by Jack Bowie
“Here is the address where you will find them,” Greystone said as he laid a folded newspaper down on the seat between them.
“Them? There’s more than just Braxton?” Harding asked.
“Yes. He’s with a woman, Susan Goddard. Her picture’s in the envelope. Make it look like he killed her.”
“This gets tougher every minute, Greystone. Braxton was already armed. He’s going to be expecting trouble after that stupid attempt by your friend. Did you have anything to do with that?”
Greystone shook his head. “An unfortunate decision on the part of my ex-colleague. I was unable to stop him.”
Harding casually picked up the paper and opened the envelope hidden inside. He turned and stared coldly into his client’s eyes. “The girl will cost you another hundred grand.”
“Look, Harding, if you hadn’t messed up in Cambridge we wouldn’t be here at all. I’m not paying for Braxton again and I’m not paying for Goddard. If you ever want to get another contract you’d better get this done and get it done right. I have more information on you than you’ll ever know.”
Harding turned to his employer and gave him a stare that froze even the ruthless executive. “You look, Mister Greystone. This is a business deal and we go by my rules. If you don’t want me, that’s fine; get somebody else.” Harding rolled up the paper and pointed it at Greystone’s head. “But don’t ever threaten me again. All that computer crap won’t do you a goddamn bit of good if you’re not around to give it to anybody. One hundred for the girl, period. Braxton’s already been settled. Make up your mind.”
Greystone knew Harding wasn’t kidding. He had pushed the assassin about as far as he dared. But he wasn’t going to let some well-dressed street thug intimidate him either. He couldn’t afford to have Braxton and Goddard on the loose and he couldn’t afford to have anything to do with their deaths. Going along with the current plan was the best he had. “All right, one hundred for Goddard. But no screw-ups and it looks like Braxton kills her.”
“Agreed. We’ll take care of it tonight.” Harding started to get up.
“One more thing.” Greystone drew his briefcase up to his lap, opened it, and pulled out a square black case. Harding quickly dropped back down onto the bench and reached across his chest into his jacket.
“Take it easy,” Greystone said raising a hand in defense. “It’s only a laptop computer. You do know what that is?” Harding threw him an icy glare but relaxed as the executive continued. “Braxton stole a memory stick from Chamberlain’s house. It contains information that I need. Before you kill him, make sure he gives it to you. I don’t care what you do; just get it.”
Damn that Chamberlain. Why did I ever get involved with him in the first place? It was so like that self-absorbed weakling to leave incriminating evidence lying around. “You know how to operate one of these?”
“Sure,” Harding replied.
Greystone wasn’t so confident. “I’ll show you what to do.”
He flipped up the screen on the computer and it blinked on. He had spent all night getting the programming and the laptop ready. “When you get the stick, just put it in here. The computer will check that he’s given you the right drive. If it doesn’t come back with Chamberlain’s name, it’s not the right one. Can you follow that?”
“Yeah, I follow. We’ll get the damn stick.” Harding took the laptop and folded it up. “What’s on it?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Some old records, ancient history. Don’t worry about the contents of the disk, Harding. Just get it. And don’t screw up again.”
Greystone stood up and walked off toward the Jefferson Monument.
* * *
Harding gingerly clutched the laptop like a first-time father holding his newborn baby. It had taken all of his control to keep from strangling the executive on the spot. The arrogance of some of his clients never ceased to amaze him. They hired him to do jobs they didn’t have the guts to do, then treated him like they were doing him a favor. Maybe he didn’t know how to work this damn thing, but he was sure Nathan did.
There might be an extra reward in this transaction after all. Despite his client’s clumsy attempt to minimize the importance of the drive’s data, his tone and body language suggested it was of significant value.
He’d talk to a few of his contacts after he retrieved the disk. The information might be valuable in the future and it would serve the prissy bastard right for threatening him.
* * *
As Harding walked back to his car, a young couple strolled hand-in-hand along the path leading toward the Washington Monument.
“There he is,” Goddard said. “On the bench to the left.”
They continued toward the black man sitting quietly on a slat wood bench. He appeared to be deep in thought while nervously gnawing on a small toothpick.
“Detective Fowler?” Braxton asked as they came around the bench.
The detective raised his head and Braxton saw an expression that was hardly compassionate. He suddenly wondered if he had done the right thing in calling for the meeting.
“Jesus, what happened?” Fowler asked. “I hardly recognized you.”
`“That was the idea, Detective.”
“It’s about time you surfaced.”
“Good to see you too, Sam. You remember Ms. Goddard?”
“Sure, of course. I still can’t figure why you look so familiar.”
“Perhaps if I use my real name, Detective,” she said. “It’s Lynch. Susan Lynch.”
“Lynch? You’re Senator Lynch’s daughter! It’s been nearly twenty years since I saw you last. You were just a kid.”
Goddard smiled at the detective’s surprise. “And now I remember you too, Detective. You came to the house and gave us the news of Father’s death. We were all a little younger then.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I found his . . . your father that morning. Sergeant Brady and I went to your home. I’m very sorry Ms. Lynch, er, Goddard.”
