“Unfortunately, it became personal the moment I saw my name on that note,” I snapped.
Finn didn’t reply and instead resumed his search around the apartment. I wanted to apologize for making it seem like this mess was all Finn’s fault, but I didn’t know how to do it gracefully. I chalked it up to mental exhaustion after an emotionally draining day.
We looked around for another hour, but found nothing else useful. Darren’s answering machine was blank and we couldn’t find a scrap of paper or any hint of where he might have fled. I suspected the missing laptop held any clues we might need and wondered if it were safe in Darren’s hands or with whoever had tossed the place.
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to find anything else of interest here,” I yelled from the kitchen, replacing several pots and pans back into the cabinet and then stretching.
Finn strolled in, rifling through the phone book. “I agree.” He set it down. “I do have a couple more leads to follow, if you’re game.”
“Tonight?” I glanced at my watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock.
“No, tomorrow. I’m done for the evening.”
So was I. After the trauma of the garage and then the grueling gown search, I was pretty much a walking zombie. “What do you have in mind?”
Finn pulled out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “I found out that Darren and Michael liked to hang out at a place called the Lighthouse Cyber Café. Ever hear of it?”
“Sure, it’s a regular hangout for the university kids. The place makes a mean double cheeseburger and has the best fries in town.”
“I thought we might venture in, ask around and see what we can find out.”
I smiled. “You need me to walk the walk, and talk the cyber lingo, right?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Nah,” I lied. “You’re a natural tech head.”
He grinned. “It opens at eleven thirty. We’ll check it out and maybe even have lunch there.”
“Gee, a trip down memory lane and a double cheeseburger. I can’t wait.”
Careful to leave everything as we’d found it except for the box of mementos and the Georgetown transcripts that I now carried, we locked up Darren’s apartment and returned to the parking lot. Finn held open the car door for me as I climbed in and turned the key in the ignition.
He leaned down, so I opened the window. “Thanks for coming out so late,” he said. “Especially after what happened to you today. I know it’s selfish, but I wanted to see you for myself, to make sure you were okay.”
I gave him a cheerful smile. “Well, as you can see I’m just hunky dory.” Embarrassed as soon as the juvenile words left my mouth, my cheeks heated in shame. I closed my eyes knowing if there were a firing squad nearby, I would be shot immediately for crimes against conversation.
When I dared to open my eyes, Finn was climbing into his Jag. Sleek, gorgeous car—sleek, gorgeous man. As he drove off, I groaned and banged my head against the steering wheel. I’m pretty sure he’d never met a bigger dork. All I needed was to give him more reasons to dump me before we ever went out.
It was nearly midnight by the time I got home, pulled on my pajamas and got into bed. Despite the worries I’d had that day, I’m pretty sure it took me all of three nanoseconds to fall asleep.
Unfortunately, once I was in la-la land, I dreamt I rode around in a sleek green Jaguar with Darren Greening in the passenger seat while a pickup truck filled with gun-toting Navajo Indians chased after us. I evaded the Indians until I came to a fork in the road.
Unable to decide which way to go, I screeched the car to a stop and hopped out. That’s when I realized I wasn’t wearing any pants, but stood there in the middle of the road in my panties and a T-shirt. When I turned around to face the wrath of the armed Indians, I saw only Finn standing there, hissing at me with the same noise Neck-Snapping Man had made. I woke up with a start amid a tangle of sweaty sheets.
One thing was certain. You can bet I wasn’t going to ask anyone to interpret that dream for me.
Chapter 5
I couldn’t go back to sleep after my Freud-on-drugs dream and decided to head for the office early. I made my usual morning swing by Dunkin’ Donuts for a cranberry-orange muffin, a caramel latte and a Diet Coke from the refrigerator cooler. Once at the office, I munched on the muffin while sorting through the emails Jay and Ken had sent me on Darren Greening. I methodically eliminated all emails containing identical information and when I was finished, I was pleased that my employees had done such a thorough job. I had boatloads of stuff to review.
Before I delved deeper into that, there was something else I wanted to do first. I hauled out the shoebox Finn had found at Darren’s apartment with my initials on top and set aside the transcripts from Georgetown for later. I started to go through the box, carefully cataloguing each item on a piece of paper. I took out the first item and scrawled on the paper, high school ring, sapphire. A close inspection of the engraving indicated that Darren had gone to Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology in Alexandria, Virginia—just a hop, skip and a jump from where I sat in Crystal City. TJ is a special high school, mostly for kids gifted in science and technology, and the competition to get in is fierce.
I then removed from the box a small National Honor Society pin also from TJ; three first-place blue ribbons from various science fairs; a blank postcard of the planet Mars bought at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum; a well-worn rabbit’s foot on a key chain; and a signed snapshot of a very proud Darren, who looked to be about in his midteens, standing with the so-called “Fathers of the Internet” Bob Kahn and Vinton Cerf. But other than a small dust ball in the corner, that was it for the contents of the shoebox. Nothing leaped out at me except perhaps the rabbit’s foot. Weird as tech geeks aren’t usually superstitious.
