The fee was less than what Jack had been expecting, but Karras obviously wasn’t a greedy man. According to Max, he had the ability to make himself a millionaire at the stroke of a key but he avoided temptation. Why he chose to live like this was anyone’s guess.
“I think that works,” Jack said. “Although scrounging up cash at this time of night could be difficult.”
Karras shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a friend of Maxie’s, I’ll trust you. I’ll even give you a discount, you get her to deliver it to me.”
No chance in hell that would ever happen, but Jack smiled and nodded. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to.”
The prospect seemed to make Karras’s day.
“Good,” he said, crossing to the chair at his computer station. He sank into it and stabbed a key, making the porn site go away. “So what’s our target?”
“I need to look at some personnel records.”
“Corporate?”
Jack shook his head. “Government.”
“Hmm,” Karras said. “That gets tricky. Foreign or domestic?”
“The local British Consulate.”
Karras’s eyebrows went up and for a moment Jack thought he was about to refuse. But he had only been thinking, apparently, for an instant later he shrugged it off. “Easy as making white rice.”
Jack was surprised. “How do you know? You been in there before?”
“I’ve made a few exploratory trips.”
“Why?”
Karras shrugged. “Why not? I like challenges, so I go looking for them.”
Jack regarded him critically. “But why the British Consulate?”
“The U.K.’s Terrorism Act of 2000 made hacking an act of terrorism,” he said. “I keep checking to make sure I’m not on any of their watch lists.”
“By committing the very act that would put you on the list,” Jack said.
“Yeah. How else?”
Jack held up his hands. “Beats me. I’m already on that list, so I’m not one to judge. You were saying, about challenges?”
“Right. The BC’s firewalls are state-of-the-art, but the biggest vulnerability of any organization is people and training. No matter how many times you pound it into an employee’s head to create strong passwords and keep them secure, there’s always some fool who doesn’t listen. It’s an IT manager’s nightmare.”
“Which you use to your advantage.”
“Little social engineering and I’m in. And once I’m in, that sucker is mine.” He jabbed a key with his index finger and the screen on his right came to life with a list of files. “I think I have a password that’s current.”
Tony, who had been looking disappointed ever since the porn site was banished from view, said, “You keep this stuff on file? What if you get raided?”
“Kill switch,” Karras told him as he scrolled through the files. “I can fry every single one of my hard drives in about thirty seconds flat. You’d need a forensics miracle worker to figure out what was on them.” He found what he was looking for and opened the file. “Here it is. Hermione10.”
“Hermione?”
“Yeah, daughter. Women tend to use their kids’ names, pet’s name, or mother’s name for their password, in that order. God bless Facebook, it’s like a big, fat password directory.”
“Pretty scary when you think about it,” Jack said.
“Best not to,” Tony suggested.
Karras typed something and a network portal blossomed on his center screen showing the British embassy logo. The lion and the unicorn.
Navigating to the local consulate’s page, he called up the log-in box, typed in the name, Winterbottom, Jane, the password, Hermoine10, then punched the enter button and waited.
“Let’s hope she hasn’t changed it,” he said.
Jack almost hoped she had, simply because he couldn’t believe how lax people were about their security. There were office towers in the city that changed their elevator passwords every twenty-four hours, but during that time handed them out to every pizza delivery man and overnight delivery service that came by. Unless he was honest or a complete moron, that gave potential intruders a full day to get in and out of so-called high-security buildings.
A moment later Karras was inside the network and zipping around it like a bee on a hillside. Opening a command window, he started typing again. It all looked like gibberish to Jack, so he just waited as Karras did his thing.
Tony said, “You got something to drink? This looks like it could take a while.”
Karras gestured. “Beer in the fridge. Make it two.”
“Three,” Jack said.
Tony disappeared around a corner, made some noise, then brought the beers and went back for a couple of dinette stools to sit on. They drank and watched as Karras typed, Jack trying not to think about how much jail time they’d all be facing if he got caught.
Karras seemed to read his mind.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m covering my tracks as I go. They’ll never even know we were in here.”
“Famous last words.”
“An expression coined, I’m guessing, by someone who wasn’t very good at what he did,” Karras said.
A moment later Karras jabbed a key and a list of names filled the screen. “Gentlemen, I give you the employees of the San Francisco British consulate. You interested in anyone in particular?”
“Security staff,” Jack said. “I was hoping for ID photos.”
“I think I can arrange that.” Karras typed in a few key words and hit enter, then a dozen names and faces popped up. “There you have it. The SFBC security staff.”
Jack and Tony leaned forward, studying the photos. Jack didn’t see anyone who looked even remotely like the guy in sunglasses.
“You see him?” he asked Tony.
Tony shook his head then sipped his beer.
“Okay, so he’s not security. Let’s go through the rest of the staff, department by department. All the males.”
“Your wish is my command,” Karras said.
