Palm Sunday

by William R. Vitanyi Jr.

  “What are you talking about? When did this happen?”

  “Before you took over. It was only manifested during test regimens, and even then it was only under a very limited set of circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” demanded Mason.

  Norbert shrugged. “Exposure to extreme temperatures, physical damage to the internal components, or some combination of these or other conditions. It’s a highly improbable scenario, but possible.”

  “Why weren’t the units replaced?”

  “The risk involved in acquiring new units was deemed too great. These things are custom built, and anyway, the chances of something like this happening are remote.”

  “What was your third scenario?” asked Mason.

  “We’ve got a traitor on our hands.”

  “Any other theories?” As Norbert shook his head in the negative, Mason nodded towards the computer screen. “Then tell me what’s going on here.”

  “Simple,” said Norbert. “Someone used Slocum’s palmtop to tap into the Internet data stream and download one of our daily manifests.”

  “Would that include any of my private transmissions?”

  “Probably not, unless they were deliverable to external entities.”

  For a brief moment Mason’s face lost its color. He quickly recovered. “If you know that the palm unit is doing all this stuff, why can’t you tell where the damn thing is?”

  Norbert shook his head. “That part of the security is working. The palmtop is shielding its location. It’s built in, you know.”

  Mason was becoming irritated. “Okay, okay. Just keep trying to get a fix on it.”

  “What about the next profile?”

  “Yeah, right. That has priority. Work on this when you can, but maintain the timetable for the profile. I’m going to investigate your other scenario.”

  Mason left the computer lab and returned to his office. On the way he stopped at his secretary’s desk. “Get George Pampas. Tell him to come up here.”

  “Right away, sir.” Ten minutes later Pampas walked into Mason’s office. Mason gestured for him to have a seat.

  “George, I think we may have a problem.”

  “Which is?” Pampas crossed his legs as he sat back on Mason’s leather couch.

  “What do you know about Robert Slocum?”

  Pampas shrugged. “Good man. Hard ass. Gets the job done. You know the type. Why?”

  “He claims his palmtop was stolen, that much you know.”

  “He’ll find it.”

  “It’s being used.”

  Pampas’s brow furrowed. “You told me that earlier–that someone had connected it to a PC.”

  “Right, but it’s gone beyond that now. Norbert says that one of our transmits was accessed earlier today using that particular device.”

  Now Pampas was concerned. “That’s no small feat. Security is–well, you know Norbert.”

  “Indeed. He has a few ideas as to how this might have happened, but none of them gives me any comfort.”

  “You think Slocum might be involved?”

  “That’s why I called you,” said Mason. “What do you think?”

  “I can pull his file if you want…”

  Mason waved him off. “I want your gut feeling.”

  Pampas needed only a moment. “Personally, I’d take a dozen Slocums. He’s old school, doesn’t mind knocking heads together when it’s called for, and he gets the job done.”

  “Okay, so he’s good. Could he be a traitor, though?”

  “Could he be? Sure, all kinds of people get notions. Could I? Could you?”

  Mason pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying to relieve the building stress. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I want to do. Bring him in, but do it soft. I don’t want him to bolt if he’s bad. Think of a reason for him to come in.” He dropped his hands to his desk.

  “If he’s turned against us just about any excuse could be a red flag for him.”

  Mason considered this. “Tell him we were able to change the codes on the palm unit and we’re issuing a new one for him. Say that we can’t afford for him to spend any more time looking for his old one.”

  “That might work,” said Pampas. “Although if he really has turned it might not matter what excuse we use.”

  “Once you have a location on him give him the message and send an escort. Once he’s in, I want to talk to him.”

  “Do you really think we need to send an escort?” asked Pampas.

  “Send them. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  ***

  Stanley had to shout for Bobby to hear him upstairs. “Bobby, you be sure and come right home after school. Your lunch money is on the counter. And don’t forget your book bag.”

  “Okay, Dad. See you tonight.”

  Stanley could hear his son’s footsteps overhead as he ran back and forth between the bathroom and his bedroom, getting ready for school. He himself had to leave right away, as he was already running late. He went through the door that led from the kitchen to the garage, and soon had pulled out of the driveway.

  Bobby watched the car disappear from his upstairs window, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He hurried into the bathroom, rinsed out his mouth, and ran downstairs. Halfway down the steps he realized he had forgotten his book bag and raced back up to get it. This time he walked down the steps, checking his book bag as he did so. He went to the kitchen and picked up his lunch money, stuffed it deep into his front pocket, and had started for the front door when his eyes happened on his father’s computer desk.

  The palmtop sat next to the computer, where his father had left it the night before. With a quick glance towards the front door, Bobby walked over to the computer desk, slowly opened his book bag, and stuffed the palm unit deep inside. Quickly zipping the book bag closed, Bobby ran out of the house.

