by Kathy Reichs
“How many?” Shelton asked.
Chang grinned. “A brute force attack—trying all possible combinations one at a time—would have to cycle through 3.4 × 10 to the 38th power number of keys. The human mind can’t grasp a number that big.”
I blinked. “That sounds impossible.”
“It is impossible. That’s the point. Even with a supercomputer, it’d take a billion billion years to run all those combinations. Exponentially longer than the universe has existed.”
I gave him a flat look. “So how are you going to beat the encryption?”
Chang thumb-tapped the desktop. “I could look for a cheat algorithm, to give me some portion of the key, but even that wouldn’t help much against 128-bit encryption. I’ll have to use a backdoor instead.”
My arms crossed. “Backdoor?”
“Some encryption programs have a weakness,” Chang explained. “A way around the system-key construct. A shortcut, if you will, that bypasses the need for matching keys altogether. Programmers use these backdoors to get into and out of their programs during coding. Many leave one of those secret ways intact, even after they’re finished, in case they want to poke around in the future.”
“Seriously?” I scoffed. “That’s pretty dishonest.”
Chang laughed. “Most programmers grew up as hackers. It’s in the blood, so to speak.”
“That’s awesome,” Hi said. “So does this system have a backdoor?”
Chang smiled wide, exposing a row of pearly whites. “It does. I recognize this encryption system, and, more importantly, I know who wrote it. He’s a weird guy, lives in a Soho loft filled with goldfish tanks.”
My pulse began to race. “And you have this backdoor?”
“Yes. For a price.”
“We agreed to five hundred,” Ben growled.
“That was before. Now you’re asking for the crown jewels.”
“How much?” I demanded.
Chang met my eye. “Five thousand. Cash. Non-negotiable.”
Damn it.
“Fine.”
What choice did we have?
• • •
“They’re back.” Chang reached beneath his super-desk and pressed a button.
The door buzzed, then swung open. Shelton and Ben entered.
“Any problems at the bank?” I asked.
Shelton shook his head, handed me two bound stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “We’re getting close to tapped out, though. I hope this is worth it.”
Me too.
I slapped the cash onto the desktop. “Here. Now get to work.”
“Already done.”
Chang handed me an unlabeled CD in a clear plastic case. “All files, decrypted and ready for viewing. Unread, as agreed.”
“The flash drive?”
His blue eyes danced with amusement. “Almost forgot.”
Chang was about to remove the drive when something caught his attention.
“Hold up.” He scooted to the closest monitor, hands searching for a keyboard.
“Yes?” I asked.
“There’s something . . . else on this drive. It’s odd. Here.”
An image flashed onscreen—a scrambled list of folders and subfiles.
I leaned over the desktop for a better view. “Did you miss those?”
Chang shook his head. “This is a shadow file tree. Those files aren’t physically contained on this data stick, but they can be accessed by it.”
Shelton joined me by the monitor. “I don’t understand.”
“This drive can access those files,” he explained, “but not remotely. The documents listed here are actually stored on a server located somewhere else. To read them, you’d have to insert this drive into that specific server.”
Chang eyed me curiously. “This is extremely sophisticated. Military grade, or something else that’s ultra-secure like medical records, or corporate R and D. 256-bit encryption. What kind of files are these?”
“That’s not part of our deal,” I replied frostily.
Chang nodded, but the speculative looked didn’t fade.
“So you can’t open them?” Ben said.
“No. No one else can, either. What you see are similar to links, but they won’t work online. To open those files, you’d have to physically connect to their home network. And I’d bet my PlayStation it’s a closed system, which means you’d have to actually be in the server room.”
“Can you tell us anything else?” I pressed.
Chang was silent for several heartbeats. “Maybe. Hold on a minute.”
More like ten.
Chang typed. Grunted. Rotated among his stations. Even consulted a three-ring binder.
“Here’s what I got,” he said finally. “It’s not much. These shadow files were created within the last three months, by a different user from the batch I just decoded for you. But I can’t identify either one. Your drive appears to be a legacy key to another system, in another network. Theoretically, it can still access the servers.”
I straightened. “Three months old? From a different user?”
That made no sense. Karsten obviously didn’t open new files.
Then who did?
And how would new files be linked to Karsten’s mothballed parvovirus experiment?
“That’s right.” Chang shrugged. “But I can’t open them. As I said, you’d have to find the server to match the encryption key. What’s strange is that, when I got past the encryption, this file tree downloaded itself onto your flash drive. That’s high-tech synchronization, even though you can’t access the content.”
“And there’s no explanation of what the files are, or where they’re from?”
“No. Just a group heading. B-Series.”
B-Series? Why did that send a jolt to my nerves?
“If you let me keep the stick,” Chang said, “I might be able to find the server.”
“No,” I said instantly. Then, “No, thank you. We’ll take it from here. Can I have the drive back please?”
An odd look twisted Chang’s features. Annoyance? Frustration?
Before I could say more, he spun and tapped a few keys. Data streamed across all four monitors, then they all went blank.
