‘To each his own.’ Seriously, man—you are good. I mean, that stuff you got for me was Fort Knoxed behind son-of-a-bitch Russian firewalls. I’m truly impressed.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be. Most of their online security is old-­fashioned, copied from the West. The Asians are actually much tougher nuts to crack.”
    â€œThat right?”
    â€œYep.” Danny lifts a Coke off the desk and drains it through a long blue straw. “Ain’t just the Japanese either. China’s all but caught up with them on tech. Koreans too.”
    Libowicz is intrigued. “I was just thinking. If you’re not going to go into honest employment and pay Uncle Sam his taxes, then maybe I can make you a deal.”
    â€œI’m always open to a ‘deal.’ ”
    â€œSomething that gives you more regular cash and doesn’t cost me quite so much.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike a retainer. Say I give you 12K a year—a grand a month—two fifty a week in cash?”
    â€œAnd what do I have to do for that?”
    â€œFish around some more of those BRIC-based companies, see what’s in their accounts, internal reports, business plans. You never know—we might even be able to flutter a bit on the big casino they call Wall Street.”
    Danny’s interested. “Yeah, I can do that. But listen, man, you fuck me—like asking me to work 24/7—and not only is the deal off, I promise you, I will mess you up so bad you’ll still be saying sorry in your next lifetime.”
    â€œWon’t happen.”
    â€œI mean it. I’ll stick your name on sex offenders’ registers and screw your credit rating worse than Bernie Madoff.”
    Jeff holds up his hands. “Okay, I get the message. No fucking with Mr. Genius here. Now, do we have a deal?”
    â€œYeah, we have a deal.”
    They bump fists.
    â€œGood. Now I’ve got to go. I’ll mail you some companies to look at.” Libowicz taps the folder of info he’d come for. “There’s a story to write. Bets to place.”
    35
    Weaponization Bunkers, North Korea
    J ihai finds his father straining over a microscope in a glass-partitioned office at the end of the laboratory.
    He should be sleeping.
    It is three days since the old man rested. Seventy-two hours since he shut his eyes and for just one second didn’t toil over the creation of the mood modifiers for the Nian dogs.
    â€œI have brought you some food.” Jihai places a tray at the end of his father’s long worktop. “Fish, rice, and fruit. With a flask of tea and some juice.”
    Hao doesn’t look up. His brain is focused on the magnified slide and the intense biological world spinning and swarming within it.
    â€œFather, you must stop. You must rest.”
    The scientist angrily jerks his head up from his work. “It is not for a son to tell his father how to behave at work. Here, I am your boss, not your parent.”
    The young man stands his ground. “Many times you have told me that a tired mind is a useless mind. Fatigue breeds failure. I worry for your health and—”
    Hao slaps his son’s face. “Don’t you dare talk to me about failure!”
    Jihai puts a hand to the sting.
    â€œIt is you —you and those idiots you work with who have befriended Failure and welcomed him into our workplace to ruin us.”
    Jihai can see his father is exhausted. Hand still to burning face, he bows and starts to leave.
    â€œWait!”
    He stops and turns.
    â€œThank you for the food.