Buzzworm (A Technology Thriller): Computer virus or serial killer? (25 page)

Hyde looked unconvinced. “Did you deliver money to the Washington police?”

Xavier smiled. “Do I look like an imbecile? I did give a lot of cash to Frank though. He said he needed help. So we helped him. It was CIA money. He could do what he wanted with it.”

Hyde shook his head.
Always the same towering pile of shit to wade through. Who was worse? A crack addict or a fervent intelligence agent high on duty, willing to do anything to win.

Hyde now had Xavier’s wallet open with one hand, the other still cradling his handgun. “Thanks to the FBI we now know that a lot of money changed hands over the years between Scammel and the Washington police. Millions in fact. A Washington Vice cop by the name of Wishnowsky was working with Scammel to distribute cash to dozens of police officers. And you were the money man for Frank?”

Xavier took a moment to respond. “I was under orders to supply Scammel with cash, no receipts. Pretty standard operating procedure. That’s all I know. I was following a directive. What else can I tell you?”

“You didn’t bother to ask what he was using the millions for? A man charged with sexually molesting a twelve-year-old?” Meds face showed her shock. She hadn’t heard about the charges against Scammel. “What did your CIA case worker tell you about Med and Coyne?”

Xavier answered. “That Med was a disgruntled employee and that she was sabotaging a key intelligence program called GIPETTO. I was asked to get to know her better and track her movements.” He stole a glance at Med who glared back.

Hyde continued. “And did you find any connections between her and a criminal or terrorist organization?”

Xavier looked directly at Med this time. “Not directly. If I had more time …”

Hyde narrowed his eyes. He was clearly losing patience. “Do you know about a David Dodge?”

“Name means nothing to me.”

“He was a security officer at Building 213. Someone crushed his skull.” Xavier didn’t respond. “You are working for a maniac, Xavier. Who is intent on murder and espionage and we need to find him now.”

Xavier finally looked away from Med. “Detective, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on that. But you need to give me some time.”

“Time! Why?”

“Because the case officer I report to has been very careful. I don’t have a name. Just a codeword for the project.
Buzzworm
.”

Hyde looked at Roger who nodded. No one was surprised. Hyde shifted in his chair again. “You’ve been taking orders for years from someone you’ve never met? You expect me to believe that?”

Xavier shrugged. “My case worker is a paranoid guy. He’s battling with forces within the intelligence community. He says he is the last protector of freedom and the American way; maybe a bit extreme in his views. But he has enormous power and that doesn’t happen unless you are far up the chain. And yet he’s faceless.”

Med crossed her arms. “
Buzzworm
’s trying to engineer a total collapse of intelligence operations. And he has you doing his dirty work.”

“We’re big on deniability. And this CO has been as secretive as they come. But I do have some information I’ve kept to protect myself. I just need to make a few calls.” Hyde looked skeptical. “Like you said, you know where I live.” Xavier looked to Med. “And I can’t hide from US government. They’re my client. I’m not going to risk that.”

Hyde took the gun out from underneath the table and slid it into his shoulder holster. “You’re under tight surveillance, Xavier. You try to leave the country and you’ll spend the next twenty years in a Federal prison. You have twelve hours to give us a name.”

Xavier nodded. Everyone noticed the change in him over the past few minutes. His sense of superiority seemed to melt away. He was slumped over now, unsmiling. Roger looked at Med, but nothing had changed in her expression. She clearly hated the man now. And for good reason, that gave Roger a lift.

It was Friday morning
, and I had driven into headquarters early. Trying to sleep had been a waste of time. I needed to hear from Xavier and soon. Since I couldn’t sleep I thought I might as well work.

The homicide division bullpen was still empty. Except for Geena Garcia. She’d been with the department a little over three months, a recent transfer from community services. All of us in Homicide are convinced she never goes home. We suspect she has moved in, sleeping every night at her desk. We obviously haven’t worked hard enough to beat the enthusiasm out of her yet. So I said hello and then stopped at Emile’s desk.

Someone had already cleaned out my ex-partners belongings. All that remained of Emile was a phone and a blank computer monitor sitting to one side. I opened the drawers. They were empty too. I had driven out to his sisters the day after the shooting and delivered the bad news. She may have looked tough, but she crumbled like a little girl when I told her how Emile had died.

I took a sticky note from the next desk and wrote on it “Emile – gone, but not forgotten” and pasted it to the front of the monitor. They should retire that desk like they retire NHL player numbers. No one would be able to replace him.

I sat at my desk and pulled over a pile of new file folders. They were the printouts of the documents that
Buzzworm
had forwarded. As promised there were twelve cases. All unsolved murders in Washington. Each file had new evidence attached, straight from CIA’s intelligence files.

