Death of Secrets (20 page)

"They're not here? I just ran ten miles to find them here
and they're gone?"

Nathan sighed. So much for a quick answer. "Come on in and
sit down, you look terrible. Let me get you a glass of water."

John sunk into one of the room's cheap chairs, and Nathan
showed up with tap water in two disposable plastic glasses. John swigged one
down right away, and Nathan handed him the other one, then sat down on the bed.

"I haven't heard from Mike for too long," the NSA man
said. "I called and they didn't answer here, so I came out, hoping I could
find some clue to where they were."

John said, "I haven't heard from them since you did."

"What happened to you, anyway?"

John closed his eyes and leaned back. Mike had trusted this
guy, and he had helped them lose their tail before coming here. But on the
other hand, Mike had also trusted that other guy – John still didn't know his
name – and he hadn't proved to be that safe at all.

"I was outside the club, taking a smoke break, and
overheard two people saying they'd come to find out where Mike and Kathy were.
They said they'd learned they were here. They had a little debate about whether
it was safe to kill Mike, him being a Congressman and all. Then they found me
and caught me by surprise. Next thing I knew, I woke up in some six-by-six cell
tied to a chair. They beat me senseless, and said they'd be bringing some
specialist to drug me up to make sure they got the truth out of me."

Nathan's eyes had grown to the size of half-dollars. "Let
me get you some more water. What did they want the truth about?"

As he poured two more glasses of tap water, he heard John say,
"About how much Kathy knew about what was on the flash drive she
found."

Jacobs returned to the desk and gave John both plastic glasses.
He drained one and sipped at the other. "I broke out when they came back
with the specialist," the bouncer said between sips. "Idiot beat me
so hard he broke the chair, so I could get a hand free to untie myself. Then I
pulled the light socket out of the ceiling by its cord, and when the SOB
specialist showed up, I let him have a few volts right to the heart. Beat up
the other guy, too, then ran out. And ran. And ran. And finally I ended up
here."

Suddenly Jacobs bolted to his feet and grabbed for his cell
phone.

"Wassup?" John asked.

"I’m missing a meeting, gotta make a call," he
replied. Jacobs rummaged through his pocket until he found the scrap of paper
with Franken’s cell phone number on it, then dialed.

When he heard an answer he said, "Detective Franken,
Nathan Jacobs, NSA. Look, I’m going to miss our meeting, something came
up."

Franken, already sitting at the meeting place and enjoying a
cup of black coffee on the house, muttered under his breath. "Fine. Do you
still want to meet, or just put it off?"

Nathan frowned as he thought about it. He took off his glasses.
"Is any later tonight going to work?"

He heard a sigh on the other end of the line, and something
inaudible that seemed to be about never taking an irregular shift again.
"Well, I’m off duty for the night in an hour, but normally I’m a night
shift kinda guy, so I suppose I could still see you tonight if you
wanted."

"Hmmm. You gonna be up late? Wanna get together some time
around midnight?"

"Normal business hours for me, man, but I didn’t think you
feds worked our shifts. Sure, I can do midnight if you want. Let’s do the same
place."

"Got it, Detective. Thanks for your understanding. I’ll be
there."

Nathan sighed as he hung up. "I haven’t even met the guy
yet, and already he doesn’t like me."

John laughed, then winced. "Remind me not to do that for a
month, give the ribs time to heal."

"Man, who got you?" Nathan asked. "Did you get
any idea who we're dealing with here?"

John closed his eyes again. He did that to avoid peering
suspiciously at Nathan. He had a clear mental picture of the Neon Nightclub, a
group he saw there all the time. Some of their best customers. In this
all-too-clear memory, Mike sat at the table. On his left was the man from
Electron Guidewire – the one whose name he didn’t know. On Mike’s right was this
man, Nathan Jacobs. Now, Nathan had been pretty helpful so far. But if one of
Mike’s friends was in on this, who could say for sure that this one wasn’t too?
John had done a lot of thinking while he ran, and the one thing that kept
coming back was that someone was lying. Maybe the Electron Guidewire guy was
lying to Mike. Or maybe Mike was lying to him. But somebody was lying for sure,
and until he knew which somebody, John didn’t want to take any chances. If
Nathan wasn't on the level, John didn't want to give him any warning that he
was onto him.

