by J. C. Fields
Chapter 39
Lander, Wyoming
The short, stocky middle-aged man bumped into Kevin Marks and mumbled, “Excuse me, sorry.”
The store owner watched him carry three pairs of jeans to a specific dressing room and disappear inside. Without hesitating, he headed toward his office, closed the door and locked it. The man was already waiting for Marks when he entered his office. The hidden door stood open and the stocky man with the broad shoulders said, “You didn’t lock the door.”
Marks glared at the man. “Why the sudden need to see me?”
“We have a problem.”
Taking a deep breath, Marks moved to his desk and sat behind it. “What now?”
“The FBI found the transmitter.”
As suddenly as he had sat, Marks stood, leaned over the desk with his palms flat on top and his face a deep shade of crimson. “How?”
“We don’t know. It stopped transmitting, so someone was sent to check it out. Normally when this happens, it’s caused by an animal chewing through a wire. Not this time. The antenna coax was cut clean. So, the repair guy fixed it, left and reported what he found. Four men went out to find who cut it and came across a heavily armed FBI contingent. Our guys were out-gunned, so they left.”
“Did they confiscate the equipment?”
The shorter man shook his head. “No, but we need to move the transmitter.”
“Then do it.”
“It’s already being done. The problem is, we didn’t see any evidence they messed with anything.”
Marks sat again, rested his elbows on the chair arms and made a steeple with his hands. “You think they got into the computer?”
“That would be my first assumption.”
“Hmmm…”
Silence filled the room as Marks stared at a spot on the wall over the door. “How quickly can the explosives be assembled and loaded?”
“Couple of days. Why?”
“We need to move our schedule up.”
A nod was his response.
“We can’t be certain they’ve broken our code, but we have to assume they have. I’ll send out a new key for the numbers station.”
Another nod.
“What’s today?”
“Wednesday.”
“Make sure the trucks are ready to move by Saturday.”
“Got it.”
The broad-shouldered man turned and walked back toward the open entrance to the fitting room. Before walking through it, he turned. “It was the same FBI agent that found Monk.”
After the door closed, Marks slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “It’s time to do something about this guy.”
He picked up his desk phone and dialed a number.
***
With all of the associates gone for the day, the sole occupant of the building sat in his cubicle and stared at the right monitor. The only illumination penetrating the second-floor gloom came from the exit lights above the stairwell, a desk lamp on the credenza behind him and the flickering of the monitors. JR moved the mouse to open a file. As the data within the file displayed on the center monitor, a small smile came to his lips. Unaware and completely oblivious to the time of night, he reached for his cell phone and pressed the call icon for a frequently called number.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” the voice mumbled.
JR glanced at the bottom right corner of the middle monitor. “Yeah, it’s 11:17 p.m.”
“Normal individuals are usually asleep at that time of night, JR.”
“Usually I am, but a friend of mine has a problem and I believe I found something to help him solve that problem.”
Kruger’s alertness immediately increased. “What’d you find?”
“It’s not really what I found—it’s the access to information that’s interesting.”
“Talk to me.”
“As you suspected, the numbers station was off the air for a few hours and started broadcasting from a different location about an hour ago. However, they didn’t change the computer that controls it.”
“Which means?”
“The worm I planted is doing its job. A string of emails is flowing over their network, which is allowing the program to search backward to the originating email.”
“Oh, good grief, JR. Where is it?”
“The sheriff’s office in Lander, Wyoming.”
Kruger remained quiet for several moments. “The sheriff?”
“Yeah. If you think about it, it explains a lot.”
“Such as?”
“You mentioned how insistent he was to gain access to all the boxes the FBI pulled out of Monks cabin.”
“Not unusual for a small-town sheriff. But his persistence did raise a flag.”
“Also, the only person who knew Thomas Shark and his team were at the cabin was the sheriff. Can you think of anyone else who would have known?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Exactly.”
“Shit.” Kruger was quiet for a few moments. “I have to make a call. I’ll get back to you afterward.”
***
Sitting on the side of his bed, Kruger took a deep breath. Stephanie placed a hand on his back as he exhaled slowly.
“What is it, Sean?”
“Hopefully the first break in this Monk business. I need to make a call. It might take a while, so I’ll go to my office.” He stood and walked down the hall. After sitting behind his desk, he tried to stifle a yawn. Not succeeding, he picked up his desk phone and called a number.
“Paul Stumpf.”
“Paul, it’s Sean.”
“Calling this late, I’ll assume you found something.”
“How many agents do you still have in Wyoming?”
“Not sure, but with the lack of progress in the investigation into the ambush, they’ve had to wind it down. Why?”
“Do I know the SAC?”
