Denial of Service 5: End of Line.

by Steve Jordan

  “See if I ever shop there again,” I muttered, as I increased my pace. Just as I was reaching the corner, I could hear rapid footsteps behind me, and I waited as long as I could before my inner rabbit got the better of me. I broke into a run and dashed around the corner.

  And almost ran headlong into the passenger-side door of a white Eclipse coming up the road. I grabbed the handle and used it to swing inside with such force that I probably bent something, slammed the door, and yanked the seat down. The two suits appeared around the corner then, and kept running down the sidewalk past the car… I’d lost them.

  “Go, go! Get us to Edward!” I whispered urgently, as Gail started to cut across traffic to make a left turn. “Jesus Christ, girl, you gave me a heart attack…”

  “Well, what’d you expect?” Gail protested as she negotiated the streets. “I told you doing a U-turn here was crazy! I had to circle the block—”

  “Whatever,” I said, trying to calm down. “It worked. Good job.” I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “And I got hit four.”

  “So far… so scary,” Gail said. “I think they’ve got helicopters looking for you.”

  “I saw it, too,” I nodded. “I don’t think they’ve actually ID’d your car yet, though. They’re sure to by Francis, though.”

  Checkpoint Edward was on Market, and heading away from the cluster of Starbucks that were in the tourist areas. I prayed that that choice would throw their search pattern, and buy us more time. Just in case, I monitored for more wireless spots as we travelled, but every spot I hit was password-protected… and anyway, we were in open area, too easy to be spotted loitering around. So we kept going, using G street to get to 10th, then south to get to Market.

  “Oh, mother,” I said as we approached Market. I could see unmarked cars… three of them… all within viewing distance of the Starbucks. I’d never be able to sneak into it.

  Gail saw it too, and bit her lip silently as we approached, and stopped at the light. We were at the head of the intersection, and all three cars were in sight at that moment. I was still cranked down, but if we did anything suspicious, they’d pick us up right away.

  The light turned green, and Gail had no choice but to drive through the intersection. Suddenly, she angled right and put the car at the corner, and shut the car off.

  I looked around frantically. “What are you doing?”

  “Can you connect from here?” Gail asked quickly.

  I checked. “Yeah… just.”

  “Good. I’ll buy you some time,” Gail said, and she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car. She slammed the door, as if she was angry… which clued me in to something going on, but I didn’t know what. Slowly, I cranked open the Toughbook and looked for the next hit.

  Outside the car, Gail walked around to the corner, in plain sight, reached into her purse, and pulled out her cellphone. She dialed, paused, and started talking, loudly… and I swear, I had to stop and sneak a look in awe. Gail sounded like she was channeling Marisa Tomei, straight out of My Cousin Vinny, and she was arguing with someone at the other end of the call, and pointing her arm up and down the street, then at signs, then peering up and down the street… pretending to get directions! And considering it was Gail—and Gail could make a corn sack look sexy—it was sure that she was getting more attention lavished on her, than anything else on the street. “Attagirl, Kato!” I muttered as I went to work. Hit number five came through, and I got busy. Once I sent the packet, I closed the Toughbook… then tried to figure out how to call Gail back to the car without being seen. After a few seconds, an idea came to me. I opened the Toughbook again, and started searching for some audio files. That’s what I want…

  Gail kept doing the distraction bit on the street, until she suddenly reacted to a noise from her car. It took her a second to realize she was listening to the yap of a toy poodle, coming from her passenger side. After a second, she recovered her composure. She shouted into the phone, “You betta know what’cher talkin’ about, or so help me, when I catch up to you, I will club you!” Whereupon she snapped her phone shut and headed back for the car, saying in a loud voice, “Don’t worry, Killer, mommy’s ready to go now!”

  She climbed into the car, looked down at me lying prone in the passenger seat, and she reached out and tousled my hair. “That’s a good boy.”

  “‘Killer’?”

  “You’ gonna criticize?” she said in her best Marisa accent.

