“They can.” Chris cut him off again. “They already have. Look, I’ll get everything you need to verify this from your end. Real evidence. They won’t be able to deny it when the facts are in front of them. For now, just understand that the OPOV system was designed to be compromised. It’s built into the software. I can prove it, but I need you to find out who’s behind it. You have to find out who’s pulling the strings from outside the OPOV team at NSA, and stop this from happening.”
Robert hadn’t been listening to most of what Chris had been saying, but now his words were finally getting through. “Wait—you’ve actually got proof?” Robert tried to do a reality check. Could this be possible? What would proof look like? Could Chris actually have substantiated evidence that someone had compromised the system?
Chris’ mind was swirling in disbelief. Robert hadn’t been taking in what he’d said! Why couldn’t Robert trust him on this? Why couldn’t he see how obvious it was? Chris had been obsessing over the problem for weeks, and had thought through every angle. It was obvious—it should have been obvious to everyone from the beginning. He had spotted the flaws months before, but his ideas to fix them kept getting shot down. In fact, from the day the architecture and code had been given to him by his boss Bill Karlovich, he had seen the improper connections of files and data packet calls. An idiot could see how it could be done, but when he showed Bill, his boss had passed it off as a minor problem. Sure it was there, but there was another team covering that door. Chris didn’t believe him. He never had trusted Karlovich; the guy was too glib. He was sure Bill was hiding something.
Chris was too entrenched in what he’d been studying for months to understand that he hadn’t communicated all of this to Robert. “Robert, haven’t you been listening? Am I wasting my time with you? I wouldn’t be coming to you if I didn’t have the data. I know that you can’t do anything without it.” Chris’ eyes were glazed, and his adrenaline was higher now that he realized he finally had Robert’s attention. “I’ll get you everything I’ve found, but the files are time-coded. They’ll know when I download them, and when I send them. There’s no way to take them out on a thumb drive or disk. I get one shot at this, and I have to know you’ll be ready. Whoever is behind this has powerful connections. If you don’t catch them they’ll just cover up everything again, and I’ll be another ‘accidental’ casualty.”
“Can’t you talk to your boss?”
Chris’ hands jumped to the sides of his head in fists. His eyes squinted and he shook the fists at the air. “No! He’s in on it. You aren’t listening!” He still hadn’t realized that it was impossible for Robert to hear all of the conversations going in Chris’ own head which explained his conclusions.
“Seriously, Chris. You guys have procedures. How about his boss then, or a coworker?” Robert had overcome the trickle of doubt that momentarily assailed him when Chris invoked the word “proof.” It seemed unlikely that one guy at the NSA could uncover an actual conspiracy. How could it get past everyone else there?
“Sure, I’ll try that…NOT.” Chris answered sarcastically, shaking his head. “Sometimes you live in a fantasy world, Robert. You think passing the proof around to my coworkers, or going over my boss’ head will fix this? Did you hear the part about Bradley being killed? Or when I said one of my coworkers who spotted this is missing? Don’t you think I know what’s going on? I’m in there—inside the building. I need someone outside covering me if I don’t want to end up a disappearing act. You need to cover me.”
“Okay, Chris. Just send what you’ve got to my personal e-mail, and I’ll have it checked out. I’ll give you the address I use at home,” Robert said calmly as he pulled a business card from his pocket. He figured the only way to diffuse this conversation was to read whatever Chris had, and shoot some holes in it.
Chris exploded. “No! Don’t be stupid about this, Robert! They can trace that e-mail. Hell, my daughter can trace that.” He fought to lower his voice, again scanning around the area. “You don’t understand.” He continued, making his voice more intense, and speaking slowly. “I don’t know who can be trusted, and neither do you. This thing is ready to go. They’ve bought the people they need. They have them everywhere. Why do you think I came to you? Jesus, Robert, how can you be this dense? This isn’t a game. My missing programmer and Bradley got too close. If these guys find out about me, I’m next.”
