“It’s right here. And we’re both in it.”
Slocum lowered his gun slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Whoever owns this thing–I’m guessing it’s not you–is certainly talking about you. About me, too, I think. I don’t know exactly what they’re saying though, because I can’t get enough information. Sometimes I can access it, and sometimes it’s like Fort Knox.”
“It should be like Fort Knox all the time,” said Slocum. “What did you do to it?”
“Nothing. From the beginning I’ve only been trying to find out who it belongs to, so I can return it.”
“Well here I am, so hand it over.” He took a step towards Stanley, his hand held out.
“Don’t you want to know what I found out?”
Slocum hesitated. That the agency had turned against him seemed clear, but for what reason he had no idea. What he needed now most, aside from the palmtop, was information.
“First some basic facts. Who are you, and why do you have my palm unit?”
“My name is Stanley Whipple. This is my son, Bobby.” He pointed to his son, sitting on the bed.
“Hi.” Bobby flashed a quick wave.
“Hi, kid.” Slocum looked back at Stanley. “How did you end up with that?” He motioned towards the palmtop.
“My son found it outside.”
Slocum nodded. It made sense in view of what Bobo had told him. “How did you manage to get anything out of it?”
“Mr. Slocum, computers are my life. Your palmtop is a very sophisticated device in some ways, very rudimentary in others. It’s a most puzzling piece of equipment. It captured my interest from our very first acquaintance.”
“You’re a programmer?”
“Software Engineer. I work for a company called ScanDat. We make Internet security devices.”
“What did you mean when you said we were both in there?” Slocum gestured towards the palm unit.
“Let me show you.” He nodded towards Slocum’s gun. “You can put that away.”
Slocum was reminded of the time in their house when he had felt foolish pointing his gun at them. He slowly lowered the weapon. “You have two minutes. Then I’m taking the palmtop and leaving.”
Stanley motioned for him to walk around the desk. With Slocum looking over his shoulder, Stanley positioned the cursor to the top of the file he was working on. “This is the file we downloaded when you were at my house. I’ve since processed it about as much as I can.”
“It’s still mostly unreadable,” said Slocum.
“I know. But as you can see, it’s a message to–I don’t know. Someone. You’re mentioned as being relegated, although it doesn’t say to what. Does that mean something to you?”
Slocum nodded. “It means that I’d better exercise caution, because somebody wants to interrogate me. I’m told it’s not a pleasant experience.”
Stanley went on. “The next part may allude to the incident at my house, although because of when we downloaded the file it omits many details.”
“I didn’t think they knew about you.”
“Who?”
“The people I work for,” said Slocum.
“You called them from my house. Did you tell them where you were?”
Slocum considered this. “I wouldn’t have to. It was a public phone.”
“Public?”
“As in not secure. They could have traced it. That must be how they found me so quickly, and why your address is in the file.”
Stanley nodded. “And who is ‘they’, Mr. Slocum?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who do you work for?”
Slocum didn’t answer right away. “Let’s just say it’s a group that tends to stay on mission.”
“I don’t understand,” said Stanley.
“Remember what happened at your house? Well, it won’t stop at that.”
Stanley had heard enough. “Look, just take this stuff and explain to your company that it was all a misunderstanding. I don’t want it–never wanted it.” Stanley gathered up the device and its cable and offered them to Slocum.
He ignored him, instead gesturing with his head towards the laptop. “Where did this file come from? Where exactly?”
Stanley placed the palmtop back on the table. “I don’t really know. The palm unit seems to have some internal mechanism for connecting to a wireless data source. If I had my computer from my house, and some other equipment, I might be able to trace it.”
“Forget your house. They’ll be watching it. Anyway, your computer is at my apartment. I took the liberty of setting it up there.”
“You took my computer?” said Stanley. “The whole thing?”
“Just the CPU. I thought I might need it to track you down.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure why, but the organization that I work for wants me either brought in, or killed,” said Slocum.
“Brought in? What does that mean? And who do you work for, anyway?”
“Brought in means brought in. As for who I work for, they’re the people who own the palmtop, and they want it back.”
“Is it a government agency?” asked Stanley.
“You ask too many questions. What they are isn’t important right now.”
“Then what is important?”
“They’re after us,” said Slocum. “And when they want to find someone, they usually succeed.”
“Why me? I don’t know anything about any of this.”
“You have the palm unit, and you’ve been messing with it. They must have detected one or more of the downloads, and they’re probably afraid of what you might know.”
“I don’t even know who they are. What could I know that would threaten them?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Slocum. “And that’s why we’re going to be hanging out together for a while.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I need information, and so do you. The palmtop may be the only way to find out what’s really going on.”
“You can’t just walk in here and disrupt our lives,” said Stanley. “Why don’t you just explain to your company what happened?”