Finally he said, "I recognized one of them for sure,"
he replied. "That rat who doesn't shave, who's been on us since day one of
this thing. Name’s Carlos."

Nathan's shoulders slumped as he sat on the bed. "Unfortunately,
that doesn't put us any closer to them. Knowing his first name and what he
looks like isn't enough to come after him where he lives. We've got to find a
way to take the fight to them."

Jacobs looked off into the distance when his cell phone rang.

He raised the instrument to his ear and heard, "Chief,
we’ve got him!"

The caller was from his office, and Jacobs didn’t even have to
ask. The elusive hacker who they’d first discovered when he fell for one of
their decoys. The effort to trace him had not gone well, with subsequent
connections never lasting long enough to be traced.

"Got the trace running already?"

Upon getting an affirmative answer, Jacobs announced that he
was coming in to Fort Meade.

"By the time you get here I expect we’ll have him traced."

Jacobs hung up. "Want to come with me to the office, John?
I want to hear more about this crap you’ve been through. There’s got to be a
clue in there somewhere. But right now I need to go down to the office. We’ve
got a line on someone we’ve been tracking for quite some time. We’ve also
probably got someone around who could put some antibiotics on those cuts of
yours."

John shrugged and agreed. He knew that the bad guys knew about
this place, and if Mike and Kathy had left in a hurry, that meant they’d
probably been attacked here. He didn’t figure they’d be back to this hotel room
any time soon. "OK, I’ll come. Let’s take Mike’s computer along," he
suggested. "I don’t think he’ll be back here for it."

Nathan nodded. "I suspect you’re right." He hurried
through the process of shutting the machine down and unplugging it from the
wall, then he and John hurried out of the room, heading for NSA Headquarters.
Jacobs didn’t feel any particular sensitivity to speed limits tonight. He was
in the office less than forty minutes later, John tagging along behind him.

"Talk to me," Jacobs said, striding through the door
where his people were at work.

The agents in the office gave John a curious glance, then one
reported to Nathan. "He’s still on, chief. Must be doing serious business
tonight. He’s built himself three proxies already and working on a
fourth."

Jacobs nodded eagerly. "But you got the trace?"

"Oh yeah. Right away." A colleague gave him the
location and then added, "We’re just watching him now, trying to catch him
in the act."

Jacobs picked out one of the men who didn’t seem overly busy
and asked him to run and fetch a first aid kit. "This is John," he
said. "He’s a friend, had a bit of a scrape tonight. I want his help with another
project of mine, so don’t run him out to a hospital or anything, but see if
we’ve got anything to clean him up a bit."

John followed a young agent out of the room, thinking that, of
all places, he ought to be safe from any backstabbing here. Of course, he
didn’t know what Kathy and Mike were thinking about Nathan Jacobs at that
moment.

Nathan watched John leave, then pulled a chair up to the work
area and flipped it around backwards, so he could rest his arms on the chair’s
back as he sat. He noticed a six pack of Mountain Dew on the desk with four of
the cans gone, and felt no compunctions about grabbing one for himself. At this
late hour, guzzling soda pop and staring at a computer screen, all of them
forgot entirely about the trappings of federal power surrounding them. It was
just like being back in college, up late at night playing an online game.

Jacobs chuckled. The desk even looked like his old desk back in
college – the entire work surface covered in papers, obeying a filing system
that only the owner would ever understand. Even the keyboard sat on top of what
looked like a report.

His reverie was interrupted when one of the agents swore and
asked, "Do you realize who he just connected to?"

Jacobs looked at the screen, quickly finding the number that
represented the IP address their quarry had just attacked. It looked familiar,
but he couldn’t quite place it.

When his boss didn’t answer right away, the other man blurted
it out. "EG! He’s hacking Electron Guidewire!"

Nathan blinked. Then he blinked again. "You’re
right," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. EG worked on a
myriad of different computer projects at any one time, most of them for the
government. But Jacobs knew of only one where Tilman had reported trouble. GigaStar.
He reached in his pocket for his cell phone.

