“Annie Oakley” masked our every move and we were just another computer, out of thousands, bouncing off their servers. Alex provided another source of security by masking our computer’s address to various cities around the world, from Prague to Amsterdam to Seattle.
At this point we had been without sleep for over 24 hours, living off of coffee, highly caffeinated energy drinks, and items with large amounts of high fructose corn syrup.
The mean little virus program we had installed on the Genesis computer system, the “Annie Oakley”, sprung to life and unraveled itself like a giant hydra monster. Galveston and I didn’t understand how it all worked; we just knew it did work. We again took technology for granted, like so many others. We never asked Alex what his true snooping capabilities were and figured it was better to leave that alone.
We could now use Dart’s internal username and password to access the more secure areas of the Genesis system, which contained the Adamanthea plans.
Dart McLeod had two usernames and passwords. One was for a general login to the system, a simple one that consisted of, DMcLeod and Ferrari442. Galveston joked this was obviously a little gift he planned to get for himself.
The internal username and password to the secure area would have been impossible to break without the keylogger and had a complex password. Alex typed it in slowly, careful not to make a mistake. It read, Dart_McLeod_RD, and the password was, 877x4vst*779j-31st5.
“Well that would have been easy to crack,” Alex said sarcastically as he finished typing the string of characters. Alex informed us that, “figuring out the string would have been like trying to pass a watermelon through a garden hose.” The encryption of the password was accomplished by a 64 bit Blowfish cryptographic block cipher. This was the fancy way of saying, tough security.
Alex quickly scrolled through the file folders he saw on his computer. This was highly sensitive stuff and consisted of defense contracts and plans. He finally located the Adamanthea file. It was excessively large and would take time to move over. Alex began uploading another nasty little virus that would lay dormant for a while, avoiding detection by anti-virus software, because technically it didn’t exist.
It would tick down after a few hours and release its viral contents like a time release capsule, rendering all the files near it useless and trashed. It was a nasty little bug. We had nicknamed it “Grumpy”, because damn, it had a serious attitude problem. Alex assured us that it would relegate itself only to the files in that area dealing with the Adamanthea project. The last thing we needed was every geek this side of the Mississippi descending on Genesis to “oh” and “ah” over this new threat. After “Grumpy’s” viral belch, it would go dormant again.
This would help mask what we had done. I was secretly feeling sorry for the employees at Genesis that would have to clean this mess up. Somehow noting my trepidation, Galveston said quietly, “They’ll survive. It’s a huge company.”
I knew all that, but it still hung over me. We were damaging work that had nothing to do with our case from behind a computer screen so we could end up making that buck even though I knew they had stolen the plans. I had come from a different world in which I stuck my head in the sand. In the world of academia, the worst people would do was publish or perish. Academics who released junk research on “Danish boys who eat waffles develop elevated blood sugar levels” published in the Journal of Breakfast Dietary Habits, was the worst I had to contend with. Guys and gals doing whatever it took to reach tenure, sit back, teach one class a year, and spend fifteen minutes a week in their office for students, while berating those same students for wasting their time. “I’m tenured, damn it!” they would exclaim.
Galveston by nature was much more cynical and suspecting. He was by all accounts, a realist, having been exposed to the real world of corporations, governments and politics. I too had experienced that governmental bubble of political horse trading, but never truly realized what went on behind closed doors. I had been a policy developer and analyst, buffered from the dog-eat-dog world of those back room dealings.
Up close and personal was how Galveston operated, which often opened him up to the surly underbelly of the cutthroat, greedy people he came in contact with. I was being exposed to the same ugly element and quickly becoming jaded, slowly leaving the optimist in myself behind.
“I’m all done,” yelled Alex, bolting me from my silent bit of retrospection. He had already downloaded the file and waited for “Grumpy” to do its bit. We now had proof of our work. He deleted the original plan from the Genesis server and made some final checks that all the files we needed were copied. The virus would unravel at any second, and those files we had just downloaded onto our own hard drive would soon be useless on the Genesis server, and useless to anyone that tried to retrieve them.
It was almost over. I spied the couch blissfully, and planned to dream of beautiful women feeding me grapes like in so many Roman depictions. Alex and Galveston continued to look calmly, but nervously, at the screen. Galveston sat like a general finishing up a battle. He looked swollen around the eyes, like a puffer fish. I hallucinated that his head began to float from his body, a clear sign we hadn’t had enough sleep. Galveston peered over Alex’s shoulder, letting a yawn give way.
“There it is,” Alex said pointing to the file named Adamanthea 39598253 that now lay on our computer hard drive.
“Can you open it?” Galveston asked.
“Yeah, no problem, but why?” Alex answered and questioned.
“I just want to see what we have, uh, borrowed.”
Alex opened the file, revealing a window with large amounts of text followed by a page of design schematics.
“That’s a lot of stuff. Go ahead and print them if you can,” Galveston ordered, noticing something peculiar.
“You’re the boss.”
The printer whirled up and revealed 20 pages, many of the first pages looking like goobly gook, no inherent pattern or meaning of words. Galveston reached for a few of the fresh pages coming off the printer and looked at them inquisitively.
