Spyware

by V. B. Larson

  He relaxed and all but drifted off into an exhausted slumber. Something kept him awake though, something nagged at him.

  What was it?

  Then it came to him. Who had shut off the pump?

  Adrenalin shot through him. It could be anyone. It could be Ingles, coming back after drowning him to check on the status of the job. It could be Farmer John, just noticing the white Lincoln wallowing in his back forty.

  He had to take the chance.

  Finding the sweet spot on the trunk wall again, he began to beat it like a drum.

  … 7 Hours and Counting…

  Ray heard the most lovely of sounds: muffled voices mixed with splashing. Someone was coming. Someone had heard. Would it be Ingles? Would it be Farmer John? He thought of remaining quiet, but that would be crazy. He had to take this chance to get free. Another might never come.

  He kicked the wall of the trunk again. This time the voices cried out to one another. He was sure that he had been heard. He lay back and relaxed as the water slowly drained from the trunk. It felt good to know that he would see the sun again-at least briefly.

  Someone knocked on the trunk lid. He tried to cry out, but only a muffled moaning fluttered his lips. He kicked again. This was a good sign. Ingles wouldn’t have knocked, knowing that he was in there.

  There was a long delay. Perhaps a minute, perhaps five. He was impatient. Voices spoke to him, but he couldn’t make out the words through the layers of metal and tape.

  Then suddenly, without warning, the trunk lid fell open and he was rolled out into the canal. There was only about two feet of water in the bottom of the canal, but it was more than enough to cover his head. He thrashed about at the feet of his rescuers, drowning.

  He was grabbed like a fish in two powerful hands and hoisted up out of the water.

  “He’s alive anyway,” said a deep male voice, the owner of the hands that roughly held him upright.

  “Who is it?” asked a female voice.

  A face came into his limited field of view. The face was wreathed with concern and surprise. Ray recognized her: it was that she-bitch who had chased him for days now-Agent Vasquez.

  Right then Ray thought she was the prettiest woman in the world. His cheeks strained to grin against layers of silver tape.

  “Vance!” said Vasquez in some surprise as they worked and cut the tape away from his body. They had decided to remove it right there in the canal, before hoisting him out. Even Johansen felt that Ray was too great a burden to carry up the slippery wet walls wearing leather-soled shoes. Good shoes that had been ruined, along with a good suit, by the canal water.

  “Should we call in an ambulance?” she asked. Ray struggled to answer, but the tape around his mouth still restrained him.

  Soon, his mouth was free. “I don’t need an ambulance, I don’t think. What I need is help in finding my son. Ingles might have left some clue in the house. Justin might even be on the property somewhere.”

  Vasquez and Johansen exchanged glances.

  “Ah!” said Ray. “Still trying to figure out how I taped myself up and threw myself to the bottom of a canal, eh?”

  “It’s not that,” said Vasquez. “Ingles is dead. His body was discovered out along the main road.”

  “Shit,” said Ray dully. His resurgent hopes of finding Justin fell greatly. “What about Nog and the other guy?”

  Johansen jerked his head toward the front of the car as he worked to free Ray’s upper body. Ray craned his neck to follow the gesture. Nog’s flabby dead arm floated from the driver’s side window. Ray wanted to puke all over again when he thought he had been greedily drinking the canal water directly downstream from poor Nog’s body.

  “Poor bastard,” he said. “He tried to save me, you know. Almost killed me in the process, of course, but still… He tried to help.”

  “What other guy?” asked Vasquez.

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘Nog and that other guy.’”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ray. “There was a third man. I never saw his face.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Um. No, I don’t think so. But maybe I could recognize his voice if I heard it again.”

  “Great,” said Vasquez. “Look, Dr. Vance. You’ve been less than fully up front with us all along.”She began to question him on recent events, and he answered as best he could. He was heartened to see the believing look in her eyes. She might not have liked his story, but she was willing to believe him now.

