Coding Isis

by David Roys

  Wyn walked across the street and when he got just outside the building, he turned to Chris and gave a thumbs up and a big grin.

  So much for the subtle approach, thought Chris. Wyn entered through the sliding glass doors and when they closed he was completely out of sight—the glass in the doors were tinted making it impossible for Chris to see through.

  Chris waited a while and then put on his headset; he realized how stupid he was. If Wyn had been wearing the glasses, they could have recorded everything he saw and heard. There was nothing he could do about it now. He decided to use the time to do something constructive, something he had been meaning to do for a while.

  He accessed his playback of Jasmine’s activities and spun it back a couple of weeks. He started to watch the playback looking for anything that might tell him why Jasmine had started hacking this company in the first place. There was a lot of work activity that he fast-forwarded through. Chris thought that maybe this was a waste of time after all and was about to stop when he noticed something familiar. He stopped the playback and backtracked a little, then resumed the playback at normal speed. Jasmine appeared to be reviewing the firewall logs, just as Chris had done the night before. Was she looking to see if her hacking activity was being traced? He watched some more. Instead she seemed to be investigating attempted access, she skipped through the logs showing hundreds upon hundreds of attempts to break through the firewall and then she slowed and saw that someone had broken through. She traced through the activity of the hacker and found that they were searching through directories of source code that was used to build their project. Then, he could see from the record of activity that they had proceeded to copy all of the code. They were stealing his code; they were stealing Jasmine’s code. So that’s what she was doing. She was trying to find out who had been hacking them. She had decided to turn the tables on the hackers and try to gather proof that their programs had been stolen.

  Chris sat back in the chair and removed the headset. Suddenly it all started to make sense. Jasmine was not stealing work, she was trying to protect it. He guessed that the program she had run on the hacker’s site was some method of finding out if the hacker was using her programming code. The code she had just written. Then it hit him. The idea had always been there in his mind, lurking in the background, but now it came forward and was clear and focused. Jasmine had written her Easter Egg code so she could hopefully prove that someone had stolen her facial recognition algorithms. She must have uploaded an image of herself to see if the result was her pink love hearts image. Chris laughed and thought how clever she was.

  Chris wondered whether he should watch some TV, or maybe call Michelle. Where was Wyn? He’d been inside over half an hour. How long should he give him? He had no doubts that Wyn could look after himself, but why did he feel something was going wrong? He decided to take a look around the building. He locked the car and walked across the road, keeping an eye on the glass doors but being careful not to stare. He avoided the entrance and headed to the side of the building. There were cars in the car park, but no windows he could look through. There was no sign of activity. At the side there was a series of loading bays that made the building look like some sort of distribution center, but all the doors were closed and there were no trucks. The fencing around the building looked ordinary. Just menacing enough to keep opportunist thieves and vandals away but not serious enough to keep a determined raider out. Chris thought that a pair of ladders and a thick blanket was all that would be needed to get past this defense. He continued his walk around the building and still it was deserted. Eventually he reached the front again and there was no sign of Wyn. He wasn’t in the car and the glass doors to the building were still closed. Chris would need to go inside, but first he put his glasses on and started recording what he was seeing. He really hoped he wouldn’t need his “black box” recording but thought if he was walking in to trouble it would be good to leave some evidence behind. Before he entered the building he made a statement for the recording.

  ‘My name is Chris Sanders and I’m investigating the death of Jasmine Allan. I’ve managed to trace some computer-related criminal activity to this location, and I’m about to enter an office facility on 451 North George Mason Drive.’ He felt an idiot.

  Chris stopped his narrative and decided to go in. He walked to the doors and the large tinted glass slid open. He stood for a couple of seconds, just staring. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Ben looked at his list of names and locations. If there really was a link between these killings, then this case would be taken by the FBI as it spanned multiple states and was possibly the work of a serial killer. He would have to get some more facts before bumping this one up the chain. He’d worked with special agents on a number of cases and had gotten on with them well and found them extremely professional and courteous. In truth he was a little jealous of their manpower and technology.

  He found the numbers for the investigating detective for each of the cases and started with the murder in LA. The phone rang three times before being answered by a gruff male voice.

  ‘Detective Whitmore.’

  ‘Hello Detective, my name’s Detective Ben Naylor, I work at Metro PD. I’m calling because you were the investigating officer for the murder of Robert Sereno in July 2009.’

  ‘We get a lot of murders here Detective, what can I do to help you?’ He sounded like he was short of time and didn’t want to be wasting it talking to some guy from D.C. Ben tried to make it as brief as possible.

  ‘I think there may be some connection between that case and a case I’m investigating.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘According to your case report, Robert Sereno was killed by a single gunshot wound to the head. Eyewitnesses reported seeing no shooter and no one fled the scene. Forensics found a steel .50 caliber round. That’s quite an unusual round don’t you think?’

  ‘I remember that case now. We thought we had a sniper on our hands, like that crackpot you had in D.C. that was taking potshots at commuters on the beltway. We didn’t find anything to support it. We searched rooftops and vacant offices of the surrounding buildings that had line of site. We found no cartridges and no one reported suspicious activities of any kind. We drew a big fat blank. So what have you got?’