“Not sure, his name is Frank Reed.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You’re stalling.”
“We have reason to believe the sheriff of Fremont County, Wyoming is involved.”
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. But he needs to be placed under surveillance.”
Stumpf was quiet for several moments. “Okay, I’ll have Reed called in the morning and informed about this development. When can you have more details?”
“No later than noon.”
***
Sleep became elusive after Kruger returned to bed. He listened to the various sounds created by a house at night. Stephanie breathing gently and rhythmically next to him. His daughter in the room next to theirs, rustling her sheets as she slept. Air being forced through the ventilation ducts creating a slight vibration in the floor registers. A distant siren could be heard approaching and then receding. He listened with his hands behind his head, eyes open, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly.
After thirty minutes, he quietly left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. As he rummaged through the pantry looking for a box of herbal tea, he felt a presence behind him.
Turning, he saw Stephanie standing there, her arms folded. “What are you looking for?”
He smiled and returned to studying the contents of the pantry. “The chamomile tea you keep in here.”
“You hate chamomile tea.”
“I don’t hate it. I just don’t care for it. But if it will help me sleep, I’ll drink the stuff.”
“Sean.”
He returned his attention to her. “Yes.”
“Your sleeplessness is getting worse. Do you think you need to see a doctor about it?”
“No, I need a neighbor who doesn’t call at eleven o’clock at night.”
She smiled, went to him and they embraced.
He said, “No, that’s not true either. I guess I still care too much about the job when maybe I should be re-examining my priorities.”
&n
bsp; She hugged him tighter, but did not respond, letting him talk.
“This last trip wasn’t that long, and we accomplished a lot.”
Raising her head, she looked up at him. “There’s a however, isn’t there?”
“It’s hard to explain, because I don’t understand it myself. It’s like when I’m not working, I can’t get my mind off the investigation. When I am working, I’m usually traveling and missing you and the kids. Exactly like when Brian grew up, I’m missing a chunk of their childhood. Those are the times when I ask myself what the heck I’m doing this for?” He paused for just a heartbeat. “I can’t have it both ways, Steph. My career has been one long battle of balancing my personal life with the bureau’s demands. The bureau always wins.”
When she raised her head to look at him, she could see moisture pooling in the corner of his left eye.
He continued, “Sometimes I felt like Brian was someone else’s son who grew up and I only saw him on occasion.”
With a smile, she said, “He doesn’t blame you. You two have an excellent relationship.”
The moisture in his eye leaked and ran down his cheek. “I know, but most of my memories of him growing up are based on pictures my mom and dad took for me. Why does that make me feel so guilty?”
Laying her head on his chest, she said, “It shouldn’t. We can’t live in the past, Sean. I hate saying this because it’s such a cliché but it is what it is. Don’t make any decisions right now. You told me you didn’t sleep much on this last trip. You’re tired. Making decisions when you feel that way are never your best ones.”
He placed his chin on the top of her head. “How did I survive all those years without you?”
“The same way I did before I met you—one day at a time.”
Chapter 40
Springfield, MO
Kruger leaned against JR’s credenza and tried to stifle a yawn. Failing, he blinked several times and said, “Okay, last night you didn’t have many details.”
“No, I didn’t. But I have a few now.” He turned in his chair and looked at his friend. “Last night, I discovered the emails originated in the Fremont, Wyoming county sheriff’s office. They do, in fact, originate on the sheriff’s desktop computer.”
“That’s kind of stupid on the sheriff’s part.”
“My thoughts exactly. So, I hacked into the sheriff’s office server.”
With a grin, Kruger took a sip of coffee and then said, “I can’t wait to hear what you found.”
“The emails are only sent when he’s logged out of the office.”
“Okay, someone is using his computer to misdirect anyone from tracing the real sender.”
JR nodded. “But why use the sheriff’s computer? Why not have a computer you use in a coffee shop or some other Wi-Fi spot. Why the sheriff’s office.”
Kruger was silent for a few moments as he stared at the far wall of the second floor. “Because someone wants to implicate the sheriff.”
“That’s the only reason I could think of, but the sheriff would be able to deny he’s the one sending the emails because he can prove he’s away from the office.”
“Unless they are being sent at the behest of the sheriff.”
“Huh.” JR looked back at his computer. “Didn’t think of that.”
“What are the emails about?”
“Most of the ones I’ve found tell the recipients when to listen to the numbers station.”
“Any attachments?”
“Not on any of the ones I’ve found. But the emails are purged once a month with a very sophisticated software routine. One I’ve never seen before. Alexia is dissecting it.”
“Keep watching for one. We know they shut the numbers station down. My guess would be they’re likely to change the outgoing message and everyone will need a new key. I would imagine…” He stopped and his eyebrows rose. “JR.”
