The Premise

by Andy Crossfield

  Ramy slowly sat at his desk and held his head in his hands. "Mark, how could this happen?"

  "I’m not sure, but we can’t tip our hand now my friend, there’s too much at stake to get all loopy over something we can’t change! Besides, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll tell you about one of my constructs to counter just this sort of thing…."

  "Constructs?" Ramy said, as he lifted his head to look at Mark.

  "My term for a booby trap in the program. Call it a friendly worm. You see, you were so occupied with the building security around here, it got me thinking of how valuable the program was, and how I should add my own security to be on the safe side.

  "I inserted a tiny line of code, embedded it really, so it would activate on any attempt to steal it. It’s designed to ping our home computer and reveal the IP address of any unauthorized processor that tries to run Termes."

  "Mark!" Ramy replied with the expression of a man hearing of his unexpected reprieve. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

  "Just to see your expression right now! That, and job security… how much would you need me around here if the project was stolen? Not much I’d guess."

  "This worm of yours, uh, will it disable Termes?" Ramy asked as his mind began grasping the possibilities of the new development. Before Mark could answer, Ramy had more questions.

  "Can they modify our data? Will it infect the host computer? Can it defeat a firewall… undetected?"

  "Hold on now… this was over a year ago Ramy. To tell you the truth I’d almost forgotten I added it. Let me think, …."

  "No, it will not disable Termes per se, but it will set up a feedback loop that will tie up the processor unless they shut down completely. That should make the value drop and will probably insure destroyed credibility of anyone who tries to sell it.

  "No, they can’t modify our data. Outside of the feedback loop, it will not infect the host so that law enforcement can prosecute anyone caught with our program on their computer.

  "Yes, it can bypass a firewall to send the ping because it doesn’t attempt to convey its message using email or anything unusual…the thief’s computer sees the message as a benign ping. It notifies us of its location by pinging my lab in a distinctive pattern."

  "Absolutely ingenious Mark, but when were you planning on telling me you added this to the program?" Ramy’s expression was both puzzled and grateful, like a prisoner finding out his cell door had been unlocked the whole time.

  "Never. I hoped it would never be necessary, but I’m guessing you’re glad I did now!"

  "How soon do you think the thieves will try to install it?"

  "No telling," guessed Mark, "but I’ll bet they’ll want to see what they have ASAP so they can get a better idea as to its worth. I’d be surprised if we didn’t get a signal in a day or two."

  "Okay, I’ll keep Security investigating the scene here, and you let me know immediately when you hear the ping. Mark, I know I don’t have to tell you how important this is. If Termes is made public, it’s the gallows for us. Let me know the minute you hear anything, capiche?"

  "Plan on it buddy." You know I’m not wild about ties, particularly ones made out of rope!"

  Ramy’s intercom buzzed. "Dr. Basra? Harvey here. We found some broken glass and blood on the roof. Looks like our suspect got out a skylight and down the building on the southwest corner. The trail goes dead from there though."

  "Okay, Harvey, keep me posted. I want this son of a bitch, okay?"

  Mark got up and headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?" Ramy asked.

  "Just playing a hunch. Probably nothing but I’m gonna check it out. I’ll stay in touch."

  Mark drove out of the Institute and down the tree lined road toward the interstate. Chicago was unusually nice for so late in the year. He put the top down and continued south for another twenty miles and took the exit toward Mooreland. When he was sure he wasn’t being followed, he pulled into the Regal Inn parking lot and sat in his car waiting and checking the time.

  After almost an hour, a blue Mercedes pulled in beside Mark. A minute later, Walter Convive got out, opened the trunk, retrieved an overnight bag, and went into room 104.

  Mark followed after him and knocked softly on the door.

  The chained door opened a few inches and Walter said, "Were you followed?"

  Mark shot back; "Do you think I was followed? Do you think I’d lead them here so they could arrest us and put us both in prison?"

  "You’re a smart ass, you know that?"

  "Just open the door before somebody sees me, for God’s sake."

  Walter slipped the chain and opened the door. Mark pushed past and the door closed behind him.

  "Nobody told me about the glass…I cut up my freaking hands getting out of the skylight. They’ll find the blood and be on to me soon, I’ve got to get to Mexico tonight!" Walter whined.

  "Yeah?" Mark mocked, "well nobody told me the job was today! You could give me some warning, you know!"

  "Not possible. If we had ever met, or you knew it was going down today, you would have acted suspicious. This way you were in character, and nobody suspected a thing."

  "You can say that again…I actually thought you were from Concordia! When did you swap my badge anyway?"

  "When you were cleaning up and I reached for another towel… that stuff is terrible!"

  Mark chuckled at the thought of Walter’s face contorted in a grimace after tasting his brew at the lab. Then his grin faded and he remembered time was of the essence. He needed to get down to business and get out of there.

  "You bring the money? I did my part, you know," Mark said, hurrying the meeting along.

  "Three hundred thousand in cash, like we promised. It’s over there on the bed." Walter said as he nodded over his shoulder as he packed.

