by JT Kalnay
"So straight back to the States with you?" Rakesh asked.
"No. This installation and testing went so well I've got a few free days. What about you? Off to somewhere or someone exotic?"
"Not hardly. I've got a job in Cleveland starting at the end of next week."
"Lovely."
"Yeah really. Cleveland in May. Forty degrees one day, ninety the next, and a hundred percent humidity all the time."
They continued walking towards the tube.
"Still climb?" Stacey asked.
"A little."
"Ever been to the gritstone?"
"The what?"
"The gritstone. You know, Stannage Edge and those places? Supposed to be some of the best rock in the world."
"What are you proposing?"
"I've got a few days, you've got a few days, how about a few days on the rock?"
"How will Craig feel about this?"
"I love Craig. You know it and he knows it. But Craig doesn't have to know everything. So are you in or out? I'm sure I can find someone to hold the rope out there if I have to."
"In," Rakesh answered.
"Cool."
#
The train streamed north and west away from London. City gave way to town, town gave way to green, and green gave way to hills. Stacey and Rakesh were sitting across from each other with a guide book open between them.
"This looks amazing," Stacey said.
"Sure does," Rakesh answered, his gaze currently fixed on Stacey not the book.
"The routes," she said.
"That's what I meant," he answered.
#
Standing at the base of an eighty foot cliff that stretched for miles in either direction Stacey took one deep breath, then another.
"On belay?" she asked.
"Belay is on," Rakesh answered.
Stacey pulled a wired nut off her rack and slotted it into a crack in the wall. She attached a carabiner, clipped in the rope, and started up. Graceful footwork and uncanny balance paired with her core and upper body strength let her move seemingly effortlessly upward on the rock. Fifteen feet up she stopped and placed another piece.
Near the top, just below a jutting roof she found two good footholds and was able to place yet another good piece of protection.
"Watch me here," she called down.
"I've got you," came up from Rakesh.
Stacey eyed the small roof of rock she was about to pull through. Eighty feet up, protected by a solid cam, she leaned back under the roof, found the lip, and powered her way over. Standing on top she breathed hard once, twice, and then a third time. She looked over the valley to the west in a pose that the first Roman who conquered the land could have struck.
#
"Come on Rakesh, one more move and you're here."
"Just lower me down," he replied.
"Come on man. I've got a nuclear bombproof anchor up here. It's a tough move but you can make it. If I can do it, you can do it."
"Stacey, there's a lot of things you can do that no-one else can do," Rakesh answered while hanging on the rope just below the roof.
"Oh really? Like what?"
"Like break my heart."
Stacey kept her grip on the rope but her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes squinted down at him. She couldn't have looked more surprised if Martians had landed and made lobster claws grow out of his ears.
"What in the world are you talking about?" she asked.
"You don't even know do you?" Rakesh asked.
"Know what?" she replied. "That you're insane? I have some pretty good evidence."
"No. That you broke my heart."
"Rakesh. How on earth could I have broken your heart? We only went out on like two dates. And they weren't even dates. And you didn't even like me. Then I sort of started seeing Craig and you never even asked me out again. So aren't you being a little melodramatic?"
"No."
Stacey stared down at him, the bewilderment obvious in her face.
"Just make that move and get up here," she ordered.
"Okay, one more try. But, you did break my heart. I was so in love with you. It took me like six months to get up the courage to ask you out. And then you just dropped me, figuratively, which isn't a good choice of words considering that I'm dangling eighty feet over some broken boulders and you're holding the rope, but nevertheless you dropped me. Do you know I haven't gone out with anyone since?"
"Rakesh," Stacey said, the awareness and enlightenment clearly evident.
"So that's one thing you can do that no-one else can," Rakesh answered.
"Name another," she demanded.
"Pull this damned roof," he answered.
"Oh no big boy. You're dangling on that rope right there until you pull that thing."
#
Rakesh and Stacey sat across from each other in an Indian restaurant in Heathersage, a small town just a half hour walk down the hill from Stannage Edge. Two dark beers rested between them with a couple of empty glasses and some empty plates as witness to their evening.
"I can't believe you wouldn't let me down," Rakesh repeated.
"I knew you could pull that roof," she said.
"I can't believe I did it," he said.
"Can't believe you pulled the roof or can't believe you made up that 'I broke your heart' crap," Stacey said.
"It's not crap. It's true. But I'm over you now."
"Oh really?" she asked.
"Yes I am. And you are so clearly over me too. Moving in with Craig and all."
"I do love him," she said. She lifted her beer, toasted Rakesh and then drained off the last of the beer. "And I love this beer too. You just can't get this back in the States."
"So what do we do now?" Rakesh asked.
"We get some more beers, and then we sleep in, and then we climb all day tomorrow, and then we try to find you a woman so you can forget about me for real," she answered.
"Any more beers and I won't be climbing anything tomorrow," he started. "And I'll never forget about you," he finished.
Stacey took his hand in hers, lifted it gently to her mouth, and kissed it.
"That is so sweet. And you're right. You will never forget me. And I'll never forget you dangling on that rope carrying on about a broken heart and everything. That'll be something we'll always have just between us."