  Ben could hear the interest in Whitmore’s voice. There wasn’t a detective in the world that could resist new information that might help them get a break on an old case. It was the nature of being a detective and Ben suspected they were born with it.

  ‘I have a murder of a girl called Jasmine Allan, a research assistant at GWU, single, Hispanic, late twenties. She went for a run in Rock Creek Park, generally a safe part of town, and was shot. Single wound to the front of her head just above the hair line. The bullet passed straight through and was eventually found by CSI. Guess what they found?’

  ‘A .50 caliber steel slug?’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘And you’re sure it’s the one?’

  ‘DNA match to the girl, minute traces of blood and tissue.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘What can you tell me about your victim?’

  ‘Hold on, while I get my file.’

  Ben heard the phone receiver clunk down on to the desk and what sounded like a chair being pushed around and filing cabinet drawers opening and slamming shut. After a minute or so, Detective Whitmore came back on the line.

  ‘Let me see,’ he said. ‘There’s not a lot here. The vic was clean, no record, not carrying any drugs or anything unusual. He was a young professional, worked in insurance. Didn’t have many friends outside of work and no one seemed really close to him. People thought he was maybe Muslim, but he wasn’t one of those fanatics, kept himself to himself and by all accounts didn’t even go to the Mosque. Drank alcohol, ate cheeseburgers. Seemed like a regular American guy.’

  Ben scribbled notes as he listened.

  ‘Does that help you?’ asked Whitmore.
<
br />   ‘Not really. Can you send over a copy of your files?’

  ‘Sure, for what good it will do you. I’ll get them copied and sent over. Good luck Detective.’

  Ben hung up and went over to the coffee pot. It was empty. Maybe he should go out for coffee. He could meet up with Margot again. He realized he was thinking about her way too much. He should probably give her a call. Later.

  He put fresh grounds in the pot and filled it with water. He set it going and then he went back to his desk to look at the next name on his list.

  The next victim was a woman named Taryn Krist who appeared to be of Russian descent, according to her file. The investigating detective did not have much in addition to what he already knew. Well, nothing that seemed relevant that is. Reports suggested that she may have been working as a high-class call girl, but there was no real evidence, only gossip from her landlady and some other tenants in her apartment block. Apparently she’d been quite a looker before someone had shot her in the face. She’d survived for nearly two days but had never gained consciousness. Ben had asked for her details to be sent through, just as before.

  During his phone call, Ben had watched a steady stream of colleagues walk up to the coffee pot and fill their cups. As soon as he’d finished on the phone, he made sure he got himself some before it ran out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d make the coffee and then not even gotten one. He sat back down at his desk and stared at his scribbled notes. So far the victims seemed to have nothing in common, other than leading fairly normal lives and having no close relatives or friends. None of them had a criminal record of any kind, not even parking violations.

  He dialed the number for a Detective Kavanagh, LVPD and sipped his coffee as he waited for the phone to pick up.

  ‘David Kavanagh.’

  ‘Detective Kavanagh, this is Detective Naylor from DCPD, I hope I’ve caught you at a good time?’

  ‘I’m up to my ass in paperwork and I can’t remember what a good time feels like. What can I do for you Detective?’

  Ben explained about the possible connection between the visiting Frenchman and Jasmine Allan.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Kavanagh, ‘I remember that. The French sent over one of their detectives. Grumpy little bastard as far as I recall. Our visitor, Antoine Joubert, was a French citizen but Algerian by birth, the French detective called him a Pied-Noir, whatever the hell that is. We figured he must have changed his name to help him sound more French. He was a regular visitor to the US, apparently a sales executive for a company that exports diamonds.’

  ‘Diamonds?’ said Ben. ‘I didn’t think they exported diamonds from France.’

  ‘I know. I was shocked too, so I looked it up. Apparently it’s one of their fastest growing exports. Our friend was a regular visitor here, this was his fourth trip in two months, but, get this, we found over a quarter of a million in diamond samples in his hotel room safe. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Nothing surprises me anymore,’ said Naylor. ‘So have you got any leads?’

  ‘Nothing. The people that did business with Monsieur Joubert said he was pleasant and a good salesman. He was well known for taking buyers out and showing them a good time. You know, bars, strippers, that sort of thing. He’d been shot on his hotel balcony in the middle of the night. The maid found him the next day, he was naked and had his cell phone with him. We figured he’d been making a call. We checked the hotel surveillance tapes and he’d been alone. He was on the twentieth floor and there are only two buildings taller than that in the surrounding area.’

  ‘I thought he was on vacation?’

  ‘He was, according to immigration. Here to enjoy Vegas.’

  ‘So what’s with the samples?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe he was doing a little business on the side? The French detective didn’t think there was anything unusual. He was in good standing with the French, no record, a good businessman. The company he worked for had named him salesman of the year for two years straight.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a copy of your files, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Sure thing, I’ll get them sent over. Do you think there’s a connection here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘But I sure intend to find out.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Chris looked at the large reception desk and saw Wyn leaning against it. He was chatting up the receptionist. Chris walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Is everything OK here?’ he said. ‘I was getting a little worried.’

