Catalyst

by Steve Winshel

  More than an hour had passed since the last email from him and Josh was getting nervous. The glow of having found something about him was wearing off quickly. Rigas had abandoned the T.V. and brought some lemonades in from the kitchen. She sat on the corner of the desk on the same side as Josh’s chair and he leaned back, hands clasped behind his head.

  “So why aren’t you married?” Rigas didn’t ease into the question. Josh liked that; unexpected but direct.

  “I’ll tell you if you answer the same question. Though I can probably guess – guys don’t like it when you try to slap them or threaten to arrest them?” Josh said it with a smile and Rigas feigned being offended, but answered with “you first.”

  Josh didn’t like talking about Jenna. Since she’d died, he had never talked to anyone about it once he’d let their mutual friends fade from his life. He didn’t need the sympathy plus it had been a long time ago. But for some reason he wanted to tell Rigas. She sat with both hands on the desk, looking at him. Not like it was an interrogation, but like she wanted to know. He told her the whole story, not looking away as he described how they had met, the ups and downs of the relationship, the engagement, and the cancer. What really surprised him was that he told her how it changed him – both when he realized he was ready to settle down with her and after, when he shut that part of his life away. Being honest with her somehow pushed the demons back. Not very far, but enough to give him some space. She didn’t say a word, just nodded once in a while. When he was done, there was quiet. Josh wasn’t thinking about email or the man who had hired Helen. At least for a few moments, he was just sharing a part of him with someone who he thought might understand.

  Rigas let the silence sit. She felt closer to Barnes than she had to anyone for a while, and it made her pulse faster than she wanted. Maybe it was the intensity of the investigation and violence, or maybe it was the intensity of what he had just told her. Without thinking it through, she reached out and put her hand on his. Not saying anything, just letting it rest. Her phone starting vibrating loudly and it broke the moment. She was up and answering it before Josh could respond. It was Crevins. Rigas walked around the office updating him while Josh sat quietly, still at the desk.

  As Rigas finished up her call, Josh realized he hadn’t spoken to Allison since the one call from George the previous day. He was afraid to use the home or cell phone, all the more with Helen gone and her boss being a complete unknown. He needed to check on Allison and told Rigas when she was off the phone.

  “You can’t go out. We don’t know if the guy’s got some kind of back-up coming in, maybe to check you out. You might’ve spooked him with the last email. Let’s just wait.”

  That wasn’t going to cut it. “I’m going out to a pay phone. It’ll be quick. You can come with me if you want to.”

  Rigas heaved a sigh and then herself off the couch. She hadn’t been acting like they were in immediate danger, but when she checked her gun and flipped a switch on the side of the grip before putting it back in her holster, Josh got the idea she was more concerned than she’d let on. They took his car and went to a pay phone on Ventura Blvd. near the Office Depot in Encino, which was open until 8:00 p.m. on Sundays. It was getting dark. No one was standing near them and Josh put in enough coins to call George’s cell phone. Again, he left a brief message, telling George to have Allison call him back. This time Josh gave the number of the pay phone. While they waited, Rigas pulled out a cigarette and leaned against the white brick of the store. He hadn’t seen her smoke before, but she didn’t light it as her eyes scanned the street and the parking lot. She didn’t make casual conversation, either. A guy in khakis and blue blazer came out of the store carrying a new printer and gave her a heavy once over. She stared him down, not like it was an invitation, and he hurried off to his beemer.

  The pay phone rang and Josh grabbed it.

  “She’s fine. Allison just got back from a walk. Don’t stay on the line too long.” George. There was silence and then Allison came on the line.

  “Josh! You wouldn’t believe this place…I think I may move out here.” He could hear the humor in her voice; a good sign. “What the hell’s going on there? Are you okay?”

  Josh caught her up quickly on what had happened. There was silence as he described getting caught by Helen. And saved by Rigas. Allison broke the silence. “Damnit, Josh! What am I going to do if you get shot? Huh?” There was no humor in her voice now. “I’m coming back. I’ll be there in…”

  Josh interrupted her. “No, goddamnit, no! The cops are in it now, so’s the FBI.” He stretched the truth a little. “It’s going to be safe now, so just stay there a few more days. It will be over soon.” He shut up, knowing that if he elaborated she would hear the lie. He waited.

  Allison was not happy, but accepted it. “Call the minute they catch him. And do whatever the cops tell you to. Josh, I’m serious – do not go off on our own.” He gave her reassurances and said he had to go. George came back on the line before he could hang up.

  “She’s safe. Let me know when everything’s clear. I’ll take care of her until you’re ready.”

  Josh wanted to thank him, even though he had mixed feelings. “George, this really means a lot. I mean…” but the line was dead. He hung up and looked at Rigas. “She’s fine, but I don’t want her up there forever.”

  Rigas threw the unlit cigarette on the sidewalk. “It’s only been two days. It’s like a vacation.” They headed back to Josh’s house. No new email from Helen’s boss and no calls. He looked at Rigas to see what her plan was. She shrugged her shoulders. Not the answer Josh was looking for.

