Project Northwest

by C. B. Carter

  “Already did, Cricket. I appreciate your input, but let’s not push the line of insolence, shall we. What the hell is going on here? I’ve got you second guessing me and Mr. Wrong afraid of a five foot three psychic. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Start the background on Detective McCoy. I want to know his pressure points by the end of the evening. And bring up the accounts. Let’s see if our client is moving the money.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cricket logged into the Cayman accounts. The larger payment of 25 million dollars had been transferred in the contract account. The 5 million dollar transfer was in progress to the expense account. He decided to hold on to the little tidbit of information. He could almost reach out and touch the blue water, smell the sea salt, and hear the crashing waves on his screen saver.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ~ Mark Becomes a Better Man ~

  Mark fired up his laptop in the hotel room and went online. He found the original sales blueprint for James’s condominium on 8th Street. The condo was designed to be a multi-use tower with 18 stories in total. The first floor was to be the lobby of a luxury hotel, the next three floors were hotel rooms and floors four through eighteen were investment condos. Floors four through sixteen were mirror images of one another while the top two floors were penthouse condos.

  He then searched for the Comcast Cable Company’s uniform—they wore a black baseball cap with a grayish-tan collared polo shirt. Finally, he searched and found a uniform store in Tukwila that had a combination that would work.

  Mark had been in the private investigation business for almost four years and the cable man was his favorite cover, he already had the patches, the logos, the tool belt accented with the proper tool set and the metal clipboard to hold the fake work order.

  He knew the most important part of this ruse was to act like you belonged. He’d taken advantage of the trustworthiness of people many times. If you acted like you belonged, most people wouldn’t give you a second look. His second personal rule of the cable man ruse – avoid senior citizens. They were always nosy and suspicious, while young people rarely questioned anything.

  He checked his cell phone while printing each condo floor plan from the website. The printer was far behind as the print queue built a map of an entire building. He had two messages. The first message said:

  “Hi, Mark, this is Kara from the post office. Just calling to make sure we are still on for tonight.” He was about to delete it when he had second thoughts and decided to man up. She was going to think he was an asshole, no matter what he did, but why have her think about it all day? Uncertainty was a cruel state to keep someone in—it was the right thing to do and he pressed four to call her back.

  “Hello,” Kara answered.

  “Hi Kara, this is Mark. I’m sorry, but I will not be able to take you out tonight. Truth of the matter is I met someone else.” Nothing but silence. He moved the phone to view the display, making sure she hadn’t hung up. They were still connected. He brought it back to his ear. “I thought it was best to tell –”

  Kara interrupted, “It’s okay, I’m glad you called. You could’ve left me hanging. I mean, what if you hadn’t called and Mr. Right walks in. I wouldn’t have given him a second look because I was waiting on you, so thanks for your honesty. One thing, though.”

  “Sure,” said Mark.

  “How did you know it was a chemistry set?”

  “The old lady’s purse was open and I saw her to-do list.”

  “Ah, very clever. Take care.”

  “Thanks for understanding, take care.”

  He listened to the second message, it was from Tina. “Hi, baby, give me a call back and say something sweet to me. It can even be a little dirty. I just want to hear your voice.” He hung up and scratched his head.

  This was new territory. He prided himself in being smooth and had quick, flattering lines that would fit any situation and no shame. Her request was completely different, it would be remembered forever as a sweet keepsake or as a complete flop and, even though she didn’t say it, he knew the clock was ticking. The clock is always ticking in relationships. He opened Word on his laptop and started writing. After four rewrites, he felt he had something. It was true and from his heart, so how bad could it be?

  He called Tina and after four rings he was rerouted to her voicemail.

  “Hey baby, you put me on the spot, but I think you’ll think this is sweet,” he paused, his nervousness getting the best of him, he took a deep breath, reminded himself to speak slowly and started. “I want to taste your lips, savor your exhaling breath as the world around us evaporates. I want to experience it all with my mouth and heart and let it, all of it, linger heavy on my tongue and mix with three little words, I love you.” He hung up and felt he did well. He hadn’t been that nervous since he was thirteen.

  A couple of minutes later, his cell phone buzzed and he answered, “Hi, baby.”

  “That was beautiful. You know I’m keeping it forever, right?”

  “I know. So you thought it was good?”

  “I did and so does Tanya.”

  “Tanya? Oh, baby, don’t let anyone else listen to it. It’s private.”

  “I won’t, just her.” They both knew it was a lie. “When are you coming back?”

  “It shouldn’t be too much longer. Maybe a couple more days. In fact I’m getting ready to head out the door now.”

  “Okay, love you. Be careful.”

  “Love you, too. I will.”

  He rolled up the makeshift map of James’s building, ripped the directions to the uniform store from the hotel’s notepad, and headed out the door thinking he, in some way, had become a better man today.

  At 1 P.M. he was on 8th street, pulling into the condo’s parking lot.

  He looked for any black SUV vehicles and one, a black Tahoe parked on the east side of the building in the parking spot reserved for 503, was a perfect match to James’s description. He wrote down the tag number and VIN. He continued around to the north parking lot and found the space for 602. You couldn’t see one parking space from the other.