  Mark saw the money lying in stacks near the overnight bag and started toward it. In the picture over the bed, he caught a reflection of Walter reaching for a pistol in his waistband. Acting with an instinct that surprised him, Mark drew his .38 from its shoulder holster and fired as he dropped hard to the floor.

  Mark’s shot found its mark, and Walter staggered back a few steps, slamming against the wall. His face looked contorted in pain and puzzled at the same time. Then his eyes went distant as he slid down the wall, leaving a red smear. Mark’s bullet hit him center left in the chest.

  Mark scrambled to his feet, raising his gun to fire again as Walter began making gurgling sounds and his body slowly slumped over onto its side, lifeless. Mark collapsed on the bed, trying to catch his breath and overcome with emotion but still holding his gun on Walter until the gurgling stopped. The realization of how close he'd come to getting killed swept over him and made his whole body shudder. His mind raced with the reality of what just happened. Walter had the drop on him… why didn't he shoot? He reached down with his foot and pushed Walter's torso back up against the wall. Mark could then see what had saved him. Walter's gun had gotten stuck in his waistband. He never got a chance to shoot!

  "Serve's you right you double crossing bastard!" Mark shouted as he kicked Walter's body over on its side again.

  He reached for the money and stuffed it in the duffel. His heart was pounding as he quickly surveyed the room, trying to recall what he had touched while he’d been there, but was unable to come up with anything. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and frantically began wiping down everything in sight, then opened the door and wiped down the doorknob on both sides. Taking the towel, Mark flipped the duffel strap over his shoulder and slipped out of the room right into a domestic quarrel going on two rooms down. Mark kept his gaze down toward the ground. He couldn’t be sure if they noticed him or not, but he resisted the urge to look in their direction. He got in his car and drove out the back of the lot and into traffic headed back toward Chicago.

  Not exactly as planned, Mark thought as he tried to assess his situation. Except for the tremors in his hand, he seemed remarkably in control
for a man who had just killed a perfect stranger. He began to run scenarios through his mind. He wanted to search the room, but he knew the longer he stayed on scene the more evidence he would leave, and the greater chance someone would find him there. The only thing he was sure of at the moment was that he would not return to the scene. He began shaking from an adrenalin rush as he drove, and had to keep reminding himself to drive a bit faster than the speed limit so as to not draw suspicion.

  The more he thought of what he’d done, the more agitated he became. He tried hard not to panic, but he couldn't push the thought from his mind that the whole scheme was unraveling. Mark thought back to that chance encounter with an old friend at a conference in Boston. Now he wondered if it was really by chance or carefully planned.

  Mark had never thought of himself as a potential spy, or even unappreciated at work until William Downs, a friend from school, made his proposition. The more he talked, the more Mark resented the long hours and lack of recognition at IFT. He remembered how William called it "just compensation" for Mark’s years of contributions to science. Mark began to think of the money Downs offered as a retirement fund, earned and richly deserved for his long years of service.

  Mark’s part in the plan was to be easy enough. Allow William to copy his employee badge and then just act normal. Sometime in the next two months, there would be an "incident". When it happened, come to that fleabag motel and collect $300,000 in cash! Simple.

  Mark glanced down and noticed his speed was up to eighty and he slowed back to seventy as an ambulance went shrieking past him, refocusing him on driving but setting his nerves on end.

  He had only brought the gun to protect himself. A necessary precaution he decided upon since he would be carrying so much cash… he never dreamt Walter would get greedy. Mark had never killed anyone, not even thought about killing anyone! He slammed his hands on the steering wheel out of frustration at his plan disintegrating as it had.

  He tried to make sense of what just happened. Perhaps it was not Walter who was greedy Mark thought, but William Downs…his mind began flashing images of Walter's body and William's convincing story. Mark had a hard time focusing, darting from one scenario to the next. Maybe it was William Downs who gave the order to tie up the loose end previously known as Mark Moran…

  Mark’s mind seized on another consequence of the crime. Would it be better if the police found the thumb drive that could lead them to the break-in, or should he have searched the room and taken it with him? Geez, he’d never planned on killing Convive!

  Things were happening too fast.

  Mark realized he caught a break with the argument outside the room. The shouting must have masked the sound of the gunshot because nobody came running toward them; or perhaps the high rate of crime in that section of town paid an unexpected dividend. Like a too-frequent car alarm, the shot may have simply been ignored.

  He tried to imagine the scene that the investigating officers would discover in a few hours. A body slumped along the wall, shot once in the chest, a pistol halfway out but stuck in his waistband. No sign of forced entry. No telling what ID he had on him. Mark didn’t know if the car Walter drove was a rental, or how he paid for the room, but none of that would come back on him since he wasn’t involved at that point.

  Walters’s hands were cut up, but there was no broken glass on the scene. That would ring alarm bells with the cops for sure. He was shot once with a .38, leaving no casing. Mark made a note to go back over the Coleman Bridge and dispose of the gun in the river, then head over to the gun range and shoot some targets to alibi the GSR in his car.

