Z E R O

Chapter 1: The beginnings of a modern legend

 

 

            It was dark. The ambient light from the computer screen was almost unnatural, but it was a surrounding that Darren Lear was used to. Sitting on the end of his bed, his eyes unwavering from the monitor as the small green cursor blinked eternally. The message Darren had sent read:

 

NAME YOUR PRICE OR ROLL A DICE.

 

It was his calling card, a sort of motto that he liked to use when in cyberspace. Darren was somewhat of a celebrity on the Internet. Not your Bill Gates, make-a-million-a-day kind of celebrity – he was popular in the cyber-underground; one of the most well-respected hackers in the syndicate of computer-cracks known as the Numerics. Darren started the Numerics three years ago, and picked a handle that made sense; he wanted to be known, but non-existent in the real world. Thus, Zero was born. Now, Zero sat at his computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, awaiting a response.

            Through the hundreds of thousands of kilometres of fibre optic cable, bounced off about twenty-five satellites, Zero’s message travelled to its destination on the other side of the world. Alone, and striking in the middle of the French Riviera, stood a massive chateau, fronted by a rippling lake and surrounded by hundreds of young pine trees. Inside, with a tall glass of ’67 Bollinger in one hand, a dull grey headset twirling in the other, sat a slender man with jet black hair, from which sideburns ran down to meet and drop from his chin a small goatee beard. Slightly tanned, with a pointed nose and deep set eyes framed by narrow glasses, the man known as Acrimonius glanced at his 4mm transparent monitor.

            ‘Name your price or roll a dice?!’ said the man aloud. ‘Who does this pipsqueak think he is…seriously. It’s embarrassing he thinks I don’t know everything about him.

            Acrimonius cast an eye at the printout on his glass desk. On it was a passport photo of Darren Lear. Under that was listed all the known Internet activity under the handle, ‘Zero’.

            ‘Well, Master Lear,’ Acrimonius said to no one in particular, ‘Let’s see just how deep a hole you can dig for yourself. Acrimonius brought the headset’s microphone to his lips. ‘Four thousand, US or nearest offer – for the usual. Have the mulah deposited by sundown or the senor with the shotgun leaves the prairie. Comprende?’

            The words appeared on the clear screen, then the ominous green cursor blinked about seven times, before…

 

YOUR PRICE HAS BEEN NAMED, COMRADE.

THE TRANSACTION HAS BEGUN. WILL EXPECT THE GOODS BY THE MORNING – L.A. TIME … DAMN GREENWICH.

 

            A smirk flashed across Acrimonius’ gaunt features. ‘At least he has a vague sense of humour,’ he thought. A click of a button started the upload of the virus named ‘the usual’. Zero thought he was getting credit card numbers, drivers licence templates amd the latest parking meter and slot machine codes for the inner east LA sector. He was actually downloading a near impossible to detect virus that would expose the little freak’s IP number to most of the Northern Hemisphere’s elite computer crime squads. Acrimonius chuckled to himself. Victory tasted sweet.

            He shoved Zero’s printout in a drawer and got up from his desk just as a knock echoed through his office. In came his secretary, Dominique, followed by one of his highest ranking employees. Dominique showed the man to his seat then exited the office.

            Acrimonius offered the man a cigar – he declined. When Acrimonius turned around, a small snigger flittered across his face. The well-respected and hard-working man on the opposite side of his desk was Kenneth Lear – Darren’s father.