Palm Sunday

by William R. Vitanyi Jr.

  “With all due respect, that’s not a legal opinion. It’s a political judgment.”

  “Get real, Sharon. You know as well as I do that these things don’t happen in a vacuum. Legal and the Director are on the same page. It’s just not as cut and dried as you make it sound.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” said Sharon. “If someone is messing with the information grid, we’re in serious trouble.”

  “Everyone is sympathetic to that, Jim, believe me. Get me some evidence that the lines are being compromised, and I’ll get you those taps.”

  “Like I told you before, I need the taps to get the evidence.” It was a lost cause, and Sharon knew it.

  “Things have changed, my friend, but not that much.”

  There was nothing left he could say, Sharon knew. “Fine. We’ll find some other way.” He gently dropped the receiver into the cradle, his anger seething beneath a calm exterior. It wasn’t enough to fight whoever was trying to infiltrate the Net–and he was certain that someone was–now he had to battle his own people. Unfortunately, without the taps, he was running out of options. They had narrowed down the location of the event as much as they could.

  As he pondered his next move, he suddenly recalled an incident from high school. His science teacher had once posed a complex problem, and asked what information could be provided to help solve it. The more intellectually inclined students came up with all manner of measurements and scientific facts to help derive a solution. The teacher kept saying no. Finally one student slowly raised his hand, and the teacher pointed at him.

  “Give them a reference,” he had said. The teacher slowly nodded in the affirmative. That student wasn’t known for his grades, but he got the answer right, and his name was Jim Sharon. Sharon thought that his old science teacher was probably cut from the same cloth as Justin’s engineering professor, Harold Walthrop. And Walthrop had come up with a unique way to monitor a data stream. Perhaps it was time to enlist the help of an outsider.

  ***

  The lake was smooth as glass, and puffy white clouds floated gently across the midday sky as Kayoko sat in meditation, pondering her place in the universe. She closed her eyes, and everything around her–the cool wind softly caressing her cheeks, the faint sound of rustling leaves, a bird quietly foraging for insects–merged into a harmonious blend.

  It was from within this tranquility that she hoped to make sense of the turmoil that surrounded her workplace. In her role at the agency she felt alone, isolated, and without allies. While she believed in what they had started out doing years earlier, she now foresaw a path that could only lead to disaster, yet she felt powerless to stop it. She could quit, of course, but that would solve nothing, avert nothing. To continue producing results would only propel the agency faster along their current path, but to stop meant her dismissal, and she desired neither.

  That Snelling was suspicious of her was clear, but she doubted that he knew for certain that it was she who had been into his computer. Otherwise he would have presented the evidence to Mason and had her terminated. Or would he? Did he have an agenda of his own? He had, after all, altered the profile results, or so she believed. She was bombarded with these and other thoughts as she strove to empty her mind. But the clutter was simply too great, and heaving a final sigh, she slowly opened her eyes and looked around.

  Nothing was settled, and she was still confused and uncertain as to her next move. Unfolding her legs, she stood up and slowly walked along the lakeshore for a short distance, stopping among a growth of small pine trees. She wondered why the three grew side-by-side, rather than spread out. She was no biologist, but supposed it was to help protect each other from the elements. She walked past the trees, stopped when she had gone about five paces, and whirled around. That was it.

  She felt alone, unsupported, just as the trees would be if they were too far apart. She would have to find an ally, both to help her stop what the agency was doing, and for mutual protection from the storm that was sure to come. It was not an easy task that faced her, but at least now she knew what she had to do. She thought it peculiar that such a simple thing required so much effort to realize. Kayoko shook her head and smiled at the revelation. The question now was, who would be her ally?

  ***

  Tom Snelling hovered over Norbert’s workstation. Norbert barely even looked up from his keyboard as he reported on the security sweep he had run. “Nothing showed up,” he said.

  Snelling wouldn’t let it go. “I’m telling you, someone was messing with my computer. The screen was changed when I returned from my meeting with Mr. Mason.”

  Norbert smiled. “Well, in that case I think we found the problem.” He didn’t care for Snelling, and right now he had more important things to worry about than Tom’s paranoia.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You shouldn’t leave your computer unsecured when you go away from your desk for extended periods. While I can’t tell you why your screen changed, I will be sure to send Mr. Mason my report on your security lapses. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  Snelling glowered at Norbert. “Mason’s not going to like your attitude. I’m going right up there and let him know that you aren’t responding to my request.”

  “Go right ahead. I just sent him my final report on the matter. Maybe if you run you can get there before he reads it.”

  Snelling considered a retort, but simply glared at Norbert with undisguised hostility before hurrying from the room. Like a petulant child whose needs had gone unmet, he would appeal to a higher authority.

  Norbert shook his head and turned back to his work. He knew that the first thing Snelling would do was trash his report. That was his style. Mason would realize at once what had happened, and would let him go on and on, perhaps even encouraging him with an occasional nod. Only when Snelling had finished castigating the report, denying his own culpability for the security lapse, would Mason softly tell him that he had received no report. How Snelling would extricate himself from that corner, Norbert did not know. He leaned back and laughed out loud at the thought of it. Shaking his head, he resumed work on the myriad of technical details yet to be ironed out for phase two. There was much to be done.