“Thank you, Detective. Either is fine. Momma and I changed our names to avoid all the publicity after Father’s death. You were very kind to us throughout the ordeal. I never thought I’d be meeting you again under these circumstances.”
“I need to know exactly what ‘these circumstances’ are, Ms. Goddard. Things have gotten a little crazy over the past few days.” He turned to Braxton. “Are you sure you’ve figured all this out?”
“Yes, we’re positive,” Braxton replied. “Chamberlain and Nicholson are behind the Internet rogue and all the murders.”
“But why get Goddard mixed up in all this?”
“We found we were both investigating crimes,” Goddard explained. “I’ve discovered who was responsible for my father’s death, Detective.”
Fowler shook his head. His voice softened to almost a whisper. “Ms. Goddard. I’m sorry, but your father killed himself. There was never any doubt of that.”
“I know. But someone drove him to it.” Her hands squeezed into tight white fists. “Someone that spread the lies and destroyed his life! It was that damn Potterfield and his aide Nicholson.”
Goddard’s shoulders began to tremble. Braxton moved over to her and gently wrapped his arm around her waist. He led her over to the bench.
“Dammit, Adam. What is this all about?” His demeanor turned back to the hardened cop. “You can’t go around accusing senators of murder.”
“I can if it’s true, Sam.” Braxton gave a brief synopsis of their investigations and the connections they had unearthed between his network infiltration and Senator Lynch’s death. He described finding Chamberlain, his escape to New Hampshire, and their fatal encounter with Nicholson.
Fowler continued chewing on his toothpick as the story unfolded. Braxton couldn’t read a single emotion on the detective’s impassive face. “That’s quite a story. Do you have any proof to back it up?”
“It was all in Nicholson’s house on Saturday. What happened to you? What happened to Nicholson’s pape
rs? I saw Potterfield gloating all over the goddamn TV last night. I thought you were going to secure them?”
“I tried. By the time I got there, Potterfield had arrived with a truckload of lawyers and the Secret Service. He claimed the papers had national security implications. They gathered them up and carted them away. There wasn’t anything we could do.”
“Doesn’t that show you that we were telling the truth? That the evidence was there?” Goddard pleaded.
“All it shows is that Nicholson had some papers in his house. Not all that surprising for a Senator’s aide. Yeah, Potterfield’s story is a little unusual. But we’ll never see those documents again. I doubt anyone will. Look, I would have called you if I had known where you were.”
“I called you when I saw the report on the six o’clock news.”
“You called? I was home all evening.”
Braxton squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Whatever you say, Detective. It doesn’t matter now. Every time we get close to something they stop us.” Braxton slammed his fist down on the hard seat. “Dammit. That was our only proof.”
“We’ve still got Chamberlain’s file,” Goddard said.
“Yes, but I haven’t been able to decipher it. And we still don’t know if it will implicate Potterfield in your father’s death,” Braxton said to Goddard.
Fowler pulled the worn toothpick from his mouth, snapped it between his fingers, and tossed it onto the grass. “Look, Braxton. Quit feeling so sorry for yourself. You don’t have the time. Boston’s still looking for you and the D.C. cops aren’t far behind. And it sounds like somebody’s connected you too, Ms. Goddard. You’ve got to find a way to clear your names. Could the stuff in this file explain Chamberlain’s death?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Okay then. What can we do to crack the file?”
Braxton wrinkled his forehead as he looked back at the detective. “Whose side are you on? First it sounds like you don’t believe us and now you’re trying to help.”
“Let’s say I’ve had a change of heart. But the only thing that’s going to save your ass is proof. What I feel isn’t worth horsepiss. If the only proof you’ve got is on that disk then you’ve got to break it. How far are you?”
“Basically nowhere. We tried guessing Chamberlain’s password all night and most of this morning. It could be anything, a family pet, his favorite toy, the day he graduated from college. There are too many possibilities.”
“Do you need a computer? There’s some at headquarters that I could probably use.”
Braxton just sat silently with his head in his hands. There had to be a way to get the keyphrase. And it had something to do with what Chamberlain had said.
“I already bought him a brand new one,” Goddard said glaring over to her companion. “A Lenovo with an i7 processor, sixteen gigabytes of memory, six megabytes of cache and a terabyte of disk. You’d think he . . .”
Braxton’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”
“I said I bought you a computer.”
“No. You said ‘cache’. That’s what Chamberlain said. Not ‘cash’ like money but a computer ‘cache’.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed for Goddard. “We’ve got to go. It makes all the sense in the world.”
“Wait a minute!” Fowler grabbed Braxton’s arm and pulled him back. “Where are you going and what are you going to do?”
“We’re going back to the motel to break the code. See what you can find about Nicholson’s history. There’s a connection to Chamberlain somewhere. Maybe at MIT. I’ll call you tonight. I promise.”
Braxton broke Fowler’s grasp and pulled Goddard down the path, leaving Fowler sitting on the bench with a very confused expression on his face.
Chapter 65
Vienna, Virginia
Monday, 1:00 p.m.
