Spyder Web (30 page)

Grin returned to the main lab and scanned the MARC network screens and his message file. ‘The network is up and running again, with only a few users bitching about the downtime.’

‘If they don’t like our service,’Nolan replied, ‘they can just take their business elsewhere.’

Grin laughed hard enough that Kilkenny didn’t need the speaker phone to hear him. Both men knew that the MARC computer lab was one of the finest supercomputer facilities in the country, and one of only a few in the Midwest that was available to outside researchers.

‘Don’t let your old man hear you talking that unbusinesslike trash. After all, we exist to serve our customers.’

‘Thank you for that “total quality” reminder, Mr Demming. Now let’s see what our unwelcome guest is really made of.’

Kilkenny unwound a patch cable and connected his laptop computer to the interface connection on the bypass module. After loading the communications software that Iverson had provided, he accessed the joint memory of the two black cubes. A menu of options appeared on the laptop’s monochrome screen.

‘Hmm, what to do first,’Kilkenny mused while looking over his options. ‘I think I’ll request a listing of the Spyder’s operating code.’

‘Hold on,’ Grin’s voice called out from the speaker. ‘Let me get over there and pull up a chair. I’d love to see what makes this thing tick.’

Grin perched himself on the lab bench as Nolan made the request. Almost at once, the drive light on the laptop flashed on to indicate that information was flowing down the portable computer’s hard disk. A few minutes later, the download finished and Nolan checked the size of the file.

‘Boy, that program is a hog!’

Grin glanced down to the bottom of the screen, where a status line showed only twenty-two megabytes of disk space remaining on the laptop. ‘Good thing you had some room to spare. What now?’

‘If you’d be so kind as to bring that phone line over here, I’m going to transmit this file to Bill Iverson at Moy.’

Grin disconnected the phone and handed the line to Kilkenny. ‘Why not use the network? We’ve got a line into Moy, and it’ll go a lot faster than your modem.’

‘This is why,’ Kilkenny replied, pointing at the Spyder. ‘Big Brother is watching us. Here, call the number on this business card; it’s Iverson’s direct line. He knows your name; just tell him you’re with me and that we’re sending him the Spyder program.’

Grin slipped the card into his shirt pocket and began walking back to the main lab. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him to have plenty of disk space free.’

‘I think he’ll know what to expect.’

Grin made the call and, once Iverson was ready, Kilkenny began transmitting the file. Even with high-speed modems, the transfer took almost twenty minutes. Iverson signaled Kilkenny over the modem line that the download was successful. With that program in hand, Iverson could dissect the instructions that the Spyder’s controllers used to manipulate the device.

Grin returned to the lab as Kilkenny was reconnecting the phone. ‘What now?’

‘Wait and watch. This bypass will allow us to keep a closer eye on the Spyder than our jury-rigged laptop, and I’ll find out more about what happens next when I go to D.C. That reminds me-I’d better give Mosley a call.’

A mischievous smile appeared beneath Grin’s pointed goatee as he sat down in front of Kilkenny’s lap-top. ‘Well, while I’m just sitting around, maybe I’ll just take a little peek at that thing’s fancy hacker program.’

‘Grin, the Spyder is classified so high that no one in the government will even acknowledge that it exists.’

The tone in Kilkenny’s voice caused Grin to pause and turn in his swivel chair toward him. Kilkenny stood with his arms folded across his chest and a look of dead earnest on his face.

‘Let me give you a little fair warning, as one who knows firsthand about government secrets. Don’t let so much as one byte of that program out of this room or you and I might both find ourselves living in some dark hole in the ground.’

‘I know, I know.’ Grin pressed his hands against his heart with false sincerity. ‘Mosley read me the riot act yesterday. Rest assured, not one government secret will pass from my lips.’

Kilkenny accepted Grin’s word. ‘That said, let’s take a crack at it; I’m just as curious as you are about how they accomplished this. Also, see if you can stash a copy somewhere for future reference. I expect that once this is all over, we’ll be asked to turn over all materials related to the Spyder.’

Grin’s jaw dropped slightly before curling back into a smile. ‘Nolan Kilkenny, you sneaky devil! You read my mind.’