They spent the next few minutes going through each of the employee photos, working their way from the lowliest maintenance worker to the consul general himself.
Still no sign of Sunglasses.
“I guess we got it wrong,” Jack said to Tony.
“Or they’re MI6, which means they wouldn’t be in this system.” He turned to Karras. “Any chance you can hack into the British security services?”
Karras balked. “What did I say when we started—”
“That you like money and challenges. Another grand?”
Karras still didn’t bite. “You got a couple weeks and a safe house in Brazil? Those people have firewalls on top of firewalls and enough booby traps to discourage even the most aggressive attack. Getting past them would take a lot more than social engineering and, like I told you, I don’t do intelligence networks.”
Jack sighed. “So we’re at an impasse.”
“Not necessarily. This guy you’re looking for—what made you think he works for the consulate in the first place?”
“Long story.”
Karras took a sip of beer and nodded. “Sure, sure—need to know. But just because his file isn’t here today, doesn’t mean it wasn’t here yesterday or a week ago. Could be he quit or got fired.”
Jack immediately understood. “Archives.”
“Most organizations keep their employee files for years. I could go back a couple months, look for recent terminations.”
“Do it,” Jack told him.
Karras called up another command screen and went to work. A few moments later, he said, “Looks like there’s only been three terminations processed in the last year and a half. All female. But there is something a little strange here.”
“What?”
“Some data remnants that look like they were purged from the personnel database a little over a week ago. Could be an employee record and it might be your guy.”
“Can you acce
ss it?”
“Data only completely disappears when you nuke the drive. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure I can pull something up. But give me a few minutes.”
He went at it, working the keyboard furiously, all of his concentration focused on that center screen. Jack and Tony were about halfway through their second beers when he finally came up for air.
“Success,” he said. “It’s only a partial, but at least I’ve got a name and a photo for you.”
He stabbed a key and the file opened up on-screen.
The employee was male, but it wasn’t Sunglasses. Not even close. However, the photo stirred something inside Jack and he felt his heart kick up a notch.
“You say this was purged about a week ago?”
“Give or take.”
Jack stared at the screen. Could it really be who he thought it was?
“What’s wrong?” Tony asked. “You know this guy?”
“No, but I know someone who might.” He looked at Karras. “Can you download this photo and send it to a cell phone?”
He was already maximizing a snip program to copy the photo without leaving a fingerprint.
“Just give me the number.”
Jack did, then dug out his phone and dialed the number himself. After three rings the line picked up and he said, “This is Jack Hatfield. I’m gonna send you a photo. I want you to take a careful look and call me back, okay?”
He got the answer he was hoping for then clicked off.
“Jack, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” he said, staring intently at the computer screen as he waited for his phone to ring. A moment later it did, and he answered quickly. “Is that the guy? The one you and your brother saw at the Arco station?”
“It’s him,” Leon replied.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“I’m sure,” Leon said.
Jack thanked him then clicked off, turning to Tony. He gestured to the face on the screen. Dark, Middle Eastern descent. The name next to it read ABDAL AL-FIDA and listed him as a computer maintenance technician.
“He’s the one,” Jack said. “The reason for the cover-up.”
“The Iranian guy?”
Jack nodded. “That’s why they wiped him from the database.” He paused, not quite believing what he was about to say. “The bomber was working for the Brits.”
17
“This has to be a mistake,” Tony said, staring at the screen.
As much as Jack wanted to believe that, the proof was right in front of them. Abdal al-Fida was an employee of the British government. And his previously deleted personnel file had been flagged to indicate that he’d been living here on a G-2 diplomatic visa. He lived at an address in Newham, London, and had arrived in the U.S. less than a month before the carjacking.
“I wish it was a mistake,” Jack said. “But what we have here is a major embarrassment to the Brits, and they’re doing whatever it takes to make it go away. Could you imagine the shit storm they’d see if it came out they had a terrorist on the books?”
“They couldn’t have known what he was up to.”
“Which makes it even more embarrassing. The guy was obviously a mole and that means they’ve had a serious security breach. Not something they’d want made public.”
Tony looked doubtful. “So they send in MI6 to clean up? There’s gotta be more to it than that. They killed a teenager, for God’s sake. And what about Bob Copeland?”
Jack was a strong believer in Occam’s razor, that the most obvious explanation was usually the best one. But Tony had a point. Had Copeland been killed simply because he’d discovered a security breach? Or was there another reason altogether?
Like Operation Roadshow, he thought.
The Home Office was overly sensitive to criticism, but would they go this far to protect themselves?
“Um, what exactly are you guys getting me into here?” Karras said, suddenly looking very nervous. “Maxie never mentioned anything about bombers and dead teenagers. Maybe you two should leave.”
Jack ignored him and got to his feet, started pacing. He needed to think about this.
Tony gestured to the screen. “Whatever the case, this guy’s probably buried in somebody’s backyard by now. And without him, what do we have?”