  ***

  Robert Slocum watched as Bobby came out the front door and disappeared down the street, off to school no doubt. That left the house empty. He got out from his car and walked up to the front door, looked up and down the street, then rang the doorbell. No one answered. Glancing across the street he was grateful for the large pine tree that obstructed the neighbor’s view of his position. He turned back to the door, took out a set of tools, and worked the lock. It opened easily, and there was no evidence of a security system. He swung the door wider and walked inside.

  As his eyes swept the room, he was impressed at how orderly everything appeared. For a moment he considered that there might be a housekeeper scheduled, so he quickened his search. It didn’t take long to find the computer desk, and the special cable on the shelf beneath. But there was no sign of the palmtop. It made no sense to have the cable but not the device, so Slocum decided that Whipple must have brought it to work with him. Just to be sure, he made a final sweep of the house, carefully checking each potential hiding place. It was nowhere to be found. He now had no choice–he’d have to come back for a face to face with Stanley Whipple.

  ***

  For Bobby, it was a very long day. The physical weight of the palmtop was negligible, but the knowledge of what he was going to do with it was a heavy burden. When the final bell rang, he ran to the spot where he had found it and tossed the handheld computer into a nearby vacant lot. He stood and watched where it landed for several minutes, then turned and ran home.

  ***

  When Robert Slocum again pulled up across from the Whipple residence, Bobby had already been home for several hours. Ten minutes later, Stanley’s Chevy turned into the driveway, the automatic garage door opened, and the car pulled inside. Slocum waited another twenty minutes, until he saw father and son sit down at the kitchen table. He pulled his hood latch, walked to the front of the car, and lifted the hood the rest of the way. He spent several minutes bent over the engine, occasionally pulling on a hose or wiggling a wire. He stood up, and after carefully looking in all directions, seemed to notice the Whipple residence for the first time. He purposefu
lly strode across the street towards their house, hopped up the three concrete steps and rang the bell.

  A young face peered out from behind a curtain, and then footsteps retreated into the house. Several seconds later, the door opened a few inches.

  “Yes, can I help you?” Stanley’s large nose almost stuck out through the opening in the door. Slocum was momentarily taken aback, certain that he had seen this face before. Somewhere. He quickly regained his composure.

  “I’m terribly sorry to bother you. My car died and I can’t get it started.” He stepped back and pointed across the street at his apparently derelict auto. “I was wondering if I might use your phone to call my wife to come get me.”

  Slocum’s self-deprecating smile was the clincher.

  “Yes, I guess that would be okay. Are you from around here?” Stanley opened the door wider, letting Slocum into his living room.

  “No, I was visiting a friend and thought I’d take a short cut. I guess I got a little lost, and then my car just stopped.”

  “Bad luck. Phone’s in the kitchen.” Stanley pointed.

  Slocum nodded his thanks and walked across the room. When he was halfway there he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pistol. Stanley was just closing the front door, and Bobby saw the gun first.

  “Dad!”

  Stanley whirled around at his son’s shouted alarm.

  “I don’t want to hurt you or your son,” Slocum looked meaningfully at the boy. “I’m only here for something that belongs to me.”

  Stanley slowly reached out his hand and moved to position himself between the intruder and his son. “Just take it easy. If you want money, I don’t have much in the house, but you can take my credit card and ATM card. You can even take my car–the keys are there on the coffee table. We won’t tell anyone.”

  “I don’t want your money,” said Slocum.

  “What, then?”

  “My palmtop. You have it. I want it back.”

  His immediate reaction was puzzlement, but then Stanley smiled in relief. “Oh, that! Why didn’t you just say so? I’ve been trying to find out who that belongs to ever since my son brought it home.”

  Bobby leaned over and looked around his father at the man and the gun, then at the computer desk where the palmtop had been earlier. He swallowed hard.

  “Dad…”

  Stanley pushed him back behind him. “Not now, son.”

  “But Dad!”

  “Bobby, that’s enough. I’m sorry mister…”

  Slocum waved the gun. “Doesn’t matter. Just give me the palm unit.”

  “Sure, it’s right over there.”

  “Just tell me. I’ll get it.”

  Stanley pointed at the computer desk. “Right there, next to the computer.”

  Slocum walked over to the desk, holding the gun on father and son while he searched the desktop. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  “Dad!”

  “Bobby, shush. It’s laying right next to it.”

  Slocum stepped back and motioned for Stanley to show him. “No sudden moves.”

  Stanley nodded and walked over to the computer. He looked where he had left the device, but it was gone. The interface cable was on the shelf beneath, but the palmtop was missing.

  “I don’t understand.” He searched the desk, and then turned to Bobby. “Have you seen it?”

  The boy averted his eyes. “Not recently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bobby looked down, to the side, at the ceiling–anywhere but at his father.

  “Bobby, this is not the time to play games. Where’s the palmtop?” Stanley seldom raised his voice, but this was one of those times.

  “I…I got rid of it,” Bobby stammered.

  Stanley looked at him, perplexed. “Got rid of it? What do you mean? Why?”