"Any chance for anything else between us?" he asked.
Stacey looked at him in the way that all men who've been let down easy recognize.
"Guess not," he answered for himself.
Chapter
May 18, 1994
Seattle, Washington
The meeting was stretching into its second hour. Bored executives and excited technical geeks were arrayed in a large V around Craig.
“So tell me again why we’re installing this new release?” the bored AirCom junior executive asked, trying to sound important but only succeeding in sounding like an uninformed yuppie in way over his head.
“Because it’s better,” Craig answered. “Ask your tech guys and simulator pilots in a week, they’ll fill you in.”
“Better how?” the yuppie challenged.
“It’s got new modules for wind shear on takeoff and landing. The computer can react faster than the pilot. It goes full power, optimum lift configuration for the wings and gets you the hell out of there. Let’s them live for another go round.”
“Nice. If it works,” the yuppie harrumphed. Craig fought the urge to roll his eyes. He counted backwards from ten, slowly.
“It also has new connectivity for ground servicing. You can add new weather info, route info, and other stuff via any network connection on the ground.”
“What about security?” another wannabe executive asked.
“What about it?” Craig shot back.
“Who can hook up to these connections? Upload and download stuff?” the junior exec prodded.
“Okay. Sorry. I see what you’re getting at. The upload of new information ca
n only be initiated from the cockpit by someone with a valid code. It’s pretty tight. And if someone has already compromised the cockpit, they’ve got the aircraft anyway and can fly it into a building1 if they want to so whether you’ve got the right weather doesn’t really matter at that point.”
“Right,” the exec answered.
The yuppie looked shocked that someone would float the absurd idea that a plane would intentionally be flown into a building. The discussions dragged on for another hour.
#
“Okay. So we’ll put it through our test suites. If it checks out okay, we’ll do some flights in the simulator. I’ll meet with the big boys to see when and if they want to go live. We’ll have to get the insurance boys in on this too,” the senior executive summarized. “And Craig, it’ll be the same deal as always. You go up in the first live flight or this software doesn’t go anywhere.”
“Yessir. It’s my code. And I ride with it.”
Craig looked around the room, sat back in his chair, loosened his tie and rolled a stiff left shoulder. “Now that we’re done working for today, can I interest any of you in tonight’s Mariner’s game? APSoft set me up with a skybox on the third base side. The boss tells me it holds twelve people. Any combination of employees, significant others, brothers-in-law, children, and so on are welcome. And the beer is on APSoft.”
A few heads nodded. Some others shrugged.
“I’ll go,” Jean Bennett said. And I know two people who work for me will go too. If that’s okay?”
“I knew I could count on you Jean. Sounds like we’re accumulating the critical mass for a party.”
#
The artificial light of the Kingdome was a welcome relief from the dark drizzle that had conquered the brief afternoon sun.
“This is the best game the M’s have played in a month,” Jean said to Craig. The retired FBI agent now worked as assistant chief of internal security for the aircraft manufacturer.
“They’re doing okay aren’t they?” Craig responded. He’d had two beers and was working on his third hot dog. It was the sixth inning. “I’m glad you were able to get some friends together,” Craig said. “Baseball is a lot more fun with a bunch of people.”
“Too bad it’s not the Mets though,” Jean said.
“That’s right, you’re a Mets fan aren’t you?” Craig asked.
“Born in Cleveland, raised in Westchester. No-one from Cleveland can like the Yankees, it’s a rule. Therefore I became a Mets fan,” Jean said.
“Jean. I’m not sure that we can be friends anymore,” Craig said.
“Why?”
“I’m a Giants fan now.”
“Okay. So I guess we’d better talk about something else,” Jean said.
“Tell me about the FBI,” Craig said.
“I started as a secretary. That was in 1961. You probably weren’t even born yet. I think there were like two female agents in the whole Bureau at that time. They needed two for “comforting parents” during kidnapping cases. So the agents were more like babysitters. They weren’t even allowed to carry guns. Anyway, someone scammed my grandparents out of all their money. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had. Just a couple of trusting immigrants who got tricked. So I started night school at NYU. Criminal psychology. When I graduated I bugged my boss so much he finally let me take the exams to get into a Special Agent class and I passed them. Now they weren’t accepting women as special agents, remember, this was still the early sixties. Hoover and so on. But he sent me to the training program anyway. He took an awful lot of heat for that so I couldn’t let him down. I made it. I was the fifth female agent to enter the program and the first female agent to graduate. Then the Bureau didn’t know what to do with me. They wanted to put me on the kidnapping detail but I wouldn’t do it. Threatened to quit. It would have been too big a stink in the papers so they put me in fraud. And let me tell you I put away my share of scum bags. I had the second highest arrest and conviction rate of all agents. They called me ‘G cubed S.”
“What the hell does that stand for?” Craig asked.
“Granny and Gramps Got Scammed.”
“Oh.”
“Bureau humor. You had to be there.”
“I guess.”
“So how do you like AirCom?” Craig asked.