Slocum glanced again at the parking lot. “My ‘company’ isn’t quite as reasonable as that. Until we know why they want to find us we’re all in danger. That includes you and your son.”
“We could go to the police,” offered Stanley.
“And tell them what? That you found a palmtop?”
“What about the shooting at my house?”
“What about that? Why didn’t you go to the police already?”
Stanley lowered his eyes. “I have my reasons.”
That Whipple had issues with the police was obvious. But Slocum didn’t care what they were–only that he could use them. “Listen to me. The only way things can go back to normal is if I find out why the owners of that,” he pointed to the palmtop, “came after me. And why they’re looking for you. The answers may be in the palm unit itself.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Stanley.
Slocum put his gun away. “Tell me what you know about how these things work.”
***
George Pampas was a patient man, but when he gave an order, he expected results. The fiasco at the Whipple residence was the reason why two agents now stood before his desk, still smarting from the dressing down they had just received.
“You missed Slocum, you left the house without questioning this Whipple character, and you came back without the palm unit. And Frankie...” Pampas shook his head and absently shuffled some papers on his desk. “What I really want to know is why you were so eager to shoot. You were supposed to escort Slocum in, not kill him.” Pampas was still fuming at Mason’s insistence on sending the agents. He was certain that Slocum would have come in on his own.
“Frank was targeting him as a precaution. Slocum picked up the laser designator and went ballistic. At that point all bets w
ere off. You know how it is in the field.”
“Do you have any idea how this makes us look?” said Pampas.
“Boss, it was one of those things. Slocum is better than we expected, and Whipple was a wildcard. We had no idea whether he would make a play.”
“Idiots. You think with his son in the room this man was going to start shooting?”
The senior agent shrugged. “Who is Whipple?”
Pampas softened somewhat. Even he had to admit there were still unknowns here. “Could be one of Slocum’s contacts. According to computer ops at least one of the downloads was initiated from that general area.”
“I thought the downloads were disabled.”
Pampas shook his head. “We broadcast that as a ruse. The truth is we weren’t able to establish a stable link. The unit may be damaged, which under certain conditions could open security leaks. We don’t know for sure.”
“So what’s our next move?” asked the agent.
“We’re keeping an eye on the Whipple residence, but we don’t want to spook him,” said Pampas. “You two will work on finding Slocum.”
“That won’t be easy. He doesn’t leave much of a trail.”
Pampas looked at them in frustration. “If it was easy you wouldn’t be paid so much. But if you want some advice, I’d suggest that you just wait. He’ll be seeking us out soon enough.”
“How do you figure?”
“He’s been using his palmtop to access the routine communication files, so he almost certainly knows by now that he’s been relegated.”
The agent wasn’t convinced. “Why would that make him seek us out? If it was me, I’d be looking for a rock to hide under.”
“He’ll seek us out,” said Pampas. “Don’t ask me how I know–call it a hunch. But do as I said, and let him come to us.”
“Okay, boss. We’ll wait for his call.”
Pampas dismissed them with a nod of his head, and returned to his reading, the full dossier on Robert Slocum. Mason seemed to believe that Slocum had switched allegiances, but based on what he had read, and what he knew of the man himself, Pampas had doubts as to his guilt.
Slocum would be in touch. He would have to know why he had been relegated, because he was innocent.
Chapter Five
The FBI computer infrastructure protection group was emerging from a period of transition. Initially understaffed, under funded, and only marginally effective, all three trends had been reversed in recent years. They weren’t quite where they needed to be yet, but great strides were being made almost daily. Long a leader in the use of technology to solve crimes, the Bureau now faced the perpetual challenge of keeping ahead of those who would use computers to commit crimes. The new frontier, the Internet, was perhaps the most challenging zone of contention, and the daunting task of keeping the Internet infrastructure safe fell to a series of small regional data centers, manned by a new breed of cyber-warriors.
On this day, Justin Yankovich, a computer tech at an FBI data center west of Philadelphia, had just seen something that puzzled him. For a frozen instant in time the flow of data in the section of Internet backbone that he was monitoring appeared to stop, briefly pulsate, and then continue normally. The event passed so quickly that at first he wasn’t certain anything out of the ordinary had really happened. He ran a diagnostic test on his equipment, which came back clean, all systems operating within normal parameters. Looking up he saw his supervisor across the room, and waved for him to come over.
Jim Sharon’s graying hair contrasted sharply with his piercing blue eyes. During his twenty years at the Bureau there had been many scientific advances, but he had kept up with the technology. While some had scoffed at the notion of criminals using computers as a primary tool, he had understood their potential, especially in the hands of an enemy who was quickly becoming well versed in their use. The new battlefield, the information technology arena, could not be surrendered under any circumstances. For Sharon, this was a personal mantra.
