Cryptonomicon

"Comstock," Bruce says. Meaning Paul Comstock, who, by virtue of being Attorney General of the United States, runs the FBI. Randy does not believe this rumor, but in spite of himself he scans the area for people fitting the general profile of FBI agents. The FBI hates and fears strong crypto. Meanwhile another Secret Admirer type shouts, "I heard Secret Service!" Which is even creepier, in a way, because the Secret Service is part of the Treasury Department, and is charged with combating wire fraud and protecting the nation's currency.

Randy says, "Would you be open to the possibility that it's all a Net rumor? That what's really going on is that a piece of equipment inside Ordo's offices is being seized as part of a legal squabble?"

"Then why are all these cops here?" Bruce says.

"Maybe the masked men with assault rifles drew them."

"Well, why did the Secret Admirers show up in the first place if it wasn't a government raid?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just some kind of spontaneous self-organizing phenomenon--like the origin of life in the primordial soup."

Bruce says, "Isn't it just as possible that the legal squabble is a pretext?"

"In other words that the squabble is sort of like a Trojan horse put together by Comstock?"

"Yeah."

"Knowing all of the parties involved, I'd rate it as unlikely," Randy says, "but let me think about it."

The noise and intensity of the argument in the Ordo parking lot spike upwards. Randy looks at the video window, which unfortunately has no sound track. The transactions between frames come as isolated blocks of new pixels slapped up one at a time over the old, like a large billboard being posted sections. High-definition TV it ain't. But Randy definitely recognizes Avi, standing there tall, pale, and calm, flanked by one guy who's probably Dave the Ordo president, and another guy who's obviously a lawyer. They are literally standing in the doorway of the building and facing off against two cops and none other than Andrew Loeb, who is in rapid motion and hence poses an insurmountable bandwidth problem. The Internet video gear is smart enough not to mess with parts of an image that aren't changing very much, and so the planted cops get refreshed maybe a couple of times a minute, and then just in a few rectangular image-shards. But Andrew Loeb is waving his arms around, hopping up and down, lunging towards Avi from time to time, pulling back and taking calls on his cellphone, and waving documents in the air. The computers have identified him as a bunch of pixels that require a great deal of attention and bandwidth, and so somewhere some poor algorithm is churning through the high-pressure slurry of compressed pixels that is the image of Andrew Loeb, and doing its level best to freeze the most rapidly-moving parts into discrete frames and chop them up into checkerboard-squares that can be broadcast as packets over the Net. These packets arrive in Randy's computer as the radio network passes them along, i.e., sporadically and in the wrong order. So Andrew Loeb appears as a cubist digital-video artifact, a rectilinear amoeba of mostly trench-coat-beige pixels. From time to time his eyes or his mouth will suddenly appear, disembodied, in the center of an image-block, and remain frozen there for a few seconds, crystallized in a moment of howling rage.

This is weirdly mesmerizing until Randy's startled out of his reverie by a clunk. He looks over to see that the van he's blocked in wasn't abandoned after all; it was full of Dwarves, who have now thrown the back doors open to reveal a nest of cables and wires. A couple of the Dwarves are heaving a boxy apparatus up onto the roof of the van. Cables run out of it to another boxy apparatus down below. The apparatus is electrical in nature--and doesn't appear capable of firing projectiles--so Randy decides not to pay it much attention for the moment.

Voices well up across the street. Randy sees some cops climbing out of a cop-van carrying a battering ram.

Randy types:

randy

and hits the return key. Tombstone answers:

password:

and Randy types it in. Tombstone informs him that he's logged on, and that he has mail.