Chang removed Karsten’s drive and handed it to me.
“Good luck. Change your mind, and you know where to find me.”
With a series of waves and mumbled thanks, we made our way out.
All the way down to Ben’s car, my thoughts raced.
We had Karsten’s files! Finally.
But what was this B-Series? Who was running active files, ones that magically appeared on Karsten’s old data stick? Who else even knew about Karsten’s secret work?
“Success.” Ben clicked on his seat belt. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I nodded, distracted. Not quite sharing his enthusiasm.
We had what we came for. The mission was a success.
So why did I have a sinking feeling?
Dinnertime snuck up on me.
Whitney pounced as soon as I opened the front door, foreclosing any notion of examining Karsten’s files right away.
“You ready to eat, dear?” She wore a pink taffeta dress with matching flats. To dinner. On a Wednesday. At home.
Suppressing a groan, I allowed myself to be ushered to the table.
Kit was sitting on the couch watching Jeopardy, drinking a glass of red wine. Whitney continued to putter about, setting out dishes and straightening the place settings. The whole scene felt very domestic, like a glimpse into my future.
That thought nearly sent me screaming down the beach.
Coop trotted over and brushed against my leg.
“Hey, dog face.” I knelt and rubbed his cold, wet nose.
Coop
er yipped. Pawed at my shoulder.
“I know. I left you behind today. Sorry about that.”
Whitney was smoothing her dress, a stink-eye on the wolfdog. “The table is set, sweetie.”
“One sec.”
I scurried upstairs, unzipped my bag, and shoved the CD and flash drive into a desk drawer. Then I trudged back down, bracing for an hour of forced smiles and stilted conversation.
That evening’s spread was pork chops with country ham gravy, green beans, and Gouda mac and cheese. We don’t eat healthy, but we damn sure eat well.
“Anything interesting going on, kiddo?” Kit dug into his meal. “We missed you at dinner yesterday.” He left the question unspoken.
Oh, sure, Kit, lots! The gang and I broke into Lucy and Peter Gable’s house last night and discovered a bloodstain the size of Texas, but were chased off by a stalker before we could be 100 percent sure. This afternoon, we took a clue Hi swiped from the district attorney’s office—the only piece of evidence in the twins’ disappearance—and had a witch look it over. After that we stopped by a hacker’s apartment to break in to your old boss’s research files. You know, the ones from his secret medical experiment, which accidentally gave me superpowers. How was your day at LIRI?
“No. Same old.”
Kit nodded as if he’d expected my response. “I’m just glad the trial is over. Things can finally get back to normal.”
“Here, here!” Whitney, hand to chest. Then she folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Now, Tory, please don’t get upset.”
“Upset?” Not a good opener.
“You’ve been distracted lately, so I took it upon myself to help you along with the Magnolia League. I filled out all the paperwork for you, so it wouldn’t be a bother.”
My eyes closed. Snapped open.
I didn’t scream. Didn’t stomp my foot. Didn’t storm from the table.
At this point, we were past all that.
Instead, I met Whitney’s gaze directly. “You anticipated this would upset me.”
“Whit’s just trying to be helpful.” Kit’s hazel eyes were pleading.
“Thank you for explaining her actions,” I said coolly. “Again.”
Whitney’s lips parted, but I raised a hand for silence.
Awkward pause. Then I slowly shook my head.
In the end, I always lost these battles. Why bother fighting them?
Sighing, I speared a green bean on my plate. “What exactly is this going to entail?”
Whitney goggled at my unexpected surrender, but quickly recovered. “Being a Magnolia isn’t hardly work at all. You’ll love it! First-year girls attend two chapter meetings a month, then perhaps join a committee, or help organize a charitable event.”
“The deadline is approaching fast, and those ladies are sticklers for rules.” Her shoulders tensed, as if expecting a blow. “I went ahead and submitted your application yesterday.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you did.”
Whitney nervously giggled with me, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety.
Screw it. Done is done.
“I assume you’ll let me know their response?”
Whitney covered her mouth with both hands, as if she couldn’t believe her luck. A child who’d gotten a coveted Christmas present. “Tory, you’re assured of acceptance. Trust me.”
Whitney unleashed a torrent of words about all the “rewarding” activities the Magnolia League had to offer. As she droned on and on, something nudged my foot under the table.
Kit’s loafer.
I glanced at my dad. He mouthed a thank-you.
My eyes nearly rolled through the ceiling, but I nodded. We both knew this would make life easier.
“And we can go shopping for hats!” Whitney prattled. “I know a great boutique on King Street that will have just the thing, plus—”
“You owe me,” I whispered from the side of mouth.
Kit nodded ruefully. “I know it.”
“What’s that?” Whitney, just now discovering she’d been talking to herself. “Tory, you’ll still help with the neighborhood party, won’t you?”
Ugh. I’d forgotten that gem. Though, admittedly, it wasn’t her worst idea.
“Yes, Whitney. Just let me know what you need.”