‘Great minds think alike, as they say.’

Kilkenny picked up the phone and dialed the number that Mosley had left with the MARC receptionist. After two rings, a receptionist answered and informed him that he’d reached the Detroit office

of the FBI.

‘Nolan Kilkenny calling for Cal Mosley, please.’

The operator put Kilkenny on hold as she made the connection.

‘How are you feeling, Nolan?’Mosley asked, his gravelly voice booming over the phone.

‘Been better, but I can’t complain. What are you doing at the FBI?’

‘The kind folks at the Bureau loaned me a little desk in the corner while I was in town. It’s not as cozy as my rabbit hole at Langley, but it beats working out of a hotel room.’

‘Very true. I’ve got two things I wanted to talk to you about. First, Iverson’s bypass is in place and working as advertised. I’ve already dumped the Spyder’s operating program and sent it off to Chicago.’

‘Good work. The FBI agents you were working with are out making the installations at the Internet servers. They should be back in Detroit on Thursday to monitor the situation with the Spyder.’

‘Grin will like that. I think he’s kind of sweet on Harbke.’

‘I heard that, Nolan!’ Grin shouted back, loudly enough for Mosley to hear. ‘My relationship with Special Agent Harbke is strictly professional.’

‘I stand corrected. Grin is interested only in Agent Harbke’s mind and has taken no notice of her other attributes.’

Mosley’s laugh roared through the receiver as a wadded-up ball of computer printouts struck Kilkenny’s chest.

‘I may be a gentleman, but I am not blind.’

Kilkenny threw his hands up for a cease-fire. ‘All right, Grin. I won’t speculate about your love life anymore.’

‘Thank you very much.’With a curt nod, Grin accepted Kilkenny’s surrender and sat down. ‘Now I can get back to work.’

‘That’s a strange guy you’re working with, Kilkenny,’ Mosley observed.

‘Grin is definitely a book you shouldn’t judge by its cover. The man is brilliant, but not without his eccentricities.’

‘So I’ve noticed,’Mosley agreed. ‘What was the second thing you wanted to discuss?’

‘The Washington trip. What’s the plan?’

‘We’re booked on Northwest flight one oh two two, a nonstop from Detroit to Washington leaving tomorrow morning at seven-forty-five. Bring any notes or material that you might think helpful. The DCI is a very inquisitive man, and he’s been known to grill guests at meetings like these. I expect that he’ll want to hear about your experience with the Spyder.’

‘I’ll see what I can scrounge up,’ Kilkenny promised. ‘See you in the morning.’

May 5

The flight arrived at Dulles on schedule, and Mosley and Kilkenny were met outside the arrival area by a CIA driver, who then collected their bags and drove them out into the Virginia countryside. After clearing security and outfitting Kilkenny with visitor’s credentials, Mosley guided him through the CIA’s labyrinth. The office building was packed like a beehive, with every inch of available space occupied by a desk or work surface. Mosley explained that most of this wing’s activities revolved around information analysis, the molding of raw data into something intelligible. The James Bond side of the business, Operations, was located elsewhere in the sprawling campus.

After an elevator ride to the seventh floor, they entered a conference room that was nearly full of guests and sat down near FBI agents Harbke, Ullrich, and Harmon. The conference room buzzed with the sound of several conversations going on simultaneously-a sense of urgency building among the participants. A well-dressed man with graying hair entered the room, flanked by a woman furiously scribbling notes, and they took their places at the head of the table.

‘Let me run down the list of players for you,’ Mosley offered, starting with the two who had just arrived.’That’s the DCI, Jackson Barnett, and his right hand, Sally Kirsch. Next to Kirsch is Phillip Moy, the founder of Moy Electronics, and Bill Iverson, whom you met last week. Seated on Barnett’s left is Kyle Lewis, the President’s national security adviser, and FBI director Bob Metcalf.’

‘A room full of heavy hitters. I guess I’d better watch my step.’

‘You got that right. It’s on my recommendation that Barnett asked you to be here, so don’t make me look stupid. It might mess up my next raise.’ The strained smile on Mosley’s face left Kilkenny wondering if he was serious.