“Is this coded or something?” he asked and then handed a few of the pages to Alex.
“I’m not sure. It looks like pieces of a data stream, probably a program that was made in-house by the Genesis engineers. If we had more time I could do some snooping, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Alex said tapping on the computer screen.
“I agree with you, go ahead and shut her down.” Galveston continued to study the pieces of paper. “You know, it almost looks like it could be a cipher, you know, code.”
“It’s called cryptology,” I interjected.
“Thanks Mr. Science. Here,” he handed me a few of the sheets. “See what I mean? There seems to be a definite pattern of some sort.”
“I see what you mean,” I said studying the paper. “There is some sort of sequence going on here, but I can’t figure it out. It’s only in the first few pages too, and then it goes back to a bunch of crazy symbols.”
Alex finished exiting out of the Genesis system, and he too set his sights on the papers, studying them closely. Then a smile crossed his face.
“You know what this is?” he asked as if we hadn’t been asking the exact same question. “This is a good old fashioned Trimethius Tableau. If I can remember correctly, it was invented around the Renaissance period. It was an expansion, more or less of the Caesar shift. It uses a matrix of every letter of the alphabet, twenty-six rows and columns and you read down each row to decipher or encrypt the code.”
“You know I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Galveston chided him.
“To put it simply for you, it’s an old cipher, an old way of writing secret code.”
“So this is old?” I asked like a naïve school boy.
“No. It’s just someone didn’t want anybody to read this part of the file, but they also didn’t want to make it too complicated that no one could figure it out. I haven’t seen this since my training at the NSA. Why
are you so interested in this anyways?” Alex asked.
“I’m more interested in the file name, it looks very familiar, Adamanthea 39598253. There is something about that file name, but I just can’t remember.” He slid back in his seat with an air of contention. “I need a stiff drink and a good nap,” Galveston said as Alex began closing the files and exiting out a backdoor in the Genesis system.
I popped open some of our finest bubbly in response to his comment, a two liter bottle of generic cola, poured out three glasses, and added a generous portion of rum to each.
“Three cuba libres,” I announced handing out the glasses like a pompous bartender, a job I had held in my younger days. “Cheers gentlemen.” I held my glass high, waiting for a ceremonial clink from my compatriots.
“I think I’m going to cry,” Alex said dryly.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Galveston retorted.
We clashed our glasses together and downed our drinks like drunken alcoholics. Galveston put his glass down and wiped his mouth.
“I don’t know about you two, but I smell like the stench of death. I’m going to shower, put on my jammies, and hit the hay. You guys can do whatever you want. We’ll find out what damage we did tomorrow.”
We said our respective goodnights, even though it was eight o’clock in the morning, and retired to our respective hovels. Mine a one bedroom apartment, next to a rundown strip mall, and Alex to his four bedroom home near the coast. Alex was doing better financially than what I had figured. It seems he was spending time with us out of boredom and a need for a new challenge.
Galveston stayed at the office, for it moonlighted as his home. He fought the urge and temptation to think about anything further. Instead he chose the better approach, get a good night sleep, finish up this job tomorrow, and then with a fresh mind, plot our next move. He closed the curtains, blocking the available light, and with his curiosity at bay he crawled wearily into bed.
It seemed the Adamanthea project was all wrapped up, but we would learn the file was just the tip of an iceberg.
-Chapter 16-
“Citation four-three-echo cleared to land two-eight right,” the pilot of the Cessna Citation X business jet repeated to air traffic control as they bounced in the clear air.
He pulled the power back slightly and lined up the plane perfectly with the runway centerline, gently caressing the plane to the ground.
The pilots maneuvered the plane to the opposite end of the field and to the front of a large grey hangar. Two black Suburban’s were parked near the hanger door, surrounded by neatly dressed men wearing sport coats. The cabin door of the plane swung open as the engines revved down, and the stairs lowered to the ground. Colonel Espinosa bounded down the stairs carrying the silver case. He was met by one of the men who had been standing in front of the waiting Suburban.
“Everything in place?” the man asked.
“Yes, and no problems. Everything was on schedule. I did what I was instructed,” the Colonel answered and handed the man the case. He looked it over carefully. A small green LED was lit on the case near the latch.
“It all looks good. No tampering and everything is clean. After verification of the contents we’ll transfer payment to you,” the man told the Colonel.
“Yes, of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Here is your ticket. You’re on the 10:15 to Mexico City. It will be up to you to make it back home from there. Please use anonymity. This isn’t something we want going around,” the man instructed the Colonel.
The man pulled out a small matchbook sized device and stuck it in an opening next to the green light. The small light changed to red as it was inserted.
“Good,” the man announced dryly, and without a smile. He motioned with his hand to another man at the Suburban who opened up a laptop on the hood of the SUV. After a few seconds the man waved back.
“Your funds have been transferred and we’re having your bonus being delivered to your home as we speak.”
“Good, good,” the Colonel said while holding the airline ticket. “I won’t ask you how you got it.”