“More speculation,” Jack said.
“Exactly.”
“Guys—” Karras said.
Jack didn’t seem to hear him.
What if this al-Fida guy isn’t dead? What if he immediately fled for home after botching the bombing? It didn’t seem likely, but Jack would be stupid not to check into it.
Karras got to his feet now. “I mean it,” he insisted. “I don’t want anything to do with whatever you’re into. You need to get out of here.”
Jack stopped pacing and turned to him. “Fine, but one last thing. Would you be able to hack into an airline and pull up their flight manifests for the last week or so?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to.”
“I’ll triple your fee.”
“Hey, money isn’t every—”
“What about some intel about Maxine?”
Karras hesitated. “What kind of intel?”
“Coming to you was her idea,” Jack lied. “She has all kinds of regrets and if she finds out you went that extra mile for us she’d probably be real appreciative.”
“Really?”
“Haircut and a shave and—who knows?”
He could see that the prospect excited Karras. The guy hesitated a moment longer then sat back down. “Quadruple the fee.”
“Done.”
“What airline do you want to start with?”
“What else?” Jack told him. “British Airways.”
* * *
It took Karras a while to find what Jack was looking for, but his instincts had proven right and they didn’t have to leave the British Airways network to prove it.
There was a flight out of LAX to London the day after the carjacking, and Abdal al-Fida was one of the first class passengers. The ticket had been charged to the British embassy’s travel account. This didn’t mean al-Fida was still alive, but the possibility existed and that was enough for Jack to hang his hopes on.
Twenty minutes later he dropped Tony off at his car outside Maxine’s with promises that they’d reconvene at the Sea Wrighter after he’d picked up Eddie. But as he drove toward his apartment he decided to take a detour to the Arco station on Mission, the place where Jamal and Leon had first seen al-Fida. It was nighttime; the same attendant might be on duty.
The guy at the register was nodding off, a travel magazine in his lap, open to a story about Amsterdam.
Jack rapped on the countertop and he came awake with a start. “Uh?”
“GNT News,” Jack said, showing him his expired credentials. “Were you working here the night of the bombing?”
The counterman blinked a couple times to clear the cobwebs, then hastily set the magazine aside. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was here. Why?”
Jack brought out a copy of al-Fida’s personnel photo that Karras had printed out. “Do you remember this man? He would’ve stopped for gas shortly before midnight.”
The counterman squinted at it. “Do you know how many people come in here every night? I guess I coulda seen him but I don’t remember.”
“What about surveillance video?”
The man looked up like he was Eddie asking for more spaghetti. Jack had expected that. He flipped a twenty onto the counter. The man laid a hand on it and swept it off like a croupier.
“It’s on a forty-eight-hour cycle. It would’ve been erased by now.” He paused. “But it’s funny you ask, because the feds were in here looking for it last night, right after my shift started.”
Jack was surprised. “Did they say why?”
“Just that they were looking for a suspect in a bank robbery. But they didn’t show me any pictures or anything. They made me play the video back, like they thought I was lyi
ng.”
“And you’re sure they were FBI?”
He looked at Jack blankly. “The head guy flashed a badge.”
“Did you look at it closely?”
His expression told Jack it was obvious he hadn’t.
Typical.
“What did they look like?”
He shrugged. “Like feds. What are they supposed to look like?”
“Did you see what kind of car they were driving?”
“I think it was an SUV of some kind.”
“An Escalade, maybe? Black?”
He shrugged again. “Could be. Don’t quote me.”
“I won’t,” Jack promised. “Thanks for your time.”
He pocketed the photo then went back to his car and sat for a while. He had been hoping to get confirmation that the man Jamal and Leon had seen really was Abdal al-Fida, but he’d known it was a long shot. Leon had sounded sure on the phone, but Jack wasn’t completely comfortable hanging an entire theory—as thin as it might be—on the word of a grieving teenage carjacker. Any good attorney would tell you that eyewitness testimony is rarely reliable, even though a shocking number of people have gone to jail because of it.
But then why else would the British consulate delete al-Fida’s file? Why not just archive it like the others? And why fly him out of the country immediately after the blast?
Jack started his car and pulled out of the gas station, easing into the flow of traffic.
Too many questions, he thought. Too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
* * *
Jack had traveled only a few blocks when he saw the Escalade in his rearview mirror.
A little less than a block behind him, it was hidden by several other cars. The darkness and the shining headlights made it difficult to see, but every once in a while they’d pass through a brightly lit area, illuminating the SUV as if it were standing on a showroom floor.
Jack knew there were bound to be other Escalades on the road, that this could be nothing more than paranoia at work, but it looked just like the car in the video—and he had a very strong feeling there was a Brit behind the wheel. There was something about the way he was maneuvering, the slightest hesitation, as though he were consciously trying to remember which side of the road he had to be on.
Abuse of Power Page 14