  “I must admit that Nog now seems like an even more likely suspect than you in the virus case,” she concluded.

  Johansen was working on his legs now, and with his free, numb hands, Ray tried to help.

  “So, am I under arrest or what? I’ll cooperate in any way that I can. All I want to do is find my son, and you can see that I’ve come close. Will you help me?” he asked, without much hope. Surely they would at least want to drag him to a cell. He had resisted arrest too long and there were simply too many unexplained bodies around.

  Vasquez and Johansen glanced at one another. “It is true, there are many mysteries here, with only your story to go on… for now,” she said. “Any thinking agent would drag you back to a cell without a qualm.”

  “But, we do need your help with our case,” added Johansen.

  “With the virus?”

  “That would be nice, but that’s not our case any longer,” said Vasquez. “We were- relieved from that case. Our case now is the search for your son.”

  Ray’s eyes got big and he grinned as he worked one foot free of the sticky mass of tape. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be out of that damned tape.”

  He looked from one to the other with a new perspective. “You’ve got Justin’s case?”

  “Yes, your wife asked that we take it on,” smiled Vasquez.

  Soon, they were all struggling up the canal embankment. Johansen helped Ray, who could hardly walk after spending a night with his legs taped together.

  Vasquez slipped even though she was wearing flats. Johansen darted a hand down to steady her. “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  When they all reached the top, they took a moment to dust themselves off and strip the last bits of tape from Ray.

  “I think the key angle is to find this third man,” said Johansen.

  “Right, but there is another possible answer,” said Ray.

  “What?”

  “Ingles told me he sent me an e-mail message. A message that would release my boy.”

  Vasquez frowned at that. “I don’t know. Even if that message was sent, the entire internet is failing. I doubt it could have been delivered.”

  Ray stared at her. The enormity of what she had just said sunk in. Had Nog really managed to do it? He hardly noticed as Johansen snapped a set of handcuffs on his wrists.

  … 6 Hours and Counting…

  “Can we at least try Ingles’ machine?” asked Ray.

  Vasquez nodded, following his logic. “Right. Even if the message was lost on the net, a copy should still be on his hard drive.”

  “As long as he didn’t erase it,” added Johansen.

  “All right,” sighed Vasquez. “Look Vance, I’ll give you an hour, then we have to take you in. There have been two murders and what looks like a third. Johansen, phone in for back-up would you? Someone has to get Nog and that car out of that canal and do all the forensics on it.”

  Johansen nodded and snapped open his phone. They all climbed into their car and drove down the dirt road toward the house.

  “The virus is still raging on the net then?” asked Ray.

  “Nothing seems to stop it. And if you’re right, and the author is now smashed in the bottom of the canal, then it’s going to take even longer to piece together a solution. The damned thing keeps changing its profile. It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen.”

  “Nog was truly a genius,” agreed Ray. “He told me something of his work befor
e he died.”He related to her what Nog had told him about the self-evolving software he had written.

  “If it’s true, then he’s created a new nightmare we’ve never encountered before,” said Vasquez thoughtfully. “And I, for one, am ready to believe it. There will be a number of federal agencies that will want that source code. We’ll have to put in some special court orders concerning national security issues on Nog’s computers.”

  “That’s Verr’s case now,” said Johansen gently.

  “We’ll ask for the court orders anyway,” snapped Vasquez. “No one will bitch if we help make sure no foreign power gets their hands on this bomb.”

  Johansen nodded without smiling.

  Vasquez sighed. “Sorry for snapping,” she said without looking at him. Johansen nodded again and visibly relaxed.

  From his vantage point in the back seat, Ray slid his eyes from one of them to the other. He wondered vaguely about their relationship. They seemed closer somehow, more concerned.

  When they reached the house they all got out of the car. Johansen half-lifted Ray out of the backseat and the doors crumped behind them. Ray’s legs were so stiff from his ordeal that he could barely walk.

  “I’m really grateful that you guys are giving me this chance,” said Ray. “I realize that it must not be easy for you.”

