by Tony Teora
Robert grabbed his backpack to get some chocolate. Inside Robert saw a black plastic bag and that reminded Robert of something important.
"Hey Jimmy…Jimmy!" Robert interrupted Jimmy’s game of GameMaster 6.
"Yeah, sorry. Just let me close out this set," Jimmy hit the pause button and looked over to his father.
"What’s up Dad?"
"Jimmy, promise me you won’t tell your mother…promise."
"Sure Dad, and I won’t even blackmail you either. Wazzz up?" Robert gave Jimmy a look back that said if you try that you’re in some deep shit.
"Only kidding Dad, what’s up, did you cheat on Mom?"
"No! I didn’t cheat on Mom! Buddy suffocated the neighbor’s dog, and I need your help."
"Suffocated their dog? That’s a good start Pop on being a good neighbor."
"It wasn’t on purpose. Buddy passed out on top of the neighbors dog Yuki from all the sleeping pills your Mom gave him."
"Sounds kind of pukie to me," said Jimmy smiling. Jimmy received another evil eye from Robert. "Ok Dad, how can I help?"
"Here take this and put it in your backpack." Robert opened up his backpack and pulled out the now stiff and bloated Yuki. Yuki’s eyes bulged out like small gray glass marbles. Jimmy’s face made that yuk! What the fuck is wrong with my Dad look but took the dog and stuffed it in his backpack.
"He looks like a porcupine, how’d he get all blown up?"
"Don’t ask, please."
"He doesn’t smell yet. When do you think he will start becoming smelly?" asked Jimmy.
"Jimmy…I don’t know, but probably soon. Please get rid of it somewhere, anywhere."
"Gee Dad, no problem, but what should I tell Shun?"
Robert did not like that question. He probably had to tell Shun something, hell, Shun hated the fucking dog.
"I don’t know. Have any ideas?"
"How bout we get them a Sony Aibo-3000?"
The Sony Aibo 3000 was a perfect small electronic dog. It would play just like a regular dog and could be specially programmed to learn from whoever pushed a special button in its back. Once the dog’s button was pushed, it mimicked the master’s language and actions, becoming the perfect pet. Some said people would become attached to it just like a live pet. Robert had a friend who had the dog, and even Buddy liked playing with it. It wasn’t a bad idea but…
"I’m not sure son. I read an article that only teenagers and mentally unstable adults liked the Aibo. Let me figure this out later, I’ve got enough shit to worry about today." Robert bit his tongue; he did not want the driver to pick up any cursing, which he’d heard was bad taste in Japan.
"Shun said he wants an Aibo, and speaking of shit Dad, did you know Shun is in the Mafia?"
Robert’s face immediately felt like it was just sprayed with quick drying glue. I killed the fucking Don’s dog? The sound of the Godfather ran through Roberts brain—da…da.. da da da daaaa. Ah shit, did Shun really hate the dog? Where did Jimmy get this idea? It had to be bullshit; kids are filled with bullshit. Hell, kids make bullshit; they’re bullshit experts, manufacturers of bullshit.
"Jimmy, who told you he was in the Mafia, and how do you know he wants an Aibo?" It had to be a rumor, thought Robert. Kids are always talking shit; they’re manufacturers of shit.
"He told me, Dad," said Jimmy, restarting his GameMaster 6 and totally not reading Robert’s concern.
"He told you? What do you mean he told you?"
Great, thought Robert. I’ve got a mentally unstable, Aibo-loving neighbor. Jimmy had to be confused.
"I stopped over to see if you were still there. Mom told me to go there first before she left. Gee Dad, the place smelled like burnt dog skin, and now I see that mutt all blown up. What happened?"
"Jimmy, stop asking me questions. How did Shun say he was in the Mafia?"
"Well he didn’t say Mafia…"
"Well see, then maybe he’s not in the Mafia." Kids talking shit.