The first file was labeled Shocknek, Kenneth. Shocknek was a journalist for the Washington Times. He had been found murdered three years ago in Rock Creek Park, a national park situated right in the middle of the downtown. Death had come about as the result of three-dozen stab wounds to the chest and neck. There were no witnesses and the body had been found three days after the time of death. There was little to go on and the case closed after a few months. The Times had printed a story trying to connect the murder with a book Shocknek was about to publish on the criminal activities of the CIA. He had authored a number of stories through the years on CIA involvement with the drug trade in Latin America.

Buzzworm
had attached a printed copy of an email sent to Shocknek a week before his death. A death threat. The email had never come up in the investigation. The senders name was attached. The note said he was a freelance contractor who had done work for the military.

This was more than enough to re-open the case. But I wasn’t born yesterday. If Washington Homicide acted on this tip, we would be doing exactly what
Buzzworm
wanted us to do. We would be aiding his twisted attack on the intelligence community. And I had no idea if the lead was legit.

I got up and wandered over to the nook where we had a small fridge and a microwave oven. I noticed a fresh pot of coffee was brewing. Had to be courtesy of Garcia. I lifted my mug up in her direction and nodded my thanks. She smiled back. As I took my first sip, she was up and headed in my direction. I watched her hesitate as she passed Emile’s empty desk. She read the note.

“Hyde. I just wanted to say how sorry I was about Emile. I knew you were partners for a while.”

“Six years. He came on when Turner retired.”

“Are you OK?” She was staring at my head. I had a large bandage wrapped around my ear. Her voice was soft, but I noticed for the first time how broad her shoulders were. Someone had said she was a body builder. Up close you could see she was no cream puff.

“I’ll live.”

“Any idea what happened there?”

I shook my head. I didn’t have the patience to get her up to speed. Someone at Homeland called it a SNAFU.
Situation normal, all fucked up
. Communications had broken down, they said, like that happened all the time and there was nothing they could do about it. They had a faked picture of me with bomb wires sticking out of my coat. Someone thought I was going after the Vice President. All they had was technological bullshit. No one does real intel anymore. Just like no one does real police work anymore. It’s all about the machines. “Welcome to crime in the 21
st
century,” I muttered.

Garcia shook her head. Just as she did my phone vibrated. I flipped it open and read the message.

I thought we had a deal.

The sender was Kyla this time. I didn’t understand the question. She was at Jazz Camp in South Dakota. Deal? Did I forget something?

“Sorry, Geena. I have to take this.” She nodded, but I could see in her face that she knew I was concerned about something. She reluctantly turned and headed back to her desk. I looked down at the phone and the next screen of text sent a chill through me.

You’re not taking me seriously. I handed you a dozen unsolved murders with new evidence.

I stared at the screen.
Buzzworm
emailed me the documents. But the ID on my phone was Kyla’s. How did he hack her phone? Was that even possible? I typed, clumsily.

When I finally got my hands on this
Buzzworm
maniac, I was going to jam my phone down his throat. Or some other available orifice.

You went to the FBI. How many deaths do you want on your hands?

It had to be
Buzzworm
. My first impulse was to smash the phone on the floor and grind it to bits. This freak was poking his face into my personal life and acting like he was my handler. He needed to be taught a lesson. I typed a quick response.

I don’t make deals with psychos.

His answer came quickly. Like he was typing from a computer, not a tiny keypad.

Too bad. Cause I have Kyla now.

The tiny screen blurred and I felt like a blood vessel had burst in my brain. I struggled to read the name again. Kyla? It was impossible. But somehow he had her phone. Suddenly the cell rang in my hand and I jumped. I placed it to my ear.

“Hyde. Listen carefully. You have an assignment.” The voice was altered, robotic.

“Fuck your assignment.”

“Fine. But I if you ever want to see your daughter again you better pay attention. The CIA is launching a new weapon on Monday called GIPETTO. Named after the bumbling father in the Pinocchio story. Remember that. The other word you can’t forget is Avion. That’s the computer GIPETTO runs on. I am taking control of it, finally. If anyone tries to shut the Avion down, if the power gets cut off or anything clever happens to ruin my plans, you need to understand that your daughter dies. It’s that simple.”

I forced myself to respond even though the anger was tightening up my throat to the point where I could hardly breathe. “I don’t understand any of that fucking gibberish. And nothing is simple. What makes you think I can control what the CIA does?”

“You’re a bulldog, Hyde. You’ll find a way. Talk to Mary Ellen. Strong arm Vienna. They’ll know what I’m talking about. ”

Buzzworm knew all the players. This was like an insider’s game that I wanted no part of. But it looked like I had no choice now. “Regardless of what happens to her, anything, at all. You need to know — you’ve signed her death warrant.”

“Just do your job, Hyde. Keep GIPETTO alive for one week and I’ll release her. Fail, and I will happily slit your daughter’s throat and post the video on YouTube.”