  He parked his Explorer on 8th Street, opened the back and after super-gluing the proper logos, he was dressed as a passable Comcast tech complete with tool belt. He secured the fake magnetic license plate over the real one, placed the magnetic signs labeled ‘Cable Contractor’ on the driver and passenger doors, collected the clipboard, the flashlight from the passenger’s seat, and rounded the condo on foot.

  He found the green cable box first, then the utility room nearby. He jimmied the lock and quickly entered, turned on the flashlight and compared the power meters, just as expected, 503 was on the move while the others moved at a snail’s pace. He left the room and was back on the sidewalk when he heard someone yelling, “Hey! Hey, you!”

  Mark ignored him and walked faster towards his truck. He quickly opened the driver’s door and saw the guy in a black suit and white shirt running toward the vehicle screaming, “Hey, stop!” Mark recognized him from the picture. There he was, William P. Wright, in the flesh.

  Mark turned the ignition and floored it.

  Mr. Wright was close enough to punch the back quarter panel as Mark sped away. He saw him writing down his tag information and thought, Good luck with that. He laughed quietly as he thought of the tag number, WUK 866, it stood for ‘Wish You Knew’ and the 866 was a reference to a toll-free number. Any look-up would lead them nowhere. But this also brought up a problem. Mr. Wright was a professional and would know something was up when the tag came back empty.

  He made a right onto Pike St, a left onto Terry, found fifth, and soon pulled into the parking lot of the Seattle Police Department Headquarters. He quickly got out, removed the fake license plate, the magnetic signs, and changed his shirt, it was 2:18 P.M. and he was waiting for Aaron to get home from school. He usually walked in around 2:45 PM.

  He dialed Aaron’s cell number.

&nb
sp; “Hey bud, are you home?”

  “Yep, just walking through the door. What’s up? Are you coming home soon?”

  “Hopefully, listen I need your help, your computer knowhow with this case I’m working on. Now you can’t tell your Mom about any of this, agreed?”

  Aaron was intrigued and could barely hide his excitement. “Sure.”

  “My client’s phone and ISP are being tapped or somehow monitored. I know they are doing it wirelessly. How can I get onto their network?”

  “Hmm, well they’re probably using WLAN with WPA and if they are monitoring, then you could map the connections.”

  “WLAN, like Wireless Local Area Network?” James asked, pulling information from parts of his brain he hadn’t used in years.

  “Yes, exactly, wireless is nothing special really. Just as you could trace physical connections on a LAN, you can map connections on wireless. I mean, if they are connected to his network, you will see who’s connected and you can use that as a start to connect to theirs, right? Do you think they are using remote desktop?”

  “I don’t think so. They are sophisticated. I doubt they would use a remote connection client. What’s WPA? What if I wanted to connect to them secretly, where they can’t see that I’m trying to connect?”

  “WPA, that’s Wi–Fi Protection Access, but if they’re trying to hide, then they most likely have their router set to invisible mode. It prevents others from scanning to gain access.”

  “So I probably can’t find it then?”

  “Didn’t say that, Mark. I can maybe get you in. Do you know the IP address of your client? That’s where you would start.”

  “No, I don’t and I’m afraid if I try to get it, I’ll tip them off.”

  “Okay, not a problem if—” Aaron paused thinking of the best way to get the IP. Mark could tell from the background noise Aaron had switched to speakerphone and was turning on his servers.

  “If what?” Mark pressed.

  “Have you received an email from the client from that network, his network?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Forward it to my address, unmodified and I’ll see if I can glean the IP received from the message envelope. Try to find one with an attachment.”

  “Okay, will do, as soon as I get back to the hotel. How is everything?”

  “Everything is good. I’m looking forward to the Expo.”

  “Me, too. I will give you a call later, in about half an hour. Remember, don’t tell your Mom you’re helping me, she’d flip.”

  “I know, I know.”

  The coast was clear and Mark drove back to the hotel, all along checking his rear-view and side-view mirrors.

  * * * *

  Just as Wright was calming down, Cricket announced, “Sir, we have an intrusion alarm on the utility room downstairs.”

  “What the hell is going on here? Cricket stay here, I’m going down to see who it is.”

  Wright was winded when he radioed back, “Cricket run a tag on a Ford Explorer, looks like an ‘06 or ‘07 model, tag number WUK dash eight six six. I think we have a tail.”

  * * * *

  Back at the hotel, Mark fired up the laptop and did a quick search on the Tahoe tag number. He expected the results page to show registered in White Plains, New York and it did. He’d already performed the business search before with the GMC, but did it again on the Tahoe just to be sure. The Tahoe also appeared to be the property of ESP Sphere, but a quick traffic search showed the Tahoe had four outstanding tickets in the Seattle area.

  He called Tina.

  “Hey, baby,” she answered.

  “Hi, listen I’m pressed for time, but I need a favor.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Do you know anyone on the police force here in Seattle?”

  “Not really, why?”

  “Damn, I need to see if a vehicle has been slated for a tow.”

  “Oh, okay. I don’t need to know someone. Our systems, California’s, Oregon’s, Washington’s, Nevada’s, and Colorado’s are all linked. Do you have the tag number?”