"He said Yakuza. That’s the Japanese Mafia, and he said he had to register with the police and government. "
"Well, I don’t know what Shun was talking about, but I know that the Mafia does not go down town hall and register themselves with the government." Robert’s brain had a vision of Al Capone walking down to the town hall with his machine gun suitcase in hand saying: Hi, I’m Al Capone, I’d like to register as an organized crime boss, yes, that’s Capone, with a C and not K. My job? I kill people and run bootleg liquor. How many people in my club? Well let’s see…Hey, by the way, want to see my violin? No? Well here it is anyhow! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
"Dad…Dad!" Jimmy raised his voice
"Uh, what son?" Robert broke out of a trance.
"We’re at the front gate. They want to see your pass."
Robert gave the guard his pass and entered into MicroIntel Japan’s headquarters in Kudanshita, Tokyo. Kudanshita was the right place for MicroIntel, on a small hill near the imperial grounds, using up fifteen acres of a military cemetery. In the cemetery were statues of Japanese war heroes. In the spring the trees blossomed into pink cherry blossoms. It was winter and people were in the cemetery to pay their respects to the dead. There were red tents with orange lanterns and people eating and drinking, people relaxing on a Monday holiday.
"Dad, look at all those huge statues. There must be a lot of Japanese heroes. We killed a lot of them Dad, didn’t we?"
Robert looked at the twenty-foot soldier sitting on horseback. "Yes we did Jimmy, and as you know from history they killed a few Americans too."
"Yeah, but now that the US is too strong for anyone. We can kick anyone’s ass! Jeez everyone in the world hates us now, Dad. Do the Japanese hate us too?"
"No, that was a long time ago. Time heals things and business is the glue of the world." Robert knew Japan liked the US mostly for business.
The driver rode into the MicroIntel compound, skirting the lined up tents. The red tents contrasted with the metal fence separating them from MicroIntel.
"Dad, I want to check out the party. It seems pretty cool." Jimmy rolled down his window, letting in a cool breeze.
"Sure, but stay out of trouble, I need to get some work done. Make sure you’re back by five, and make sure you get a pass card or they won’t let you back in."
The limo parked in an enclosed garage and Robert directed Jimmy to a MicroIntel security guard. Jimmy went to get the proper passes. Robert then took an elevator to the main entrance on the fourth floor. Once the doors opened three Japanese men, all dressed in dark gray suits, stood at attention. They bowed and spoke almost in unison:
"Welcome to MicroIntel Japan, Mr. Davichi." Robert did his best at bowing and then they all stood up straight and smiled. The older gentleman put out his hand. My name is Taro Watanabe but please just call me Mr. T. I am not as big as your American Mr. T, but I used to watch him as a kid. He’s a tough guy."
Robert never understood why the Japanese would pick names of American movie or television stars. It drove him nuts, it drove him even more nuts when someone said, "you know, you look just like Michael Douglas", or "Mr. Davichi, did you know you resemble Harrison Ford, except you’re a little fatter" etc.
"Oh, I hear you’re just as tough as the Mr. T, but you write great Japanese versions of MicroIntel software to do your battles," said Robert smiling.
"That’s not true. My team writes the software. I just try to make sure it all works. Speaking of things working, do you have any ideas on the recent problems with the AD2100 software?"
He couldn’t wait to ask that one. This was not good. The Japanese usually spent half a day on niceties, but no, not at MicroIntel! These guys were all picked because they had balls of steel.
"No, not yet Mr. T, that’s why I’m here, to figure out what’s going on."
"Great, Gill wants us to go out tomorrow night for dinner. He’ll be getting into Tokyo late tonight."
"He’s flying to Japan? Are you sure?"
What the hell was Gill
coming out to Japan for? Surely he had wanted me to solve this problem, thought Robert.
"Yes, Mr. Davichi, he was worried about you and the flight. He said he wanted to be here and we could not contact you yesterday, so we thought we’d just tell you today. Let’s go out to lunch today and I’ll update you on the project."
That was Gill all right, flying off to a client on a moment’s notice, choosing the most important battles, and going gangbusters to get things done. The first Sunday that Robert takes off in months his boss comes looking for him while he relaxes in the park. So much for a life at MI! Trying to find time for a normal life was impossible. The job of a professor at some small university was looking better and better; then he’d have time for the vineyard.