  * * *

  Murello looked at the screen of the clean laptop he’d acquired an hour earlier. It was linked to a satellite Internet connection he used only under special circumstances. It was untraceable, but only good for half a dozen uses. A disposable cell phone was next to the laptop. Murello sat in the corner of a nearly-empty Starbucks at 74th and Broadway. Just a precaution. On the screen were a series of quickly shifting static images. They clearly showed a car moving away from a residential house in the twilight. Murello’s contact in the NSA provided him access to several geosynchronous satellites stationed ten thousand miles above the United States and the ability to modify the direction of the camera on each of them. This access cost him $25M each year. His promise not to have the NSA deputy director’s family tortured and murdered ensured his usage of the satellites would not be traced. Even if they were, it would never lead directly to Murello.

  The images on the screen were of Josh Barnes’ home and his car pulling out of the driveway. This was proof of Murello’s belief it was Barnes contacting him. They followed Barnes in a series of still shots, as he made a number of turns and ended up at a building on a main road. Murello increased the resolution and saw Barnes walk past the front door of the Office Depot and head to a bank of pay phones. A few feet away was a woman who’d been in the car with him, now leaning against the brick building. She could have had “cop” tattooed on her forehead and it wouldn’t have been any more obvious. Barnes had brought in the police; maybe the FBI. Murello had to know exactly how much Barnes knew and whether there was an investigation. If it were still early, he could do what he needed to and not jeopardize his anonymity. Murello opened another window on the laptop and started typing a series of commands, then a password. He launched a decryption program to gain access to a central SBC Telecom database in San Diego and watched three telephone numbers in the 818 area code appear on his screen. They were the numbers of the pay phones outside the Office Depot. The time-coded satellite images of Barnes showed him making a brief call, then hanging up. Murello entered more commands and a series of phone numbers appeared beneath each of the three original numbers on the screen with dates and times next to each. These were all the outgoing calls made from the three pay phones in the past twenty-four hours. Only one showed the current time, 5:46 p.m. PST. Murello waited, as did Barnes. Three minutes later Murello watch
ed Barnes pick up the same telephone and talk for several minutes without depositing any coins. Murello keyed in several more commands and got a list of incoming calls to the same pay phone. The number Barnes had called five minutes earlier matched the incoming call he was on now. Typing very fast, Murello accessed another NSA server in Arlington, Virginia and entered a password. The earpiece he was wearing, connected by a thin wire to the speaker in the laptop, crackled as it relayed the information captured by the eavesdropping server in Virginia. He only caught the tail end of the conversation. It was a woman, Barnes’ sister. Then a man’s voice came on and assured Barnes they were all safe. Murello thought differently. Barnes had sent his sister away to protect her. That meant he was desperate. That meant he was vulnerable.

  Murello’s plan depended on whether Barnes knew who was behind the Ventrica extortion. He had an idea for how to find out, based on his knowledge of Barnes. Fifteen years earlier Murello had used a series of indiscrete photographs to compromise a brilliant computer scientist at a technical institute in Switzerland. The institute was one of the early developers of the networking technology that would later become the core of the Internet, but at the time there were only a few hundred men and women who understood the global reach this small set of computers would eventually attain. These people developed the standards by which the Internet moved information around the world. They also set up the dozen central servers that kept track of all the IP addresses that would be used for web sites. When you type an address into a web browser, it has to convert the words, like www.whitehouse.org, into an IP address. Without this look-up function, there would be no way to know where the web site was on the Internet since every web site sat on a server – a computer that served information to people who typed in the right address. The twelve “name servers,” updated every six hours around the globe, made sure all the other servers in the world could determine where any particular web address lived. The unfortunate young technician was forced to write a small bit of computer code that was still buried deep within the operating instructions for these servers. The code kept an eye out for any occurrences of Murello’s name, either in the now-popular search engines used to scour the web or any web sites containing his name. This was just one of the safeguards Murello employed to protect his identity; his contact at the NSA provided additional monitoring across all arms of law enforcement for any unusual occurrences of the name “Daniel Murello.” In each of these cases Murello’s name was encrypted so neither the person he was forcing to enable the detection system nor a programmer who ran across an odd piece of code could directly read it. The exception was the technician in Switzerland, because the name servers did not support the type of encryption Murello needed to shield his name. The young man had died in a violent accident shortly after the code was installed.

  Murello entered a series of IP addresses and passwords to pull up the log file showing all activity from the name servers and search engines that might include his name. Using a program he had written for this purpose, he compared activity involving his name over the past three days with more than 100 similar three-day periods over the past ten years. No difference. He ran it again, narrowing the window to the last twenty-four hours. Again, no anomalies. If Barnes had any idea who was behind Helen’s activities, he would have gotten that idea by using the methods he was most comfortable with – searching databases. Unless he had discovered Murello’s identity and then covered his tracks, it meant Barnes was still unaware. Murello retained the advantage.