“Okay,” Robert figured that no matter how crazy it sounded, it wouldn’t hurt to look into what was bothering Chris so much. If there were problems, they would need to be straightened out. Maybe the OPOV programming had been pushed along too fast, and the agency had taken a few precarious shortcuts. It wouldn’t be the first time a government program had glitches. He wasn’t buying Chris’ story on Bradley, or the programmer, though; that had to be paranoia. “I’ll look into it. When do I get the details?”
“I’ll call you.” Chris responded, looking away.
“Well, at least tell me who is in on this.” Robert demanded. He had no idea who Chris could be referring to, when he talked about “powerful connections.”
“There’s no time.” Chris was already preparing to leave. “It’ll all be in there. I just have to know you will back me.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed, his skepticism renewed. “Chris, you either have the evidence, or you don’t. If you’ve got it, come up with it. If you don’t, then stop this nonsense.”
“I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. That’s the best I can do.” Chris insisted as he stood up. “After I send the files to my home computer, I’ll put it on a memory stick that has a hard password keyboard built in. We’ll meet somewhere, and I’ll give it to you. That way they can’t track anything to you. I have an encryption plan they won’t detect—at least not the first time I access the system, but they’ll know I sent the files. I can’t override that. That will tip them off if they’re looking, and I’ll bet they are. I’ll have to disappear. I put in for vacation to cover my absence, so maybe they won’t notice the file transfer for a couple days. You’ll need someone sharp who can read the OPOV program code, and to help you with the encryption key I’ll give you. Someone you can trust completely. Robert, this is my life we’re talking about. I’ve got to know you’re going to make sure they don’t get away with this—that you’ll make sure they can’t cover it up.”
Chris had been speaking in a rush of words. Robert stood up, completely frustrated with Chris’ statements. “Damn it, Chris, I don’t even understand what’s going on, yet!”
Chris stopped, turned, and moved close to Robert’s face. “Do you care about this at all? Do you want OPOV to be a total deceit? I’m asking now, Robert: do you care about the survival of this country? You did once. Does the fact that I’m putting my life on the line matter to you?”
Robert paused, looking Chris straight in the eye. He was still dubious, but something in Chris’ face made him stare. Chris looked haggard and anxious, but there was a conviction behind his eyes that Robert couldn’t deny. Chris believed what he was saying. After a moment Robert sighed, resignedly. “Yes. I care. I’ll help. I’ll make sure this doesn’t get buried—if you’ve got the proof.”
“I’ll call.” Chris quickly walked away.
Standing at the curb, Robert watched Chris as he walked across the road. Rumors, innuendo, even threats against the President and his programs were commonplace. Robert heard about them every day. This was different. He could feel a twist in his gut that told him Chris’ concerns might have some foundation. Robert had a hundred thoughts going through his head. Could OPOV have been perverted to serve special interests? He didn’t see how that could happen. There were too many checks; too many security layers. Who would have enough power to try something like this?
Robert shook his head. Whatever was going on, it scared Chris. There was no doubt about that.
Robert suddenly shivered. For a moment he had forgotten he was freezing. A sudden gust threw sharp ice crystals into his face and eyes. Draw
ing up his scarf, he looked up at the dark clouds. Winter was looking more ominous than he’d expected. He stepped off the curb. His path led him away from Chris, toward shelter. He needed some hot coffee.
Chapter 5
As Robert and Chris parted, the concealed observer picked up his cell phone and dialed.
“They’re leaving.”
“Excellent,” Blair’s strong, low voice responded. “Did he say he’s got proof?”
“Yes.”
“Did he give specifics?” Blair’s plan didn’t include Chris giving more information than was necessary.
“Some…almost everything you listed. He promised to send the information. Want the removal now?”
“Yes.” Blair liked to be sure that action was necessary; timely. Now he was certain.
“Confirming removal.” The other end of the phone went dead. Quickly sending the text message “now,” the driver darkened the phone screen and set it on the console. Sliding up into his seat as Chris moved beyond him toward his parked car, he watched in the side view mirror. The phone screen popped on with an acknowledging ‘thumbs up’ icon.
