Death of Secrets

by Bowen Greenwood

  Once he was down on the ground, feet replaced fists. Had he been free to move at all, he would have doubled over in pain as the first kick landed on his stomach. But he couldn't – couldn't move at all. With each successive blow his muscles strained harder at the bonds, trying just to move to the impacted area, to protect it further, driven only by instinct. But the result never varied – just rope burns, to add insult to the much greater injuries.

  Each successive explosion of pain washed over John's mind, driving out thoughts and plans, replacing them with brilliant flashes of unshaped color and spikes of electric agony. Mercifully, he passed out.

  ***

  Much too early for the college girls' taste, Mike called their room. Colleen, sleeping closest to the phone, picked it up and slurred out, "Hello?"

  "G'morning. You two want breakfast?"

  "Ugh. Don't you have to go raise taxes or something?"

  Michael laughed. "Not today. Congress doesn't usually meet on Saturdays. Lots of the Members like to fly home to their districts for the weekend."

  "It's way too early for a civics lesson. Meet us at the cafe in an hour."

  Colleen looked at the clock, woke her roommate, and headed for the shower. When both she and Kathy were cleaned up they were already five minutes late for breakfast, so they rushed out the door and down the elevator. They found Mike sitting on a bench and checking his watch.

  Once they finished breakfast, they returned to Kathy and Colleen's room. Colleen sat down at the laptop and started it up. "OK, I thought about it last night, and I think I've got a way to lure him back," she said.

  When the Congressman and her roommate sat down and looked at her eagerly, she said, "Just watch," and got to work.

  Colleen returned to the IRC chat room from the night before. At each of them, she waited until she had a large enough group listening, then typed, "If anyone hears from Jakarta, please tell him I want to hire him to hack into IRS records."

  When Mike saw that he laughed. "Are you crazy?" he asked. "That sounds so much like a setup it's not even funny!"

  "Which is exactly the plan," Colleen countered. "I offered to pay him to commit a crime. No cop would do that."

  "What do you mean," Kathy asked. "Sounds like a perfect way to trap a crook, seems like cops would do that all the time."

  Michael answered for Colleen. "Well, I’m no expert, but according to the cop shows on TV, it's called entrapment. If a defendant can prove that the police talked him into committing the crime of which he's accused, he usually gets off. If this guy is as savvy as he seems to be, he'll know that's too stupid to come from the feds."

  Kathy shrugged. "I'll take your word for it. Just don't wander away this time, Colleen."

  The waiting started out being exciting, but quickly became tedious. Before too long, Michael was up and pacing while Colleen played solitaire on the computer. Then he and Kathy both tried to take a nap. The waiting went on and on, and before long everyone but Colleen had completely exhausted the very limited number of ways to pass time while staying a hotel room.

  Morning became afternoon, which blurred into evening and then night. Mike and Kathy couldn’t even alleviate their boredom with conversation, since all the things they needed to discuss required privacy, and they didn’t want to leave the room in case Colleen came up with something.

  Eventually Kathy fell asleep in the middle of a long-winded soliloquy from Mike about the realities of American politics. Looking over at her sleeping form, the Congressman smiled and just watched for a few minutes, thinking how beautiful she was with her eyes closed. But as soon as that thought hit him, he realized how heavy his own eyelids felt. Bidding farewell to Colleen, he left for the separate room, and went to sleep.

  Sunday morning he knocked on the girls’ door, bearing more fast food for breakfast, to find that Colleen was already awake.

  "Have you slept at all?"

  "A few winks with my head on the desk, but not much. I’m too keyed up," she replied.

  Kathy woke up at the smell of coffee, and promptly wolfed down her food and half of Mike’s. While she was in the shower, Mike sat on the bed and peered over Colleen's shoulder as she played solitaire, waiting for Jakarta to respond to her message.

  "Put the red four on the black five," Mike counseled, turning to watch Kathy emerge from the bathroom.

  "I know, I know," Colleen muttered.

  When Kathy was dressed, Mike stood up from the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look," he began. "This waiting is driving me nuts. Colleen has to be here because she speaks this guy's language, but we don't all have to stay, right?"

  "Do you think it's safe for us to split up?" Kathy asked. In truth she was going a little stir crazy herself, but had kept quiet for that very reason.

  "As long as we're careful, we'll be fine," he replied. "Colleen went out last night, remember, and nothing happened."

  Both girls acknowledged the sense of that, and Mike continued, "Right. I just need some outside air. I’m gonna step out for a walk down to that coffee shop we tried earlier. Kathy, wanna come with me?"

  Kathy looked at her roommate. Colleen was torn between annoyance at being the one who had to stay here alone and anticipation of meeting the greatest hacker in a decade. She just nodded at Kathy and waved dismissively.

  ***

  Tilman walked into his Director of Security's office unannounced. He didn’t like to work on weekends, but so much was coming to a head right now that he didn’t feel he had a choice.

  This office was a smaller twin of his own space, with all the trimmings of power. The windows looked out over the wooded Virginia landscape, where the sun had climbed up toward noon. It did lack the immense video screen on the wall, but Tilman didn’t want just anyone in the building to have one of those. Some perks were his and his alone. He found the man at his wet bar and walked up behind him. He was washing his hands.

