First Thrill

by Steve Richer

  His heart beat faster as his enthusiasm grew.

  A quick Internet search was enough to discover that Azinger Security’s corporate headquarters were located in Toronto. Jeff put on his suit, the cheaper one, and drove to the Ottawa Train Station where he boarded a VIA Rail corridor train bound for Toronto, with a quick stop in Kingston. The ride took four hours and at 11:30 Jeff reached the high-rise on Yonge Street.

  He walked into the building and approached the elevators. It was Saturday, certainly not the busiest day of the week, but Jeff supposed there would still be employees able to answer his questions.

  He thought about using his RCMP badge to be let into the higher offices, but figured that they would see through his ploy. Mounties had most definitely contacted them about the case and a new agent would set off all kinds of bells. He rode the car to the third floor and walked to a bored receptionist.

  “Hi, I’d like to see the big boss around here.”

  Jeff had intentionally lowered his voice and made a point to let his eyes dart around the room. He looked like a paranoid geek.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Azinger isn’t in this weekend.”

  “Who is the highest ranking employee in the office today? I’d really appreciate speaking with that person. It’s really important that I speak with the most important member of your company today.”

  It took all his willpower not to burst into laughter at his made-up self-importance and exaggerated jitters.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Jeff Riley. My name is Jeff Riley. That’s what people call me. I have some information that your company will absolutely love.”

  The young Asian woman sported a puzzled look. She typed a few keys on her keyboard and it was obvious computers were as foreign to her as the bovine gastric system. She grabbed the phone and dialed in three digits.

  “Mr. Kozar, I have a gentleman here who says he has information that you would like to hear.” She was quiet for a few seconds while she listened to her instructions. “Very well, sir.”

  She hung up and turned to Jeff again. “If you could just take a seat, it shouldn’t be long.”

  Jeff nodded and walked to the tiny waiting area made up of four chairs and a stack of magazines even his dentist would be ashamed of. Six minutes later, this Kozar person rounded a corner and headed toward Jeff.

  The man was a few years older than he was and his suit looked even cheaper. There was no way he was a head honcho around here. He was nothing more than a weekend supervisor. Jeff stood up as he came closer.

  “Mr. Riley, how can I help you?”

  They shook hands. Jeff couldn’t help thinking that a man in this position would be starving for anything that could make him climb the corporate ladder. If he played his cards right, the man would dance right into his hands.

  “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Kozar.”

  “I heard you have information for me?”

  “That’s right. Could we go into your office?”

  The man hesitated. “Uh, maybe we could go down and get ourselves a hot dog at the corner.”

  It was probably security concerns that made the supervisor uncomfortable and unwilling to bring a visitor in his office. Or perhaps the man had a really shitty office. Jeff picked up his laptop case from the handle, which made it look like a normal briefcase.

  “Sure.”

  They strolled back to the elevator.

  “So, you mind telling me what you want to talk about?” Kozar said when they entered the car.

  Jeff still didn’t know how he would go about questioning the man, but he dove in. “I was in North Carolina last week.”

  Kozar jerked his head toward him, his eyes betraying his coolness. He remained silent and Jeff again was on pins and needles.

  Chapter 36

  The man knew something and Jeff was simultaneously scared and happy. There was something about coming closer to the truth that chilled him to the bone.

  “I stayed at the Howard Johnson,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Who are you?”

  “Just a guy, you know my name.”

  “What do you want then?”

  The elevator stopped and Jeff stepped out in the lobby. The doors were about to close when the supervisor walked out.

  “I was hired by one of the victim’s family to look into this mess.”

  “Hey, I heard the families had been taken care of. I don’t think what you’re doing is right.”

  They reached the doors and were swallowed up by the humid southern Ontario air.

  “So you’re telling me that four of your employees get killed in the line of duty and all their families are gonna get is a check? They want explanations and apologies.”

  “Look, I don’t think I should be talking with you about this. This is a case that’s being handled directly by Mr. Azinger. People are dead, yes. We’re sorry it happened, yes. But it’s no longer our concern.”

  Jeff could see the hot dog vendor down the street.

  “No longer your concern? What kind of bullshit is that? I’ve broken all kinds of chinaware when I was a kid, my mother always made sure that it was my concern. I still have the marks on my ass to prove it.”

  “No, it’s no longer our concern. I’ve heard that the RCMP is looking into it and the corporation has it under control.”

  “What corporation?”

  Kozar’s face turned white. He had clearly spoken about a matter that should have remained private. He had unwillingly broken the confidentiality agreement and his job was now at risk.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “What corporation? Please tell me.”

  It was too late, Kozar was already jogging back to the building. Jeff would have liked to press him for more answers, but this would have to do. He understood the gist of it. There was an important client of Azinger Security which had such a significant deal with this Toronto firm that some agents had been killed for it.

  He realized that finding out who the client was would be the key to understanding this whole damn predicament.