  The boy seemed to be struggling with something deep down inside, trying to suppress a torrent of emotions that now bubbled to the surface. “You care more about that stupid palm thing than about me! You didn’t even notice when I came in the house when you were working on it, and you forgot about the fishing trip.” He had shouted defiantly, but then slowly, as if melting, his shoulders hunched over and he began to shake. Tears streamed down both cheeks, and between sobs he added, “Mom would never have done that.”

  Stanley was taken aback, but went to his son and hugged him. Slocum had no idea what to do. He looked at the gun in his hand and felt ridiculous. Then he shook himself out of it and took control of the situation. He looked at Bobby.

  “Okay, okay. So you got rid of it. Where is it now?”

  Bobby still sobbed, but managed to point towards the back of the house. “I threw it out in the field, by the highway.”

  “That’s great, kid. Can you find it?”

  Bobby held onto his father, still occasionally sobbing. “Not in the dark.”

  “Well you’re going to have to,” said Slocum. “Is it far from here?”

  He gripped his father tighter. “No. But we won’t be able to see it.”

  Stanley looked at Slocum, pleadingly. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

  “No, it can’t. Let’s go.” He motioned towards the back door, and the trio had just started to move when a flash of red lights from outside caught Slocum’s attention. He walked to the front window and looked across the street. A police cruiser had pulled up behind his car, alerted by the raised hood. An officer walked around the vehicle shining a flashlight.

  “We’ll have to wait.” He indicated for Stanley and Bobby to sit on the couch, while he took up position in a chair across from them.

  “As long as we’re here,” said Slocum, “tell me what you know about my palmtop.”

  Chapter Three

  Stanley was unsure how much to reveal. The man sitting across from him seemed to want nothing more than to get the palmtop back, yet his methods suggested a far more serious bent.

  “I tried to access the menu system, but it had a security system in place. I only wanted to find out who owned it so I could return it.”

  “Were you able to download any data?”

  Stanley hesitated. “No.”

  Slocum leaned forward, grinning. The interface cable was hanging half way out of the shelf. “Then what’s the cable for?” He looked at the computer desk, then back at Stanley.

  “Ah. Well, when I couldn’t get through the menu, I tried a direct interface.”

  “And?” Slocum asked.

  “With the cable attached I managed to get a couple of junk files.” He decided not to mention his own biographical data.

  Slocum gestured towards the computer with his pistol. “Let’s have a look. Boot it up.”

  Stanley walked over to the computer desk and sat down in front of the display. Minutes later the first file was displayed on the screen.

  “As you can see, nothing but garbage. I think the data stream was intact, but I didn’t have the software needed to interpret the file. It’s very proprietary, from what I can see.”

  “Nothing meaningful?” asked Slocum.

  “A couple words, that’s all. Pascua and florida. Florida wasn’t capitalized. See?” He located the two words in a sea of incomprehensible symbols. “At first I though Pascua was a place in Florida, or maybe the name of the owner, but neither idea panned out.”

  Slocum seemed satisfied. “Okay. Delete what you downloaded. It’s not yours.”

  Stanley didn’t like the idea of someone telling him what to do with his computer, but the pistol was persuasive. The files were deleted.

  “I have to make a call,” said Slocum.

  “Like I said before, phone’s in the kitchen.”

  “Sit tight.”

  Slocum took another peek at his car. The police cruiser was gone, and his hood had been pushed closed. He knew the plates would come back clean when they were run, but there might be additional patrols in the area for a while. All things considered, things were going pretty well.

  He went
to the kitchen and placed a call to the agency. There was a delay of several minutes before he was put through to operations, and Pampas himself came on the line. Slocum switched ears so he could more easily watch Stanley and Bobby.

  “Robert Slocum, reporting in. I’m making progress on my assignment.”

  “We have new orders for you.”

  “I expect to have the palm unit in my possession shortly. I’d like to continue pursuing this.”

  “We can’t waste any more time on that,” said Pampas. “The computer center was able to issue a stop authorization on the device.”

  “Is that verified?” asked Slocum.

  “Since two days ago. We want you to come in. You’ll be issued new gear and reassigned.”

  Slocum paused before responding. Something was wrong. “Very well, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Slocum. See you then.” The line went dead.

  Slocum hung up, taking a moment to absorb what Pampas had just told him. He continued looking at the phone as he addressed Stanley. “When did you download the last file from the palmtop?”

  “Yesterday. Why?”

  “And you had no difficulty with the download itself?”

  “No. As I said earlier, the data stream was perfectly intact.”

  Slocum frowned. This didn’t jibe with what Pampas had just told him. There should have been considerable difficulty with the download. Actually, it shouldn’t have been possible at all.

  “Let’s go get my palmtop.”

  ***

  Excitement permeated the agency as the final profiling session of the day commenced. Norbert assumed the role of technical maestro, as he ran back and forth between stations, checking and double-checking each operation.

  “Listeners are active,” he called out. “The database has been purged, indices are refreshed, and parsing algorithms are on standby.” A voice-activated microphone transmitted his narrative to the profiling division, where a group of psychologists and statisticians waited to analyze the anticipated data. “Ready countdown,” he continued. “Internet bridge in twenty seconds.”