  "What have you learned," D.W. asked him.

  "The contractor's coming in in a couple hours," Carlos responded. "We’ll know for sure then."

  "I don’t like bringing another outsider in."

  "Can’t be helped. I simply don’t have the expertise that will guarantee that we get the truth. And an uncertain answer isn’t any better than no answer, is it? He’ll never know where we brought him, your name, or anything like that. If you want, he can end up like Krupotnik, Jackson, and Dugan."

  "You decide whether it’s necessary. At this stage I suppose I don’t have any choice but to trust you. I’m nervous, though. The Post has a story today about Dugan’s death. This is getting out of hand, we’re going to lose control."

  "It couldn’t be helped. Only people familiar with all the details will connect the dots about the three GigaStar people dying."

  Tilman nodded. "Now we've just got to deal with this hacking problem, and we're through this little spot of trouble."

  "This hacking is more than a little spot of trouble! That flash drive has been hard to get back!"

  "I know, and I’m surprised you’re having so much trouble with it. It’s just a college kid!"

  The head of security glared at him, and Tilman regretted uttering the criticism. "Luck never lasts forever," was the only response.

  "What about the other people involved?"

  The man looked at Tilman darkly. "What do you think?"

  Tilman turned away. He didn’t like that – didn’t like it at all. But the payoff… He turned back. "This is worth it. The NSA's going to plant one of our little bugs on everybody they want to spy on. It's going to create opportunities for us beyond anything you've ever dreamed of. And there are people I need to pay back. People I can point them at."

  The security man nodded. "I know that. But don't underestimate the obstacles. I'd like to get the NSA's help with the hacker. What else are you so close to Nathan Jacobs for?"

  Tilman shook his head. "Are you crazy? No way. The vote’s too close."

  "The top three people on that program are dea
d!" his security chief replied. "If you think we’re going to be able to hide that from them, you're just fooling yourself. If we bring them in ourselves, we can manage what they think. But if they come in on their own, who knows how deep they'll dig?"

  "If they dig too deep, everything we've done is for nothing. We're on the cusp of something that will give us both more money and power than we can ever use, Carlos! I won't lose it now."

  "And I'm telling you we're going to lose it if we don't handle the NSA right. They're going to take a look at those deaths, and conclude that something obviously is going on here. They may start out thinking it’s foreign espionage, but there’s no guarantee it stops there. They'll come in, and then the best thing you can hope for is problems with that vote in Congress. You pay me for my expertise. Use it."

  Tilman turned away. He gazed out Carlos's office window, standing still as a statue. Finally he said, "Very well. I'll trust you on this. You've worked with them before - if you think we can manage the problem by inviting them in, I'll take your word. But make sure that other issue is taken care of before we talk to them, Carlos."

  ***

  Kathy and Mike walked to the shop and got coffee to go, then strolled down the street watching people.

  "Can we do this, Kathy? You and I? Can we make something happen?"

  She looked at him, then looked away, then looked back. She reached over and took his hand. "Tell me about you and God, Michael."

  He said "um" a few times. He shrugged. "My family went to church when I was growing up. They had me baptized when I was born. I guess… I don’t know. I don’t think about it as much as I should."

  She took his hand and squeezed it briefly before letting go. "Sounds a lot like my childhood. But there's so much more to him than that."

  She went silent long enough to draw Mike into eye contact, and then she said, "If you want to know me, start there."

  ***

  Colleen leaned back in her chair, feet propped up on the little hotel desk, trying to get as comfortable as the seating allowed. She’d gotten bored with solitaire and all the other little games that Mike had on his laptop. She was contemplating downloading a stolen copy of Call of Duty when from nowhere a little message box swam up on the screen.

  "OK, so you’re too dumb to be with the NSA," it read. "That doesn’t put me any closer to talking to you."

  Colleen spent a few panicked minutes wondering where the message had come from. Unlike Mike and Kathy, she knew enough about computers to be worried when a message box came out of nowhere. It meant software was running that she didn’t know about, and that was dangerous. But just before she hit the power button to regain control of the computer, she remembered what she was here for.

  She inhaled deeply and stared at the message box. "Well," she said aloud, "When you go looking for the world’s best hacker, don’t be surprised when he hacks you." Noting the area for a reply, she typed out, "Jakarta?" and pressed the send button.

  "Correct. And you are Kathy Kelver or her roommate, Colleen Christina. Which?"

  "Colleen. KH12 on the Net."

  "Ah. Named for the recon satellite?"

  She smiled. Not everyone got that. The American National Reconnaissance Office ran a constellation of spy satellites orbiting the Earth. Among the most modern of them were the model KH12s.

  "Correct."

  "OK, then. Why are you making such a ruckus all over the Internet looking for me, drawing unwanted attention to my haunts?"

  Colleen took a moment to simply breathe. This was it, what they’d been waiting for. The man at the other end could tell them about the flash drive.

  Maybe, she admitted silently. She might have gone after the wrong Jakarta – though the coincidence would be hard to believe. And even if he was the right one, he still might not know what all this was about.