"Who’re you calling?" his colleague asked.

"EG. We can only watch him from here, but they can put a
stop to it from their location."

The other agent nodded, and Jacobs went on. "Wake up the
FISC judge, we’re gonna nail him!"

The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court was a special
court for America’s intelligence agencies to get warrants when they needed
search permissions but also needed secrets kept. In this case the applicability
was borderline – the criminal they were after was likely to be a domestic
criminal, not a foreign spy. But the involvement of Electron Guidewire, working
on one of the NSA’s newest projects, gave him an excuse to suspect a foreign
intelligence agency was involved.

They went back down the same hallway they’d come up, and passed
through the room where they’d first met Jakarta. The next door from there led
them into a small kitchen with a square table and three chairs. There was no
other door out but the one they’d entered through.

Mike sat down at the table and accepted a bottle of beer from
Jerry. Kathy took one too, and then took a couple pretzels from the offered
bag. Once he’d supplied a bit of food, Jerry disappeared back out the door.

"What're you thinking, Mike?" Kathy asked, seeing his
frown.

"I'm thinking I want to have a word with Nathan, and find
out what he's thinking. I don't believe he just lied to me flat out. There must
be more to this."

Kathy scooted closer to him and wrapped her arm around his
shoulder. "Maybe he didn't know?"

"He'd have to know. He's the go-to guy at the NSA for high
tech stuff. All the evidence makes it look like he lied to me about what that
thing can do. But he’s been my friend forever. I want to believe there’s
something I don’t know."

After a moment Kathy said, "I guess I've always thought
politics would make a person used to backstabbing and stuff." She trailed
off and squeezed Mike's shoulder.

He shook his head, pushing the subject away for now. "I
always thought of Nate as just a good guy with a job that he wasn't able to
talk much about." He sighed and muttered. "Well, that's me. D.W.
always said that being too trusting was my worst political weakness."

Kathy gently ran her hand up and down Mike's back. "You do
alright on who you trust, Mike. Look at me."

His head rotated to look at her, and his face changed swiftly
from dark to light. "I trust you more than anyone else, Kathy."

He reached slowly to her and brushed the hair aside, and she
allowed it. Mike moved his face closer to hers, but she shook her head, smiling
to soften it.

"I can’t do it that way Mike."

He backed up slightly, hurt and surprised.

Kathy laid her hand over his. "I like you Mike. I like you
a lot. But guys… I mean,
a guy
, that’s not something to do just for
happiness, or just because it feels good. Whatever happens between me and a guy
– me and you, maybe…" She stopped, then tried again.

"I’m sorry. For the past two years I’ve been getting mad at
guys for not understanding this, and now I find that I don’t know how to say it
any better than they do.

"If anything’s going to happen between me and you, it’s
going to start with God. That’s what I know how to say."

Mike thought that was one more thing than he knew how to say at
that moment.

His eyes grew a little wider as he found a new thought in his
head. He wasn’t getting a chance to kiss her. Instead, he was getting a chance
to know her. Wasn’t that better?

The only words that seemed to fit were, "Tell me
more."

Kathy smiled. "You tell me more."

"Well…" Mike stammered. "I guess I know what
everyone else knows. Created the world in seven days, made a flood and an ark,
etc. etc."

Kathy gave him a broad smile. "Let’s set all that aside
for now. Do something with me."

She took his hand in hers, and Mike happily let her.

"God, please help Mike and me."
When she didn’t say anything else, Mike asked, "Was that it?"

She laughed. "Let’s just see where it goes."

***

Colleen watched as Jakarta set up his chain of intermediary
computers to conceal his identity. "How many proxies total?" she
asked, using the more technical term for the intermediaries.

"Four," he replied. "Any attempt to backtrack
this is going to be really, really hard."

"Not impossible, though," Colleen said.

"That's true," he replied. "There's no such
thing as perfectly untraceable. But the odds of being able to do it are very
low. That's why I go with four proxies. Somewhere along the line, someone's
going to screw up. Making the line that long makes it much more likely they'll
make that mistake, and that's what I count on."

