Transilience

by Kevin Bragg

  ‘Anger does not a killer make,’ I offered in the guise of witty retort.

  ‘You cannot argue that he acted like a rational human being in the aftermath of Mrs Kitterman’s death.’

  ‘I concede your point.’

  ‘Good. Couple his anger with his frustration over elected officials ignoring his pleas for mass expulsion, the knowledge he possessed as a nuclear physicist and his substantial wealth, I argue he was behind the original bombings.’

  ‘Again, why not Fischer? He would have been in his twenties and more than capable of doing the deed.’

  ‘Fischer was a graduate economics student accumulating a substantial amount of loan debt to pay for his tuition at a private university in Chicago. He had neither the financial means nor the intellectual capacity to orchestrate destruction on that scale.’

  ‘Surely others were equally capable?’

  ‘Naturally, which is why I believe Nolan Kitterman escaped justice. He had positioned himself perfectly so as not to raise suspicion, given the parameters of the event. Not once did his name come up as a potential suspect. Others were questioned. The authorities even arrested one person, but did not have enough evidence to formally charge him. By the way, his name was not Paul Fischer. Skip ahead to five years ago, a similar bombing occurs, using similar materials and a similar manifesto is sent out in the aftermath. Based on these points, and disregarding the state of Nolan Kitterman’s mortality, he is the likely candidate for the attack.’

  ‘But we can’t ignore the fact that he is dead. Dead men don’t tell tales, but they also don’t blow up buildings and send out manifestos. So, does that mean you believe Rennick’s claim that another Kitterman is behind the UN bombing? Is that the “yes” part of your yes and no answer?’

  Pam nodded. ‘Pathological evidence suggests it is possible. In any event, I was merely answering your original question of whether or not Fischer “did it”. Your investigation into Mara Kitterman should prove the validity of Ms Rennick’s assertions.’

  ‘Pathological evidence?’

  Pam nodded. ‘I have read several studies that indicate an above-average correlation between character defects in parents and the appropriation of those flaws by their offspring.’

  ‘We have a saying for that, Pam: “like father, like son.”’

  ‘Or daughter, in this case.’

  I smiled. ‘True.’

  ‘It is unfortunate we cannot interview Paul Fischer and learn his side of the story.’

  ‘He’s dead, right?’

  ‘Stabbed in prison thirty-two days after his incarceration.’

  ‘How convenient. Set the guy up, and then silence him forever once he’s inside.’

  Rennick’s claim someone other than Paul Fischer blew up the UN sounded about 88 per cent less crazy.

  *

  In the interest of time, we shelved our discussion of the Kittermans, and the Rennick case, and returned our attentions to the blackmailers. Pam resumed her position in front of her keyboard and sent the infected file to my computer. Telefon Tel Aviv’s Fahrenheit Fair Enough played in the background and I set to work.

  The code inside the virus programme possessed a certain elegance. During my time in the Cyber Division of the Martian Forces, I had seen better but not by much. While I took my time scanning through the file, I thought it best we keep an eye on Porter’s assistant.

  ‘Pam,’ I said aloud, ‘I need you to access Ms Voss’s phone and clone it into your communication system.’

  Most androids came with built-in hardware and firmware that made them as functional as an overpriced smart phone. They could replicate every application and display a particular phone’s layout on the back of their optical sensors. Anything the user did with his phone, the android would be able to duplicate. Hopefully, Voss hadn’t gone to any great lengths to encrypt her device.

  Meanwhile, I had a solid breakthrough in the case. Hidden as comments within a couple of lines of code, I found the architect of the virus: N00B 4554551N. Why these bozos felt the urge to sign their handiwork like some Renaissance master never made any sense to me. Now I had a name to work with and that was usually enough.

  ‘Noob Assassin,’ I said aloud, trying it on for size. ‘What a terrible handle.’

  ‘Any luck?’ I hollered through my open door.

  Pam telecommed back to my office. ‘I have cloned Ms Voss’s phone.’