  "My roommate was given a flash drive," she typed, "and instructions to bring it to you. We would like to do that."

  "I see. Well, this does pose a difficulty, doesn’t it?"

  "Why?"

  "I am not in the habit of meeting face to face with strangers. The government, as I made clear to your friends last night, would rather strenuously like to interview me."

  "I thought I had established that I was not with the government."

  "Perhaps. But perhaps not. It could still all be a trick."

  "If you want the flash drive, you’ll have to take the risk."

  "Not necessarily. I would prefer to simply have a friend meet you, and pick up the flash drive."

  "No," Colleen typed, holding her breath. "We’ll only give it to you." That was a risk, but one she couldn’t stop herself from running. After everything she and Kathy had been through…

  "Why?"

  "We want an explanation. Kathy and I have been through miserable experiences over this thing. We want to know what it is, and why it’s so valuable. You can tell us."

  The reply took a long time coming. "Ah, but you see, that’s exactly what the government would want. Nonetheless, I want that flash drive, so this is what I’ll do: in precisely an hour, an associate of mine will meet you at the front door of your Holiday Inn. You will be taken to a meeting place, and you will bring the flash drive. Understood?"

  She stared at the message, a smile spreading across her face. It worked! She thought. But she typed only, "Understood."

  ***

  He woke to a cramp, thinking he must have slept on his arm wrong. That idea lasted only halfway to consciousness, when the myriad messages of other pains arrived at once to great fanfare at his brain. John groaned.

  This was far worse than any beating he'd ever taken on the football field. Worse even than the riot that had once landed him in jail. In agony, he tried to move his right hand to touch the place that hurt worst, but of course he couldn't. John remembered being tied up.

  Which is why it was such a surprise that he could, in fact, move his left arm. Overcome by curiosity, his right eye cracked open just a bit, only to see that, yes, his left arm was still tied. So why was it moving?

  He closed his eyes and summoned the effort to marshal his thoughts, asserting control over the brain cells that just wanted to scream over the uncounted pain messages flooding in.

  Gradually, he opened both eyes all the way. Well, as far as they would go. His left one didn't want to open all the way, and John felt sure he'd have a nasty black eye.

  Finally, he was able to analyze the situation, and it actually gave him a laugh, which triggered an explosion of pain from his ribs. He grimaced, figuring at least one of them was cracked. But he also knew doctors didn't do much for cracked ribs, since the main thing to do was let them heal over time.

  His left arm was still tied up, but could move just a bit because, in the course of beating him for no good reason, Carlos had either punched or kicked him hard enough to crack loose the arm of the chair. Maybe the fall to the floor had done it, John mused. He hadn't been moved from there after tipping over.

  He looked up, and saw that the unshielded bulb in his – room, cell, closet, whatever – had been left on. By its harsh light, he brought his left hand over to the right one and began to work the rope.

  How long it took, he had no way of knowing. They’d taken his watch before bringing him in here, along with all his other clothing. To John, it felt like it took him at least an hour to undo the knot. At long last, though, his other arm was free. He used that to unfasten the rope that held his left to the broken piece of wood that had once been a part of his chair.

  After that he went to work on the rope that went around his midriff and elbows. To start with, it was tied behind him, so he had to pull the rope around 180 degrees. The rope burns from that temporarily overrode the other pains he was feeling, and John clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. Finally, though, the knot was where he could at least reach it, and he went to work getting it loose.

  Next, his legs. Bending at the waist shot little spikes of pain through him, and John thought again abou
t his certainty of a cracked rib or two. He set his jaw and worked through it. It was either bear this or wait for them to come drug him and kill him. His breath came in gasps as he worked the knots, but at least for this he could use both hands.

  For a moment after his ankles were untied he stopped to catch his breath, cursing about the pain. That lasted almost a minute before he realized that he had no idea how long it would be before they came after him, and he hurried back to work.

  Only the rope around his knees remained, and John made short work of that. It was the easiest of the bunch, since he could use both hands and didn't have to bend over to get at it. It fell down to the floor loose, and he was free.

  His first thought was to stretch out, having been locked in that one position for who knows how many hours. That proved to be a mistake, though, as the cramps shot through him at the unaccustomed movement. John winced, and waited for the pain to pass. After a period of small, gentle movements, he was finally able to stand up. When he did, he carried the broken chair arm like a club.

  It would serve as a weapon, but it wasn't much of one. Instinctively, John's eyes traversed his cell, looking for anything else he could add to his arsenal.

  They fell on the lone light bulb.

  It hung by a cord from a ragged hole in the ceiling. John shrugged. Maybe, just maybe…

  He stood under the bulb, and reached up until he could wrap his hand around the cord. It gave just a little bit.

  As he pulled a second time, he heard a voice outside his door.

  John felt a sudden urge to urinate as he realized they were back for him. They must be right outside. The bulb came a little further down on his last tug, and now he faced a choice: give up on the bulb and prepare with his chair arm/club, or make one last try for the bulb. He gave another powerful pull, and felt the cord loosen and come free into his hand. He had about six feet of play in the cord. It would have to do.