He changed the topic slightly and said, "In a decent
world, it wouldn’t be this hard to be anonymous online. People go around
posting their anonymous comments, and turning on their private browsing when
they want to look at dirty websites, and they’ve got no idea that their
Internet provider knows every bit of that. Every video you watch, every drunk
tweet… the phone company sees it all, and so does the government. Thought
Recognition is just the latest way the Internet is changing what privacy
means."

Colleen said, "What you’re talking about doesn’t
change
privacy. If the technology is used, it’s literally the
end
of
privacy."

Jakarta nodded, not looking at her.

Colleen sighed and shook her head. "I’m not political at
all. But I guess I’m not surprised the government would do this. It just makes
me more cynical."

He nodded. "I’m a little bit more political than you are.
I'm very defensive about my privacy. If you can’t even keep your thoughts to
yourself…" He trailed off and shrugged.

Colleen gave him a long, significant look. "If you can’t
even keep your thoughts to yourself, then you couldn’t keep your real name a
secret either."

He smiled at her. "Since it’s just you… Hugh. Hugh
Collins."

Jakarta turned his attention away from the pretty girl who was
showing so much interest in him, and back to the screen. "OK, let's do
this thing. We're connected to EG's public server."

***

Carlos Saglieri stood at his window facing away from the door
of his office. A frown spread across his lips. He gazed out at the vacant
loading dock below. It was a far cry from the view he'd wanted out of life.

Once upon a time, he'd been a federal law enforcement agent. It
hadn't been a bad life. Carlos had loved the look of fear in a suspect's eyes
when he came into the interrogation room. He'd loved the way people had backed
up when he flashed his badge, and the way local cops hustled out of his path
when he and other agents took over a case. But eventually a case had been
thrown out of court when the suspect claimed he'd been beaten into a confession
and Carlos's career as a G-man had come to an end. He wished he'd known J.
Edgar Hoover – in his day, Carlos would have been celebrated instead of being
fired.

All that was past. Carlos looked at it as his chrysalis. He had
emerged as something far greater.

Or rather, on the cusp of something far greater. He was very
nearly there. Oh so nearly. He only needed to see the GigaStar program through
to completion. For that he needed Tilman – only Tilman had the political
connections to get it through Congress. But Tilman also needed him. If Congress
found out the truth about the GigaStar, it would never pass. And if Katherine
Kelver needed to die to make sure no one found out the truth about GigaStar,
well, that was where Carlos came in.

Tilman had shown real foresight in hiring him, Carlos thought,
not without a smug smile. He remembered the initial meeting quite well. He'd
received a card in the mail, inviting him to the Neon Nightclub.

Carlos had never gone before, but it turned out to be a dance
club – a bit, Carlos thought upon entering, like being inside a music video. He
would have turned around and walked out, but for the same thing which had lured
him here in the first place.

That card was a very expensive linen cardstock with a
handwritten note. "If the government can’t use your skills, I can."

The ink smeared when he ran his thumb over it – real hand
writing, not something faked by a computer. Someone wanted him here – someone
who wouldn't give his name. It smelled like intrigue, and that was what Carlos
wanted. It was, after all, the best way to advance quickly in the world.

So he stayed at the Neon, and made his way toward the bar. He
had to cross several different dance floors to get there. When he'd finally
reached the bar area, Carlos found a crowd around it six deep, making it
essentially impossible to get in close enough to order.

Fortunately, someone put a drink in his hand.

He looked to his right, prepared to turn down an invitation to
the dance floor. But the face of the man standing there showed no interest in
dancing. He wore a suit and tie. He was balding, and wore his hair slicked
back, revealing just how high his hairline had gone.

When he spoke, the volume of music in the room made it next to
impossible to hear him. It would also, Carlos realized, make a tape recorder or
microphone useless. "I hope you'll forgive the meeting place," the
man said. "I didn't want to be overheard."

Carlos only nodded. Out the corners of his eyes, he watched the
crowd of young people whirl around them, lost in the loud music and flashing
strobe lights.