I gently returned all the items to the box and picked up Darren’s Georgetown transcripts. I had brought a copy of my transcripts as well and I laid them out side by side on my desk. It took me about thirty minutes to go through and carefully compare. When I finished, I leaned back in my chair and tapped my pencil against the desk in frustration. Although we were both undergraduate students at GU for the exact same years, not once had we taken a class together. Sure, we’d taken similar courses, even from the same professors, but never at the same time.
Crap. It looked like a dead end.
I took a sip of my long-cold latte and then set the transcripts and box aside. I swiveled my chair toward the computer and logged on to the STRUT website that Elvis and Xavier had told me about yesterday. After reading and agreeing to the site treatise (no flaming, no patronizing, and discussions of technology only, please), I became a STRUT member. I logged in to the chat room with the screen name CryptHead. For about an hour I followed the chat, but avoided all attempts by others to get me to join in. This was complex stuff and I needed more time to familiarize myself with the material. Instead, I scanned through the archive of old messages, and read some comments about Darren’s controversial paper. Nothing mind-blowing and I couldn’t find any messages that were obviously from Darren. Of course, he likely would have been using a screen name, too, but nothing leaped out at me. I’d have to think about it some more.
I set my elbows on the desk and rubbed my temples. There had to be some connection between Darren Greening and me. Why in the hell couldn’t I see it?
As I sat there morosely, my gaze fell on Darren’s article, “The Dangers of Nanotechnology.” I picked it up and read it all the way through again, this time slowly. Most of it was over my head, but it vaguely reminded me of something. But what? I racked my brain, but came up empty. Nonetheless, there was something about it that seemed significant. Sighing, I put it aside and started methodically plowing through the data Ken and Jay had sent me.
I’d been at it maybe a little more than half an hour when Finn rapped on the door. When I looked up, he smiled at me and my pulse went all aflutter. Jeez, I really had it bad for him.
“Hard at it already, are you?” he asked.
He looked amazing as usual in a crisp white shirt, navy pants and a red tie. His coat was draped over his arm. I didn’t want to think about how I looked with bloodshot eyes, boring gray slacks and flat hair.
“Come in and have a seat. I think I’m getting a clearer picture of Darren Greening.”
He took me up on my offer and sat down in one of the chairs. “That’s good to hear.” He set his coat aside. “Have you had a look at the transcripts, then?”
“Yep, but unfortunately, no dice. We took similar classes at GU, but never together.”
I could see Finn was disappointed. “What about extra-curricular activities? Could your paths have crossed there?”
“He didn’t have any that I could find. And for that matter, neither did I. So I guess that connection is out.” I tried not to look embarrassed about my lack of activities, social or otherwise.
“None at all? No sports, no clubs, no outside interests?”
“None whatsoever. It’s called the Geek Syndrome. The computer is your one and only connection to the outside world, your entire social life, and well, for lack of a better comparison…a companion.”
He fell silent for a moment. “I see.”
I knew he didn’t really, but now wasn’t the time for a psychiatric exposé. “I know it’s pathetic. Don’t say it.”
“Hey, I didn’t intend to. And it’s not pathetic. It’s just different, that’s all. Intriguing.”
The flush crept up my neck. “Right. Anyway, what’s important is that we still don’t have a connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything else of interest in his box either.”
Finn loosened his tie. “Well, it was a long shot. But if none of this is working out, tell me why you think you have a clearer picture of him.”
I filled him in on Darren’s connection to STRUT, gave him a copy of the controversial paper Darren had posted to the website and explained the twins’ evaluation of what it all meant in terms of scientific progress.
Finn listened, his expression thoughtful. “So, you think that Darren Greening disappeared because he might have been worried about how the world might use his technology.”
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s a plausible theory. I’m a bit shaky on understanding how his technology could be widely misused, if it’s indeed something that could also potentially serve the needs of earth. I mean, think about the staggering implications of energy nanotechnology. How incredible would it be if we didn’t need to mine the ground and pollute the air for our energy?”
“Pretty incredible, indeed. However, Niles told us there are many people who wouldn’t want Darren’s energy-producing nanotechnology to come to fruition. Oil-rich nations, for starters.”
“True. But why run and hide? Why not figure out ways to protect the technology? And why hide from your investors, the people who, besides you, have the most at stake?”
“I don’t know.”
“Worse, why drag me into this? I’m all for protecting the environment, and even more in favor of ending U.S. dependence on foreign oil, but I’m neither a nanotech-head nor an energy specialist. I can’t even remember meeting this guy. What’s the connection?”
“You’ll figure it out, Lexi.”
While I appreciated his confidence, I wasn’t certain I shared it. I ran my fingers through my hair wearily. “I think I need a more thorough understanding of energy-related nanotechnology. In fact, that reminds me of something I wanted to ask you. What are the chances that Niles and the rest of the trio would let me in to Flow Technologies for a look at Darren’s work space?”
Finn stood up and stretched. “I can’t see why they wouldn’t if you think it might bring us closer to Darren. I’ll give Niles a call this morning.”
“Thanks.”
“By the way, the police will be here at ten o’clock to get your statement.”