GODDARD HAD WANTED to leave the car at the Mall in case it was being followed, but Braxton had refused to take the time to ride the Metro. They hadn’t gotten caught yet and he wasn’t about to delay any more.
“We’ve got to get back,” he had said on the way to the motel. “I’m an idiot. Chamberlain didn’t mean cash as in money, he meant cache as in storehouse, or computer cache. It’s a perfect word for his journal. I just hope it’s enough to break the code.”
As soon as they had arrived he added the new keyword to his password file and started the test program. They both watched anxiously as the results scrolled by on the screen. Ten minutes of breathless silence later there was still no breakthrough.
“Well, it’s nothing really simple,” he said. “Can you take over the vigil? I’ve got to make a pit stop.”
He had just gotten comfortable when he heard Goddard scream.
“Adam! Adam! What do I do?”
He rushed out of the bathroom, pulling up his pants as he came in. “What’s the matter?”
“It stopped!” She struggled to get out the words over her excitement. “What do we do?”
He reached over her and typed in a few commands. Hundreds of short lines scrolled on the screen.
“It looks like you got it,” he said and kissed her on the top of the head. “These are the key phrases the program tried.” He paused and pointed to the last line. “What do you think?”
The line read:
JournalOfTheCache
“Is that it?” she asked.
“I hope so. Let’s look at the plaintext.”
He entered another command and the screen filled with text. It was Chamberlain’s journal.
The document went for 580 pages. The first half hour they huddled next to each other on the sofa trying to read it together on the small laptop, but they fought so much over when to flip each screen-full of text that Goddard finally gave up and printed out individual sections.
Now they sat at each end of the couch, reviewing year after year of frightening activities.
They were mesmerized by Chamberlain’s discourse. It was a history of The Cache, a trio of men who had used every capability at their disposal to destroy their enemies and further their own selfish goals.
The identities of two of the students were clear, even from the author’s first name only references: Warren, the introverted MIT engineer, and Nick, the older, street-wise power-broker-to-be. The third member was not so easy, however: a mysterious Harvard student named Bob who had gone on to become an important executive in the electronics industry. For some reason, Chamberlain had never revealed their full names or even the companies they had worked for.
Chamberlain described their introduction at MIT, the project for the 6.251 course, the small hacks while they were students. He traced their job movements and their occasional reunions.
Tens of pages were spent on key incidents: the infiltration of the Phone Phreaks, technical stock manipulation, insider trading in the mid-80s, and the rebirth of Century Computer, based significantly, as Braxton had guessed, on sabotage of competitors’ systems.
The deeds of the Lynch affair were described in painful detail: Potterfield’s obsession for the seat; Nicholson’s manipulation of the police and the press; the satisfaction of the final result. Goddard sat silently, finally reading proof of these agonizing events.
The most recent entries had to do with the Potterfield Bill and public/private sector collusion in the military contractor industry. It was to be their most profitable endeavor, opening the doors for massive deployment of sensitive, but intentionally-compromised, command-and-control equipment in war zones around the world.
“Amazing,” Goddard finally said at 3:15. She dropped the manuscript on the bed along with six densely written pages of notes.
“It is quite a story. It would make a great novel. Did you notice a change in Chamberlain’s tone the past few years?”
“Yes. He started out so positive and enthusiastic. He really thought they were going to change the world for the better.”
“The enthusiasm of youth,” Braxton explained.
“Or the naiveté,” G
oddard added. “He sounded so tired and resigned toward the end. The Cache had taken on a life of its own and he couldn’t control what was happening.”
“Now that I think about it, he didn’t seem well when I saw him that time in his office.”
“He knew they were going too far. Nicolson didn’t kill him. This Bob must have sensed he was becoming a threat. He had Chamberlain killed and put the blame on you.”
“All the lives he ruined, the people he used.”
“Like you,” she whispered and gently stroked his back. “But now we have the proof. You can stop running and I can clear my father’s name. And we can implicate Potterfield as well.”
Braxton slowly shook his head. “It’s not that easy. This is a startling document, but we have no corroboration. We can cross-reference it to some historical facts, but there’s no additional proof. I’m a prime suspect in two murders, and you’re the disgruntled daughter of a suicide victim who tried to blackmail a U.S. Senator.” She glared at him. “I’m sorry but it’s true. The financial transactions would surely be buried. Chamberlain said so in the journal. And it’s not a crime to make money. The police would say we wrote up this little piece of fiction as a way to justify our crimes.”
“Then we just have to get the evidence to back it up. The third member of the Cache is the key. There must be a way to identify this Bob.”
“Unfortunately Warren didn’t leave us much to go on. The electronics industry is pretty big.”
Goddard’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “All we have to do is find the names of everyone that took classes at MIT when Chamberlain and Nicholson were there. I wonder if the records even exist.”
“Probably not on any computer we can get to.”
“Then we’ll find another way.”
“The trapdoor!” Braxton suddenly leapt from the sofa and ran to the laptop on the bed. He started typing furiously.
“What are you doing?” Goddard cried.
“Maybe Chamberlain used ‘cache’ as a password more than once. We’re going to track Bob through the Internet.”