  “Oh, Hell, no,” I smiled. “Let’s get to Francis.”

  10: Drive-in

  Checkpoint Francis required doubling back and crossing town. Amazingly, the feds still hadn’t twigged to Gail’s car. But that couldn’t last much longer. That’s why I’d picked the next Starbucks carefully: It was one of few in the area that had a drive-in window.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Gail asked me as we approached the shop. “I can see fed cars already here.”

  “I know,” I replied, levering open the Toughbook as we approached. “Trust me, this should look completely innocuous to anyone watching. Just drive into the drive-through, and while you’re ordering, I’ll be doing my thing. In and out, nice and easy.”

  To her credit, Gail pouted. “What fun is that?”

  She drove into the drive-through, as I was already connecting to the web. As we pulled up to the ordering screen, a voice from a speaker said, “Gfudefftrrn, wuffumm Sorrfumms cummi feffer erder?”

  “Great Scott,” I rolled my eyes. “Spend a buck on a speaker, why don’t ya…”

  “Um, yeah,” Gail said to the speaker. “Um… grande chai latte, please, extra milk.”

  I looked up at her. “I never pegged you for a chai person.”

  “Never mind,” she said, nodding at the laptop. “You got it?”

  I checked. “Um… not yet…”

  Now Gail rolled her eyes. “See, this is what I was afraid of: We get stuck in a conspicuous spot while you wait for the next hit!”

  “Shh!” I shushed, checking the connection. “We’re not stuck yet.”

  We drove very slowly up to the pickup window, Gail making a big deal out of digging into her purse for exact change. She handed the money over, and gave me a quick glance. I had to shake my head… nothing yet. Another thirty seconds went by… and the barista brought Gail’s drink. “Thank you,” she said, and glanced at me again as she slowly raised it to her lips. I shook my head.

  Gail immediately hunched forward, pushing the drink away from her. Then she turned to the pickup window with an angry glare. “I said extra milk! Is there even any milk in here?”

  The barista immediately took on a confused look, then reached out for the cup. “Sorry, ma’am! I can make a better one for you.”

  “Please do, thanks,” Gail replied, and waited until the barista had disappeared inside. “Well?”

  “Nothing…”

  “Oh, come on…”

  By this time, three cars were waiting in the line behind us. Our inconspicuosity was drying up by the second. The guy right behind us, not being able to see what was holding things up, beeped. Gail looked back at the guy, smiled sweetly, and extended her middle finger towards him. As she did so, she glanced through her mirror at a nearby unmarked car. The driver, a man wearing a cheap suit and sunglasses, was getting out and crossing the street, headed in our direction. “Oh, Christ…”

  My laptop beeped. “Here it is—”

  “Here you go, ma’am.”

  “Oh!” Gail jerked around to see the barista with her drink. “Oh… you startled me!”

  “Terribly sorry, ma’am,” the barista said, extending the drink.

  “That’s okay,” Gail said slowly, waiting for a high sign from me. I was typing furiously, but I needed a few more seconds. “Um… are you sure this is the real milk? Because I can’t stand the soy stuff.”

  “We used whole milk, not soy, not low-fat.”

  Another beep from behind. Gail sent a withering glance at the driver, then looked s
weetly at the barista, who smiled sympathetically back (leave it to my baby to be able to find the last straight barista in town). “I want to thank you for all your help, uh… Brian. You’ve made my day.”

  “Any time, ma’am,” Brian said, apparently thrilled that such a gorgeous customer had actually addressed him by name. “In fact, any time at all—”

  “And that time is now,” I said quickly. The packet was off. “Get to the last stop!”

  “About fucking time!” Gail snarled, throwing the car in gear and tromping the accelerator. As she did so, she nearly hit the cheap suit that was just about to cross in front of the car to her side… another few steps, and he would’ve seen me, too. But thanks to Gail’s burnout, it didn’t really matter anymore. He bellowed like we had run over his foot, he yelled into his shirtsleeve, he pointed, and he ran back to his car. Other unmarked cars all seemed to come alive at that point, but none of them happened to be pointed in the direction we were going, or quick enough to block us. Before any of them could react, Gail shot through the intersection, made the next right, and screamed away. I could hear the squealing tires of FBI men behind us, soon to disappear as we got around the corner.

