by Paul Dueweke
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Files
Saturday morning found Guinda at home, but this wasn’t a day for relaxing. She rummaged through her electronic notebook from graduate school for a specific piece of data. She hoped this web address would help unlock some of the mystery surrounding Terra Halvorsen’s death and give her some insight into the mysteries of COPE.
After a few minutes, the number appeared. Guinda jotted it down along with the word following it. It was a password into a special computer account that the University maintained for a number of professors doing research at facilities remote from the University. The account was with a private computer networking company, and it allowed a faculty member at some location off campus to access a computer network for collection and storage of data without entering the University network. It was a security issue for the University to limit access to the campus network while still providing a computer network for its off-site research faculty.
Few faculty members used this service because of the hassle of maintaining two separate systems of computer files, but Terra had looked at it differently. To her, it was an opportunity to isolate her files from the University. In fact, she did most of her work on the private network and kept a modest collection of files on the University network, more for appearance than for function.
When Guinda worked for Terra as a graduate assistant and thesis student, she’d become familiar with Terra’s system and had used it frequently herself. She felt there was a good chance that Terra’s account would still be active since it was probably paid for annually or semiannually. It was certainly worth a try. She entered the address at her computer, and the display immediately responded with: WELCOME TO LEASNET. PLEASE ENTER YOUR USER NAME.
Guinda responded with: HALVORSEN.
The computer responded: PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD.
Guinda replied: TJESSEH
Her display responded: INVALID LOGIN.
Okay. She changed her password. Not surprising. Let’s see, what is her other nephew’s name? … Richard … she always called him Ricky … or was it Richy? Well, here goes one. Terra always bracketed some word with her initials for a password. Guinda entered: TRICHYH.
INVALID LOGIN.
She tried: TRICKYH
INVALID LOGIN.
Then she tried: TRICHARDH
INVALID LOGIN.
Let’s see. What else might she use for … her cat. That’s it.
She entered: TSAMANTHAH.
WELCOME TO LEASNET, PROFESSOR HALVORSEN. YOUR LAST LOGIN WAS 3:45:26 PM; JULY 21, 2048. PLEASE MAKE A SELECTION FROM ANY MENU.
What’s going on? That was just yesterday. Who else has been nosing around in here? She selected LAST TRANSACTION from the menu.
LAST TRANSACTION WAS 3:45:26 PM; JULY 21, 2048.
NO FILES WERE ADDED OR MODIFIED.
14 FILES WERE DELETED.
0 FILES REMAIN.
DO YOU WISH A LIST OF THE FILES DELETED?
Rats! All the files are gone. Somebody beat me to it by just one day. She entered: YES.
11 FILES DELETED:
ARIS
CANDIDATE 1
CANDIDATE 2
CANDIDATE 3
GAMES 42
GAMES 44
GAMES 46
GAMES 48
HOLO/ANIMATION
HOLO/BLOCKBUSTER
XBLOCKBUSTER
Guinda tried to open several files, but was never surprised by the computer’s response: THAT FILE HAS BEEN DELETED.
Guinda logged off in despair. Someone had beaten her to it by only 18 hours, but who? Was it someone like her, searching for truth? Or was it someone suppressing truth?
The blank computer screen mesmerized her. It was a luminous atonal poem that sterilized her thoughts. But a puzzle piece emerged from the blur. One moment she was transfixed by the electronic blizzard; and the next, she pondered a puzzle piece, then another, and another. She knew COPE was related to Terra’s death and Elliott’s surveillance. She was stuck. The pieces wouldn’t stay together.
Her gaze wandered from the computer screen to the nearby phone. There was no one she could turn to for advice now except … Could Elliott help? Could she trust him? If Sherwood feared him, maybe he was okay.
The sound of her phone startled her. She tried to ignore it, but it begged like a child whining. She looked at its answer icon, making the connection. “Hello.”
“Good morning,” replied a gentle voice. “Is this Guinda?”
“Yes.”
“This is Elliott Townsend. How are you this morning?”
“Where are you calling from?” Guinda asked nervously.
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t followed, and they can’t tap my call. That little robotic car they put on my tail doesn’t do well on sidewalks and stairs. I just cut down a sidewalk between houses with my bike, went up a flight of stairs to the EL level on University Avenue, and biked over to my old office here at the Lab. They let me have the use of it for a year, for transition they said. So I thought today was a good time for transitioning.”
“You wouldn’t believe what’s going on! My old professor has been murdered, and I think COPE had something to do with it. I don’t know what to do next.”
“If we put our heads together, we might be able to figure something out.”
“Don’t take COPE too lightly, Elliott.”
“Their surveillance car couldn’t follow me.”
“There’s more to COPE than surveillance,” she said. “They have spiders—killer spiders.”
A long pause followed. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them.” Another pause followed as Guinda’s hard swallow came over the line. “But I’m just a nobody, Guin.”
“You’re somebody to COPE—and Sherwood. I’ll tell you about him, but just be careful. I don’t think Terra was careful enough.”
“Terra Halvorsen?”
“You knew her?”
“Sort of. Guess I need to look out for spiders, too.”