Green, the staff counselor
at HQ that I had been avoiding lately, told me once that five percent of the population causes one hundred percent of the violence and misery. The psychopaths and sociopaths among us, stirring the pot for their own perverted satisfaction, are the ones making the world a crappy place for everyone else.
Buzzworm
was no different. Only with this case, I felt like I had a shot at stomping it out.

I pulled out my notebook and dialed Xavier. NOC agent or not, he was in for a world of pain if he didn’t provide
Buzzworm
s’ identity. No answer. I was beginning to feel like I had been screwed over. The address Med had supplied was a townhouse in Georgetown, so I drove there in a hurry, using my siren and emergency light for the first time in years.

Xavier’s home was a three-story walkup right in the middle of the toniest part of town, Bentleys and Ferraris parked on the street. I rang and waited, but there was no answer. I was about to go back to my car and check out the address on the computer when a round dark-haired woman in her fifties came up the steps, her face curious. I showed her my badge. She told me she cleaned the house once a week.
Who owns this place?
I asked, almost dreading the answer. She said the house was owned by a wealthy businessman from Panama. She sent her invoices to a company there every month. She showed me the address. A numbered-company with an office in Panama City. If you were going to pick a country to hide your identity, you couldn’t find a better place. Was
Buzzworm
a foreigner?

I asked her to describe the owner. She said he was European, a big rotund player who wore a lot of gold. Not at all like Xavier. But she did say that someone from Washington had been renting the townhouse for over a year, and he did fit Xavier’s description. I convinced her to let me in. She sighed when we entered the tiled foyer and then looked up at me, disappointed. The front closet door was open and empty. She led me upstairs to an office and large bedroom. The bed was made and the closets bare. Xavier had cleared out.

The only person I could think of who might be able to guess where Xavier had gone to — was Mary Ellen Duke. And I wouldn’t be surprised me that he might be going after her again. I raced to the Washington Plaza on Thomas Circle. On the way there, I called one of the people who worked on the forensic team on the death of Melissa Coyne. I asked them to check on MicroFlight and get me a work number for Xavier.

Med was up when I knocked on the door to her hotel room. She let me in without asking why I was there. We stood in a small kitchenette off the living room.

“Xavier is gone,” was all I said. She didn’t seem surprised. “I need to find him.”

“Did you go to his townhouse?” she asked.

I nodded. ”He’s gone. Cleaned out the place.”

Med frowned. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Can you check the airports?”

“I sent out an alert on the way here. If he checks in we’ll get a call. But I was hoping you might have some idea where he would go.”

“After what he did to me last night? I was hoping I’d see him again.” Then a thought seemed to occur to her. “You had him, detective. You let him go.”

I tried to ignore that last accusation, as true as it was. “Does he have any family here?”

“He’s a spy, detective. A NOC agent. There’s nothing real about him. Do we even know if Xavier is his real name?”

I felt a chill. I was operating on the assumption that he was a well-known Washington businessman who worked on the side for the CIA, a man with too much to lose by running. I was probably wrong. My cell phone rang. It was Forensics. I listened and then put the phone down on the counter, my head spinning. Minute by minute, my daughter’s trail seemed to be growing colder.

“MicroFlight is a shell,” was all I said. Med stepped back. “There is no such company. It’s just a slick website and an anonymous answering service paid up until the end of the year.”

Med pushed her hair back and took a deep breath. I had a feeling that if she knew anything, she would tell me. “I may have something else,” she said and immediately saw my reaction. “It’s not much, detective, but you never know.”

Med led me to a desk beside the couch where she flipped up the lid to an unusual looking portable computer. It looked like something the military might use in a war zone.

She knew I was curious. “This is a mil spec laptop. Military grade and encrypted. Magnesium case. We call it a HUMMER. It’s water proof, vapor proof, shock proof. But it works like any other laptop. Just weighs a ton.” She hit several keys and brought up what looked like a map on the screen. I recognized the outline of the city of Washington. The map was covered in blue and red lines connecting various points on the grid.

“I tried something last night.” She nodded towards the bed. “Can’t sleep on hotel beds. So I tried something. HUMMER gives me access to all CIA systems including that supercomputer we talked about. So I ran a report.”

“Med. I don’t have time for this. I need to get my hands on Xavier.”

She looked at me then, her face giving away something. Could she see the desperation in my eyes?

“I think I know where
Buzzworm
is. Isn’t that who you want?”

I sat down on the edge of the couch. “Show me.”

“I’ll be quick,” she said, pulling up a chair and sitting down in front of the military laptop. “Imagine you’re tracking a fugitive. Think of it like you’re following his footprints in the sand. And you know exactly who it is because you can match the specific imprint made by the brand of his running shoes. You follow the trail, but suddenly, it just ends. Your suspect has gone back and erased his tracks.