Chris, fumbling with his gloves for his keys, dropped them on the ground next to his car. “Damn.” His breath puffed out in a frozen cloud. Bending over, he clumsily grasped the keys and tried to push the remote unlock button with the thick leather fingers. Finally biting the fingertips and pulling off his glove, he hit the button again. The car locks released with a beep, and he jumped in, slamming the door behind him.
The engine started despite the cold, sluggish battery. “The last winter for this battery,” he thought. He used the windshield wipers to brush away leaves and fine snow crystals. He had left the defroster switch on and it quickly fogged the lower half of his view. Chris was used to it; despite the cloudy windshield, he pulled out of the parking spot and made the turn onto Constitution Avenue. He didn’t notice the grey sedan pull out behind him. Using the sleeve of his jacket, Chris wiped the fog away as he signaled to turn onto ninth. As he made the turn, the sedan followed.
Chris got onto “Indy,” as the Marylanders called Independence. The street became a one-way road out of Capitol Hill, and commuters seemed to think of it as their personal high-speed racetrack. Chris hated the aggressive drivers, but he always went this way. The NSA was up toward Fort George, Maryland, and Chris lived a little distance beyond it.
He had traveled several blocks when the sedan passed him, moving in front of Chris’ car. Chris was close behind the car as they passed Lincoln Park. The sedan suddenly stopped right in front of him. Before Chris realized that he was too close, his car slammed into the sedan. Wham! The jolt of the bumpers meeting threw him into the steering wheel, making a red mark across his forehead.
“Ummmf! Jesus Christ!” Adrenaline rushed through his hands and neck, flushing him with heat, and sending blood rushing through his body. He hardly noticed the darkly dressed man leave his car to come walking back toward him. When he finally focused on the guy, he saw what looked like a typical DC businessman. The man gave the bumpers a cursory glance as he proceeded back to Chris’ door.
Knocking on the window, he moved his hand in a circular motion. Chris complied by rolling his window down an inch or two.
“We seem to have had a little problem here,” the man said.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” Chris responded, “I don’t think your brake lights are working.” He hid the anger that threatened to flare up, still feeling the shock of impact. “Damned idiot,” he thought to himself, “Driving with no tail lights.”
“Let’s get off this main road and exchange information.” The man pointed at the next intersection, and to a street that led off to the right.
“Fine.” Chris acknowledged with a nod, rolling his window back up.
“This is just great,” Chris mumbled to himself. “This had to happen now.” He watched as the man got into his car, pulling slowly forward with his right blinker on. He turned the corner. Chris followed a short distance until the sedan pulled onto a secondary road and stopped. Brake lights glared through Chris’ windshield.
“God damn it! I know those weren’t working before.” Chris put his car in park, and leaned over to the pocket to get his insurance card.
“As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.” He grabbed the papers and sat back up thinking, “What happened to my airbags?” He noticed movement by his left shoulder. Turning he saw the man was standing outside his window. A blue steel pistol with a huge barrel was pointed directly at his head. Chris’ eyes widened and his mouth opened as a shot went off with the airy pop of a silencer.
The pulverized safety glass blasted into Chris’ face, falling like tiny ice cubes over his legs. In one smooth motion, the pistol with its long silencer slid back into hiding. The man reached in through the smashed window to stop Chris’ dead body from slumping forward into the car horn. A remorseless push sent the lifeless form into the passenger seat.
The assassin took a look around. No one seemed to be in the area, which wasn’t surprising at that time of day, or with the onrush of bad weather and cold. Even if there had been, it was unlikely anyone on a back street near D.C. would want to get involved, or admit to seeing anything. There would be no witnesses. Going back to his vehicle, he pulled his car away smoothly. Five blocks and several carefully planned turns later, the nondescript sedan pulled into an alley, entering an open garage located under a dull rental flat that had seen better days.