“Wonderful! We should’ve hosted an event like this ages ago.” She tapped her bottom lip with a manicured fingernail. “I think invitations would be fitting, even though everyone lives close. We can hand deliver them.”
As Whitney ramped back up, something in the living room caught my eye.
Breaking News was interrupting Alex Trebek.
“Ssh Ssh Ssh!” I pointed to the television.
“Good evening,” intoned the same oily anchorman, with all the grave solemnity he could muster. “There’s been a shocking development in the disappearance of Lucy and Peter Gable. In a Channel Five News exclusive, we’ve obtained footage from a ransom video, received by police officials mere hours ago, confirming that the Bolton Academy twins have been forcibly abducted.”
“Oh my God!” I shot from my seat and ran to the screen.
“A warning to our sensitive viewers.” If possible, the anchorman’s face grew even more somber. “The following images are disturbing. You may wish to look away.”
A grainy image appeared. I watched in horror.
It was a boy and a girl, trapped behind rusty metal bars in a stone chamber. The five-second clip contained a single shot of their dirty, haggard faces.
I recognized both.
We were right.
The enormity of the video sank in.
This was no game we were playing. No lark to kill time, or soothe my frustrated psyche. The Gable twins’ lives were hanging by a thread. Two kids I saw nearly every day.
The anchorman’s face filled the screen. “Channel Five News has confirmed that a ransom demand of five million dollars accompanied the video.”
The program cut to an apoplectic Commissioner Riggins, barking into a half-dozen microphones shoved before his face.
“This tape is part of an ongoing police investigation,” he snapped. “Releasing it publicly was highly irresponsible. I ask the media to please respect the gravity of the situation, and make no unauthorized disclosures that could further jeopardize the safety of these children. I will personally investigate these leaks. And when I find who’s responsible, they’ll be prosecuted!”
Beside Riggins stood Detective Hawfield, arms crossed and visibly seething.
Big week for Channel Five. They must have a solid source at police HQ.
The anchorman resumed, without the slightest twinge of guilt. “Tune in this evening for up-to-the-minute details of the astonishing Gable twins’ kidnapping. Good evening.”
Final Jeopardy blipped back onscreen. I sat down, stunned.
Kit was by my side immediately. “You okay, Tor? Do you know those kids?”
“I’m fine.” Trying to pull myself together. “We have a few classes together.”
“How dreadful!” I was surprised to see tears leaking from Whitney’s eyes. “Those poor babies!”
Kit seemed about to say more, but I needed to process.
“I’m going to my room.” I bolted upstairs before they could say more.
My door closed with a bang. I heard Kit climb halfway up in pursuit, then stop. A few beats passed, then he slowly descended back to the main floor.
I sat in my chair, mind-blown. Everything was suddenly real, and I didn’t like it.
Then do something about it.
But what?
Then I knew.
Before, there’d only been one piece of evidence.
Now there were two.
And the Virals needed both if we hoped to help Lucy and Peter.
A plan began to form. The boys weren’t going to like it.
But a simple truth was inescapable: we needed a look at that videotape.
And there’s no time like the present, right?
The Explorer’s dashboard clock read 1:00 a.m.
“Now or never,” Ben murmured.
I didn’t move. Watched the building across from where we’d parked.
This was unquestionably the riskiest stunt we’d ever considered pulling.
Charleston Police Headquarters is tucked away on the northwestern edge of the downtown peninsula, overlooking the Ashley River. The compound consists of several structures of various size, shape, and level of security.
Some were dark. Others were lit up like Christmas trees.
The boys in blue never fully close for business.
We were casing a two-story compound outside the main cluster. An ugly, dreary pile of bricks, surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Though flickering floodlights illuminated the enclosed yard, none burned within the building. A sign at the gate proclaimed it “Annex A.”
“We’re really doing it this time,” Shelton muttered. “We’re gonna break into a freaking police station. And not some backwoods precinct. Ho, no! That wouldn’t be stupid enough. This team of geniuses is about to invade the damn HQ.”
“We need the ransom tape,” I replied. “It’s in there.”
“Why not hit NASA next?” Shelton squawked. “Or CIA headquarters?”
“We could visit Channel Five first,” Hi suggested. “They have a copy.”
I shook my head. “We don’t know if they have the whole recording, or just a clip.”
“Tory’s right.” Ben’s fingers drummed the steering wheel. “Plus, our plan is solid.”
I watched Ben from the corner of my eye. Worried. While I appreciated his enthusiasm, Ben seemed unnaturally excited to undertake something this dangerous.
An hour ago, he’d picked us up on Morris. I’d barely made it out—slipping past Whitney was significantly more difficult than eluding Kit alone. While Kit slept like a hibernating polar bear, Whitney woke at the slightest floorboard creak. And lately, she’d begun setting our security system every night.
That actually worked in my favor. Whitney’s not a tech-savvy person—she thought the alarm couldn’t be deactivated without beeping. Not true. A quick read of the instruction manual had introduced me to silent mode.