We all leave the same kind of footprints when we move around inside a computer system. But
Buzzworm
knows how to go back and erase his tracks. And that’s why we can’t trace him back to his lair.

But think about another way to track your suspect. You get up high, in a helicopter, for example. And you look for paths that many people have walked on. Not the tracks of one person, but a well-worn trail left by people over a long period of time.”

“Mary Ellen, just tell me what you have.”

“We’re almost there. Look at the screen. I’ve mapped out all email and computer access over the past year from within the entire intelligence community.”

I looked at the screen. There were three primary centers within Washington where most of the lines converged, the major traffic centers. I had no idea why this was important. She pointed at them.

“The biggest one, that’s HQ at Langley. Building 213 is there and the third is NIM, the satellite recon division. That all makes sense. That’s where everything happens. There are some other smaller centers in other locations in Washington as well. All part of the intelligence network.”

Even I could see that there was an obvious outlier. A small but dense clump south of Washington, in Virginia back country. Near Fredericksburg. Med looked at me, aware that I had noticed the nexus point in what was a very unlikely location.

“By the way, that’s not Quantico, which I thought originally. They don't share our secure system. This cluster of activity sits in the middle of nowhere really. Near a reservoir called Mott’s Run.”

I stared at the converging lines on the screen. A data centre in the middle of the woods of Fredericksburg? “What is it?” I asked.

“It’s not the location of any intelligence branch I know of. I checked. It could be some top secret location none of us are supposed to know about though.”

I added. “Or it could be
Buzzworm
running the show from his hideout.”

“I don’t know, detective. It's just a spot on the map. A troubling mass of lines. A spider web. Something is going on there though.”

“Is it
Buzzworm
? What does it mean?”

“It means someone is moving data back and forth from a location in Frederiksberg. Remote computing. And that shouldn't be happening. CIA employees can't work from home on secure data. I can't do my job from home unless I have the HUMMER here and there’s only two of them with access to our division. Vienna has the other one. Someone is connecting with a highly secure system over a long period of time from outside the network and that's the one trail that looks suspicious.”

I stood up. “Give me a location. Where near Mott’s Run?”

“I can't just hand that out. What if it's a classified location — something none of us is supposed to know about? I could be breaching national security.”

I looked at her, wondering what my next move might be. That area could be ten miles long for all I knew. I needed a specific address.

I stared at her for a moment. “He has my daughter.”

“What?”

“
Buzzworm.
He’s taken my daughter.”

“Oh my God.”

“Xavier is on the run and I don't have any time. I need to know where that madman
is.”

“What does he want?”

“It has to do with GIPETTO. Whatever the hell that is. If it gets shut down or interfered with in any way for the next seven days, he will kill her. You have to keep the Avion running. I don't even know what a fucking Avion is. But you have to insure that it doesn’t get shut down.”

“The Avion is a super computer. GIPETTO is a defense project.”

“Well,
Buzzworm
has other plans. He wants it to be left alone for seven days. Give me the location.”

”Seven days?”

“That's my assignment, Med. Tell me you will do everything you can to leave the Avion alone. Or Kyla dies. I will not let that happen. You need to promise me that until you hear from me, nothing happens to that computer. Nothing. Guard it with your life.”

Med stood up. At first I thought she was going to give me a hug, then it occurred to me that she might just want to slap me instead. She was looking very conflicted. “Do you know what you’re asking me? People have gone to prison for years for doing a lot less.”

“I'll take the flack. Tell them I stole it from you. I don't care.”

She took a piece of hotel notepaper and wrote on it. She handed it to me. “That’s the address. I can’t guarantee what you’ll find. I’m so sorry about your daughter.”

I gave her my cell number. “Call me if anything comes up. You need to go to this Avion of yours and do whatever you need to do to keep it running.”

“But why? Is he going to destroy GIPETTO? Or share it with every other foreign power on the planet?”

“Med, I don't know and I don’t care. That's your job. You figure that out. I'm just going to find the bastard. Say it. Say you will do whatever it takes to keep that Avion running.”

Med seemed frozen in place, unable to answer. Then she held out her hand to me. “Give me your phone.” I must have looked puzzled by her request. “There’s a good chance that
Buzzworm
is tracking you with the GPS chip inside. That’s the last thing you need if you’re going into his home turf.” I handed the cell to her, a scarred flip phone. She threw it on the couch. “Get another phone somewhere. A burner at the mall. Call me on my cell when you get it so we can keep in touch.”

Med stood up. “You know I want to help you, Greg. But the Avion is like a nuclear missile in the wrong hands. It can do incredible damage to our country. I’m not sure if I can do what you want me to.”

“I am,” I said, and left, running for the elevator.