  Training for the implementers would start in a couple days, modifications to hardware had to be completed, and the optical input-output devices had to be installed and tested. And of course there was the other side of the coin–receiving data back to verify the new profile. Things were moving quickly, more so then ever before. Norbert didn’t get that. The agency had never been driven by artificial timelines. Things followed a natural sequence, to be sure, but in the present situation Mason seemed to have chosen a totally arbitrary timetable. Norbert shook his head, but never stopped keying instructions into his computer. He sent an encoded test signal to a dummy transceiver located in the agency’s research lab. It received his instruction, performed the desired action, and sent back confirmation. Perfect. Now if it would work in the real world.

  ***

  Once his uploaded file had mucked up the firewall, Stanley’s plan to spend time analyzing it came unraveled. It turned into one of those days when everyone needs something from you, and any spare time quickly evaporates. The project he was working on was taking on a life of its own, consuming the lives of those around it.

  The project, called by ScanDat personnel simply that–‘The Project’–was a combination of hardware and software used to identify and manage harmful Internet traffic before it could enter a computer network. The system interfaced directly with incoming fiber lines, quickly interpreted data flowing through those lines, and either rejected or passed the data based on a threat analysis. For the analysis to be effective, the interface had to ‘learn’ as much as possible about the system it was connected to. It would be the first truly intelligent, in-line, online, data filtration system. By matching incoming data against what it knew about its host system, the interface determined whether the arriving data was potentially
harmful. So far it had worked on a small scale, and in limited tests. But the full-blown system, required for the upcoming demonstration, still had a long way to go.

  Stanley and Katherine had just finished testing one of the primary modules, when Klugman approached them with Boyd at his side. He seemed to have something on his mind.

  “Let’s get one thing clear,” said Klugman. “Your job is to get the interface and its associated software up and running in time for the demonstration. That will consist of operations conducted in a threat environment designed by Boyd, in accordance with specifications provided by the consortium that is funding this venture.”

  “Of course,” said Stanley. He was uncertain what Klugman was getting at.

  “Without that funding, the project won’t make it to final development. There will be no deviations, no time spent chasing down rogue files, or any other wasted activity. This is the last meeting of this type I want to have. Are we all clear?”

  Boyd was the first to respond. “Absolutely.”

  Katherine was puzzled by the unanticipated lecture. “Mr. Klugman, is something wrong?”

  “Boyd brought me up to speed on the firewall issue. I don’t know what you were thinking, Stanley.”

  Stanley glanced at Boyd. He seemed to be enjoying the dressing down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Klugman.”

  Klugman nodded, apparently satisfied. “Let’s just keep on track, shall we?” He and Boyd walked away, chatting quietly.

  The rest of the afternoon passed without further incident. Near the end of the day, Katherine timidly entered Stanley’s cubicle and knocked softly on the plastic runner that held his walls together. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He continued working, moving his mouse around and occasionally clicking.

  “That was brutal this morning.”

  “Yeah.” He stopped working, but still stared at his screen. “You know what’s really brutal?”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Working for an outfit that doesn’t care about its people.”

  “You have to admit, Klugman has a point about the funding. If it doesn’t continue, there won’t be a project. Period.”

  “I know that,” said Stanley. “I just think it would be nice to be appreciated.”

  “I appreciate you.” Katherine smiled at him.

  “Thanks.” Stanley suddenly had a thought. He stood up and looked over the top of his cubicle wall. No one was around. “Katherine, would you do me a big favor?”

  She sarcastically mimicked his cautious behavior, peering around corners and under the desk. “Okay, mystery man. What is it?”

  “Come home with me tonight.” He looked at her expectantly.

  The look on her face was a hilarious combination of shock and confusion. Her mouth opened once or twice, but all she could manage were two indistinct sounds.

  “Oh my gosh,” he said. “You misunderstood. I don’t want you to–I mean, I wasn’t saying that…”

  She decided to have some fun with him. “Stanley Whipple, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Katherine, please, this is important.”

  “I’m sorry. What exactly is it you had in mind?” She sat on his desk and leaned towards him, batting her eyes.

  “Katherine, now stop it.” He looked around again, and lowered his voice. “I want you to help me with something; a project that I’m working on.”

  “You know how they feel about moonlighting.”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, but it is a long story. I’m staying with a friend, me and my son, while we work some things out.”

  “So what do you need me for?”

  “That’s part of the story, but the first thing I need is for you to trust me, and to not mention this to anyone.”

  She hesitated for only a moment. She had worked with Stanley for several years, and knew him to be a kind, trustworthy, and decent person. She also had a bit of a crush on him. Her voice softened and she became serious. “Okay, Stanley. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Great. I need you to bring all your tools–testers, splicing tools–whatever you have, bring it all.”

