by J. A. Jance
VGI had been at the very top of the heap in the video-game world. As a consequence they had often been targeted by hackers attempting to steal their intellectual property. Stu had been tasked with the job of fending off those attacks, and Mateo had been hired to assist him in doing just that. But if computer science had more than reinvented itself in the past seventeen years, so had hacking—perhaps even more so. What if an employer hired Mateo based on Stu’s written recommendation only to discover that his work skills and knowledge were hopelessly out of date? Yes, Stu maybe owed Mateo a hand up, but what did he owe those potential employers?
Halfway between Cottonwood and Oak Creek Village, Stu called his AI, Frigg.
“Good afternoon, Stuart,” the computerized voice greeted him cheerfully. “I hope you had a pleasant day.”
“I did, but I need your help,” he said.
“Of course,” Frigg answered. “How can I be of service?”
“Earlier today I wrote a letter of recommendation for someone who years ago used to work for Mr. Simpson at a previous company, Video Games International. The guy’s name is Mateo Vega. According to him, he spent sixteen years in prison in Washington State after pleading guilty to a charge of second-degree murder. I’d like you to find out everything you can about him.”
“What kind of dossier do you prefer?” Frigg asked. “Complete or ordinary?”
The last was code. “Complete” meant Frigg would make use of all possible sources, including ones that were not necessarily open to public scrutiny and could be accessed only through some of the AI’s more creative hacking techniques. Having been created to function as the virtual handmaiden to a would-be serial killer, Frigg had cut her teeth gaining access to all kinds of unauthorized material. “Ordinary” meant she would utilize only sources of information readily available to the general public. In terms of situations where law enforcement might be involved and where the information had to stand up in court as admissible evidence, “ordinary” was the order of the day. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case here.
“Complete,” Stu specified.
“Very well. I’ll get right on it.”
And she did. By the time Stu got home and made himself a bologna sandwich, Frigg had put her eight hundred CPUs to work and rounded up a mountain of material. As he sat down in front of his wall of monitors with both the sandwich and a Diet Coke set out on a TV tray, Stu was grateful Cami Lee couldn’t see what he was doing. She continued to wage open warfare in an effort to wean him off his preferred diet of what Cami called “junk” food rather than “real” food.
“What do you have for me, Frigg?” he asked. Other people might have had Siri or Alexa answering their various questions. Stuart Ramey had Frigg.
“Bio first?” Frigg asked.
“Please.”
“Mr. Vega, born in Yakima, Washington, in 1979, is the youngest of eight children born to Olivia Ortega Vega and Joaquin Manuel Vega. Do you require the names of each of his siblings?”
“Not necessary,” Stu said, “but please call him Mateo.”
“Very well. Mateo graduated as salutatorian of his class at Yakima High School, won an academic scholarship to the University of Washington, and is the first and only member of his family to attend and graduate from a four-year college.”
“Yes, the U Dub,” Stu replied.
“That would be the University of Washington?” Frigg asked, seemingly puzzled by the terminology.
There was still a good deal of English-language jargon that eluded the AI.
“Dub is shorthand for W,” Stu explained. “It’s what people in Seattle refer to as the University of Washington.”
“All right, then,” Frigg said agreeably. “The U Dub it is.” Then she continued. “All seven of Mateo’s siblings still survive. His father is deceased. Joaquin died while Mateo was incarcerated at the Monroe Correctional Facility in Monroe, Washington. Mr. Mateo was granted leave to attend his father’s funeral services, but that leave was rescinded when Mateo received a letter from his eldest brother, Eduardo, saying that Mateo’s presence at their father’s funeral would be a distraction.”
Stu let out a long sigh. Once again Frigg had managed to hack her way into a penal institution’s records system to gain access to an inmate’s personal correspondence. Fortunately, none of this information would need to show up in a court of law. Stu had asked for a complete dossier; that’s exactly what he was getting.
“That’s interesting,” Stu said. “Sounds as though there’s some bad blood inside the family.”
“I’m sorry,” Frigg interjected, “I don’t have any information regarding Mateo’s blood type.”
“Never mind,” Stu said. “Go on.”
“In 2002 Mateo pled guilty to second-degree homicide in the death of his former girlfriend, Emily Anne Tarrant. He was sentenced to sixteen years in prison. He appeared before the parole board ten times prior to his being released last May. I have transcripts from each of those hearings. Would you care to read them in their entirety?”
“Just summarize.”
“Although he entered a guilty plea prior to being sent to prison, during each of his parole-board appearances Mateo insisted he had done so not because he killed her but because his public defender said that accepting a plea agreement would result in a lesser sentence. Had he been convicted of first-degree homicide, he might have received life in prison.”
Stu nodded. That was all in line with what Mateo had told him on the phone earlier.
“What’s he been doing since his release?”
“Living as a renter in a house purported to be a single-family dwelling in the city of Renton south of Seattle. His landlord’s name is Randy Wasson. Mateo works at a nearby establishment called St. Vincent de Paul’s, which is evidently a charity thrift shop of some kind. At the time he left the prison, he was issued a check in the amount of one thousand six hundred dollars due from wages earned while working inside the prison.”
