Ian pressed the red button on a digital recorder in his hand. “So, tell me what makes the Ellis Media Building so special.”
Dante cleared his throat and shifted into pitch mode. “Exposed steel construction for the framing. And if you look closely, you can see a copper filament mesh embedded in every window. The whole building is one giant Faraday cage.”
“What’s a Faraday cage?”
“You don’t know?”
“For the readers.”
“Right. At its simplest, it’s an enclosure designed to shield the interior from electromagnetic fields. It can be anything from a large, specifically designed structure such as this building to a metallic snack sack. I remember a story of a guy who put his work phone in a chip bag to block the GPS while he was out golfing during work hours so his boss couldn’t track where he was. Got away with it for years before he got caught.”
“I’ll have to remember that one. What else?” Ian said.
“All power and signal cables are shielded to eliminate electromagnetic noise. Heating and air conditioning are triple baffled to minimize white noise throughout the building, plus recording rooms use a new kind of air conditioning that removes heat from the room as opposed to blasting in cold air. The process is completely silent. Every workstation is just a mouse, keyboard and two monitors. All processing is done via shared server network. The machines are kept in a super cooled, clean room with limited access. And no wireless Internet anywhere in the building.”
“That’s gotta be a no go for some people. Why is that important?” Ian said.
“Clean sources and complete security. It’s the holy grail.”
“Explain that.”
“All media goes through a process of initial capture, compression, decompression, post-processing and final output. Even film is transferred to digital. Something is always lost. Along the way, many different digital hands touch the source, adding to it, but ultimately taking away from it as well. It’s a balance of how much you can tweak an image, even in these days of high dynamic range. Not to mention final output which is compressed, further degrading the image quality.”
“Do regular folks really notice this?”
“Consumers don’t, at least not yet, but industry people most definitely do. But as 8 K becomes 16 K and so on, people will become savvier to quality or the lack thereof. They may not be able to say why something looks bad, but they can tell. Most people could tell you which looks better in a side-by-side comparison, an old VHS tape or high-definition video,” Dante said.
“So how does the construction of this building help with that?”
“You get enough electromagnetic frequencies bouncing around, from lights, computers, laptops, it can throw off the calibration of monitors and can affect the human brain…” Dante trailed off. A large flying insect was hovering just outside the windows, keeping pace with the elevator as they ascended. Its metallic green body gleamed in the sun. “That’s weird.”
“What?” Ian said following Dante’s gaze. “I don’t see anything.”
“It looked like a big dragonfly out there.” Like the one from the parking garage, Dante thought.
“Hey, dragonflies are good luck,” Ian said. “Up this high, probably a drone. They’re making them that look like all kinds of things now. Why not insects?”
“Right. Well, when you’ve worked around computers as long as I have…shit. Lost my place.”
“The whole building is one giant Faraday cage. No radio waves in or out.”
“Exactly,” Dante said. “It makes security that much simpler as well. Everything is hard-wired and routed through a secure, on-site server farm, including the Internet.”
“It sounds like overkill. Do you think others will feel this way?”
The elevator came to a stop at the top floor and they stepped out. There was no ceiling in place yet, just metal beams and a temporary office in the far corner.
“I know they do. The building is completely leased out. Like I said, you do this long enough and minimizing anything that will affect your product, even if it seems like voodoo, becomes a very precious thing. And don’t forget about security. Piracy is a huge issue and knowing that employees can’t just plug in a phone and upload your unreleased movie or TV show to the dark web is a major selling point.”
“Great,” Ian said. “Listen, I have to ask about it or my editor will kill me.”
“The deep fake,” Dante said.
The office door opened and a young man stepped out. He halted, squinting at them from under a white hard hat.
“This is private property,” he said, his voice wavering a bit. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Dante strode over with Ian hurrying behind him and the young man backed up a step.
“Who are you?” Dante said.
The young man swallowed. “Andrew Dean of Itinerant Server Systems. We’re sub-contracted through Adler–Darrow construction.”
“To do what exactly?”
“This,” he said, pointing at a silver pole that began to rise up from the office roof. It extended high up into the air, the tip rotating at a forty-five-degree angle as metal screen dish opened up. The dish was about two feet across, made of a thin, wire mesh. It rotated a few times, the dish angling before it came to a rest.
“Oh, I know who you are. Of course, Mr. Ellis,” Dean said putting his hand out. They shook. “Sorry, didn’t recognize you at first.”
“That’s okay,” Dante said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here. You said you’re a sub-contractor?”
“I came out to set up the mobile server. Here let me show you.”
Dante and Ian followed Dean up a short set of metal stairs into the office. A bank of fluorescents bloomed on overhead as they entered. The air conditioner unit was on full blast, the interior a welcome chill.
Standing along the far wall was a large black case with a thin pullout drawer, mouse and keyboard inside. The image on the built-in monitor was a purple and orange gradient with the simple outline of a beaver seen from the side. The case was etched with a faint pattern, but it was hard to make out exactly what it was. Possibly a set of wings.