  Wyn turned and gave a big grin. ‘Chris mate, I’d like you to meet Shelley. She’s a Capricorn and she’s a sucker for a Welsh accent would you believe?’ He winked at Chris. ‘By the way, I like your glasses.’

  ‘Did you get what you were after? I’d quite like to get back if we can.’

  The receptionist looked disappointed and she took a page from the top of the pad and wrote her name and number. She passed it to Wyn.

  ‘Call me. I get off at six,’ she said.

  ‘Sure thing,’ said Wyn. He turned to Chris. ‘Come on Mother,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  They both turned and walked towards the glass doors. Chris made a mental note to speak to Wyn about operational protocol. When you went on a mission, you didn’t get sidetracked to chat up a pretty girl. Wyn did not appear to be taking this seriously, which was hardly surprising now he thought about it. As they got to the glass doors they slowed their pace but the doors did not open. Chris turned to see if there was some button to press to open the doors and noticed a side door open. Three men came through, two of them were very big men and one had a face he recognized.

  ‘Hello Chris,’ said Joshua. ‘I see you’ve managed to track me down.’

  The two large men walked so that they were either side of Chris and Wyn.

  ‘I think it’s time we had a little chat. Cleared the air as it were,’ said Joshua. ‘You can bring your friend if you like.’

  Chris turned to Wyn. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I know him. As a matter of fact, I work for him.’

  Wyn seemed to relax a little and shifted his stance. Chris nodded towards Joshua. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do. What the hell is this place?’

  ‘Not here Chris,’ said Joshua. ‘Follow me.’

  Joshua turned and went back through the side door and the two goons were clearly waiting for Chris and Wyn to follow before they moved. Chris went after Joshua through the door and Wyn turned to the receptionist and blew her a kiss before going through the door.

  The corridor was long with many offices leading off it. The walls and the office doors were made of frosted glass but Chris could see that there were people, maybe two or three in each room. He also saw the glow of computer screens in every office they passed. Eventually the corridor opened out into another lobby area that had elevators. From what Chris had seen from his outside surveillance, this was a two story building and hardly warranted the four elevators that were in the spacious area. Joshua walked up to the elevator doors and they opened for him.

  ‘Basement six,’ he said.

  The elevator dropped at an alarming rate and Chris could not help but reach for the railing.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Joshua, ‘this place wouldn’t exist were it not for you?’

  ‘Is that why you’ve been hacking my computers?’ said Chris.

  Joshua smiled. ‘I seem to think those computers belong to me, but I’m pleased you’re so passionate about your work. Oh and you can take those glasses off now Chris, you’ll find that the walls of this facility are completely impervious to radio waves so the data your headset is transmitting is going nowhere.’

  Chris removed the glasses and placed them in his jacket pocket. The elevator slowed and Chris felt his internal organs shift down in his body as he was rapidly decelerated by the braking mechanism. It felt funny, but he liked the feeling. He wondered how many hundreds of feet below ground they now were.

  They left t
he elevator and walked down another corridor to yet another office. Joshua turned to his two colleagues.

  ‘Thank you gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’ll be needing your services now.’

  Without a word, they left Joshua and continued down the corridor. Chris and Wyn followed Joshua into the office, it was a reasonable size, with no windows. There was a large desk with a black leather chair and two black leather sofas set either side of a low coffee table. Chris was impressed to see a coffee pot and cups laid out for them.

  ‘Would either of you like a drink?’ Joshua asked as he poured himself a coffee.

  ‘Have you got any beer?’ asked Wyn.

  Joshua smiled. ‘Ah, Mr. Spicer, what a breath of fresh air you are. Would you like pale ale, stout, or maybe some red ale?’

  ‘A pint of Guinness would go down nice right now.’

  Joshua walked to a large fridge at the side of the office and took out a can and handed it to Wyn. He then passed over a pint glass. ‘And what can I get you Chris?’

  ‘Coffee’s fine,’ said Chris. ‘So are you going to tell me what this place is?’

  Joshua stirred some cream into his coffee and slowly tinked the spoon on the edge of his cup before setting it down on his saucer.

  ‘What do you know about law enforcement in the USA Chris?’

  ‘More than I’d like to after the events of the last few weeks.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Joshua. ‘I’m not talking about the police, although they do a fine job. I’m talking about the various agencies that make up the Department of Justice, Defense, and the intelligence agencies. The FBI, the US Marshalls, the NSA, the CIA.’

  Chris said nothing but waited for Joshua to get to his point. Wyn took a long drink and then held up his glass so that he could study the liquid inside in an approving manner.

  ‘There are so many agencies responsible for the various aspects of homeland security that it is hardly surprising that on September 11th 2001 we were caught with our pants down. Have things improved since that day? The new measures introduced by the Bush administration gave the law enforcement agencies greater powers to detain and question terrorist suspects but it didn’t take long before the human rights lobbyists cried foul. Our interagency communication has improved since those days but it’s still far from perfect. There is still too much separation between those who gather intelligence and those who have the ability to act.’