The Scarecrow

by Michael Connelly

  I liked how she was moving it away from technology and in the direction of people. Carver held up a finger as if to make a point.

  “Exactly,” he said. “It always comes down to people, doesn’t it?”

  “Usually,” Rachel said.

  “Then let me give you a quick overview of what we have here and then perhaps we could retire to my office and discuss personnel issues.”

  He walked around the line of workstations so that he was standing directly in front of the big windows that looked into the server room. We followed him around and he continued the tour.

  “Okay, then. I designed the data center to be state of the art in terms of technology and security. What you see before you here is our server room. The farm. These big, long towers hold approximately one thousand managed, dedicated servers on direct line with our clients. What that means is that if you sign on with Western Data, your firm will have its own server or servers in this room. Your data is not commingled on a server with any other firm’s data. You get your own managed server with one-hundred-megabit service. That gives you instant access from wherever you are located to the information you store here. It allows you interval backup or immediate backup. If needed, every keystroke made on your computers in—Where are you located?”

  “Las Vegas,” I said.

  “Las Vegas, then. And what is the business?”

  “A law firm.”

  “Ah, another law firm. So then, if needed, every keystroke made on a computer in your law firm could be instantaneously backed up and stored here. In other words, you would never lose anything. Not a digit. That computer in Las Vegas could be struck by lightning and the last word typed on it would be safe and sound right here.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rachel said, smiling.

  “Of course not,” Carver said quickly and humorlessly. “But I am just telling you the parameters of the service we provide here. Now, security. What good is it to back everything up here if it is not safe?”

  “Exactly,” Rachel said.

  She took a step closer to the window and in doing so moved in front of me. I could clearly see that she wanted to make the lead connection to Carver, and that was fine with me. I stepped back and left them standing side by side at the window.

  “Well, we’re talking about two different things here,” Carver said. “Plant security and data security. Let’s talk about the facility first.”

  Carver covered a lot of the ground Chavez had already covered but Rachel didn’t interrupt him. Eventually, he homed in on the data center and offered some new information.

  “This room is completely impregnable. First off, all the walls, floor and ceiling are two-foot-thick cast concrete with double rebar and rubber membrane to protect it from water sources. These windows are level-eight glass laminates that are impact resistant and ballistic proof. You could hit it with both barrels of a shotgun and you’d probably only hurt yourself with the ricochet. And this door is the only means of entry and exit and is controlled by biometric hand scan.”

  He pointed to the device next to the glass door.

  “Access to the server room is limited to server engineers and key personnel only. The biometric scanner unlocks the door after reading and confirming three distinct hand groups: palm print, vein pattern and hand geometry. It also checks for a pulse. So nobody can get away with chopping my hand off and using it to get into the server farm.”

  Carver smiled but Rachel and I didn’t join in.

  “What about if there’s an emergency?” I asked. “Could people be stuck in there?”

  “No, of course not. From the inside you simply push a release button that opens the lock and then slide open the door. The system is designed to keep intruders out, not keep people in.”

  He looked at me to see if I understood. I nodded.

  Carver leaned back and pointed to the three digital temperature gauges located above the main window on the server room.

  “We keep the farm cooled to sixty-two degrees and have plenty of redundant power as well as a backup cooling system. As far as fire protection goes, we employ a three-stage protection scheme. We have a standard VESDA system with a—”

  “Vesda?” I asked.

  “Very Early Smoke Detection Alarm, which relies on laser-based smoke detectors. In the event of a fire the VESDA will activate a series of alarms followed by the waterless fire-suppression system.”

  Carver pointed to a row of red pressure tanks lined on the back wall.

  “There you see our CO2 tanks, which are part of this system. If there is a fire, carbon dioxide floods the room, extinguishing fire without harming any of the electronics or the client data.”

  “What about people?” I asked.

  Carver leaned back again so he could see around Rachel to look at me.

  “Very good question, Mr. McEvoy. The three-stage alarm allows sixty seconds for any personnel in the server room to escape. Additionally, our server room protocol requires anyone entering the server room to carry a respirator on their person as a WCS redundancy.”

  From the pocket of his lab coat he withdrew a breathing mask similar to the two hanging in the case by the door.

  “WCS?” I asked.

  “Worst-Case Scenario,” Rachel said.

  Carver put the mask back in his pocket.

  “Let’s see, what else can I tell you? We custom-build our own server racks in a shop attached to the equipment room down here in the bunker. We have multiple servers and attendant electronics in stock and we can hit the ground running to provide for all our clients’ needs. We can replace any piece of equipment on the farm within an hour of malfunction. What you are looking at here is a reliable and secure national network infrastructure. Does either of you have any questions about this aspect of our facility?”

  I had nothing because I was pretty much at sea on the technology. But Rachel nodded like she understood everything that had been said.

