in her hand. “Leslie, are you okay?”
She looked up at him and shook her head vigorously “I'm sorry,” she said, sobbing freely, “Mr. McCarty I just turned on my terminal and it went crazy showing those images. I shut down the computer, but it was too late. I didn't mean … It's horrible. Those awful pictures …”
“It isn't your fault,” Ward told her, sure thatwas the case. “We'll fix this,” he said to no one in particular, praying that it was even possible to fix. Thinking about their clients seeing these images made his heart sink.
“Mr. McCarty,” the receptionist's voice said over the intercom. “There are two FBI agents here to see you.”
Mark ran his fingers over his hair. “We're the victims here,” he told everybody in the room and nobody in particular. “Figure out a way to stop it immediately. Get it back or something. Remember, people, we don't make any statements until Gene gets here.”
Ward told the receptionist to direct the agents up to the conference room.
TWENTY-FIVE
The FBI agents looked to Ward like a pair of young stockbrokers dressed to call on a wealthy client. They introduced themselves as Bill Firman and John Mayes, though Ward quickly forgot which was which.
Despite what he had told the assembled seconds before the agents entered, Mark immediately started to explain to the pair what had happened, but as soon as they looked at the computer screen over the techs’ shoulders, Agent Firman said, “Sir, close the computer and move away from it.” To Mark he said, “Tell your employees to turn off their monitors. We'll have our techs here as soon as possible to take over.”
“Agent Firman, we can't operate without our computers,” Mark protested.
“I understand that,” Firman told Mark. “But someone here sent a virus of child pornography over the Internet. Whether or not you did it on purpose, it's a federal crime, so we'll need to interview any employee with access to your computers, see if we can figure out exactly who is responsible.”
“Our attorney is on his way,” Ward said. “You can work it out with him. Until he gets here to sort this out, he's advised us not to answer any questions.”
“Well,” Agent Firman said, “that's your right, Mr”
“McCarty Ward McCarty.”
“Ward is our CEO,” Mark said.
“Well, Mr. McCarty, until we get this sorted out, we're closing down your computers. No employee is to remove anything from the premises, or leave the building, until we say so.”
“You can't do that,” Ward said. “We called you.”
“Actually Mr. McCarty,” the agent said, taking a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket. “Certain recipients of your illegal pornography called us. I have a warrant on the way,” he said. “Your computers are closed down until we say differently. Are you still online?”
Paul shook his head. “We closed off the servers to the outside as soon as we saw what was happening.”
Agent Mayes said, “Just make sure all of the computers are turned off. Yours, too; it's illegal for you to look at that.”
“You can't be serious,” Mark said.
“You can't think we did this on purpose?” Ward asked, incredulous.
“Of course not,” Firman answered.
Ward's cell phone rang and he recognized Natasha's number. When he opened the phone, everybody in the room could hear the sound ofhis irate wife letting him have it with both barrels. Ward shuddered at the thought of the people on her e-mail list.
TWENTY-SIX
Gene Duncan's arrival made Ward feel better, but not for long. A contingent of no fewer than twenty FBI agents and other personnel arrived minutes before his attorney, moving through the building in ones and twos searching the offices. FBI computer techs, armed with laptops and other electronic equipment, hooked up to the RGI servers and sat typing as they stared intently at illuminated screens.
In the three hours since the virus's release, media vehicles had made their parking lot look like
She looked up at him and shook her head vigorously “I'm sorry,” she said, sobbing freely, “Mr. McCarty I just turned on my terminal and it went crazy showing those images. I shut down the computer, but it was too late. I didn't mean … It's horrible. Those awful pictures …”
“It isn't your fault,” Ward told her, sure thatwas the case. “We'll fix this,” he said to no one in particular, praying that it was even possible to fix. Thinking about their clients seeing these images made his heart sink.
“Mr. McCarty,” the receptionist's voice said over the intercom. “There are two FBI agents here to see you.”
Mark ran his fingers over his hair. “We're the victims here,” he told everybody in the room and nobody in particular. “Figure out a way to stop it immediately. Get it back or something. Remember, people, we don't make any statements until Gene gets here.”
Ward told the receptionist to direct the agents up to the conference room.
TWENTY-FIVE
The FBI agents looked to Ward like a pair of young stockbrokers dressed to call on a wealthy client. They introduced themselves as Bill Firman and John Mayes, though Ward quickly forgot which was which.
Despite what he had told the assembled seconds before the agents entered, Mark immediately started to explain to the pair what had happened, but as soon as they looked at the computer screen over the techs’ shoulders, Agent Firman said, “Sir, close the computer and move away from it.” To Mark he said, “Tell your employees to turn off their monitors. We'll have our techs here as soon as possible to take over.”
“Agent Firman, we can't operate without our computers,” Mark protested.
“I understand that,” Firman told Mark. “But someone here sent a virus of child pornography over the Internet. Whether or not you did it on purpose, it's a federal crime, so we'll need to interview any employee with access to your computers, see if we can figure out exactly who is responsible.”
“Our attorney is on his way,” Ward said. “You can work it out with him. Until he gets here to sort this out, he's advised us not to answer any questions.”
“Well,” Agent Firman said, “that's your right, Mr”
“McCarty Ward McCarty.”
“Ward is our CEO,” Mark said.
“Well, Mr. McCarty, until we get this sorted out, we're closing down your computers. No employee is to remove anything from the premises, or leave the building, until we say so.”
“You can't do that,” Ward said. “We called you.”
“Actually Mr. McCarty,” the agent said, taking a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket. “Certain recipients of your illegal pornography called us. I have a warrant on the way,” he said. “Your computers are closed down until we say differently. Are you still online?”
Paul shook his head. “We closed off the servers to the outside as soon as we saw what was happening.”
Agent Mayes said, “Just make sure all of the computers are turned off. Yours, too; it's illegal for you to look at that.”
“You can't be serious,” Mark said.
“You can't think we did this on purpose?” Ward asked, incredulous.
“Of course not,” Firman answered.
Ward's cell phone rang and he recognized Natasha's number. When he opened the phone, everybody in the room could hear the sound ofhis irate wife letting him have it with both barrels. Ward shuddered at the thought of the people on her e-mail list.
TWENTY-SIX
Gene Duncan's arrival made Ward feel better, but not for long. A contingent of no fewer than twenty FBI agents and other personnel arrived minutes before his attorney, moving through the building in ones and twos searching the offices. FBI computer techs, armed with laptops and other electronic equipment, hooked up to the RGI servers and sat typing as they stared intently at illuminated screens.
In the three hours since the virus's release, media vehicles had made their parking lot look like
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