"Could you please show me an office where I can connect into the AD2100J Central? I have some ideas that I want to try. I would prefer just a cup of strong coffee and a box of donuts rather than a regular lunch today. Let’s meet at around 2:00 to go over my results."
Robert had balls of steel too. He needed to figure out who was hacking into the system, and what had happened to AD2100. Glazed donuts, strong coffee, and connection into the mainframe’s memory were the only things Robert wanted.
"I guess you really are Mr. Davichi. I was warned that you never stopped until you solved a problem. Gill said you were his number one guy. He said you had balls of steel, and I see why. What kind of donuts do you like?"
"Gill’s great at flattering people. Glazed if you can get them, and please show me where I can log in."
Mr. T ordered his staff to find a box of glazed donuts and directed Robert to a private office. Robert did have some ideas, especially since he saw some strange data traffic on his flight through the main server. He would work privately to solve this one. He knew he had to before there was another major hack.
Robert opened up his notebook PC and re-read the letter from Joey before checking the Big Blue server:
Robert things are pretty screwed. The other day I was working on a project to hack into Missile systems to make sure they were secure when I got an e-mail threatening my life. Said that if I went back home I might get killed. It came from the NSA mail server. Checked everything---seems impossible. You and I are only ones of five who built the system for the NSA. Do you have any ideas of what’s going on? Don’t want to sound paranoid but…
Ideas thought Robert, ideas. Hey Joey Boy, can I call you Joey Boy? I’m in the same shitstorm, you paranoid fuck. You always were the paranoid bastard. I guess that’s why you took up the NSA instead of getting a real job. Robert continued reading:
…one part of the e-mail, said: check out the Mil-Sat one transmissions. I did, and Holy Horse Turds! It seems like there is a signal coming in from space, over eight hundred million miles away! First I thought someone was bouncing a connection way off some Jupiter satellite to hide their whereabouts. I was real careful to use another user’s ID from some other agency I had hacked -- you know, I am a little paranoid, you always said it. But this time, Robert, this time I’m sure something really screwed is going on.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Yes, who is it?" asked Robert.
"I am Mr. Taknaka’s secretary, I have coffee and donuts."
Well why didn’t you say so? I could never stomach too much of paranoid Joey without food. "Please, please come on in."
A young woman dressed in the corporate MicroIntel blue and white uniform came in with a tray of coffee and four small and delicate, but glazed and delicious looking donuts.
"If you need anything else please let me know."
Robert looked at the girl, not too pretty but a nice body, thin and sophisticated looking.
"Thanks." Keep the eyes off the girls. Every foreigner is known for probing eyes and hitting on the girls. I have to stay professional.
Robert trained his eyes back on the e-mail, munching away. Hell, if I’m gonna get whacked from some alphabet agency, I might as well die with a donut in hand. Robert read on to the part the troubled him the most:
Robert, I can’t really figure it out, but it seems that the satellites are being used to hack into Big Blue. I think the hacker is alien. The only other possibility is that the NSA secretly changed the NSA SEC chip. In that event, I’m supposed to be informed. If they changed the chip there is no way of knowing, but you guys at MicroIntel burned the chip. Did you do anything to change it? Also, I checked the Mil-Sat One. It looks like there is a huge backdoor into the MicroIntel AD2100. If you guys load up the code in Japan you’ll open up these guys who are eight hundred million miles out to everything.
And last, I don’t think the person who sent the warning is the same as the guys out in space. I think it’s someone else, but it would need a new NSA SEC chip to do that. Take it from a paranoid -- you should be careful. Send back any ideas at 09:30 hours Japan Time on the old WebSite. Use the opening stock price of the Nikkei as the one-time code. Use a one-time mail drop, so if I don’t get it we’ll know we’re compromised. Take care, Robert. Boy, I wish you were over here in Colorado. It’s very intriguing.
Robert munched away on a glazed donut looking at the e-mail. That boy is one paranoid fuck, he thought, but he was my best grad student and the girl he helped was one pretty thing. Joey is onto something. I need to dig into Big Blue. There is one other way to do this shit without the SEC chip being compromised, but that would mean something stranger than aliens.
Strange or not, Robert would check it out. As a fan of Sherlock Holmes Robert knew to leave no stoned unturned, no matter how improbable.
