Free Zero Day: A Novel by Mark Russinovich, Howard Schmidt Page A

the first. Her parents, both professors at Stanford University, had encouraged her wide-ranging interests from the time she was a toddler. As their only child, she’d received undivided love and attention. So easily had things come to her, the child Daryl had been surprised to realize how slow her classmates were, even in the accelerated classes she attended. As she moved into her preteens, she finally found her place at a prestigious academy.
    Under the tutelage of a teacher from Spain, she’d discovered a natural affinity for language. Before she was twelve years old, she spoke Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian fluently. The transition into Latin and French in her teens was seamless. For a time her parents were convinced she would become a linguist, and they accepted that as her natural vocation.
    But Daryl also enjoyed mathematics and computers. As each drew her increasing interest, she found herself more and more in the world of boys. When she began to blossom at age fifteen, even the geeks with whom she spent most of her days noticed, though they were too awkward and shy to do anything, a situation she thought was just as well. The last thing she wanted was a collection of panting admirers getting in the way of her real loves, numbers and the computer.
    Daryl had gone to MIT at seventeen, then done her Ph.D. work at Stanford, while living with her parents. That had been nice, seeing them as adults, as equals. She’d come to appreciate the remarkable upbringing they’d given her. As she neared completion of her graduate work, Daryl had considered what to do. She’d always wanted to get the bad guys and briefly considered applying to the FBI. In the end she went with the National Security Agency, which had a greater use for her particular skills. The NSA intercepted foreign communications to develop intelligence information and relied extensively on computers to make it all happen.
    Daryl had always been most comfortable working alone, though consulting with Jeff Aiken had come naturally. In recent years she’d stayed in routine business contact with him, especially when working on a new virus.
    They had met at Langley, in the old CIA, the Company, before the 9/11 fiasco and the creation of Homeland Security, back in the days when the CIA thought it knew everything. She’d been sent from NSA as part of a show committee of cooperation. In fact, none of the American intelligence agencies cooperated significantly with one another, not the FBI, DIA, NSA, or CIA. But they were routinely admonished to cooperate, so committees such as hers were created, and meetings such as the one where she’d met Jeff were held from time to time.
    “See if you can find anyone there,” her boss had instructed, meaning, see if she could connect with someone useful, willing to share information despite the unofficial policy against such cooperation. Jeff had been a new face so she’d taken the open seat next to him, separated by the corner of the conference table.
    Jeff was a handsome man, one who took care of himself, she noticed as she waited for the meeting to start. Not at all like most of the others in the room. He placed a mug of black coffee on the coaster before him, then said, “Could you hand me the Sweet’n Low, please?”
    The bowl was to her left. She’d reached over and handed him a pink packet. The moment their fingers touched, an electric shock went through her body. His hand hesitated; she was certain he felt the same thing. She looked at his clear gray eyes. He glanced at hers, then looked away. Clumsily opening the sweetener, he poured it into the mug, spilling almost as much as he put in the coffee. “I’ll need a napkin. I’m all thumbs today,” he’d said without meeting her eye.
    During Daryl’s junior year at MIT, when she was 19, she’d been heavily courted by the scion to one of America’s wealthiest and oldest families. With a name embarrassingly long and followed with the number IV, he was considered