  “Some of it’s in the crib. I’ll have to sign it out.”

  “No, this has to be low profile. We take stuff out every day without signing. No one ever checks.”

  She thought about it. It was true. Access to the tool crib was not closely monitored. She would just walk in and get what she needed. It was mostly her equipment, anyway. “You said you’re staying with a friend. Where does he live?”

  “You can follow me. It’s kind of hard to describe.”

  “Okay, Mr. Whipple. I’ll get my stuff, and you can lead the way.”

  Chapter Eight

  Agent Sharon didn’t often leave his beloved computer lab on recruiting forays, but this was an unusual situation. He found Professor Harold Walthrop, retired, sitting near a boardwalk café on the southern Florida seashore, sipping a cool drink and watching the scantily clad young ladies strut their stuff. His attire screamed out ‘tourist’, and he knew it but didn’t care. That’s exactly how he planned to live out his retirement.

  Sharon lifted up his sunglasses to make sure. “Professor Walthrop?”

  The overweight figure leaned forward. His varicose veins revealed both age and poor conditioning, and the lack of a companion indicated a nonexistent social life. Sharon knew that the man’s financial situation was deteriorating, too. Lazing around on the seashore by day, he probably frequented the bars by night. Sharon wondered how long it had been going on.

  “And who might you be?” asked Walthrop. He had to strain to turn far enough to his left to take in Sharon’s face.

  “My name’s Jim Sharon. I work with Justin Yankovich, a former student of yours.”

  “Ah, yes. How is young Justin? So much promise there.”

  “He’s doing well,” said Sharon. “In fact, it was his idea that I come talk to you.”

  “Talk to me? About what? Is Justin in some sort of trouble?” Concern clouded Walthrop’s face.

  “No, nothing like that. He thought you might be able to help us with something. A special project we’re working on.” Sharon looked around at the surroundings. The beautiful view, the ocean waves crashing on the nearby shore, the people strolling by. It was idyllic.

  Walthrop shook his head. “I’m retired, and I don’t do consulting work. Justin probably didn’t know that when he sent you. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

  “I’m not a recruiter. I’m Justin’s supervisor at the FBI data center where he works. Do you mind if I sit down?” The former professor indicated for him to take a seat, so Sharon pulled out one of the molded plastic chairs and sat facing Walthrop. “You see, Professor, we’ve run into a bit of a snag, a technical roadblock, if you will, that you might be able to help us with.”

  Walthrop shook his head. “Technology changes so rapidly these days, Mr. Sharon. I doubt I could be of any help to you.” The tone was that of a man who felt that he could no longer contribute, that perhaps his skills were not up to snuff.

  “You couldn’t do any worse than we are,” said Sharon. “All we’re looking for at this point are ideas, theories, even.” He saved his trump card for last. “You could probably use the money, and it would be an opportunity to serve your country in a meaningful way.”

  Walthrop leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps if his investments had performed better, he would have refused out of hand. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. At any rate, the numbers told him that life in the sunshine couldn’t last forever. “Let’s talk, Mr. Sharon.”

  ***

  Robert Slocum’s apartment was beginning to get crowded. Katherine was an awkward addition to the room full of men, but if anything it was they who were ill at ease, not her. She walked about the living room and kitchen areas, taking in every detail. To Slocum her actions seemed casual, nonchalant. Stanley knew better. She would be cataloging every detail with her stunningly complex mind.
Not that the details of the apartment were important; it was simply the way her mind worked.

  She finished her inspection and turned to Slocum. “You haven’t been here long, have you?”

  “I’ve had the apartment for a while, but no, I just recently started living here. Why?”

  “Small things,” she said. “No plants, no pictures. Not many kitchen knick-knacks, either. It’s pretty sparse, to tell the truth.”

  “Come back in three or four months and it will look the same. I’m not what you’d call a collector.”

  She studied his bland expression, the chiseled features, and decided not to press him further. This was not a man to trifle with. She looked at Stanley, who had been taking in the exchange from a position near the couch. “Shall we get to it?” she asked.

  Stanley nodded. “Let me give you some background information.” He brought Katherine up to date on all that had transpired so far. A good listener, she was nonetheless baffled by some of the details.

  “What is this agency,” she said, turning to Slocum. “And who are you?”

  Slocum stared at her for a full five seconds before answering. “The answer to both questions is elusive. The agency, National Communications, is so secretive that even the people that work for it don’t know who they are.” Everyone laughed, even though Slocum wasn’t trying to be funny. “No, I’m serious. There are cases of individuals doing work for the agency who don’t know it. I’ve managed a few. It’s amazing what some people will do for money, no questions asked.”

  “How long have you been with the agency?” asked Katherine.

  “Over ten years.”

  “And what exactly do they do?”

  Slocum hesitated, and at first Katherine thought he was holding something back. But when he did answer, his response surprised her.

  “I’m not sure. I know some of the activities they’re involved in, because I’m, well, involved. But the big picture, their mission, if you will–I really don’t know.”