Chapter 10: Knock…Knock…Mr. President
Date: February 14, 2021
Place: Earth,
Location: White House
"Very funny, Scotty. Now beam down my clothes.
--Trek Star—Big Wheel Universe TV series
George W. Bush: Ma," said George W. Bush on the phone, "the latest polls show that I am ahead of Gore!
Barbara Bush: Honestly?
George W. Bush: Ma! Why bring that up at a time like this?
President Newton W. Bush heard a light knock on his bedroom door. He got up from the presidential bed. It was early Sunday morning. His head pounded with every heartbeat -- one hell of a hangover. First one since my inauguration day a month before, he thought. Better quit drinking. I promised Pappy I’d quit if I made President. Hell no one knows except maybe the secret service and Ann. Too many reporters following everyone around. What time is it? 3:40 a.m.?! I’m not supposed to be up until 6:30? What the hell’s going on here?
The knock came again and Secret Service Special Agent Lance spoke from behind the door. "Mr. President, sorry to bother you, but we have a call from a General Schwartz, he said it was urgent. Would you like to take the call in you room, Sir, or should we cancel the request?"
Bush lay on his back looking at the ceiling -- they even painted the presidential emblem on the stupid ceiling! The emblem seemed to move and wobble with every pounding heartbeat. Dang, if Ann were around I’d never have got so drunk!
Ann, the First Lady went to visit her comatose father. Ann’s mother Margaret had passed away right before the inauguration and that put her father in a state of uselessness. The doctor said he wouldn’t eat, and friends said he looked like a zombie. As President, Newton W. Bush had responsibilities to America that required him to stay at the White House. Yet the night before he’d drank like a fish with Senator Lebowitz from NY and Texas Oil President Fudbaker. Must have drank until 1:00, he thought, and now they want me to work at 3:40 a.m.? Dad said this job would put ten years on in four. It feels more like twenty.
Bush, being a professional slugabed needed lots of sleep, but this was tough. Bush got out of bed, sat on the side and grabbed a pitcher of ice water. He poured a glass full. "Have them page the call to my study, and get me some cappuccino with two sugars. Make it a large, and see if they can get it to me soon Lance." Bush’s own voice hurt his head. He hoped he wouldn’t have to repeat the message. He drank th
e water. It cooled the head.
"Yes Mr. President, we’ll patch the call through and get the coffee right away, Sir."
President Bush was 53 years old, and his body ached more than usual. I have to get a new bed; this one’s nice but too soft, thought Bush. Bush grabbed his blue presidential robe and walked into an adjoining study. The mirror on the wall was not showing a pretty picture. The red bloodshot eyes and rumpled graying hair looked very different from the recent pictures run all over the world. Amazing what a few shots of facial agents and a little makeup can do, thought Bush. He smiled as he looked at his messed up hair. Hell I look like Jack Nicholas in the Shining. The image of Jack cutting through a door with an ax flashed through Bush’s head. Heeeeres Johnny!!!
Ring…Ring… Bush stopped looking at himself in the mirror and picked up a phone on his desk. "President Bush speaking, is this George?"
"Yes Mr. President, this is General George Schwartz."
"Well, let’s not get too friendly General George Schwartz. May I askwhat isso importantthat you’re waking up your newly inaugurated, and tired, President at 3:45 a.m. in the morning?"
"Sorry Mr. President, but I need to inform you that we have discovered a hacker in the Net-Chameleon project, Sir."
President Bush heard a buzz on his door. "If it’s the man with my cappuccino come in, otherwise I’d like someone to shoot whoever’s ringing that buzzer." The buzz felt like a hammer. Bush guzzled more water. Lance carried in a tray of coffee. "Had the staff put a rush on it, Sir."
Bush accepted the coffee. "Thanks Lance."
Lance quietly exited and closed the door without a sound. Bush sat savoring the hot coffee and rubbing his head.
"Ah, Mr. President, did you hear my last statement?" asked the General.
"Wait a second, will you General." President Bush took a long sip of the hot cappuccino and tried to remember Project-Chameleon, but for the life of him couldn’t.