  I yelled while she used the phone. As dysfunctional as any office relationship.

  ‘Was it difficult?’

  ‘Not terribly. It only possessed a basic level of encryption installed by the service provider.’

  Low-level encryption and she plans to sting her boss with blackmail? Maybe a not-so-clever girl.

  ‘Dump her message log onto my terminal and then I have another task for you.’

  The information from Porter’s assistant immediately began to stream onto my display.

  ‘What is it that you would like me to do, sir?’

  ‘A name search: Noob Assassin. Try it both as N double-O B space A double-S A double-S I N and also capital N double-zero capital B space four double-five four double-five one capital N.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Pam asked, as if she already knew there was more.

  ‘Focus your search on the forums for game sites. I’d start with the big competitive games.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  While Pam got to work finding more about Noob Assassin, I sifted through the detritus of Lyric Voss’s chat logs. The woman seemed to message as much as she did anything else. One day in the texting life of Ms Voss represented a month’s worth for an average person, or me at any rate.

  The prospect of so much reading made me hungry. I checked my watch – nearly 6pm. We had been at it for a while. Time for some dinner.

  I ordered a pulled chicken sandwich and fries from a joint in the district. While I waited, I refilled my glass and focused on the mountain of texts.

  Ten minutes later, Pam announced dinner had arrived. I paid the man and collected my chow. All the while Pam scowled.

  ‘A man’s gotta eat,’ I said as I made a hasty retreat to my office.

  Pam did not dignify that with a response and went back to typing away on her keyboard at a furious pace.

  With food in front of me and the remnants of my gin and tonic beside me, I scrolled through Voss’s messages to the time Porter let me in on his company’s dirty little secret. I figured if she was the twitchy type, she might notify Noob Assassin and let him, or her, know Porter had arranged an unscheduled meeting.

  Sure enough, I struck gold with a string of texts all sent to a third-party message service. The name attached to the recipient was ‘Chipmunk’.

  Fortified by a couple of vicious attacks on my sandwich, I snuck into the servers of the messenger company Voss used. Eventually, I found an IP address for Chipmunk and traced it to a name: Alvin Cooper.

  Alvin. Chipmunk. Cute.

  Right around the same time I discovered the name of Lyric’s presumed boyfriend, Pam chimed in over the intercom.

  ‘Sir, I have discovered the identity of the Noob Assassin.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘He is an Adamantium level player in a MOBA called League of Legendary Heroes and the leader of a guild called the Lords of Pain. Noob Assassin is a regular contributor to the game’s official forum site.’

  I knew the game but never played it, so his level didn’t mean much to me. However, it was one of the most popular player versus player games in the galaxy. Every year a tournament bogged down the communication lines between solar systems and pitted each system’s champion against the others’ to determine a galaxy winner. It was like the Super Bowl for nerds.

  ‘How do you spell the name of the guild?’

  ‘L-O-R-D-Z O-F P-4-1-N,’ Pam answered.

  ‘Another terrible name,’ I replied. ‘This guy seems like an ass to me. Who would want to date him?’

  ‘I am not certain that I a
m qualified to answer that. Would you like me to send you some of his forum posts? From what I can discern, he seems to be a troll who enjoys flaming people on the site.’

  ‘Where did you learn how to speak like that?’ I asked, laughing.

  ‘I do a lot of research,’ she answered, as her voice trailed off.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was surprised is all. No need to send me his forum drivel, just give me his name.’

  ‘According to Noob Assassin’s account information, his real name is Alvin Cooper.’

  Bingo! We have a match.

  ‘Does he have a billing address on his account?’

  ‘Yes, sir. 314D Berkshire Street, Residential District 3.’

  ‘Did you confirm it with the city directory?’

  ‘Naturally. It is a match.’

  Little did Alvin know, this witch-doctor made house calls.