The hacker turned. “Uh-oh. I’ve seen that look before.”
“Doesn’t this operation seem a little too sophisticated to you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not disparaging small county sheriff’s offices, but this just seems too—uh—what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“High-tech?”
“Close. It reminds me too much of a communication system the FBI uncovered in 2010 used by the Russian foreign intelligence service. They were using customized steganography software to place messages in images to communicate with their agents abroad.”
“Huh.” JR blinked several times. “Do you know how steganography works?”
“All I know is what I’ve read. It’s hiding a message within another message.”
With a nod, JR said, “Or image.”
After staring at the monitors, his hands rested above the keyboard for several moments before he started typing.
Kruger remained quiet as his friend worked his magic. As he watched, an image flashed on the center monitor and dissolved into 1s and 0s.
JR pointed at the screen. “That is what the image for the shield of the Fremont County sheriff’s department reveals if it’s broken down into individual bits and bytes.”
“Okay, looks like binary code.”
“It is. But watch this.” More typing as JR said, “Colors are represented in computers using 8-bit numbers. This means that a set of eight zeroes and ones is used to represent a given color. By using all the possible combinations of eight zeroes and ones, we get two hundred and fifty-six possible colors represented by binary code.”
“Okay, I’m following.”
“Most computer monitors display colors by varying the red, green, and blue primary colors to create the desired image. What would happen if you varied that code by a digit or two from the original color within the image?”
“Wouldn’t have a clue.”
“You would get a color similar to the original one with a difference the human eye couldn’t see. But the computer would know.”
“Now I’m really not following you.”
“Okay, let’s look at the Fremont County emblem.” It flashed on the screen. “I took this from their website. Let’s break it down into binary code.” Numbers appeared on the screen as JR typed. “Now let’s compare this binary representation to one from the sheriff’s emails to the group.” More typing and the left screen displayed numbers. “That is the binary code for an email emblem. Can you see a difference?”
“No.”
“Watch.” More typing as the two screens merged. “What about now?”
“A little.”
“Exactly. If you take the slight changes in the binary code for the emblem, you can relay a message using the numbers that are different and converting them to binary code.”
“So, you’re telling me they are hiding the messages within the sheriff’s emblem on the email signature.”
“Yup.”
“Huh.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Okay, so what’s the message in this one?”
More typing and five words appeared. DEPART SATURDAY FOR DESIGNATED LOCATIONS.
“What the heck does that mean?”
“It means I have to go back as far as I can and analyze the hidden message in the emblem.”
“If the messages are hidden in the image in the email signature, what does the numbers station have to do with it?”
“Not following you, Sean.”
“The numbers station is sending out a code, right?”
“That was our original theory. But their use of steganography takes the level of sophistication to another level.”
Kruger was silent for a few moments. “You mentioned on the plane you would need to hack into the NSA computer. Did you?”
JR nodded.
“And?”
“Not good news.”
“What?”
“A thought occurred to me on the plane there might be a foreign influence on this group. Now that we know they are communicating with the change in colors like the Russians did
, what I found makes more sense.”
“Please, JR, just tell me.”
“The sheriff’s computer does not have the software to convert images. Where are they coming from?”
Scratching his chin, Kruger titled his head. “Can you tell if the computer is receiving the image from somewhere else?”
With a mischievous grin, JR said, “I didn’t think about it until just now. When Alexia was going through the emails on the sheriff’s computer, she found it received an inordinate amount of spam. As a rule, we ignore these because most spam is automatically transferred to a junk file in the email program. What if the converted images are being received in an email the computer recognizes as spam?”
“It would send those emails directly to the Spam file.”
“Exactly.”
“Can you go back and find out if that’s what’s going on?”
“Looks like we will have to.”
“Okay. Back to the reason for the numbers station and the embedded messages—why both systems?”
JR just shook his head.
Taking a sip of coffee, Kruger made a face and went to warm it up. When he returned, he displayed a slight smile. “JR, how much computer power does it take to convert the images like you just did?”
“It’s not how much computer power, it’s the software. Why?”
“Is that kind of software readily available?”
“Yes, there is an abundant number of different programs available. Some are even free.”
“Are they easy to use?”
He shrugged. “Depends.”
“On?”
After taking a deep breath, JR let it out slowly. “You’d have to have a certain level of computer savvy to use one. Why?”
Kruger sipped his coffee. “How many recipients did you find in the email trails?”
“About ninety-nine…” He stopped and tilted his head. “What are you getting at?”
“I could be wrong, but that seems like an awful lot of individuals to train on how to use steganography and keep them isolated from each other.”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Their messaging system keeps all the members from knowing the other email addresses, correct?”