The door closed as the car entered. Two men began pulling off the tires and taping the trim before the assassin had turned off the engine. In two hours a black car with booming stereo, bright chrome wheels, and a different license plate would pull out. The paint would be aerosol based, and totally dry. It only had to last for the drive to West Virginia, where the car would be stripped down to the last nut. No part of the car would remain. No one would ever find the switch on the dash that had turned off the brake lights.
Chapter 6
Robert stomped down the hall to his office, trying to knock off the leaf and snow debris from his new shoes. Wisps of steam rose from his damp shoulders. He passed by the darkly stained doors, each with a department name etched on a brass plaque, and most with a full-sized standing American Flag on the left. Senators and Congressmen had state flags on the right. The Attorney General decreed that placement of the Department of Justice flag would also be on the right.
Robert’s toes felt the sting of each footfall on the marble terrazzo floor as he passed the doors. The cold numbness was wearing off, and feeling was coming back. He started to notice dampness touching the balls of his feet. The first trace of snow had been just wet enough to seep into his shoes. They were new, soft, black leather Ferragamos. He knew Tracie would screech at the sight. Tracie always stressed that it was “important to look a touch better than your position if you want to move up.” For dress events she had purchased him a pair of Berlutis, which would be his daily shoe upon his next promotion. She mapped everything out years in advance. Robert was convinced she already knew what accessories they would need if, and when, he made it to the White House.
Robert, on the other hand, could remember when his favorite shoes were his worn out running shoes—the broken-in ones with the grass stains. They’d always felt great, despite the fact that they’d been cheap knock-offs. Robert hadn’t worried about designer names in those days. He’d bought what he liked. His appearance had been less important than his work. It was a distant memory now, but somehow Robert had a feeling he had been happier then.
He reached the end of the hall and turned the knob on the heavy door, pushing harder than he intended. The door hit the wall with a solid thud. Lorraine, as professional as ever, and only slightly startled, looked up. Robert pulled the door shut again and walked past her, ignoring the new stack of message slips that waited for him. He headed straight into his office.
Pulling off his gloves, scarf, and overcoat, Robert dropped them on the nearest chair. He moved to the far
side of the heavily used mahogany desk, and sat in the tall burgundy leather chair. Lorraine came in with a cup of steaming coffee, setting it on his desk coaster, then moved silently toward his coat.
Robert needed a moment to regroup and think about Chris’ comments. A long sip of the coffee made him warmer, but it didn’t enlighten him; nor did it convince him that Chris had stumbled onto a real problem of fact, rather than paranoia. Still, he had to consider the possibilities.
Next to the mug Lorraine dropped the latest stack of messages.
“Thanks, Lorraine.” Robert barely looked up. He’d never paid much attention to how well Lorraine did her job, but it occurred to him that he did, in fact, appreciate her efficiency and discretion.
Robert had grown up in a wealthy family. While both he and Tracie had been trained to be polite, they took paid service for granted. Occasionally he realized that he should do more. He made a mental note to acknowledge Lorraine’s efforts more often. Maybe he’d take her to lunch next week, if he could find a break in the schedule.
“Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Carlton?” Lorraine asked over her shoulder as she gathered up his coat, and hung it in the closet. She placed the gloves neatly on the shelf above the hangers.
“No, Lorraine. That’s fine for now. Hold my calls.”
“Yes, Sir.” She left, closing the door behind her.
Robert tried to order his thoughts. Was Chris right about a conspiracy existing, and about Bradley being killed after he stumbled onto it? What could Chris have to gain from telling such a wild story?
Okay, think it through, he told himself. Robert couldn’t imagine how Chris could get anything out of this. Chris had everything to lose if the NSA decided he was compos non-mentis, or worse yet, trying to bring down OPOV. Homeland Security wouldn’t hesitate to act, and the consequences would be harsh. Chris could be imprisoned for treason. Was it likely that Chris had become involved with some activist organization? Robert shook his head. Chris had never had self-serving political interests, unlike most people surrounding Robert. He wasn’t a joiner either, disdaining clubs and social groups equally. He had minor aspirations, middle of the road opinions, and usually avoided getting involved in any DC issues, political or otherwise.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 4