  I cranked my seat up. “About time, that was getting uncomfortable.”

  “As uncomfortable as our jail cells are gonna be?” Gail complained.

  “We’re not locked up yet,” I said. “The last packet is away. When BM tries another hit, the FBI will be able to trace it right back to the source. We just need to stay free long enough for them to keep watching for it.”

  Gail glanced back in her rearview mirror. The FBI vehicles were almost two blocks behind us. Gail bit her lip. “I don’t think we’re gonna stay free that long, boss!”

  “Have faith, Kato! —next left.”

  11: Chase scene

  Chase scenes are much more fun to watch on television than to actually experience. Gail and I were finding that out the hard way. We only had to go two miles, but right now, they felt like the distance from here to the Moon. Instead of being excited… we were scared shitless.

  Gail swerved around two trucks as she went on. She was driving like a demon… probably because she was having flash-forwards about being cavity-searched by a three-hundred pounder named Flo. I didn’t blame her. The one in my head was named Larry. But we’d done our bit: I’d sent the packets to the FBI, and all it would take would be one more attempt by BM to hack into NASDAQ, and they would be the ones being cavity searched.

  In the meantime, we had to get to checkpoint Gail, come hell or high water. And we were close—

  “Sonofabitch!” Gail snapped, and yanked at the wheel. In her zeal to get to the last checkpoint, she had been running a red light, but the sudden appearance of a semi caught her by surprise. She put the car into a skid that ended up parallel to the side of the semi, and pointed up the wrong street. She cursed again, and floored it anyway.

  “Oh, shit…” I was beginning to panic. Yeah, finally. We were now headed away from our safe point, which made it all the more likely that we’d be caught before we got there… or if I tried to change my plans at this point. “We have to get—”

  “I know, I know,” Gail nodded as she looked for a place to turn.

  I assumed she would try to make the next left, and braced myself… which was why I almost threw myself into her lap when she made the next right. “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

  “Who’s driving, Green Hornet?” Gail spat as she dodged a scooter and a Think! Car. She reached the next intersection and made another right, bolted to the corner and took the next right, then proceeded in a leisurely pace down the block. I started to ask again what she was doing, but a warning glance from her kept me quiet. As we approached the intersection that we had just flown through a minute ago, I watched a flurry of unmarked cars shoot through the intersection, in the direction we had gone. Gail reached the corner, stopped like a good driver, and waited. As we watched, a few more fed cars barreled through the intersection. When it looked like the last one had passed, Gail made the right turn and followed them.

  Up ahead, it looked like at least one car had seen us make the right turn thanks to the semi. They had apparently passed the word, and now every car was making the same right turn! And behind the fed caravan, Gail drove the Eclipse straight through the intersection, on-course for checkpoint Gail.

  I looked at Gail, and the shit-eating grin on her face. “You go, Kato.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  But moments later, I heard a familiar drone in the sky. I glanced up just in time to see that helicopter, swinging north to follow the other drivers, and in the process, crossing over our block. The ‘copter disappeared beyond the buildings, and the drone receded in the distance. But a moment later, I heard it again. It had reappeared over our block, and now it was swinging our way.

  “We’ve been made!” I snapped. “Hit it, Kato!”

  “Hittin’ it, boss!” Gail floored it, and we shot forward again. We only had three blocks to go, not nearly enough time to lose the ‘copter… but with no cars close to us in pursuit, we could still make it work.

  “Are you sure this can still work?” Gail asked as we hit the last intersection.

  I saw our destination ahead. “I am now,” I said. We were on a street of hotels, and I could see the Starbucks in the lobby of the hotel on the far right. I pointed at the entrance to the hotel’s parking garage. “There’s our bolt-hole, babe!”