“What kind of work?”
“Primarily in the prison library, where he served as an assistant to the librarian, a Mrs. Maribeth Ancell. She was responsible for giving him an achievement award due to his being able to solve some difficulty with the computer system inside the library.”
“That figures,” Stu said. “That’s what he was trained to do. He has an undergraduate degree in computer science.”
“And Mrs. Ancell does not,” Frigg replied. “She has a B.A. in English and a master’s degree in library science. That’s what makes her preferred choices in reading material so interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has an extensive record of interlibrary loans, dating back twelve years or more. Much of the borrowed material—textbooks and the like—had to do primarily with science and technology. Some of what she borrowed appear to be dissertations on computer science available only through various university library systems.”
Suddenly Stu sat bolt upright. “Wait, you’re saying the librarian was checking out and presumably reading multiple dissertations on computer science?”
“That’s how it would appear,” Frigg replied. “That would include computer science, computer engineering, cybersecurity, and similar topics.”
“Let me ask you this, has she continued to request those kinds of materials since last May by any chance?”
“No,” Frigg answered, “not at all. Mrs. Ancell’s last request for material through an interlibrary loan occurred in April of last year. However, I have learned that Mateo is now in possession of a library card for the King County Library System, and those kinds of interlibrary loan requests are common in his borrowing history.”
Stu felt downright jubilant. Mateo’s knowledge of all things computer-related wasn’t seventeen years out of date. He’d been studying on his own the whole time he was in prison, but even with updated skills, he was now stuck working on a loading dock because of his record—thanks to a stint in prison for something he claimed he hadn’t done.
In advance of High Noon’s current hiring spree, Stu had asked Frigg to create five separate fictional computer networks and lace each of them with a separate known hack. Because Stu loved watching professional bowling and sorting out the physics of each roll of the ball, he’d given the individual hacks names similar to those used as lane oil patterns in professional bowling tournaments: Badger, Wolf, Shark, Scorpion, and Cheetah, with the last one being by far the most difficult.
All those hoping to make the second cut in the hiring process had been given copies of the material and told they were required to locate, identify, and disable each of the hacks. Frigg, of course, had kept track of the amount of time each applicant had worked on the individual problems. Only those who succeeded in finding and successfully countering three or more of the test cases remained in the final group of applicants Stu passed along to Ali, and not one of them had scored a five. Most had managed two or three. One had hit four. If Stu was correct in his assessment of what Mateo Vega had on the ball and what he’d been studying while he was locked up in prison, there was a good chance he might be able to ace that same set of tests.
“Frigg,” Stu said, “do you still have copies of those sample hack problems we sent to High Noon’s job applicants?”
“Of course,” Frigg answered, sounding a bit miffed, as though she couldn’t believe Stu could be so simple minded as to think she’d discarded something so valuable.
“Please send working copies of all five to my High Noon address,” he said.
“Anything else?”
“Go ahead and send along the materials on Mateo’s arrest and conviction. I’ll look over those at my leisure. In the meantime, Frigg, thank you. You’ve been a huge help.”
“You’re welcome,” Frigg replied. “Have a good night. Sleep well.”
|CHAPTER 9|
On her drive home that afternoon, when Ali drove past Sedona Shadows, she was tempted to do a surprise drop-in visit at her folks’ place, but mindful of being accused of hovering, she went straight home instead. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top and having a pre-dinner glass of merlot when B. called. It may have been early morning where he was, but he was wide awake and downright jubilant.
“Nailed another one,” he announced. “It’s not finalized, because the lawyers have yet to draw up the participation agreement, but Helsinki is a previously untapped market for us, and we may pick up another account or two along the way. How are things with you?”
Ali told him about her conversation with Betsy Peterson and about bringing her in as a source of backdoor information on what was going on with Bob and Edie. She also told him about her preliminary sort through the job applicants. Only at the end of the conversation did she tell him about Stu having written that letter of recommendation for Mateo Vega.
“Why would Mateo be asking Stu for a letter of recommendation after all this time?” B. asked. “Wouldn’t it be better for him to have those from more recent employers?”
“That’s what I thought, but it’s because he hasn’t been working,” Ali explained. “He’s been in prison for murdering his girlfriend.”
“Murder?” B. echoed. “Are you kidding?” Then, after a pause, he continued. “Oh, wait,” he said. “Now it’s coming back to me, but only vaguely. She died after some kind of beach party. I guess I knew Mateo had been arrested for that, but I don’t remember ever hearing that he’d been convicted. How long was he locked up?”
“Sixteen years,” Ali said. “At least that’s what I think Stu told me. And he wasn’t convicted. He took a plea bargain in hopes of receiving a lighter sentence, but he claims he didn’t actually do the crime.”
“I remember Mateo,” B. continued after a thoughtful pause. “Bright kid and eager to work. The problem is, when that was going on, the situation with Clarice and me was going down the tubes. I wasn’t really paying close attention.”
Clarice was B.’s first wife, and Ali knew that his divorce and the dissolution of Video Games International had occurred at almost the same time. No wonder he’d been too preoccupied with his own affairs to pay attention to Mateo Vega’s.