  6

  The rest of the night passed rather quickly, or at least what I remembered of it. Pam and I had dug up quite a bit on Mr Cooper. He was 24, above average grades, and paid his rent through an IT support job and competitive video games.

  He lived in one of the poorer areas of Residential District 3, which said something because the whole damn place looked like the set for a zombie movie. He also had a roommate. Luther Dwerry worked on a line at one of the factories in the neighbouring Industrial/Manufacturing District.

  Pam nudged me into the waking world before adjusting the dimness setting on the smart-glass windows. Sunlight filled the room.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, with what might have been a hint of kindness in her tone. I checked my watch: 10 minutes before noon.

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes and discovered a cup of Joe and a bagel on my desk. ‘Thank you for the coffee and breakfast.’

  ‘I ordered it from your usual place,’ she answered cryptically.

  ‘I didn’t know I had a usual breakfast place that also has a delivery service.’ I almost always ate breakfast at the diner where Erica worked and they didn’t deliver.

  She responded by simply walking out of the room. A few seconds later, I heard her typing away at her desk.

  I tested the coffee – warm but cool enough to drink – and demolished the bagel. After the two minutes that constituted my breakfast, I grabbed a seat on the corner of Pam’s desk.

  ‘Before I dozed off last night, I had a thought about how to nail Cooper.’

  She stopped typing and looked up at me. ‘Frame Ms Voss for something unrelated to blackmail, but related to financial fraud, like embezzling from HTS, and link it to her boyfriend and his roommate?’

  ‘Umm… yeah. That’s exactly what I had in mind. How did you know?’

  ‘You talk in your sleep.’

  ‘I do?’

  She shook her head no. ‘Out of the several scenarios we could employ to fulfil the terms of our agreement with Mr Porter, having her steal from the company made the most sense. The manipulation of data to create a viable, but false, trail of theft played to our collective strengths. And it gives us some flexibility in terms of how we fulfil the terms of agreement with Mr Porter. I, also, anticipated your enjoyment of the irony.’

  Damn her! She had taken the steam out of my big reveal. ‘It does have a certain amount of elegance, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They are attempting to steal from the company. We will simply change the terms to something they did not anticipate.’

  ‘Alright. We have about a day to sort this out and execute a plan.’

  ‘No, sir. We do not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The blackmailers sent Mr Porter another message moving the deadline to 6pm today. I believe it had something to do with your visit to his office yesterday. This also provides anecdotal evidence of Ms Voss’s involvement. I do not doubt she informed Mr Cooper and Mr Dwerry of your visit.’

  ‘Damn. We don’t have much time to set this up.’ I slid off her desk, intending to dash back to my office and get to work.

  As usual, Pam stopped me. ‘After I decided embezzlement was the best course of action, I took steps to implement the plan. That the deadline has changed should have no effect on its execution.’

  I resumed my perch on her desk and rolled my wrist in the universal gesture to ‘carry on’.

  And she did. ‘While you slept, I researched more into HTS and discovered their mining operation is a subsidiary company, headquartered on Kepler 62f. Fortunately, their financial division is located on Earth, which made manipulating their system easier.’

  ‘So, you snuck in and are ready to transfer funds into an account owned by Ms Voss?’

  Pam nodded. ‘I’ve created an entire false trail of field survey requisition reports over the last eighteen months by a dummy corporation in Cooper and Dwerry’s name.’

  ‘How do you know Dwerry is involved?’

  ‘A hunch.’

  ‘A hunch? You have those?’

  She ignored my question. ‘Voss is the originator of the service request. Payments go to an account in a Singapore bank created in that company’s name.’

  ‘What did you name his company?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Triumvirate Research and Operational Logistics, Ltd.’

  I pondered the oddness of Pam’s false company name and then it hit me. ‘Wait, TROLL?’

  She nodded. I laughed.

  ‘All things considered, sir, it seemed appropriate.’

  ‘Genius, Pam. Sheer genius. And let me guess, from this Singapore bank account, the money is siphoned into accounts owned by Cooper and Dwerry?’