  “We should have already gone through Ingles machine,” said Vasquez.

  “Won’t Verr be pissed if we do it now?” asked Johansen.

  “It’s a valid lead in both cases. Including the one we’re on now,” she said.

  “He’ll still be pissed. I bet he’ll report it.”

  “Like I said: Screw him,” replied Vasquez with a smile.

  “You two will feel and look good if this somehow leads to my son’s freedom,” said Ray. He felt the moment of hesitation and discomfort that his words caused them. He could tell they already counted Justin as dead and gone. Well, he thought to himself, screw them too.

  Still in a fog of uncomfortable silence, they entered and the screen door slammed shut behind them. The sound made them all jump a bit. Ray shuffled into the den, heading for Ingles’ computer. He paused when he got there and gestured to Johansen impatiently with his cuffed wrists. Johansen looked at Vasquez, who nodded. He produced a key and unlocked one of the cuffs, swung it around Ray’s body and cuffed it in front of him.

  “Wha-” said Ray, then he grimaced and nodded at the agent. Best not to look this gift-horse in the mouth. He could still type this way. That should be all he needed.

  The first problem presented itself immediately: The system was passworded. Everything was password-protected, including the BIOS setup in CMOS, the hard disk booting process, and doubtlessly, the network connection and any sensitive files on the hard disk. Ray sighed.

  “This will take a minute. Any suggestions?”

  Vasquez looked over his shoulder. The BIOS setup password was first. If they could get into that, they could cause the system to boot from an external drive and thereby bypass the hard drive’s boot-up password altogether.

  Together, they tried all the obvious ones: just hitting the enter key, typing: “password”, and “santa”.

  “Nothing,” said Ray. “Let’s short the battery on the motherboard.”

  “That can be dangerous,” cautioned Vasquez.

  “Look, if my son is still alive somewhere, he can’t last long with Ingles’ and the rest dead. We have a big time factor here.”

  She nodded. They turned the system off, removed the back of the computer and touched a screwdriver to the battery posts on the motherboard. This created a short circuit and within a few seconds blanked the computer’s CMOS chips. Essentially, the computer “forgot” its password and setup.

  They then put it back together, fired it up and were able to set the machine up to their liking. Booting on an external drive, they bypassed the boot-up password on the hard disk. Next, they began searching the hard disk for files. Vasquez always carried a boot drive with a set of excellent hacker’s utilities for just such a purpose. Ray could see that she was anxious to take his place and work it herself. It was what he had been hoping for.

  “Look,” he said after a few minutes of searching. “I’m feeling a bit sick.” The truth was that he could barely hang onto a thread of thought.

  “I’ll bet,” chuckled Johansen. “After a night in that trunk. How long since you ate anything?”

  “More than a day. And that was just Nog’s stale snacks. Too bad he didn’t keep a stash in the trunk.”

  “I know my search utilities better than you do, anyway,” said Vasquez, sliding into his place as he staggered out of the chair. She bent forward with a look of concentration.

  Ray smiled and Johansen caught him. They exchanged knowing glances. She had taken over the legwork on this one. Johansen led him into Ingles’ kitchen and they raided the place for a quick snack. They made what his wife Sarah would have referred to as “bachelor sandwiches”. Two pieces of bread and four slices of lunchmeat, slapped together. No condiments, or any other sissy stuff. It was Spartan fare, Ray reflected, but filling.

  “Just don’t tell anyone that we did this,” said Johansen as they wolfed down stolen sandwiches.

  “This bastard ruined my life. The least I can do is eat some of his food,” muttered Ray bitterly. He decided he almost liked Johansen. The man could certainly eat. No less than four wads of bread and meat vanished into his broad mouth.

  After a few minutes, they went back into the den to hover over Vasquez’s shoulder. “What have you got?” asked Ray.

  “There was nothing in the e-mail directory of any value-except for one zip file that I’m trying to get into.”

