“He calls himself Cyber.” Ian Innis declared this with some finality, pushing back from his desk and crossing his ankles. Innis was a middle-aged, slightly overweight, clean-shaven, dark-haired man with a closet full of long-sleeved shirts, tan slacks, and suit jackets. Seen on the street, he appeared average in almost every respect, an ordinary, benign, phonebook-filler kind of person. He was someone you didn’t look twice at, someone you didn’t think twice about.
But every now and then, if you caught him in a sideways glance, you got the impression he was doing plenty of thinking about you.
Innis’s audience for this pronouncement was his personal assistant, Shawn Matthew Scott, called SMS by those few individuals he thought of as his friends. The blond-haired 25-year-old was leaning silently against the door frame, preferring not to fully enter the disaster zone Innis called his office. Continue reading