  “So again, it’s about people,” she said. “No matter how well you build the mousetrap, it always comes down to the people who operate it.”

  Carver brought his hand to his chin and nodded. He was looking out into the server room but I could see his face reflected in the thick glass.

  “Why don’t we step into my office so we can discuss that aspect of our operation.”

  We followed him around the workstations to his office. Along the way I looked down into the cardboard box that was on the chair of the empty station. It looked like it was mostly full of personal belongings. Magazines, a William Gibson novel, a box of American Spirit cigarettes, a Star Trek coffee mug full of pens, pencils and disposable lighters. I also saw a variety of flash drives, a set of keys and an iPod.

  Carver held the door to his office and then closed it after we entered. We took the two seats in front of the glass table he used as a desk. He had a twenty-inch computer screen on a pivoting arm, which he pushed out of the way so he could see us. There was a second, smaller screen beneath the glass of his desk. On it was a video image of the server room. I noticed that Mizzou had just entered the farm and was walking down one of the aisles created by the rows of server towers.

  “Where are you staying?” Carver asked as he moved behind his worktable.

  “The Mesa Verde,” I said.

  “Nice place. They have a great brunch on Sundays.”

  Carver sat down.

  “Now, then, you want to talk about people,” he said, looking directly at Rachel.

  “Yes, we do. We appreciate the tour of the facility but, frankly, that’s not why we are here. Everything that you and Ms. Chavez have shown us is on your website. We really came to get a feel for the people we would work with and entrust our data to. We’re disappointed we were unable to meet Declan McGinnis and, frankly, a little put off by it. We haven’t received a credible explanation for why he stood us up.”

  Carver raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “Yolanda is not at liberty
to discuss personnel matters.”

  “Well, I hope you can understand our position,” Rachel said. “We came to establish a relationship and the man who was supposed to be here is not here.”

  “Completely understandable,” Carver said. “But as a director of the company I can assure you that Declan’s situation in no way affects our operation here. He simply took a few days off.”

  “Well, that is troubling, because that’s the third different explanation we’ve gotten. It doesn’t leave us with a good impression.”

  Carver nodded and exhaled heavily.

  “If I could tell you more I would,” he said. “But you have to realize that what we sell here is confidentiality and security. And that starts with our own personnel. If that explanation is not acceptable, then we might not be the firm you are looking for.”

  He had drawn a line. Rachel capitulated.

  “Very well, Mr. Carver. Then tell us about the people who work for you. The information we would store in this facility is of a highly sensitive nature. How do you ensure the integrity of the facility? I look at your two—what are they called, server engineers? I look at them and I have to say they look to me like the type of people you are protecting this facility from.”

  Carver smiled broadly and nodded.

  “To be honest, Rachel—can I call you Rachel?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “To be honest, when Declan is here and I know a prospective client is coming in on tour, I usually send those two out back for a smoke break. But the reality of this facility and the reality of the world is that those young men are the best and the brightest when it comes to this work. I’m being straight with you. Yes, there is no doubt that some of our employees have done their share of hacking and mischief before coming to work here. And that’s because sometimes it takes a sly fox to catch a sly fox or at least to know how he thinks. But every employee here is thoroughly vetted for criminal records and tendencies, as well as the content of their character and psychological makeup.

  “We have never had an employee break company protocols or make an unauthorized intrusion into client data, if that’s what your concern is. Not only do we qualify each individual for employment, but we closely watch them after. You could say that we are our own best clients. Every keystroke made on a keyboard in this building is backed up. We can look at what an employee is doing in real time or has done at any time prior. We randomly exercise both of those options routinely.”

  Rachel and I nodded in unison. But we knew something Carver either didn’t know or was expertly covering up. Someone here had dipped into client data. A killer had stalked his prey in the digital fields of the farm.

  “What happened to the guy who worked out there?” I asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the outer room. “I think they said his name was Fred. It looks like he’s gone and his stuff is in a box. Why did he leave without taking his personal things?”

  Carver hesitated before answering. I could tell he was being cautious.

  “Yes, Mr. McEvoy. He has not picked up his belongings yet. But he will and that is why we placed them in a box for him.”

  I noticed that I was still Mr. McEvoy with him, while Rachel had moved on to being on a first-name basis.

  “Well, was he fired? What did he do?”

  “No, he was not fired. He quit for unknown reasons. He failed to show up for his shift Friday night and instead sent me an e-mail saying he resigned to pursue other things. That is all there is to it. These young kids, they are in high demand. I’m assuming Freddy was lured away by a competitor. We pay well here but somebody else can always pay better.”

  I nodded as if I agreed completely but I was thinking about the contents of the box out there and putting other things with it. The FBI visits and asks questions about the trunk murder website on Friday and Freddy splits without so much as coming back in for his iPod.