  What Kozar had stated without opening his mouth was that there was much to learn about Azinger Security. Jeff had an idea how to initiate his research and he needed a quiet place to do it.

  Traveling up Yonge Street he found an unkempt motel in which he rented a room for less than his Paris suppers. He was traveling on his own money now and it was all he could afford.

  The wallpaper was peeling off, the mattress was twenty years past its prime, and there was an awful stench coming from the bathroom. Jeff tried the phone and it was working. It was all he needed.

  He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He sat on the bed, trying not to mind sinking below the flotation line, and picked up the phone. He dialed Azinger Security and got the receptionist on the line.

  “Azinger Security, how may I direct your call?”

  “Yeah, this is the systems administrator and we’re having all shades of troubles over here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your workstation is sending all kinds of weird messages. It’s screwing up the network for everybody on this end.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “I think the firewall isn’t responding to port twenty-five or maybe it’s the access manager messing up the works with the DLL files being routed through the spare stack page, I don’t know.”

  He was talking out of his ass, but he had been taught that bombarding laypersons with technical terms always confused them.

  “What’s it got to do with me? I don’t really understand computers.”

  “Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. I’m gonna need to take a look at your computer.”

  “I was just leaving for lunch…”

  “I don’t need you to do this, all I need is your employee ID and password. I can do it from my desk, I’ll be done by the time you get back.”

  He was being rude, but in his experience computer geeks often
lacked social skills.

  There was silence on the other end for a moment. Jeff was afraid she had been briefed on this sort of occasion and that she had informed her superior.

  “Okay, do you have a pen?”

  Jeff smiled as he jotted down the woman’s user ID and password. The battle was half won.

  He hung up and hooked up his laptop to the phone line. He powered his war dialer. It was a basic cracking tool, a phreaker’s best friend. It dialed numbers and recorded those that were dedicated modems. Since Jeff suspected that the company network operated from the same prefix as their phone number, he typed in the parameters. There were only ten thousand numbers to check.

  He went down to the street and walked down until he found a hot dog vendor. Toronto hot dogs were huge and it had been years since he’d had one. He looked on as the Middle Eastern gentleman expertly drew a bratwurst from the heater and shove it into a corn bun. Jeff stopped him before he could smother his food with sauerkraut and took charge of spreading the condiments.

  He returned to his room around 12:30pm, still sipping his Pepsi. He glanced at his computer and noticed that it was almost halfway through. The software had discovered three numbers associated with modems. Jeff wrote down where the dialer was and turned it off. He decided to try the numbers he had before going any further. The second number was the right one.

  “Hallelujah, let’s get jiggy!”

  He entered the user ID and password he had gotten from the receptionist and moments later he was inside the Azinger Security network. He was convinced she didn’t have top clearance, but it would certainly be enough for the intended purpose.

  The interface wasn’t as pretty as the legitimate end users were able to play with, but Jeff would have to make do with it. He was using a text-based program that reminded him too much of the gloomy days of DOS.

  He accessed the billing files. One by one, Jeff read through the client list and how much each was charged. Fortunately, there was also a brief description of the services Azinger Security had provided. There were many individual clients who had hired the firm for surveillance work; philandering spouses, Jeff alleged.

  The biggest business for Azinger Security came from Calgary. A company called Polar Tiger Industries had a bill pending that totaled well over a hundred thousand dollars. It had been charged for surveillance, patrolling, and protection.

  He checked the names of the people who had been killed in Emmetts Run through the personnel records and discovered for sole inscription PTI. These employees had died in the line of duty surveilling, patrolling, and protecting Calgarian interests.

  A conglomerate which had that kind of money to spend on security had to have something worth a hundred times more valuable to protect. This had to be it Jeff decided. People had died for far less than a hundred thousand dollars.

  Chapter 37

  Connecting to the Internet through his roaming number, Jeff surfed onto the Polar Tiger Industries website. He had never heard of them before but they seemed well off. If the artistry on the page reflected their wealth, then these folks had some serious financial backing.

  But appearances were always to be doubted as they rarely painted an adequate picture. The company developed hardware solutions for corporate networking. It was also written that they conducted research on microprocessors. Like most commercial websites, there was a section aimed at investors, committed to providing financial reports. Jeff scrolled through these and concluded that they were a viable enterprise.

  He checked out of his motel and hailed a taxi to Pearson airport. Since he was traveling on his own money and own name, Jeff had brought his cellphone. He called the Air Canada desk about available flights and bought a ticket. The plane took off at two but since he had no luggage, he knew he would be able to make it.

  The flight took a little bit over four hours, but with the time zone difference Jeff got off at 4:05pm. It was his first time in the cowboy town.

  The city was young but had grown up very fast. It had been started as Fort Calgary, a Mounted Police settlement. A few years later, in 1883, the railroad reached the colony and settlers came pouring in following the government’s offer of free land. With an economy at first based on ranching and the cattle industry in general, it was the oil business that proved lucrative for Calgary. In less than a hundred years, it had boomed from just a few pioneers to a cosmopolitan conurbation. Alberta was the Texas of the North.