“What’s up, Justin?” Hired right out of college, Justin had only been with the FBI for a year and a half, and under Sharon’s supervision for only three months. He still seemed somewhat unsure of himself, and was prone to call his supervisor over minor provocations. Even so, Sharon felt that with time Justin would develop into an excellent cyber-criminologist.
“Something I’ve never seen before. The Philadelphia northern tier bundle seemed to, I don’t know–twitch.”
“Fiber backbones don’t twitch. Not unless someone digs them up,” said Sharon.
“It wasn’t anything that severe. There was no signal interruption, no degradation.”
“Then what?”
Justin seemed at a loss. “I don’t know. It was like a surge, only…”
“Yes?” Sharon had moved closer, seemed to be expecting something.
“It was like the signal across the entire bundle stopped, weakened, then continued at full strength, but the delay was barely measurable. I know it sounds flaky,” said Justin. His voice trailed off.
“Did you plot it?” Sharon referred to the graphical bandwidth analyzer, used for creating pictorial representations of data flow across a given section of fiber optic cable. The Bureau had a number of these set up along important sections of the Internet infrastructure. They didn’t monitor specific transmissions, just the overall flow along certain fiber optic lines.
Justin nodded in the affirmative. “That was the first thing I did.”
“Show me.”
The younger man typed in a command, and a series of jagged parallel lines played across the screen. He traced across the display with his finger. “Prior to the event the fluctuations are fairly uniform. The total bandwidth used on each line varies, but the overall range is narrow. Until this point–see where the graph flat lines?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t last long,” said Justin. “Maybe a couple seconds. Less. But I don’t know what ‘it’ is.”
Sharon turned away from the display, deep in thought. “This isn’t the first time we’ve seen this.”
“What is it?” asked Justin.
“I don’t know. Yet. But somebody’s messing with the Net. And that I will not tolerate.”
***
Although Stanley was pleased that Slocum had put his gun away, he was concerned about the direction of the conversation, and said so. “Mr. Slocum, I’d be happy to show you what I’ve learned about the palmtop, but as I told you before, we have lives to get on with.” He gestured towards Bobby as he said this.
Slocum tapped on the desk, ignoring Stanley’s statement. “Is there any way you can make the palmtop work in the opposite direction? So we can get into my agency’s database?”
“It may be possible, but not with what I have here. Whoever works in your computer department knows their stuff, and must have access to some pretty sophisticated equipment.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Slocum. “But what makes you say so?”
“The way the palmtop is accessing data. Typically, when you send a file across the Internet you leave a signature. It’s nearly unavoidable.”
“The signature–this is what impresses you?”
“No,” said Stanley. “It’s the fact that there is no signature.”
“What does it mean?”
Stanley had been leaning forward, but now he sat back. “I’m not sure. Transmissions across the Internet require a very specific addressing scheme, and every device on the Net is supposed to have a unique address.”
“That’s what they call the IP address, right?” said Slocum.
“Yes, the Internet Protocol address. But the downloads from the palm unit didn’t have any, and if that’s the case, how did they get there?”
“Can’t you trace it somehow?”
“There’s no signature, no historical indication of how it was routed, and no identifiers regarding the point of origin.”
Slocum shrugged his shoulders. “I still don’t get it.�
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“The people who sent the few files we’ve seen aren’t using the normal Internet protocol. They seem to have some kind of direct link to the palmtop.”
“That clears it up,” said Slocum.
“Look,” Stanley explained. “When you email someone, how do you think it gets to them?”
“On the Internet.”
“And what is the Internet?”
“I don’t know, Professor. You tell me.”
Stanley leaned forward again. “Basically, it’s servers, routers, and cable; mostly fiber optic cable. Thousands of computer networks connected to dozens of high-speed fiber optic backbones. When you send an email or download a file on the Net, the data is broken into small pieces called packets. Each packet contains the Internet address of the sending as well as the destination computer.”
“How does it find the destination?” asked Slocum.
“That’s the routers’ work. They figure out which path to send the data along.”
“What does this have to do with the files you downloaded?”
“There was no routing information.” Stanley noted the blank look on Slocum’s face. “Think of it this way. What would happen if you wrote a letter to a friend, put it in an envelope, and mailed it without writing an address on it?”
“It wouldn’t be delivered, of course,” said Slocum.
“That’s right, because you have to have an address to deliver a letter. It’s the same thing with the Internet. Wouldn’t it be rather remarkable if your friend received your letter even though you hadn’t addressed it?”
“I see your point. Then how did the files get to the palm unit?”
Stanley smiled. “Now you do see my point.”
Slocum moved towards the window as he considered his next move. He was used to working on his own, but he needed Stanley’s expertise to access the agency’s data files. “You can’t stay here. If I found you the agency will too.”
“Back at the house you said they didn’t want us,” said Stanley.
“No. I said they didn’t want you dead. But trust me, you don’t want them to have you alive, either.”
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