“The dish on the roof communicates directly with a satellite. As long as it has line of sight, we can put this baby anywhere, even inside a giant Faraday cage like this. The dish goes up when it’s needed, talks to the satellite, goes down when it’s not. Pretty cool, huh?” He eyed the case, running his hand along the side. “I’ve never even seen a system like this before. We don’t do a lot of Ubuntu. But if it boots up, then I hook it up.” He laughed, an awkward snort.
“What is it for exactly? I mean the building isn’t even close to being finished,” Dante said.
“Don’t know. I’m just the delivery boy. Guess they just wanted it ready to go.” Dean leaned over and typed on the keyboard. A motor hummed on the ceiling. “Retracting dish now.” The young man stood upright and his hardhat slipped down over his eyes. He pushed it up with a fingertip. “So that’s it for me. I need to lock up now.”
“Sure. We’ll get out of your way,” Dante said.
Dante followed Ian back outside and watched as Dean locked the door and strode over to the elevator. The gate rattled as he stepped inside and pulled the gate shut. The motor hummed and it chattered downward, out of sight.
“So, where were we?” Dante said.
“The deep fake video. We can go off record if you want,” Ian said.
“Right. No, if this is a sign of things to come and I can help anyone avoid or alleviate the pain it has caused me, then I’d like to talk about it. I don’t know if I can help but I’d like to try,.”
“Was it just the video or was there any other harassment?”
Dante hesitated. “Actually, let’s hold off. I want to make sure this thing is over before I talk about it publicly.”
“Don’t want to poke the bear, huh. I get it. As long as I get the exclusive.”
“You got it,” Dante said.
&nbs
p; “I need it. The tech beat is stale, baby. You should have seen CES this year. Smart toilets? Really?” Ian shook his head, then pushed his glasses up and leered. “Think they might hit you with a deep fake again?”
“Don’t sound so excited. I hope to hell not. I dread the day when my daughter finds out about Deep fake Dante.”
“Oh, that’s great. I’m going to use that,” Ian said with glee, typing a note on his phone.
“Not until it’s over. Okay?”
“Right. When the fat lady sings.”
CHAPTER 33
Ruins
Briana leaned in close to the bathroom mirror and applied a light shade of green to her eyelid. Her phone rang. She gazed at the screen, hesitating before scooping it off the counter and connecting.
“Hi Mom,” Briana said.
“Hey beautiful,” came a man’s voice.
She froze, mouth going dry.
It was Mark.
How could she do this to her? Mom loved Mark, had from day one. Briana couldn’t ever figure out why.
“Before you hang up just listen,” Mark said. “I’m sorry about what…happened. You just make me crazy sometimes. But I’m glad you left. Really, I am. It’s given me time to think and understand that you need this. We need this. I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you and I hope you find what you’re looking for out there.”
Stunned, Briana didn’t know what to say. Could Mark really mean it this time? She wanted to believe he could change but he’d talked this way before.
No, she decided. He wanted something.
“I gotta go,” Briana said, sounding smaller than she’d hoped to.
“Briana wait.”
She could hear another voice in the background and her face grew hot. It was her mother.
“I’m doing much better,” Mark said. “Remember that group of vets I work with?”
How could she forget. Mark and some friends he knew from the military got together every month or so to stay frosty, whatever that meant. He told her it was mock training missions, but she only saw him after he’d come back, shit-faced drunk. She recalled the last time he’d come to her apartment right after one of these missions. He stumbled in and collapsed on the bed, out cold, rucksack falling to the floor. She looked inside and found a Glock 19 pistol, several magazines of ammunition, black military style clothes and a walkie-talkie with a wireless earpiece. At the bottom was a large manila envelope, fat and heavy with whatever was inside. She pinched the metal clasp and lifted the flap. Inside were stacks of cash, held tight with rubber bands. Ten thousand dollars to be exact.
Mark mumbled something and she tucked the envelope back inside his ruck. When she pulled off his boots, her hands came away sticky, dark with mud. The mud washed off as a brownish pink swirl and smelled sweet, a bit like raw ham. With a start she realized what it was.
Blood.
“Mark, I can’t really talk right now,” Briana said.
There was a silence on the other end of the phone—a calm before the storm.
“I just wanted to tell you,” Mark said with careful restraint, “that I’ll be in California sometime next week on a job. Maybe I could come see you. As a friend, that’s all.”
“Got to go.” Her voice sounded like someone else’s, lifeless and flat. “Really. I have some job interviews.”
“I’ll call you when I get in town now that I have your new number. See you soon.”
The phone went dead.
Briana lifted the eye shadow applicator then let her shaking hand fall again. Hot tears stung her eyes. She didn’t know what hurt worse. Her mother’s betrayal or the fact that her escape plan was now in ruins.
CHAPTER 34
Inside Job
Dmitry Molchalin was waiting in Dante’s office.