Barnett stood and waited for the conversations in the room to die down. Under his steady gaze, the meeting quickly came to order. ‘Thank you all for coming. The topic, as most of you already know, is a serious breach of national security by an employee of this agency. Now we’ll discuss the steps that need to be taken to rectify the situation. The first slide, please.’

The lights dimmed and Barnett walked over to a lighted podium in the corner, where he could reference his notes as he spoke. The image that appeared on the large-screen wall monitor was a photograph of Michael Cole.

‘This is the late CIA computer specialist Michael Cole. During his Caribbean vacation last Christmas, Cole was the victim of an apparent diving accident.’

Barnett’s next slide showed a nautical map detailing the southern coast of Hispaniola. Scrawled on the map was a circle and an exact latitude and longitude. ‘A sportfishing boat recovered Cole’s body approximately three hours before he allegedly disappeared. Since that time, we have discovered that the circumstances surrounding his death pose a serious threat to our nation’s security.’

Barnett’s delivery carried all the presence of his days as a prosecutor. With a little imagination, Kilkenny could easily envision Barnett making his case before a jury in a court of law.

‘Two things immediately troubled us about Cole’s death. First, he acquired a large sum of money shortly before his death from a source as yet unknown. The second quandary revolves around Cole’s murder and the subsequent cover-up of that murder. What was Cole involved in that led to his death? To answer those questions, Cal Mosley of the CIA and Daniel Harmon of the FBI have been assigned to trace Cole’s activities in the weeks prior to his death. Cal, would you please continue?’

Mosley handed some slides to the technician running the projector, then took Barnett’s place at the podium. He quickly checked his notes while waiting for the next slide. ‘I believe that everyone in this room now has some familiarity with this device, the Moy Gatekeeper. Last year, the CIA assigned Michael Cole to work with Moy engineers in developing a modified version of this device for the CIA’s use in future covert operations. This new device is called the Spyder.’

Mosley asked for the next slide, and the new image showed a Gatekeeper and a Spyder side by side. ‘As you can see, the Gatekeeper and the Spyder are outwardly identical. Each device offers the same defensive capabilities to its host computer, but that’s where the similarity ends. The Spyder is an intelligence-gathering device designed to be planted inside the computer networks of a hostile nation.’

‘I would like to add something, Cal,’ Barnett interjected.’ The Spyder device is still considered experimental and the Agency currently has no plans to deploy one.’

The DCI nodded and Mosley continued his presentation.’ Until his death last December, Michael Cole was an integral part of the Spyder development team. His responsibilities included designing how the Spyder would operate once in place, the methods by which it would protect itself, and how it would deliver information to its controllers. Following the completion of this work, Cole went on vacation and was killed.’

Mosley took a drink of water. The next slide that came up was the Spanhaur photograph. ‘In piecing together the last months of Cole’s life, we found a connection to the two people highlighted on this picture, which was taken on the morning following Cole’s murder. The woman is a freelance writer named Alex Roe. We know very little about her, other than that she’s a highly respected journalist. The other person, British business consultant Ian Parnell, is another matter.

‘Now at this point in the investigation, we’ve uncovered a pair of suspects, but no clear motive. Help in establishing motive arrived on two separate fronts. Last February, we received information indicating the latest supercomputer designs from Moy Electronics had found their way to the People’s Republic of China via Hong Kong. Further investigation by British Intelligence has traced the illegal technology transfer back to Ian Parnell. Based on the evidence uncovered thus far, we believe that Cole was engaged in industrial espionage with Parnell and Roe against Moy Electronics. Somewhere along the way, their arrangement soured and Cole was killed. It was at this point that our investigation took an unexpected turn and Nolan Kilkenny entered the picture.’

Kilkenny nodded to the others at the table as Barnett made the introduction. ‘Nolan Kilkenny is a remarkable young man who recently left the navy to pursue a doctorate at the University of Michigan. Mr Kilkenny, the floor is yours.’

Nolan rose and walked to the podium. He asked for the previous slide, that of the Gatekeeper and the Spyder. The twinge of nervousness in the pit of his stomach surprised him. He’d given mission briefings before, but never one where half the audience reported directly to the President.