  His objectives were now simple. Get the Ventrica, kill Barnes, kill his sister. He would forfeit the first objective if necessary to protect his identity. The only variable was whether the FBI or other law enforcement were pursuing an investigation and how far along it was. Murello had to keep Barnes busy while he figured out the status of any investigation, and at the same time keep Barnes from learning anything else that might help others find Murello. He was confident none of this posed any problem he couldn’t handle. He pulled a small device from his briefcase and plugged it into a slot on his computer, adjusting the antennae protruding from the device. With the earpiece still in place, he activated a piece of software on the laptop using Bluetooth technology to scan the store and nearby sidewalks. It identified eleven cell phones, eight of which were in use, two others with encryption keys running, and one unsecured and inactive. He activated the unsecured phone, which also contained a global positioning chip – a little bonus for Murello that showed the phone he was about to hijack was located inside the Starbucks and was not moving. He dialed the number Barnes had sent him. Murello knew what Barnes was trying to do; converge on Murello’s location using a combination of email tracking information and triangulation of cell phones. Not an easy hack, but one he was sure Barnes was capable of doing. In his earpiece he heard the phone ring.

  * * *

  Josh and Rigas got back to the house and as he opened the door Josh could hear the first ringing of the phone in the office. Rigas, a step behind, heard it too and pushed past him to race down the hall. He didn’t try to stop her since there wasn’t anything she could do except watch the phone ring.

  “C’mon, c’mon…move it!” she urged Josh as he came into the office and sat down in front of the computer. He had left the program running that would trace any call coming in. He could see immediately the caller was using a basic encryption and rerouting methodology to throw off anyone trying to trace the call, but there were some recent countermeasures Josh knew about through contacts at the phone company and he hoped Helen’s boss didn’t have them too. Running a secondary program broke the encryption just as the answering machine picked up. They both listened as the caller waited; they could hear some background noise, like a party, but nothing else. Josh held his breath, hoping to hear a voice. Twenty seconds passed, and it seemed like a month. Then silence. He or she had disconnected. But it had been long enough.

  “Well?” Rigas demanded, both fists on the desk and an expectant look in Josh’s direction.

  He was puzzled by what was on the screen “I can tell you the name and address of the owner of the phone.” The lack of excitement in his voice gave her a strong clue about what was coming next. “But I’m sure it was stolen. Still…”

  Rigas had figured out Josh’s rhythm and wasn’t going to give him any slack. “Cut the part where you give me the bad news first and just tell me what the hell you’ve got. And let’s make that a general rule from now on, okay? “

  Josh gave her a raised eyebrow, which she had no way of knowing was an appreciative gesture for her directness. He was liking her style more and more. “He may not know the encryption he’s using can be cracked, but just to be safe he’s not likely to use a phone in his own name. So he probably stole someone’s cell. But unless he’s really careful about stealing phones from out-of-towners, we know what part of the East coast he’s on. The owner of the phone lives in Manhattan. It’s a pretty good bet that’s where Helen’s boss just called us from. I need another call from another phone to confirm, but that’s better than I was expecting.”

  Rigas thought for a minute. “Call him back.”

  “What? Why would I do that?”

  She was getting fired up. “It’ll be easy – he’ll think it was a bad cell connection and Helen is trying to get back to him.”

  Josh shook his head. “I’m guessing Helen doesn’t have his number. If we call, it’s a giveaway that something’s going on.” Now Rigas was pacing, shaking her head up and down.

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. Let’s spook him a little. He already knows something’s up. He hasn’t gotten the design and now Helen’s hounding him to call her ‘cause something’s wrong. Let’s get this guy off balance. Get him wondering what’s going on. He’ll freak when he knows someone traced him so quickly.”

  Josh didn’t like the idea. This was dangerous enough. But not liking the idea didn’t mean he didn’t think it was a good one. If they could get him off balance, maybe he’d make a mistake. Eithe
r because Helen had failed and needed help or because he figured out someone was on to him, he might take risks. Josh dialed from his computer and did not hide the origin of the call, since it would show as coming from Helen’s cell phone. After three rings, a man’s voice came on:

  “Hello? Jerry here.” Rigas and Josh looked at each other in mutual shock. The mastermind who had engineered the deaths of at least three people, threatened Josh’s sister, hired two psychotic killers, and was stealing major corporate secrets sounded like a harried insurance salesman. Rigas reached for the phone and Josh grabbed her hand before she could pick up the receiver. She didn’t like that, but let him stop her. Josh shook his head.

  “Something’s wrong. Wait.” He ended the call and thought for a minute. Then he got it. Helen’s boss had hijacked a stray cell signal, not the physical phone itself. If he were using a sophisticated laser-based system, it could be anyone within a quarter mile of the device, which could transmit to his own phone anywhere in the country. That would kill Josh’s theory that he was in New York. But there were a lot of variables that had to be just right to make that work; weather conditions, no obstacles in the line of sight, and a stationary cell phone to target. But if he were using Bluetooth, he had to be within thirty feet of the target. Josh redialed the number.

  “Uh, hi – this is Jerry. Who’s there?”

  Josh hit the speakerphone button so Rigas could hear. “Mr. Newcomb, this is Special Agent…Ryan Gosling of the FBI.” He gave Rigas a shrug at the dirty look she shot him. He couldn’t think of any other name. “I don’t have time to explain in detail, other than to tell you a ring of cell phone scammers has hijacked a large number of devices in your area, including yours.”