  And what about McGinnis? I was about to ask if his disappearance could be related to Freddy’s abrupt departure but was interrupted by the mantrap buzzer. The screen beneath Carver’s glass desk automatically switched to the camera in the mantrap and I saw Yolanda Chavez coming back in to collect us. Rachel leaned forward, inadvertently putting an urgent spin on her question.

  “What is Freddy’s last name?”

  As if they had a prescribed length of buffer space between them, Carver leaned back a distance equal to Rachel’s forward movement. She was still acting like an agent, asking direct questions and expecting answers because of the juice the bureau carried.

  “Why would you want his name? He no longer works here.”

  “I don’t know. I just…”

  Rachel was cornered. There was no good answer to the question, at least from Carver’s point of view. The question alone threw suspicion on our motives. But we got lucky when Chavez poked her head in through the door.

  “So how are we doing in here?” she asked.

  Carver kept his eyes on Rachel.

  “We’re doing fine,” he said. “Are there any other questions I can answer?”

  Still backpedaling, Rachel looked at me and I shook my head.

  “I think I’ve seen all I need to see,” I said. “I appreciate the information and the tour.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Rachel said. “Your facility is very impressive.”

  “Then I’ll take you back up to the surface now and let you sit down with an account representative if you wish.”

  Rachel got up and turned toward the door. I pushed back my chair and stood up. I thanked Carver again and reached across the table to shake his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Jack,” he said. “I hope to see you again.”

  I nodded. I had made it to the first-name list.

  “Me, too.”

  The car was as hot as an oven when we got back into it. I quickly turned the key, cranked the air conditioning to high and lowered my window until the car started to cool.

  “What do you think?” I asked Rachel.

  “Let’s get out of here first,” she replied.

  “Okay.”

  The steering wheel burned my hands. Using just the heel of my left palm I backed out of the space. But I didn’t drive immediately to the exit. Instead I drove to the far corner of the lot and made a U-turn at the back of the Western Data building.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

  “I just wanted to see what was back here. We’re allowed. We’re prospective clients, remember?”

  As we made the turn and headed toward the exit, I caught a passing glimpse of the rear of the building. More cameras. And there was an exit door and a bench beneath a small awning. On either side was a sand jar ashtray, and there, sitting on a bench, was the server engineer named Mizzou. He was smoking a cigarette.

  “The smokers’ porch,” Rachel asked. “Satisfied?”

  I waved to Mizzou through the open window and he nodded back. We headed toward the gate.

  “I thought he was working in the server room. I saw him on Carver’s screen.”

  “Well, when addiction calls…”

  “But can you imagine having to come out here in the thick of the summer just to smoke? You’d get fried, even with that awning.”

  “I guess that’s what they make SPF ninety for.”

  I closed my window after I turned back out onto the main road. When we were no longer in view of Western Data I thought it was finally safe to ask my question again.

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think I almost blew it. Maybe I did.”

  “You mean at the end? I think we’re fine. We were saved by Chavez. You just have to remember you no longer carry that badge that opens all doors and makes people quiver and answer your questions.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I’ll remember that.”

  I realized how callous I must have sounded.

  “Sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I’m just touchy because you’re right an
d I know it. I’m not what I was twenty-four hours ago. I guess I have to relearn my finesse. My days of bowling people over with the power and the might are gone.”

  She looked out her window, so I couldn’t see her face.

  “Look, right now, I don’t care about your finesse. What about your vibe back there? What do you think of Carver and everybody else? What do we do now?”

  She turned back to me.

  “I’m more interested in who I didn’t see than who I did see.”

  “You mean Freddy?”

  “And McGinnis. I think we have to find out who this Freddy who quit is and what the deal is with McGinnis.”

  I nodded. We were on the same page.

  “You think they’re connected, Freddy quitting and McGinnis not showing up?”

  “We won’t know until we talk to them both.”

  “Yeah, how do we find them? We don’t even know Freddy’s last name.”

  She hesitated before answering.

  “I could try to make some calls, see if anybody is still talking to me. I am sure that when they went in there last week with a warrant, they got a list of names of all employees. That would have been standard procedure.”

  I thought that was wishful thinking on her part. In law enforcement bureaucracies, once you were out, you were out. And that was probably more so with the FBI than anywhere else. The ranks in the bureau were so tight, even legitimate, badge-carrying cops couldn’t get through. I thought Rachel was in for a rude awakening if she thought her old comrades were going to take her calls, run down names and share information. She was going to quickly find out that she was on the outside looking in—through six-inch glass.

  “What if that doesn’t work?”

  “Then I don’t know,” she said curtly. “I guess we do it the old-fashioned way. We go back and sit on that place and wait for Freddy’s slacker buddies to punch out and go home. They’ll either lead us right to him or we can finesse it out of them.”