by Theo Cage
Her voice had dropped a register, something she did when she was talking and crunching data at the same time. "Greg, you know I’ve always been interested in social network sites for research? Like Facebook?"
I didn’t have to answer. She was light years ahead of me on that kind of stuff although I couldn’t imagine what that had to do with the Memorial Park disaster. She continued, “There’s been a lot of chatter on Facebook lately about something called Buzzworm. A lot of it is coming from CIA staffers with Facebook pages. Would there be any connection with your case?”
That question surprised me. Had it occurred to anyone at the CIA to check Facebook? I tried to answer her question. "I don’t understand the details, but Buzzworm is some kind of virus that is infecting their computers and communication systems."
I could hear her hitting more keys. She could easily type ten times faster than me with one hand “Almost all of the info I have is from insiders at the CIA complaining about how messed up their system is. And a lot more about specific attacks on character and reputation, personal information that no one should know about, some on video. Do you know about this?”
I coughed, causing a stab of pain to blossom right behind my eyes. “One of the suicides is linked directly to Buzzworm. Somehow. I don’t understand the details. I can tell you that Frank Scammel, the victim, was some kind of wunderkind when it came to manipulating video. And the CIA employee who was killed by a stray bullet was victim of some other kind of inter-office communication snafu.”
Stone continued to read from her information. “Scammel didn’t apply to the CIA. They drafted him. Which is unusual. He got his degree courtesy of the CIA. He started out working for a military supplier in Florida for a few years that created wartime field simulations – virtual reality gaming in the early days. Soldiers use them to train. When the company he worked for tanked, the CIA hired him to further a couple of simulation projects at NPIC.”
She had obviously been compiling data on the situation at the CIA. Ever the cynic, I asked, “Any unsolved child molestation cases in Florida when he worked there?”
“I saw that entry in NCIC. About the sexual molestation charge. Which also refers to a David Xavier, who met with him while in the lockup. We have info on him as well.”
“You know about Xavier?”
“Yeah. He does covert work for the CIA internationally, which makes sense because he travels quite a bit. I tried making a request to him a few months ago, to see if I could establish contact, but he denied the security request saying he was currently active and wasn’t available.”
“Working for Buzzworm?”
“There’s a lot more. Xavier has been very busy lately. He has links to a number of CIA employees. Intimately. One connection is Mary Ellen Duke. That’s been going on for about a year. Also, the woman who was killed by the stray bullet in the cafeteria at Langley – Coyne. He also had an ongoing relationship with her. Spent a week in Cancun. And a couple of other brief affairs as well. Xavier’s your virus. He’s screwing his way right into the heart of the agency.”
CHAPTER 38
Roger had been transported by squad car back to the Metropolitan Police HQ on Indiana Avenue, and then debriefed for several hours by an endless parade of unsmiling agents. As Homeland Security occupied the same building that housed Hyde and the Washington Police, Roger soon lost track of which department was questioning him. He was clearly a ‘celebrity’ of sorts based on the attention he was getting. He was being treated with the same forensic interest he imagined Charles Manson or Osama Bin Laden would receive. Everyone wanted to interview him, but no one seemed to trust what he had to say.
Finally, at a little after 2 AM, he received a call from the Canadian consulate. They had made arrangements for him to move from the hotel he had been staying at to a townhouse they managed in Georgetown. Is this what they called a safe house? But this arrangement was only for two days, at which time they had arranged a flight back to Canada and a quick return to Overton.
Roger had looked for Hyde and tried his cell phone without success. The last he’d seen of him, paramedics were applying bandages. He heard the injury wasn’t life threatening. Just very bloody.
In the cab over to Georgetown, Roger finally realized how close he had come to dying in the park. The whole week so far had an unreal quality. The media hadn’t yet picked up on the fact that the incident in the park wasn’t about terrorists. Everyone involved except him were Americans. One had even been wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. Like Hyde had said, this seemed less like terrorism and more like the start of a civil war.
A soon as he closed the door behind him in the sparsely finished townhouse, he collapsed on the sofa but couldn’t sleep. When his cell phone rang less than an hour later, he jumped up in a sweat, his nerves still on edge. It was Med. She needed to see him immediately.
She suggested they meet at a place called Billy Martin’s Tavern. For breakfast. The restaurant was only a few blocks away from the consulate safe house. Roger hadn’t shaved or showered and he told her so. She said there was no time for that.
When Roger arrived at Billy Martins, Med was already sitting in a booth, a large coffee cup in her hand. She was dressed in jeans and a UCLA sweatshirt. She looked like she had been crying.
"I’ve been trying to reach you,” Roger said, sitting down across from her. “Your cell phone isn’t working.”
Med frowned, took her phone out of her pocket, switched it on and started going through a menu. “It powers up, but it stopped working yesterday. I haven’t had time to …” She jumped back, tossing the phone across the tabletop. “Shit!” was all she said, loud enough this time to cause some diners two tables over to turn their heads.