  Jeff had noted PTI’s address back in Toronto and instructed a cabbie to take him there. The building was rather flat, two or maybe three stories that Jeff could see, and much like all the other structures in the industrial park. There weren’t any cars parked in front and Jeff was wary of letting his taxi drive away. What the hell, he thought, you can always call for another one.

  He walked into the building and figured that the parking lot for the employees was in the back. A security guard tended the reception desk.

  “Would it be possible to meet with whoever is in charge today?”

  Jeff spoke with a British accent. He had meant to inject Bermudian inflections only he hadn’t had enough time to practice.

  “May I inquire as to the reason of your visit?”

  “I am a journalist from Bermuda and I would like to interview someone about this wonderful new company. I’ve been told that it would absolutely revolutionize the computer industry.”

  The security guard made a phone call and spoke a few words that might as well have been silent. Jeff wondered how the person on the other side could have understood the conversation. The exchange ended and the man hung up. Jeff was told to wait, just as he had done a few hours ago in Toronto.

  It was a woman who met with him a few minutes later. She was dressed casually with jeans and a T-shirt. It was no doubt an employer’s ploy to convince their workforce that working on a weekend was fun. On the ugly side of thirty, she was tired but tried to smile through her worn out face.

  “Hello, I’m a writer with Bermuda Bermuda, it’s a magazine with an interesting circulation.”

  “In Bermuda?”

  Jeff chuckled which made them both at ease. “Yes, that is correct.”

  He had made up the magazine, but who really knew Bermudian literature anyway?

  “We usually ask members of the press to make an appointment for interviews.”

  “Utterly understandable, my dear. I was on my way to Seattle, well Redwood to be specific, but my plane was diverted to Calgary for technical reasons. Since I was to stay the night in this wonderful city my editor suggested I contacted the visionary people of Polar Tiger Industries.”

  “Okay, I understand. I’m with the public relations department, could you make do with me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “In normal circumstances you could have gotten an interview with the president or at least one of the vice presidents.”

  As he followed her through the rows of cubicles to her office, he noticed there were more people than there usually were in an office building on a weekend.

  “Aren’t these normal circumstances?”

  “No, everybody’s working overtime. We’ve fallen behind on one of our projects and there’s a lot of catching up to do.”

  He followed her into her office and took a seat. A lot of the profits had gone into the rich colorings, the heavy wooden door, the thick carpeting, and the expensive artwork.

  She proceeded to deliver her standard speech on the origins of the company, their vision, all the bullshit Jeff could have picked up from the website. He made a point to give the impression of being interested and twenty minutes later walked out the door.

  Sensing he would need more Internet access, Jeff asked a taxi driver to take him to a cyber cafe. He paid and quickly hooked up to the web. He browsed to the Calgary Herald site and clicked on the search option. He typed Polar Tiger Industries and read through the first two articles that the search produced.

  Both of them related to a press conference in which the Canadian g
overnment was granting heavy subsidies to PTI for a special research program involving crystalline silicon microprocessors. PTI was expected to produce the world’s smallest computer motherboard, which could equip the smallest computers with state-of-the-art sound, picture, and speed.

  Jeff was onto something big, he could feel it. Only he had nothing tangible. He needed to get some elements of proof to convince his boss that CSE should look into it.

  Chapter 38

  The most difficult job for a hacker was to enter a network. Once it was achieved, there was virtually nothing that could stop the intruder from wreaking havoc.

  Unfortunately, Jeff had an uphill battle ahead of him. There was no way to get logins and passwords from employees of a company that valued its security that much.

  There was the possibility of adding a sniffer which could detect usernames and passwords of people using the network but, for that, Jeff needed to access the system. He was sure they had firewalls and a good one could alert them of his presence.

  Even if he went through the Internet rather than the company modems, he was still risking too much. He wasn’t much of a hacker aside from the occasional prank he’d pulled in high school.

  Jeff’s laptop was equipped with war dialers, sniffers, IP spoofers, vulnerability scanners, password crackers, all the goodies that made hacking as easy as using a payphone. Were he able to access PTI’s mainframe, he would get the root access and the system would be his oyster.

  He would be able to authorize new users, delete files, or install a backdoor so he could come back whenever he wanted. But reading the manual did not make him an expert. He had the software, but not the knowledge.

  There was something he could do though. CSE recognized the usefulness of the phone company. His computer had been outfitted with a user-friendly program that allowed an agent to infiltrate the various phone companies’ system.

  Once realizing that getting warrants was often time-consuming when on the trail of an enemy of the state, CSE technicians had broken into the phone companies’ systems and installed a backdoor. It was a hush operation and none of that knowledge could ever be used officially, but it was a superb tool that could help direct an investigation on the right path.