  "Oh shit!" Mark suddenly yelled, realizing a crucial piece he’d overlooked. "My badge!"

  He wondered if Walter was smart enough to destroy the Institute badge that he had stolen from Mark to gain entrance to the sixth floor. It would lead them directly to the Institute and open all sorts of questions about the theft.

  The tremor returned in Mark's hand and his breathing became shallow and quick.

  It was only a matter of time before the police would link the break-in at work to the murder. Walter’s death would indicate an accomplice… but mysteriously, one who hadn’t taken Termes. Mark knew the police would wonder why Walter would go to the trouble of stealing the program and then not take it. Mark’s mind began to calculate possible scenarios that would explain the evidence but he didn’t know much else of what the police would find in the room, which made his scenarios shaky at best.

  Maybe this has a tidy ending, Mark thought, grasping at any positive outcome he could conceive. He kept the money, Walter was dead, and Ramy got back Termes…everybody’s happy!

  Mark then thought of William Downs. He would not be happy to have lost $300,000 and Termes, and Walter. He knew he would have to get out of Chicago… tonight.

  He tried to think of cover stories to calmly insert into the conversation when he got back to the lab, but Mark couldn’t think of anything that would be urgent enough to make him leave the crisis at IFT. Ramy had been suspicious of his abrupt departure as it was.

  He reached for his phone to call Ramy and check in, when the phone started ringing in his hand. "Hello?" Mark said, not recognizing the caller ID.

  "Mark? I was trying to get Dr. Mark Moran," said a glossy female voice.

  "This is Mark. Who’s this?"

  "Mark, oh thank God! Mark, you may not remember me but I took Charlie Rassner’s place at the University of Chicago… four years ago? It’s Colleen, Mark, Colleen Baker."

  "Oh, hello Dr. Baker" Mark’s flat tone covered poorly for his inability to remember who this person was.

  ‘Say, it really isn’t a good time for me right now…." Mark began.

  "Oh, I’m sorry to call out of the blue like this, but something’s occurred in my research and I was hoping for a consultation. Could I call you next week?"

  "Uh, what kind of occurrence?" Mark asked, trying to stall long enough to place the attractive voice on the phone.

  "Oh, it’s a long story I’m afraid, I shouldn’t like to spoil the ending. But it is intriguing and I felt you would be very interested in my discov– er, research. Is anytime in the next week good for you for a phone consultation?"

  "As I said, Doctor, I’m pretty occupied at the moment. Isn’t there someone else with whom you could consult?"

  "Well, I suppose," said Colleen, pausing while she thought how to present her request another way. "It’s just that you are the most brilliant geneticist I’ve ever known, and my research is so avant garde… I seriously doubt anyone else’s opinion could be of use…."

  Mark sighed. He saw through her flattery easily enough, but also remembered how he himself had struggled for recognition and his own first big break.

  "A phone consultation you say?"

  "Yes Mark, one hour, tops!" Colleen pressed. "I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you are?"

  "All right," Mark sighed, "um how about two, in the afternoon?"

  "Wonderful Mark, I really appreciate it!"

  ‘Sure, that’s fine Dr. Baker, just call me then all right?"

  ‘Say," Colleen continued, "in the meantime, I’ll get my work copied and sent over to your office by messenger. Dr. Moran, er, Mark, I really appreciate your taking the time for this! I’m not sure you remember, but I sat in on several of your genomics classes at Loyola. I thought you were brilliant! In a big way, you are responsible for me going into research instead of medicine."

  Mark was just about to tell Colleen he had to go, when the line went dead. He wasn’t sure if she hung up on him or if the call dropped; the area had very poor reception.

  He tried to call Ramy but couldn’t get through. No service. "Aggggh!" He threw the phone into the passenger seat and tried to remember where he was in his "investigation".

  Disposing of the gun in the river and dropping by the shooting range took two hours. Mark falsified the gun range log sheet by squeezing his name onto the page for the day before. He knew that wouldn’t hold up under sc
rutiny, but on first blush it could be helpful to have been at the range a day before all this happened.

  When his service returned, his phone alerted him of an urgent message from Ramy. He returned the call on his way back to the lab. He was glad Ramy didn’t ask him what his hunch was, because he could only think of the lame excuse of looking for blood trails in front of nearby convenience stores and pharmacies, hoping to find the one the thief would have gone to for supplies to bandage his hands. Instead, Ramy wanted Mark back immediately, saying he had something urgent to discuss with him that couldn’t be said on the phone.

  Chapter 6 The Better Mousetrap

  Colleen continued speaking for almost a minute before realizing the line was dead. When she realized she had been cut off, she felt suddenly foolish. Trying to impress a former professor she hadn’t seen in years with work she hadn’t yet proven was just amateurish, she realized. At least tomorrow she would get a chance to improve her awkward first impression. She stored Mark’s number in her phone.