"I understand you need a job," the man continued.
"And judging by your background, I doubt you're looking for something
behind a desk."

Carlos didn't ask the man how he knew – talking about his
record in law enforcement was his way of demonstrating his seriousness –
demonstrating just how "inside" he was. The man before him was a
player, of that there could be no doubt. But for what team? Carlos replied by
asking. "Agency, foreign, or private?"

His potential employer gave a respectful nod at the question.
Both of them had to establish their
bona fides
, after all.
"Private. Interested?"

Carlos gave a noncommittal shrug.

"The salary would be more than generous," the man
said, trying to draw him out.

"Money is only the playing piece. I want to know what game
I'd be playing."

The man said, "I think you'll like it."

Now, remembering, Carlos smiled. Yes, he had enjoyed the game
so far – new identity and all. That had been the one thing that almost kept him
from taking the job, but he'd decided that his old self was a wash-up and a
failure, and there wasn't much point in being him anymore. Tilman explained it
as necessary because his company would do so much work with his former
employers. But in the end, Carlos didn't care that much about the reason.

Tilman' operation was about power, plain and simple. It was
such a delightfully vicious circle. With the government as his chief client,
Tilman was able to tap into the greatest revenue stream on Earth – the federal
budget. And with money to burn – or more accurately, to funnel into political
campaigns – he could manipulate the government. He'd made himself, his company
and not least his Director of Security filthy rich over the ensuing years.

Now, they were on the verge of the greatest score yet. GigaStar
would do more than line their pockets with more money. It would give them the
fountain from which money flowed. GigaStar would give them information –
uncounted terabytes of information. And in a town like Washington, where
secrets could kill, knowing all the secrets would make them kings.

He allowed himself a rare smile, and gazed one last time out
the window. But he didn't see a parking lot. He saw a kingdom, and it stretched
far beyond Reston.

To his surprise, the phone rang. He sat down at his desk and
picked up the receiver. His eyes snapped all the way open when he heard the
voice on the other end.

"Carlos, Nate Jacobs at the NSA. You guys have a hacker on
your system right now. Can you do anything about it?"

"Now? Right at this very moment?"

"Yeah, we’re tracking the guy. He stumbled across one of
our decoys and used it as a proxy. He just crashed your web server, Carlos, get
on there and kick him off."

Carlos turned in his swivel chair to look at his PC.
"Crap, my computer’s powered down."

***

"So we’re through the firewall?" Colleen asked.

Jakarta said, "Yes," and then kept typing, firing off
several of the little packets of information at the EG servers. Responses fed
back to his screen until one of them showed a weakness.

"Yes!" The exclamation came from both Jakarta and
Colleen at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

***

Carlos couldn’t stay in his chair. He whirled and walked away
from his desk, then stomped back to it so he could pound his fist on the table.
It was precisely the opportunity he needed, and he was going to miss it!

He’d slammed the phone down on the NSA after telling them,
"I’m on it right now." But the trouble was, his computer had been
off. Now, watching the desktop finally appear and waiting for the cursor to
become responsive, he ground his teeth and waited.

***

As Jakarta navigated the computer screen, Colleen tried a bit
of small talk.

"How do you guys afford this place, anyway?"

Jakarta turned away from the screen for just a moment and
grinned, showing his teeth. "The sum in one's bank account is a simple
computer record, after all."

Colleen gasped. "I never imagined. This whole place is
paid for with stolen money?"

He shrugged and turned back to the screen. "More like
created money. I simply add to the bank's holdings, I don't take it away from
anyone else."

She whistled. "Sheesh. I could do a lot with unlimited
money."

He made two more mouse clicks and a couple keystrokes.
"What would you do?" he asked, turning back to face her.

Colleen blinked a couple times. "Well… I guess the same
things everyone would do. Take a cruise, buy a Ferrari, whatever."

He laughed. "That’s not much of a list for unlimited
wealth. I like that about you. Expecting possessions to make you happy is a
sign of low character."

The computer made a noise, and he turned his full attention
back to the computer. "OK, Colleen, this is it. We're in their internal
network now. Next stop, the GigaStar project.