  ‘And Ms Voss.’

  ‘What’s left then? Break into their network and get ready to dump this on their system?’

  ‘I completed that task as well.’

  I nearly fell off her desk. ‘You did all of this while I was asleep?’

  ‘Though I am not the latest synthetic model, I can do more than answer phones and type reports.’

  My mind raced through the plan. It was a good one, that’s for sure. ‘Sounds like you’ve thought of everyth—’ The ring of the phone cut me off. Pam answered.

  ‘It’s Mr Porter.’

  ‘Put him on speaker.’

  I barely got ‘hello’ out before my client launched into a panic-filled diatribe. As soon as I explained to him we had a strategy in place – and that it was ready to go – he went quiet. Not unlike when Pam had taken the wind out of my sails a few minutes ago.

  ‘I’ll swing by your office later today,’ I told him.

  ‘Very good then.’ Uncertainty dripped from his tone but he hung up all the same.

  I looked back at Pam. ‘So, I go over to Cooper and Dwerry’s, bash the living hell out of them. While I’m doing that, you dump the embezzlement racket on their system.’

  ‘Violence seems unnecessary to me. Can’t we just execute my scheme and notify the police? Your direct involvement will drag us into any investigation that follows.’

  ‘We could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides they can’t undo any of our handiwork if they’re unconscious. And, if – or when – we get caught in the investigation, you better make sure it can’t be traced back to us. You are that good, aren’t you, Pam?’

  She answered with a look of sheer venom. ‘I am very good at what I do,’ she replied in an injured tone. It was hard to believe she wasn’t an actual human.

  I slipped off her desk with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.

  This should be fun.

  Before I left the office, I grabbed two pairs of handcuffs, which I happened to possess legally; as well as a military grade stun gun, which I illegally possessed. The NEEDLE fired a single projectile in your choice of a neurological inhibitor for us fleshies or an EMP round that could take down your average robot.

  I stuffed the bracelets and the gun, an extra tranquilliser round and a pair of leather gloves into a satchel, grabbed the laptop and
went to chat with my office assistant one last time.

  I slid the earpiece linked to my MAX into my ear. ‘Once I have Cooper and Dwerry down, I’ll give you the signal.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Are you going straight there?’

  ‘Not straight there, no. I thought it best to go home and change into something more appropriate.’

  ‘Appropriate for what?’

  ‘A pizza delivery guy.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir, but I do not understand.’

  ‘A disguise, Pam. I’ll go to their building masquerading as a pizza delivery guy.’

  ‘But you have no pizza.’

  ‘I’ll pick one up on the way.’

  ‘Naturally, ahem, I – I should have assumed that.’

  I walked out of my apartment building dressed like every guy who’d ever brought a pizza to my doorstep: jeans, T-shirt and a pair of generic loafers. I secured the stun gun in a shoulder holster and wore a khaki fatigue jacket to cover it.

  On my way to the nearest subway station, I scrolled through Res 3’s pizzeria choices and found one near Cooper’s address. I ordered a basic ham and mushroom pie over the phone before descending into the bowels of the city’s Underground network. One line-change and 15 minutes later, I paid for the pizza and hoofed it towards Berkshire Street.

  The food smelled delicious and it got my stomach growling before I reached the end of the block. I figured I might as well stop for a minute to have a slice or two. It was nothing more than a prop after all. No reason to waste a perfectly good pizza. In the few seconds it took me to grab a wedge of cheesy goodness and lift it to my mouth, a man in a flat cap, black bomber jacket and aviators appeared on the other side of street and down the block from me.

  I froze. With the pizza so close to my mouth, I couldn’t resist taking a bite and tried to play it off as cool. I snuck a couple of peeks as I wolfed down the slice. It might have been the same guy who had tailed me, or it might not. No way to be certain at that distance. I could walk his way, maybe even break out into a sprint. However, with the head start he’d have, I doubted I could catch him.