“If Mateo’s been in prison this long,” B. continued, “he’ll be decades behind in terms of what’s happening in today’s IT world. It was nice of Stu to write the letter, and if Mateo had asked me for one, I probably would have done the same thing. Not that it’s going to do much good. I doubt that anyone will be willing to hire him. His skill set will be so far out of date that he’ll never catch up.”
When Alonzo appeared a few minutes later to say that dinner was ready, Ali ended the call. She went to bed that night at the impossibly early hour of eight thirty and slept straight through until six the next morning.
She hadn’t just been tired the night before—she’d been dog tired, but on Thursday morning she was more than ready to be up and at ’em.
Chris called while Ali was still eating breakfast to say that the doctor had just been by doing rounds and that Athena and Logan would be released within the next couple of hours. “If you want to stop by for a little while this evening,” he added, “that would be fine.”
“How about if I ask Alonzo to whip up a batch of tuna casserole so I can bring that along?” Ali said. “A big dish of that would feed your household for a day or so.”
“Sounds great,” Chris agreed. “Cooking isn’t one of my strong suits.”
On her way to Cottonwood, Ali decided to disregard her own anti-hovering advice. At the last moment, she turned off the highway and pulled in to the parking lot at Sedona Shadows. Her excuse, of course, was to give everyone the news about Athena and Logan’s expected homecoming.
Ali found Betsy and Edie in the dining room finishing their breakfasts, and she was glad to see that Betsy had prevailed on Edie to venture out of the unit. Ali’s father, however, was nowhere in sight.
“Chris called a few minutes ago,” Ali said quickly as she approached their table. “I wanted to let you both know that the doctor is releasing Athena later this morning and they’ll be home here in Sedona probably by early afternoon in case you want to drop by and meet your new great-grandson.”
Betsy clapped her hands in delight. Edie frowned. “I’m not sure Bob will want to go,” she said, “and I don’t want to leave him here alone.”
A look of disappointment flashed across Betsy’s face, and Ali understood why. Betsy didn’t drive. If Edie wasn’t going, neither was Betsy.
This is the first new normal, Ali thought. If her mom was afraid to leave her husband on his own for the short time it would take to peek in on her new great-grandson, it was clear Edie would only become more and more isolated in the future. So would Ali’s father, for that matter.
“Look,” Ali said, “check with Chris and then let me know when it would be convenient for you to drop by. If you can give me enough advance warning, I can leave work early and stay with Dad while you’re gone.”
Before Edie could raise another objection, Ali glanced at her watch and then jumped to her feet. “Oops,” she said. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late.”
Ali arrived at the High Noon campus a little after nine. Since she didn’t punch a time clock, concern about arriving late to work as an excuse for her abrupt departure from Sedona Shadows had been entirely bogus. But that also meant she was clear to show up and mind her dad while her mother and Betsy went to visit the new baby. It would give Edie a small break, and it would provide Ali with a firsthand glimpse into how things really stood with her folks, but for right now her focus was on High Noon.
Cami turned up in her office shortly after Ali settled in. “I’ve got the flight arrangements made for the applicants,” she reported. “I have them coming in on separate days—one on Friday of next week and one each on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of the following week.”
“Good enough,” Ali said. “How about the security-camera issue?”
Cami made a face. “That kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground,
and we didn’t finish up last night, even with me having to explain how the job should be done. He’s coming in later today to finish. With any luck our system should be up and running by tonight.”
“Good,” Ali said, glancing at her ringing phone and seeing Betsy Peterson’s name show up on caller ID. “Thanks, Cami.”
Ali picked up the call.
“I’m glad my playing the poor-widow card guilted your mom into taking me to meet little Logan later today,” Betsy said. “Edie and I are due to be at the kids’ house right around three. She’ll probably call in a few minutes to let you know. FYI, I think she set the time for three because that’s usually when your dad takes an afternoon nap.”
That figures, Ali thought. If Dad’s asleep, there’s that much less opportunity for our having any meaningful interaction.
“I’ll be there,” Ali said.
“Don’t let her know I already told you,” Betsy added. “If Edie finds out we’ve established this back channel, she’ll hit the roof.”
Ali laughed. “Right,” she said, “mum’s the word.”
She had just turned back to her computer when her mother called. “Betsy wants to go meet Logan this afternoon,” Edie Larson said. “Would you mind stopping by to stay with Dad for a bit?”
“Not a problem,” Ali said without revealing that she’d already received an advance warning from Betsy. “What time?”
“Around two thirty?”
“Sure,” Ali said. “I’ll be there.”
A few minutes later, she ventured into the computer lab and found the place in a state of high alert. A coordinated cyberattack, most likely from China, was wreaking havoc with Internet providers and servers worldwide. Several of High Noon’s top clients had been targeted. So far no successful incursions had been discovered, and Cami, Lance, and Stu were determined to keep it that way. Not wanting to disrupt their focused concentration, Ali retreated to her nontechnical part of the building and kept her head down by tending to paperwork, balancing the corporate checkbook, and generally staying out of everyone’s way.
