recognised bits of different languages all jumbled together – Python, C++, Java. Other symbols Jack couldn’t even identify.
Scrolling down, he spotted a few lines of code he did understand. The program had infected the security controls and triggered the commands to the door.
A crease furrowed Jack’s brow.
Charlie said, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘As far as I can tell, Obi’s right – it’s a virus, and it’s probing.’
Wren said, ‘What’s that mean?’
‘See here,’ Jack said, indicating the different lines of code. ‘It’s searching for matching language – it looks like the virus is designed to work out whatever language the newly infected system uses, and cause havoc.’ Jack pulled the keyboard towards him and scrolled through the main code. Parts of the virus were changing, in a permanent state of flux. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. ‘It’s incredible,’ he muttered.
Several fans sped up as the virus continued to infect the bunker’s computers.
Obi sat up in his chair. ‘We need to kill it.’ He reached for the keyboard.
Jack snatched it away from him. ‘Leave it.’
‘It’s messing with the bunker.’
‘Not any more,’ Jack said. ‘Charlie isolated it from our security system.’
Obi frowned, obviously not convinced. ‘It’s still in our system. What do you want to do with it then?’
‘Nothing,’ Jack said. He glanced at the others. They were looking at him like he’d lost his mind. ‘Let’s just see what it tries to do next.’
‘Isn’t that risky?’ Charlie said.
Jack thought the virus was beautiful. He wanted to know how it worked. He admired whoever had designed it. It was a masterpiece. He looked at them all. ‘It’s safe .’ Though he couldn’t expect them to understand.
Obi shouted a swear word, which made them all jump.
‘What now?’ Slink said.
Obi pointed at another screen. ‘Look.’
Jack shifted position to see.
It was a satellite image, though fuzzy and tinted green. It showed a bird’s-eye view of a camp in the middle of a desert. Several tents sat in a circle beside two pickup trucks.
Jack could just about make out the silhouette of a man leaning against one of the trucks.
The five of them frowned at the image.
‘Where’s that coming from?’ Jack said.
Obi pointed at one of the other screens that showed an open command box linked directly to Proteus.
For a moment, Jack didn’t understand, then he remembered. They’d been so distracted with the virus, they’d all forgotten the main thing – that they’d cured the problem with Proteus.
From what Jack could tell, Proteus had been infected with that virus, not interference, and somehow, some way, it had moved from Proteus to their own server. Not copied, but actually moved .
Now free, Proteus was running at maximum efficiency, and what Professor Markov had failed to do, they’d cured by accident.
But what was Proteus actually doing?
The image vanished and a document popped up in its place. At the top of the page was the logo and address of the Russian embassy in London. Below it was a letter typed in what Jack could only assume were Russian symbols.
‘I’m guessing none of you can read that?’ Jack said.
They all shook their heads.
The image snapped off and was replaced by yet another document. This one had a mug shot of a man with shoulder-length messy brown hair and a thick beard. He wore a dirty off-white shirt, and his cold, penetrating eyes stared back at them.
Underneath the man’s photo was his name: Simon Grate. Age: 37. Wanted in connection with the Manhattan bank robbery of 3 August. Presumed armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Call –
Before they could finish reading, the image changed to a new satellite photograph – this one of a densely packed city, though it looked less like a city and more like a shanty town. Thousands of red and grey boxes were packed close together on a hillside.
Jack thought he recognised it as Caracas,
Scrolling down, he spotted a few lines of code he did understand. The program had infected the security controls and triggered the commands to the door.
A crease furrowed Jack’s brow.
Charlie said, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘As far as I can tell, Obi’s right – it’s a virus, and it’s probing.’
Wren said, ‘What’s that mean?’
‘See here,’ Jack said, indicating the different lines of code. ‘It’s searching for matching language – it looks like the virus is designed to work out whatever language the newly infected system uses, and cause havoc.’ Jack pulled the keyboard towards him and scrolled through the main code. Parts of the virus were changing, in a permanent state of flux. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. ‘It’s incredible,’ he muttered.
Several fans sped up as the virus continued to infect the bunker’s computers.
Obi sat up in his chair. ‘We need to kill it.’ He reached for the keyboard.
Jack snatched it away from him. ‘Leave it.’
‘It’s messing with the bunker.’
‘Not any more,’ Jack said. ‘Charlie isolated it from our security system.’
Obi frowned, obviously not convinced. ‘It’s still in our system. What do you want to do with it then?’
‘Nothing,’ Jack said. He glanced at the others. They were looking at him like he’d lost his mind. ‘Let’s just see what it tries to do next.’
‘Isn’t that risky?’ Charlie said.
Jack thought the virus was beautiful. He wanted to know how it worked. He admired whoever had designed it. It was a masterpiece. He looked at them all. ‘It’s safe .’ Though he couldn’t expect them to understand.
Obi shouted a swear word, which made them all jump.
‘What now?’ Slink said.
Obi pointed at another screen. ‘Look.’
Jack shifted position to see.
It was a satellite image, though fuzzy and tinted green. It showed a bird’s-eye view of a camp in the middle of a desert. Several tents sat in a circle beside two pickup trucks.
Jack could just about make out the silhouette of a man leaning against one of the trucks.
The five of them frowned at the image.
‘Where’s that coming from?’ Jack said.
Obi pointed at one of the other screens that showed an open command box linked directly to Proteus.
For a moment, Jack didn’t understand, then he remembered. They’d been so distracted with the virus, they’d all forgotten the main thing – that they’d cured the problem with Proteus.
From what Jack could tell, Proteus had been infected with that virus, not interference, and somehow, some way, it had moved from Proteus to their own server. Not copied, but actually moved .
Now free, Proteus was running at maximum efficiency, and what Professor Markov had failed to do, they’d cured by accident.
But what was Proteus actually doing?
The image vanished and a document popped up in its place. At the top of the page was the logo and address of the Russian embassy in London. Below it was a letter typed in what Jack could only assume were Russian symbols.
‘I’m guessing none of you can read that?’ Jack said.
They all shook their heads.
The image snapped off and was replaced by yet another document. This one had a mug shot of a man with shoulder-length messy brown hair and a thick beard. He wore a dirty off-white shirt, and his cold, penetrating eyes stared back at them.
Underneath the man’s photo was his name: Simon Grate. Age: 37. Wanted in connection with the Manhattan bank robbery of 3 August. Presumed armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Call –
Before they could finish reading, the image changed to a new satellite photograph – this one of a densely packed city, though it looked less like a city and more like a shanty town. Thousands of red and grey boxes were packed close together on a hillside.
Jack thought he recognised it as Caracas,
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