“Oh, great.” I wasn’t looking forward to reliving that particular incident, but knew it was necessary.
Sighing, I turned back to the monitor and cruised back over to the STRUT website. I logged in to the chat room as CryptHead again, and this time I saw there were two people actively chatting with about four others observing. Of the two chatting, one was called RawMode and the other Grok. I assumed RawMode came from the hacker term meaning a mode that allows a program to transfer bits directly from an I/O device. Grok was taken from a novel I’m nuts about, Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein. In the Martian language, Grok meant, “To be with one.”
After a few minutes, they tried to get me to join in.
Grok: Hey, CryptHead. What brings you to our humble domain? Haven’t seen you here before.
I needed information, so I took the plunge. Typing quickly, my fingers flew over the keys. That was one plus about being a geek—excellent typing skills. If this information-security job didn’t work out, I could probably get a job as a secretary. Except I had sucky phone skills and people annoyed me.
CryptHead: I’m a STRUT virgin. It’s my first time here. What are you guys talking about?
RawMode: I.E.
If memory served me correctly, I.E. stood for Information Ecology. I wasn’t well versed in the subject, but at least I knew the basics. Sort of. Unfortunately, Mr. Terlittle’s T&A course (Technology and Anthropology) at Georgetown, where I had supposedly learned said basics, had been a real snoozer. He was fond of his pointer and slides, which meant a good portion of the class was taught in the dark. That also meant most of his students slept through his lectures, myself included. However, some vestiges of knowledge must have somehow seeped into my brain because I seemed to recall that I.E. represented people, values and technologies intermingled in the environment. Maybe I could keep up with them after all.
CryptHead: Down with monoculture!
I was pretty sure a slam against monocultures was the war cry for I.E. supporters.
RawMode: Ha, ha. You still in high school, dude?
I grimaced. Okay, so maybe I should have stayed awake a little more in Terlittle’s class, but I still hoped it would be enough to get me chummy with these guys so I could ask them if they knew anything interesting about Darren Greening.
CryptHead: Okay, guess I’d better ’fess up. I.E.’s not my prime deal, but I did take a course on it at GU.
I figured it couldn’t hurt to advertise my GU connection in case Darren logged on and went through the chat records and put two and two together as to my identity. I presumed he was afraid to contact me directly but that wouldn’t preclude him from logging on under an assumed name and getting a message to me somehow via a live chat. It was a long shot, but one worth pursuing. To my relief, it seemed that the GU connection had broken the ice.
RawMode: GU? Cool. You had Terlittle? Heard he’s a zoner.
CryptHead: Yeah. Can’t believe you’ve heard of him. You go to GU, too?
RawMode: Nah, went to MIT. Met the zonehead at a conference. Impressed. NOT!
CryptHead: Likewise. You go to GU, Grok?
Grok: Nope. I’m from MIT, too.
CryptHead: Where you guys operate now?
RawMode: Me—at a pharmaceutical company in Boston, making drugs from RNA molecules.
I didn’t have a clue what that meant. Already I felt way out of my league and began to understand why the twins liked to hang out here. Still it didn’t seem fair that I was an outcast even among my own people. I tried hard to fit in anyway.
CryptHead: How about you, Grok?
Grok: I’m into AI.
Jeez, artificial intelligence. Things were getting worse. I was in seriously exalted company and now I understood why they laughed at my pathetic understanding of information ecology. I just hoped that for the rest of the chat they wouldn’t, like, ask my opinion on anything.
RawMode: So, how about you, CryptHead? What’s your deal?
CryptHead: INFO Sec now, but a former IT drone and cryppy.
No one wrote anything for a mo
ment and I watched my cursor blinking, wondering what I’d done to spook them. Then I followed their train of thought: cryppy = cryptanalyst = NSA = government = people not to be trusted. I waited, but when no one typed anything, I wrote:
CryptHead: What? You guys got something against cryppies? I’m no poser and I don’t work for Uncle Sam.
What that really meant was I was not a government InfoSec guy pretending to get chummy with potential hackers or troublemakers in cyberspace so I could bust them later. To my relief, I saw Grok answer.
Grok: So, how many distinct ciphers can you generate with no restrictions on shifting the alphabet?
Jeez, they were testing me.
CryptHead: 400,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
Grok: Impressive.
RawMode: Welcome, dude.
CryptHead: That’s Dudette to you.
Grok: Ooooh, we are not worthy, geek princess. You know, I thought about crypto myself. Maybe still will someday. What brings you to our site?
CryptHead: I’ve got friends who frequent here. We got into a gabfest about the dangers of nanotech. They said I should read an article posted here by a dude named Darren Greening.
RawMode: Yeah, I remember that. Last month I think. He’s some east coast techhead or something. Said molecular replicating assemblers and thinking machines pose a fundamental threat to humans.
RawMode: Machines of Destruction.
CryptHead: Whoa.
Grok: Yeah, fully sentient machines, but without constraints.
CryptHead: Created using nanotech?
RawMode: On target. Some dudes are crying that since the development of cognizant, self-replicating machines is inevitable, scientists need to fully understand the technology to ensure a benign application.
No One to Trust Page 6