Roger caught the phone and flipped it over. The menu display had one word emblazoned across the screen in bright red. Buzzworm. The text was animated, glowing, wriggling like a worm. And the phone was vibrating. He turned the phone over quickly, slid the back case off and removed the battery. He laid the pieces down on the tabletop. The way he was feeling right now, he would hardly be surprised to see the phone reassemble itself.
Med had moved as far as she could into the corner of the booth, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Roger looked at her. This was the same woman who defended herself against a stranger in a back alley. Still, the urge to hold her came over him. He had never felt that impulse before and it mildly unnerved him. “Does your phone have a GPS chip?” he asked carefully, not wanting to add to her panic.
Her eyes narrowed. “Most phones do and you don’t even know it. It’s just cheaper to build GPS into the basic circuitry.” She reached for her coffee and took a sip, her eyes still on the dead phone. “I made a point of buying one that didn’t have that particular feature. I know the CIA uses that technique all the time.”
“Technique?”
“You know, locating people by hacking their cell phone.” She said this as if it was a common daily occurrence.
“Did anyone follow you here?”
Med was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I walked for hours this morning not knowing where to go. I called you from a payphone somewhere. I don’t remember seeing any cars or anybody suspicious on foot.”
Roger looked around the Tavern. There were two tables occupied at the other end of the room. No one looked like a potential murderer, but he would have said the same about the strangers in the park. He tried to relax, to think straight, but it wasn’t working. Would they be safer on the streets? When you’re being chased by hired killers, it’s hard to imagine anyplace as safe.
He pushed the pieces of the phone to the far end of the table and then took his hands in hers. Her fingers were cold to the touch. She turned his palms up.
“You never told me what happened. How you hurt your hands,” she said, her hair hanging across her face, her voice low.
Roger exhaled slowly. “I was ten years old. And I found a website on how to make a pipe bomb. Sadly, no safety instructions.” He shrugged. “On the pos
itive side, I never had to take piano lessons again.”
Med shook her head, trying to force a smile. He didn’t want to spoil the moment, but he had no choice.
“Have you been watching the news about the shootings near the Lincoln Memorial?”
She looked up, a pained expression on her face. “It’s all over television. They’re talking terrorist attack.”
“I was there, Med.”
“What do you mean, there? You saw it?”
“They were after Hyde and they killed his partner.” Med froze. “We met to talk about Buzzworm.”
Med leaned forward, her voice low. “Who was it? What did they look like?”
It seemed like an odd question to Roger. “They looked just like two ordinary Joes. Like someone you would sit next to at a baseball game, eating a hot dog. ”
Med was shaken. She squeezed his hands in hers. “But they’re going after the police now. Who does that?”
“I don’t understand it, Med. Everyone’s gone crazy. Buzzworm has infected the entire government.” Roger waved at a young woman passing with a coffee pot. She brought over a cup for him and topped up Med. When she left, he completed his thought.
“Whatever they did to Scammel, they’re doing to others.”
Med considered the idea for minute. Roger could see clearly now that her eyes were red rimmed. Something had upset her and her voice didn't have the solid timbre he had grown used to. “So I’m curious,” he said. “You walked for hours and then called me?”
Med let go of his hands. "I’ve been a complete idiot and I needed to talk to someone about it. And you know, don't you?" He just stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Roger guessed she meant her boyfriend. “About Xavier?” The sound of his name seemed like a physical blow to her. She seemed to draw back. Roger had expected anger. "I figured out the virus was being brought in by CIA staff. And I traced the culprits — but I had no clue that an outsider was involved.” He let that soak in.
“You, Melissa, and several others were part of the scheme. Scammel obviously filled in the missing pieces.”
Med went white. “David was working with Scammel?”
“He also knew Melissa, who was bringing the virus in the same way you were. And a manager in Translation called Ellen something and some Muhammed in Finance. They were also using his intrusion files.”
“Now Frank and Melissa are dead …”
Roger interrupted her. “And Muhammed is missing.”
Med looked like she was about to say something. Roger waited, his nerves jumping every time the front door opened or a server walked past their table. They were targets now. He knew this absolutely.
Med was fighting back tears, but Roger could see that she was angry too. “I fell for the oldest trick in the book. And so did Melissa. And this Ellen I’ve never met. And the guy in Finance who’s gay. What kind of heartless..." She looked lost for a second, off in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.
Roger tensed. He could see now what she was inferring. Xavier had manipulated all of them, had gotten in close, had taken advantage in the worst possible way.
Med reached into her front jeans pocket, removed something, and dropped a handful of plastic and metal parts on the shiny plastic surface of the table. Roger recognized the USB connector and a flash memory board. But there was more.
Med took the knife from the table and pointed to a tiny chip lying in the rubble of parts in front of them.
“This was a gift from Xavier. That’s a GPS chip. I looked it up. BDA made it. A top military supplier. Pretty expensive and accurate to within a few feet.”
“He was tracking you?”
“Well, it could track my movements when I was carrying it and sometimes it was just plugged into my laptop or the computer at the office. But I did carry it around. I knew it was expensive and I didn’t want to lose it. Clever. Like a gold pen. You hang on to it because of the value.”