  “Yes, it’s a black Tahoe, tag number XRS dash 285.”

  “Hold on.”

  Mark could hear the tapping of her high heels as she walked down a hallway, followed by the creaking of an office door and the scrunch of a metal chair across the floor. The tapping reminded him of the time he was in her bed and heard the same sound heading his way down her hallway, the bedroom door creaked open and there she stood in only her high-heel shoes. All he could say was, “God bless America.”

  “Are you coming home soon?” she asked.

  “You have no idea how bad I want to come home.”

  “Miss you, too. Okay, let’s see,” she said as she logged into the CLETS database and entered the tag number.

  “Hmmm, it has four tickets in Seattle, all of them parking tickets, and two tickets in Denver Colorado. All of the tickets were issued in the last four months or so.”

  “Does it show it’s to be towed?”

  “Let me call to verify, hold on.”

  Mark listened to Tina’s side of the conversation and it sounded like good news was coming his way.

  “The Seattle officer said absolutely. Scofflaws have like forty-eight hours to pay their tickets or they are subject to being booted and towed. If they find it, they’re going to boot it.”

  “Great, that is good news baby, thanks.”

  “Okay, you owe me one.”

  “I do and you’re going to get it, too.”

  “Stop teasing me. When are you coming home?”

  “Soon. I have to button down a plan, but I think I have an idea now of how I can help James. Love ya, will call later tonight. Bye.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Mark was running out of time. He needed to touch base with Aaron, but he also needed to get in and out of the bank bathroom before 5:00 and it was almost 3:40. He needed to run his idea, his plan, over with Aaron to see if it would work. He didn’t know the particulars. He’d leave that up to Aaron, but the overall plan seemed possible.

  He was back in his truck, heading north on I–5 toward Seattle when he dialed Aaron’s number.

  “Hello. Aaron, I’ve got a plan.”

  * * * *

  After two hours of searching, Bridget was downloading the last PDF brochure from the Volvo website. She passed on the C30 model. It was Euro classy, but she didn’t like the glass hatch and the taillights weren’t flush with the body, the entire back end just looked odd. She knew the styling was for the younger crowd and in a moment of unusual self-awareness began to wonder if she were getting old already.

  She settled on the S40 model, printed all the information she could find and mentally began preparing herself for the argument they would have on the Saturday trip to Lynnwood.

  She read and re-read the material until she could almost recite the information verbatim. ‘Best possible score for frontal and rear impacts, nearly perfect score for side-impacts. Side curtain airbags, all-disc antilock brakes, the list went on and on and it was affordable and stylish. This is what she wanted and if she wasn’t happy, no one was going to be happy. Plus, James owed her one for lying to her.

  She then did her favorite part of road trips, the planning. Seattle to Lynnwood was really a straight shot on I–5 and would take about forty minutes, but another search on the internet and she found the perfect spot for a little recreation—Lunds Gulch on the west side of Lynnwood. She was hooked the moment she read the website’s recommendation: ‘Hike through a deep green ravine sliced by a salmon-spawning stream, in Lynnwood of all places. But there's more. Finish at a quiet Puget Sound Beach with sweeping views of Whidbey Island and the Olympic Mountains.’

  It would be the perfect place to calm down if the argument got out of hand.

  She stacked the printed information and called James’s cell. “Hey, baby, it’s me. We’re going on a little hike tomorrow. It’s short, like two and a half miles round trip, but it sou
nds sublime. Love ya and will see you at work tonight.” She pressed end–call and hopped in the shower, getting ready for work.

  Chapter Twenty

  ~ Polymorphic Code and O Fortuna ~

  Mark was on the phone with Aaron while sitting in traffic on northbound I–5. He had a rough outline of the plan and passed on all the details.

  “Aaron, I have a plan, but I need to know if it would work.”

  “Okay, what do you have in mind?” Aaron was excited to join the cloak and dagger club and his eagerness leapt through the phone.

  “First, I don’t want you to agree to anything that would come back to you. This is very dangerous.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Aaron, you have to promise me that you will be honest and tell me if any of this can get back to you.”

  “I promise, Mark.”

  “Well, I guess I should give you a little background. Remember we were talking about network access earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that if we could get access to my client’s laptop, then it was possible to get to the network of those spying on him. What did you mean?”

  “Right, it’s just basic network mapping in a sense. I do it all the time when I bring up new nodes.”

  “How could I do it secretly? I hear of people taking over other people’s computers all the time, how do they do it? Is it a virus?”

  “No, not really. A virus’s purpose is basically to destroy files. You’re talking about a sophisticated combination of viruses with mutation capabilities.”

  “Hmmm, I think I understand, but wouldn’t they know you created it?”

  “Do I have to be honest?”

  “Yes, yes you do.”

  “If it were sloppy or amateurish, then, yes, it could be tracked back. But if I have to be honest, and you can’t tell mom, I’ve written and executed a number of them in the past.”

  “You’ve what? What do you mean, Aaron? Nothing illegal, right?”

  “Nothing bad, Mark, just jokes I’ve played on other programmers I know. We do it all the time. It’s kind of like a game of prowess.”