  Gail gritted her teeth and yanked the wheel. As onlookers either stared in shock or ducked for cover, the Eclipse squealed in a wide arc, bounced up the driveway entrance and power-slid at the turnstiles. At the last second, she took her foot off the brake, and the car shot forward, threading the space between the parking turnstiles and into the underground parking garage at forty miles an hour.

  “Christ,” I muttered as she hit the brakes again and brought us down to a more-or-less sane speed in the garage. Perfect: The ‘copter would have seen us enter, but we had some time before any G-men got down here after us. I looked around carefully, remembering the online diagrams of the garage that I’d seen the other day. “There!” I pointed at an elevator bay, and some nearby parking spots. “Put it there!”

  Gail slotted us into a parking space at a garish angle, leaving me just barely enough room to get my door open. I squeezed out as she dashed out of the car and met me at the other side. I pointed at our destination and said, “Go, go!”

  We made a mad dash down a corridor, found a set of stairs, ran up the single flight, and opened the door into the hotel lobby. Checkpoint Gail was immediately to our left, and we slowed to a casual walk as we entered and sat down at a table.

  Seconds later, we watched through the shop’s glass storefront as the phalanx of fed cars came screaming up to the hotel entrance, and down into the parking garage … it scared people even more than our arrival had, which was saying something. I could just picture the guys down in the garage: They would’ve found the car by the elevator bay, radioed their guys upstairs that we were already in or near the Starbucks, and bolted for the stairs.

  As we watched, a squad of cheap suits busted into the Starbucks, guns drawn, sending customers scattering and male baristas screaming, as more suits flooded into the hotel lobby. The suits ran back and forth, checking the customers and under the tables, scampering into the back, then back out… then started chattering into their shirtsleeves. Because they couldn’t find us.

  As Gail watched, fascinated by the show, she reached across the table and patted my hand. “Fiendishly clever of you, Mister Hornet, sir.”

  “Elementary, my dear, sexy Kato,” I said.

  If any of the feds had happened to be sharp enough to look a little further than the confines of the Starbucks, they could have seen us in plain sight… through a plate-glass window… right across the street. Gail and I watched the entire tableau from the shop in the opposite hotel… the one that had a below-ground access to the parking lot. As Gail watched the fed
s running around like Keystone Cops, I opened my Toughbook and checked the status of our little game. Sure enough, BM had run Merc a final time, and the FBI monitoring systems had had enough data from my earlier packets to recognize and trace the signal right back to its source. Agents in Baltimore would already be heading for BM in Baltimore, before they even knew they were ID’d.

  And it was time for my final packet to the FBI, documenting all of my notes and steps, including the events that had gotten me fired and blacklisted, and finished off with a last note:

  “This corrupt accounting firm wrapped up in a pretty red bow for you

  by your friendly neighborhood IT guy: M.D. Schitz.”

  I hit the send button, just as two G-men crowded through the door of the shop and made eye-contact with me and Gail. I just turned my head to the nearest barista, and said, “Can I get a grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room, to go?”

  The barista looked at me, and said, “We do ‘medium’ here, not ‘grande’. This is Seattle’s Best, not Starbucks.”

  I looked at the G-men, then at Gail, and smiled. “I stand corrected.”

  12: End of Line

  Unlike what you usually see in television, the good guys who manage to get away with a hairy plot that successfully captures the real bad guys still don’t get to go home in an hour with a pat on the back by a grateful detective. No, we were escorted with extreme prejudice down to the local FBI headquarters, where we spent the entire night regurgitating our stories again and again, while my Toughbook was surely being interrogated in another room somewhere. (Fortunately, I’d offloaded some of the more bizarre things I’d gotten involved with since coming to San Diego, and they were locked up elsewhere. Good thing, too. Some of the exploits I’ve been involved in, in the last few months, could have kept me here for weeks.) But at no time did these guys ever tell me we were under arrest, under suspicion, or under anything at all… so I took that to be a very, very good sign.