“It has wireless capability as well. When it’s plugged into a computer, it draws power from the system and can transmit data. I’m pretty sure it has a key logger circuit. It copies bots onto the host computer and even if you unplug the device, the program tracks every key press you make. When you reinsert the drive, it then transmits the results. It also has voice and screen monitoring.”
She pushed the parts towards Roger. Despite her anguish, he was impressed with the technology. "There’s your virus. David gave the thumb drive to me as a gift. I found out last night that when you plug this in, it communicates with the Net and gives a hacker complete access to your network. Very clever. Very nasty.” She emptied her coffee. “I should have known better."
“We need to go to the police and get this guy off the street and out of your life.”
She seemed to digest that. “Based on what? On him knowing Frank Scammel?"
"Hyde can tell us."
Med shook her head and sat back. “Forget it. I’m not putting my life at risk with the local police like you did. Buzzworm is monitoring their cell phone calls, probably tracking the crime database. They could be watching his email and text messaging for all we know. How do you think Buzzworm knew he was at the memorial?”
Roger felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Were they tracking him as well? He couldn’t bring himself to turn it off.
Med added, "Besides, if Jobime hears about this, she'll call security and they'll march me out like they did to you. Six years gone."
Roger hunched his shoulders, his face tense with frustration. He was tired of losing to Buzzworm at every turn. He made a decision. "I’m not going to run back home with my tail between my legs. Between the two of us, we should know enough to scramble Buzzworm’s plans.”
Med turned to him, surprised by his tone, but interested.
“Do you have an idea?”
“I’m no military expert, but I hear that doing what the enemy least expects, sometimes works.”
"What do they least expect?”
Roger drummed his fingers nervously on the table top, feeling like a skydiver about to leap into the void. “For you to call Mr. Xavier and arrange a dinner for two.”
CHAPTER 39
Med watched from her window on the fourteenth floor as David parked his Lexus at the front of her apartment building.
Her heart was racing so fast she felt light-headed. She was amazed that even from more than a dozen stories above, she could still sense his confidence, his charm.
That had always been the attraction for her; the fact that he was so clearly above others. She couldn’t say exactly how she knew that. He had his moments of arrogance, like a lot of men she dated. But David was different. She had never seen him where he wasn’t fully in control, and that frightened her now. She needed to confront him, and she had no idea how he was going to react.
At the door, he smiled and tried to kiss her. She moved away. He frowned slightly, surprised. They had never had an argument before. Was that another warning sign she had glossed over?
“David. I’ve been suspended.”
He cocked his head. He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, but she stepped away. “What do you mean?”
Med took a deep breath and met his eyes. “It’s about that flash drive you gave me.”
His face showed a sudden flash of anger, something she had never seen before. Mr. Control, losing control. “You got suspended over some USB device?” he asked.
She studied him for a minute; fascinated by the range of emotions she saw for the first time, anxious to push him. “Who are you really?”
He smiled, turning on the charm. “I’m just a man who loves you – or have you forgotten.”
“No, you’re a lying bastard.” The anger was coming out now. She was as mad at herself as she was at him, letting this attractive manipulator jeopardize company security and her career. “You used me. What makes you think you could get away with that?”
“Med. Let’s sit down and talk about this. I don’t know where you got th
is idea...”
“I’ve looked at that drive. You sent me a Trojan.”
David pushed past her, flung his camel hair overcoat over the couch in the living room. “Med, I don’t know what you are talking about. If this is computer jargon, you know I’m lost when it comes to …”
“That’s bullshit. I have the proof right here.” She opened her hand. Inside were the disassembled pieces of the key ring hard drive. “You used me for one thing.”
He walked slowly over to the floor-length window looking down on the street, his hands in his pockets. He looked slightly disappointed. He seemed to make up his mind then. He came back to her, his face blank. “Not one thing.”
“What?”
He turned and moved closer to her, his eyes hard. He smiled this time, but there was no charm in it. “Two things. Both key priorities. One, to get past your wobbly CIA security and fuck GIPETTO for good. And two, to do the same to you. Mission accomplished, I would say.”
Med couldn’t help but show her surprise. She took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “GIPETTO? You used me to get at our system? Who are you? What do you want?”
David glared at her, his breath on her face. She could see anger, but sensed something else. A terrible ambition. “Med, you’ve spent the last five years wasting your life on a project that will never see the light of day. Thanks to me.”
“You’re out of your mind, Xavier. Look at you. I never noticed before, but you really are the ugliest man I have ever met.”
He laughed at that. “How romantic. Our first lovers spat.” Then he pulled a gun smoothly from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He was surprisingly swift. She froze when she saw it. She didn’t expect this to go so fast.
He pushed her back against the wall and pressed the barrel into to her neck. “From all indications I would say the honeymoon is now officially over. Too bad. Fraternizing with the enemy can be fun.” He seemed to wait for her response. She never took her eyes off of his. The only sign of her reaction the reddening of her cheeks.