“Mr. Ellis,” he said rising from the couch. “Our scan is complete.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Naomi let me in.”
“Find anything?”
“Yes,” Molchalin said. “And no.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Dante said as he sat behind his desk.
Molchalin remained standing. “We installed Shadow Trace and scanned all your drives. It found the usual malware, some of it already quarantined, some not. Nothing really serious. Your security software has registered a three percent increase in attempts at gaining access from encrypted sources over the last month. All of them were successfully blocked.”
“What are you saying?”
“A hacker can hide their tracks but there’s always a trace. Always. You just need to find it and Shadow Trace was designed to do exactly that. But there is no evidence of intrusion. Your network security software is actually quite robust. Shadow Trace is better of course, but there have been no unauthorized intrusions recorded. No hacking. My compliments to your information security team.”
“They’ll be glad to hear that. What does all this mean?”
“Most likely, whoever gained access did so with a passcode. My opinion is that someone you know is harassing you.”
A cold weight settled in Dante’s chest. His mind scanned through some of his employees but none really stood out. The few that were openly gruff with him were editors or colorists, people that worked sixty-plus hour weeks but made crazy money. A lot of Ellis Media’s operating budget went to these specialists. Most of them were divas to boot, requiring catered lunches, specific temperature requirements, sparkling water imported from Denmark. Dante was glad to do it, talent like that was worth every penny, every hassle. But they were artists, not engineers. Why bite the hand that feeds? It was a small world too, advertising. If they were to get caught…it just didn’t make sense.
“What about Skylar Westfall?” Dante said.
“I put my best researcher on it. She couldn’t find him. Unless he’s a fifteen-year-old girl in Missouri, an eight-year-old boy in Oregon or a fashion model living in Paris then he doesn’t exist.”
“Great. Does the fact that he can make himself invisible to security cams pique your interest?”
“It does.”
“Okay. So, besides Skylar Westfall or a rogue employee, what else is a possibility?”
“There is no other possibility.”
“Bullshit,” Dante said.
Molchalin nodded. “You could question your employees. Employ voice stress analysis to register microtremors indicating deception.”
Dante stared at him a moment before speaking to make sure he was joking. “Taking all my employees into a dark room one by one and sweating them under harsh lights is not an option. This isn’t the KGB.”
Molchalin seemed unfazed by the barb, but Dante could tell the comment had rankled him. Good, he thought. Shadow Trace is expensive.
“You mentioned chat rooms as well when we first met,” Dante said. “Anything?”
“There are thousands of chat rooms that hackers use.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Our software monitors several chat rooms at all times for chatter. We keep records going back ninety days. Nothing.”
Dante nodded. “I signed your contract Mr. Molchalin. I read it as well. I have thirty days to cancel, without cause, and I’m not feeling too confident in my investment right now. I need to know you and your team are doing all they can to find out who is doing this and deliver them to the proper authorities. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Mr. Ellis.”
“Glad to hear it. What did you find on the Dark Web? Anything?”
“No. Your name does not appear on any sites involved with soliciting harassment.”
Dante exhaled loudly. “What’s next then?”
“We install Shadow Trace on your cell phone. The one constant in all of this has been the texts.”
“Not an option. My whole life is inside that phone. For all we know, Shadow Trace could allow another point of entry. What else?”
“We monitor and wait for another intrusion,” Molchalin said.<
br />
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
CHAPTER 35
Flagged
Sweat seeped into Briana’s eye and she blinked, wiping it away with the back of her hand. It only made it worse. Her feet ached and she wished she’d worn flats instead of heels.
Squinting through the glare on the front window of a coffee bar, she peered at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign before pushing the door open. A bell rang merrily overhead. She made her way around a line of people engrossed with their phones to the far end of a long bar topped with glass cases lined with pastries. Light jazz played from speakers hidden overhead as the fingers of young screenwriters chattered on laptop keyboards below. A slender young woman with bleach blond hair smiled at Briana from behind the counter as she came over.
“Hi, I’m Tracy, assistant manager. Do you have a resume?” she said.
Briana slipped one out of her purse and handed it over. “How’d you know?”
“You got the look.” Her eyes scanned the resume before looking up. “Says here you worked at a coffee bar before?”
“Yes. A Charlie’s back in Neb…back home.”
“No shame. Nobody’s from around here. Shit, I’m from Minnesota.” Tracy’s eyes skimmed the resume again, lips pursing. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Briana’s heart sank as she watched the young woman go. She’d lost count at how many places had turned her down today. She’d spent most of the morning tromping up and down Sunset Boulevard under the hot sun from one rejection to another.
There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned.
“Sorry, honey,” Tracy said. “We’re not looking right now. Just filled our last spot. Try again next month.”
“I have experience,” Briana said, her voice rising. She waved a hand over the room. “You’re telling me you don’t need help?” She bit her lip, holding back an exasperated sigh. “Please.”
Tracy took Briana by the arm and walked her to the front. When they reached the door, she gave Briana a hug and spoke low into her ear.
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