  Ray examined the screen. There appeared to be a fairly large compressed file in the e-mail directory. It was unreadable until the compression process was reversed. The problem was that there was yet another password attached to this particular file. This password could not easily be bypassed.

  Again and again they tried one password after another. The process was known as “hacking”. Finally, after about half an hour, Ray watched as Vasquez typed in the password: “Sarah”.

  Immediately, data spewed out on the screen. Ray blinked in alarm. What were the implications of that password? How had she known?

  “My wife’s name?” he asked aloud.

  Vasquez didn’t look at him. “This message looks good. It appears to have the word Santa in it.”

  “ Sarah was the password?” he demanded. “Why?”

  “Look, Dr. Vance,” said Vasquez. “If you’re right, we need every second to work on finding your son.”

  He stared at her, knowing she was avoiding his questions. “Just tell me in one sentence then: Why?”

  She looked back to the keyboard and brought up a screen full of text.

  Ray looked to Johansen. The man’s face was troubled. Ray knew what he was thinking: they were both men, and they had just eaten a sandwich together. Did that mean you owed a guy something?

  “You should ask your wife about that one, Vance,” he rumbled. Vasquez stiffened at his words, but said nothing.

  Ray turned back to the screen and tried to put it all out of his mind. What did it matter? The guy was dead anyway. He would figure it out later. Right now he wanted to find his son.

  Things weren’t so simple, however. Somewhere, in the darkest corner of his mind, an annoying, chattering monkey would not be quelled, would not be silenced so easily. What if she caused all this? screamed the monkey. What if your precious wife has been a traitor? What if she has brought about all this hellish misfortune upon her family? What then, Dr. Raymond Vance?

  Vasquez was saying something. She sounded excited. Ray blinked and tried to focus. “What?” he asked.

  “There’s a letter here. A letter to you,” she said. “It says something about buried treasure. And about a man named Spurlock.”

  “Buried treasure?” asked Ray. Even as he worked to read the lengthy note, a popping sou
nd came from the driveway as gravel spit from beneath rolling tires. Several cars pulled up. Moments later a tall black man in a dark coat strode into the house with the air of a father that has discovered a pack of naughty children. Behind him came his partner and four sheriff’s deputies in kakhi uniforms.

  He lifted a finger and extended it to the length of his very long arm. He aimed the finger like a pistol at the computer they all huddled around.

  “Get away from that machine!” he roared.

  … 5 Hours and Counting…

  Ray turned his head away from the man and continued reading the e-mail message as fast as he could. He would ignore the intruder, he decided. He needed all the information that he could get. His eyes scanned the text as quickly and cleanly as he could. What he read there made his blood run cold.

  Behind him, a debate raged.

  “We are investigating a federal case here, agent Verr, and we would appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” shouted back agent Vasquez.

  “What case?” demanded Verr. “You’ve been removed from this case, and now you’re interfering in my investigation. You’re tampering and possibly destroying valuable evidence, Vasquez!”

  “We are investigating a missing person’s case, namely that of Justin Vance, Dr. Vance’s son.”

  Even though he was reading and ignoring, Ray had to admire the hint of triumph in her voice.

  “Vance’s kid?” Verr’s face twisted into a scowl with deeper furrows than usual. “How the hell did you swing that?”

  “The same way that you managed to steal our case in the first place, I imagine.”

  Verr ignored the jibe and seemed to notice Ray for the first time. “You mean to tell me this is Vance? My prime suspect for homicide, international computer vandalism and a list of other crimes is just sitting here, doing as he pleases with evidence that is doubtless key to his conviction?”

  “No, sir-” she began.

  “Have you lost your mind, Vasquez?” demanded Verr.

  “As I said, we are investigating a federal case, and I would appreciate your cooperation.”

  Verr held up one finger to silence her. He snapped open his cell phone and glared as he punched in a string of numbers. “Thirty seconds. Within thirty seconds, I’ll have you out of here, Vasquez.”