“Pretty good. My job is mostly facilitating background checks and so on. My FBI connections help there. I also spend a lot of time convincing the big boys that there really is some danger out there. Not all marauders are software.” Jean finished.
Craig looked from side to side. He lowered his voice. “You know the Marauder?” Craig asked.
“Does anyone really know the Marauder?” Jean answered. She raised an eyebrow.
“Good answer,” Craig said.
The two fast friends dove into a deep conversation on the Marauder, the type of conversation that only two truly devoted game players can have.
#
“So then the gun blows up in my hand,” Craig said.
“Did it booby trap the gun?” Jean asked.
“It says it was the gun.”
“And you believed it?”
“Yeah sure. Why not?”
“Craig. If I learned one thing in my twenty years in the FBI it’s this. All people lie some time and some people lie all the time and criminals never tell the truth.”
“Jean. That’s three things, like the three beers you have sitting in front of you.”
“Okay. Then, don’t believe a word you hear and only half of what you see,” Jean amended.
“That’s still two.”
She took a sip from each of the three beers. “Criminals are full of shit.”
“You think the Marauder is a criminal?” Craig asked.
“Don’t you?”
#
On the field, the M’s let a one run lead slip away in the eighth inning and then went down 1-2-3 in the ninth inning. The crowd, not nearly as dejected as it should have been, perhaps grown used to such late inning collapses, was filtering out.
“So now what?” someone asked. The letdown in the game had deflated some of the party atmosphere in the sky box.
“Home,” one answered dourly.
“Houligan’s,” another shouted with the enthusiasm that nine beers in nine innings can produce.
“Yeah,” another drinker answered.
“Houligan’s, Houligan’s,” a small but rowdy chant began amongst the more liquored up. Half of the crowd in the skybox headed for the popular bar. A few others peeled off and headed home.
“So you going to Houligan’s?” Jean asked.
“Nope. I’ve already had my limit,” Craig said.
“I’ve got an idea,” Jean said.
“Yeah?” Craig asked.
“Want to watch a pro in action?” Jean asked.
“What are we talking about?”
“Marauder silly. I’m old enough to be your … sister.”
“Marauder? Yeah sure. Let’s get it on.”
“Okay. We’re only ten minutes from my place. Let’s get a cab and have at it.”
#
“Jean, I would have died ten times by now,” Craig said. There was a hint of awe in his tone. Jean held up a hand to call for silence. On the screen she was driving a Range Rover on a bridge suspended high over a foaming gorge. Suddenly, her character opened the Rover door, swung the wheel to the right and rolled out of the door as the Rover plunged through the guard rails and disappeared into the yawning chasm.
“Whew,” Jean said. She mopped her brow in relief.
“Why did you do that?” Craig whispered in disbelief.
“Because he was going to and I had to beat him to it.”
“Him?”
“Yeah.”
“Everyone I know thinks the Marauder is a girl.”
“You play with men right?”
“I don’t get it,” Craig said.
“Don’t you see? He has to be a man. First he finds out what you care abou
t, or where you feel safe. And then he finds out a way to weasel his way into it. Then he leads you on until you think you’ve got him figured out. And then he rips your heart out. Has to be a man.”
Craig sat back from the ex-FBI agent and gave her an inquiring look.
"What?" Jean asked.
“So the Marauder was the Range Rover?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve won? He’s dead?”
“Not hardly.”
“I don’t get it.”
“One of him was the Range Rover. He replicates himself. There’s still another copy or copies out there somewhere,” Jean said.
“So you can never win?” Craig asked.
“You can only survive evil, you can’t destroy it,” Jean said solemnly. She took a beat, and looked out the window for a second with the proverbial thousand yard stare. Craig pretended not to notice.
“And the Marauder is evil?” Craig asked.
“The Marauder is indeed evil,” Jean answered.
“That gives me a whole new take on the code,” Craig said.
“The code?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some of the source code for it. You can buy it online.”
“You’ve got the code for this thing?”
“Yes. Well, most of it.”
“Get rid of it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get rid of it,” Jean said firmly. The motherly tone was gone.
“Why?”
“I told you. Because whoever coded this is bitter and twisted. The program, it’s just not right. It’s fun, in a macabre sort of way. But it’s evil.”
“Jean, for someone who obviously loves playing this game don’t you think you’re over reacting just a little?” Craig asked.
“No. The mind that could think up the Marauder and then code it could think up a lot of things. And, just between you and me, I’ve heard some rumors from friends in the Bureau that this thing has got a virus hidden in it.”
“A virus?”
“Yeah. I guess it hasn’t done anything irreversible yet, but they tell me they think it’s been probing some defenses and mapping out entire sections of the Internet and other private networks too. The Bureau is quietly going around to all the on-line services and ISPs warning them to shut down any game servers they can.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. I sent an internal memo to all our systems administrators and support people to make sure that we are one hundred percent marauder code free. We left a couple of standalone systems with the game on it in the QA area to see whether the virus shows up. I’ve got my system here completely isolated. We have no machines on our network that have Marauder on them and we won’t connect to any system that can’t prove it’s one hundred percent Marauder free.”