“That probably wouldn’t be a smart idea,” the man snapped back. “Make sure you’re on that plane, and remember, speak of this to no one.”
“Of course, of course. I shut my lips. Pleasure to do business with you,” the Colonel said, but not before the man had already turned and walked away.
The Colonel watched as the man carried the case to the black Suburban, got in, and almost immediately, sped away. Colonel Espinosa flashed a smile on his face, thought of his good luck, and made his way to the airline terminal for his journey home.
-Chapter 17-
Galveston called me at home the next morning, waking me from my wonderful slumber.
“Hey sleepy head, get over here, will ya?” I peered at the time.
“What?” I said groggily rubbing my eyes. “How about after twelve. I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”
“That’s understandable. Get over here within the hour then. Alex is already on his way.”
“Well thanks for taking my needs into account,” I replied sarcastically.
“I did. I was going to tell you to get here immediately, so I figure I’m throwing you a bone,” Galveston replied insensitively.
“You have a heart of gold you know.”
“I know. See you in an hour and bring some food. Bye.”
“Bye,” I said grumpily.
I struggled up from my bed, ironing the kinks out of my body, and prepared myself in the bathroom. I was becoming excited as I readied myself. What was the story going to be, and what damage had we done?
I couldn’t eat, but I obliged my partners and stopped off for donuts and coffee. I arrived at our so called office a little after 9:30 A.M. I was never one for being punctual.
Alex and Galveston were bright eyed and bushy tailed. They were also, clearly, as excited as me, but Galveston exhibited a bit of trepidation for all of us.
“So what’s the story?” I asked hurriedly before I was even in the door.
“What did you bring us? I hope it’s some pigs in a blanket. I love those things,”
Galveston said grabbing the box from me, beginning to open it.
“Donuts? You just got donuts? Mindless calories,” he mumbled, already with half a jelly-filled protruding from his mouth.
“I didn’t know you were so concerned about your health before,” I told him.
“I am now.”
“Okay, you got your food. Now what’s the story?” I pressed.
“First things first, what are we going to get paid?” Galveston inquired to me with glee. I reached for a piece of scrap paper and leaned forward in my seat.
“Well, if all is successful, based on my estimates we may get paid this amount.” I wrote on the piece of paper, folded it and slid it to Galveston on top of the coffee table in front of him. He slowly unfolded it and nervously looked at the figure.
“Here, let me reattach your retinas,” I said to him noticing his surprise.
“Wow. That’s a lot of zeros.” The paper read $30,000. “Are you serious?” He asked me holding the paper.
“Yep, that’s about right. Of course the breakdown will be different based on the distribution,” I told him. We previously had agreed together that 40% would go directly back in the business, and 60% would be split evenly three ways, between each of us. The business got $12,000 and we each received $6,000, all for essentially one week of work.
I had managed to work some contractual magic. I had to apply stipulation after stipulation while forcing myself to be confident in our success. We came in under time, under budget, stayed concealed, and potentially saved Playcom millions of dollars. I leaned back in my chair.
“Not bad, is it?” I said with an air of contention.
“Not bad? If you weren’t a disgusting man, and it wouldn’t give me the feeling of expelling my half digested donut, I’d kiss you,” Galveston retorted
.
“Oh, that’s lovely to hear. What do you think Alex? Do you plan to stick around and see what other high jinks we can get ourselves into?”
“Why not? I think I’m going to kiss you no matter what,” Alex responded with a scary glint in his eye.
I felt a new sense of purpose, one of the great financier. I couldn’t do the jobs of Alex and Galveston nearly as well as they could, but they couldn’t pull off my job. That’s why I was here.
Playcom was willing to pay. The potential losses superseded the measly amount they would pay us. I played on this fact and it succeeded, along with stipulations of increased payment for coming under time.
We all glowed over our new found bounty. Maybe we glowed too much. I propped my feet up on the coffee table.
“Did you figure out what that code was? Not that it matters now, since we’re going to get paid,” I asked Galveston.
“Alright, alright,” Galveston said exhaustively. “You better sit down.”
I grabbed a donut and sat on the couch. Galveston smiled, revealing bits of jelly goo around his mouth.
“That file caught my attention,” Galveston began.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as Alex was pointing at it, I noticed the name and numbers and something just clicked. Where had I seen that before? And then, I remembered.” He held up his finger as he took a sip of coffee.
“You know I worked for Black Bear security right?” He asked us, as if we didn’t know that information.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Well, that file name was so peculiar. I learned during an investigation that Black Bear would name their black ops after Greek, Roman, or Egyptian mythological figures. Sometimes they would use team names corresponding to letters of the phonetic alphabet. Team alpha, bravo, Charlie. They would use these in conjunction with the names of these gods. You know, like, Jupiter Bravo. After this it would be followed by a large group of numbers. I never knew what those numbers meant, but most likely they were some sort of code, I bet. It made it easy for them to list their operations that were secretive in nature.” I twisted in my seat again, my ears perked up, and I scooted forward, anxious to hear more.
Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack Page 6