by James Swain
49
Long Island was one hundred and forty miles in length. The distance from the city to the Shoreham nuclear plant was half that length, and took ninety minutes to reach without traffic. Or, you could take a helicopter, as Garrison chose to do, and land on the lawn in just forty minutes. Garrison exited the chopper wearing a navy windbreaker with the letters FBI stenciled prominently across the back. A Suffolk county homicide detective ran out to greet him.
“Any reporters snooping around?” Garrison shouted over the engine.
“There’s a pack of them on the other side of the building, including a team from CNN,” the detective shouted back. “The story hit the wires thirty minutes ago.”
“Can you keep them contained? I don’t want them photographing us.”
“Not a problem,” the detective said.
Garrison cupped his hand over his mouth. “Coast is clear. You can come out.”
Peter climbed out of the backseat of the chopper. Garrison had asked him to come to see if he could determine if Dr. Carr was their attacker. Peter didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, but felt compelled to help, no matter where it took him. To protect his identity, he wore a baseball cap, Ray-Bans, and an identical windbreaker.
“Lead the way,” Garrison said.
The detective escorted them inside the plant. It was the size of a large warehouse, and had tiled floors that magnified the sound of their footsteps. During the flight, Garrison had explained to Peter how Carr had shot a co-worker to death an hour ago, and that Carr had been acting suspiciously for quite some time. It sounded as if Carr had lost his mind. Worse, Carr was a physicist, and had access to a variety of dangerous materials.
They entered the lab. Desks and computers took up most of the space. A team of CSI techs were searching Carr’s equipment. Garrison pulled aside the tech in charge, a moustachioed man named Tricarico. Tricarico was sweating, and appeared to know the danger Carr posed.
“FBI,” Garrison said, flashing his badge. “Show me what you got.”
Tricarico pointed at a table covered in plastic evidence bags. “Carr’s garbage can had plenty of good information in it. We found a map of Manhattan with a bull’s-eye painted on Broome Street, near the heart of the financial district. A coworker said Carr has been acting weird lately. This morning, Carr came to work with a child’s knapsack, which he put into the refrigerator, and asked everyone not to touch.”
“Is there nuclear material stored here?” Garrison asked.
“Yes, there is,” Tricarico replied. “They keep the generators operational. From what one of the physicists told me, you can never really shut one of these babies down. I guess there’s always some residue of nuclear power left.”
“What’s Carr’s motive?”
“Carr lost his wife and daughter after a drunk teenager hit them one Saturday night,” Tricarico said. “Seems the kid’s lawyer conned the judge into putting him on probation. Carr was dragged out of the courtroom, vowing revenge.”
“On who?”
“The system. Today’s the two-year anniversary of the accident.”
“Show me his desk.”
Carr’s desk was in the corner, covered in framed photos of his family in happier times. He’d left his laptop. It was powered up, the screen saver showing a picturesque shot of Long Island Sound at dusk. Garrison touched the keyboard, bringing the screen to life. He dragged the mouse over the Favorites tab below the browser, and clicked on it. The tab scrolled down to reveal the different Web sites that Carr liked to visit. The site at the top of the list said RDD. Garrison clicked on it. A drawing of a homemade bomb filled the screen.
“For the love of Christ,” the FBI agent said.
Garrison ripped out his cell phone. Unable to get reception, he hurried out of the lab. Tricarico crossed the room and spoke in a hushed voice to the other techs.
Peter had never heard of an RDD before, and studied the picture on the screen. It had six sticks of dynamite wrapped together along with a crude timing device. He read the accompanying text. An RDD, also called a dirty bomb, was a powerful explosive used to disperse radioactive material on densely populated areas. Although the dispersal of radiation wouldn’t kill many people, it would cause a huge public disruption, and destroy the economy and living conditions in the contaminated area, with radioactive dust spreading on people, buildings, and roads. Life in the contaminated area would cease to exist as we know it.
He thought back to the Friday night séance. Whatever had caused all those people to perish in Times Square hadn’t been radioactive material. They had died too quickly for it to have been that. Something else was going on here.
His eyes fell on the photos of Carr’s wife and daughter, both of whom were strikingly beautiful. They’d been gone two years. Had Carr been plotting his revenge all that time? Something told him that the demented physicist had, and this was all a trick.
He ran out of the lab.
* * *
Garrison was on the lawn, talking on his cell phone. During the chopper ride in, Garrison had stationed teams of FBI agents at the entrances to all the bridges, tunnels, and railroad stations into the city. Garrison was now alerting those teams to the deadly package that Carr was carrying. Peter grabbed the FBI agent’s arm, causing him to jump.
“Don’t do that!” Garrison said.
“Sorry. You need to hear this.”
“You found something?”
“I sure did.”
“Hold on.” Garrison placed the phone against his chest. “Lay it on me.”
“Dr. Carr is trying to trick us. He purposely left those clues around his desk, and even left his laptop on. Whatever’s inside his knapsack is not a dirty bomb.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I saw the attack, remember? People were dying on the spot. According to what that Web site said, a dirty bomb isn’t capable of doing that.”
“Then what’s inside the knapsack?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s evidence inside the plant. He made the bomb here.”
Garrison shot him an exasperated look. He wanted Peter to be wrong, but deep down, he knew that Peter was right. They went back inside, and Garrison cornered Tricarico in the lab.
“Did Carr have another work area inside the plant?” Garrison asked.
“Carr kept a desk where the generators are kept,” Tricarico replied.
“I need you to take us there.”
It took a minute for Tricarico to get them through the security checkpoints leading to the plant’s powerful generators. As Peter moved deeper into the plant, he found himself thinking about Carr. The doctor’s descent into madness had begun with the loss of his family, a feeling he knew all too well. There was no excuse for the path Carr had chosen, yet he still understood it.
A domed area housed the massive generators. The machinery was monolithic, and looked like props from an old science fiction movie. Carr’s desk contained more family photos. On it sat another computer, this one a PC. Garrison sat down in front of the PC, and attempted to gain access. A red security warning flashed across the screen, stopping him.
“Damn. All the files are encrypted,” the FBI agent said.
“Can’t you break the code?” Peter asked.
“Not these. The files are encrypted with the TrueCrypt program, and use an algorithm at the AES 256 level. It’s the same algorithm the government uses to keep its top-secret computers secure. Nobody can break it except the National Security Agency.”
“Can’t you call them?” Peter asked.
“It’s not the kind of information they’re going to give me over the phone.”
Garrison shook his head gravely. He was beaten, and didn’t have another plan.
“You guys need me for anything else?” Tricarico asked.
Garrison said no. Tricarico left the room. When he was gone, Peter said, “My turn.”
“Don’t tell me your psychic powers work with computers
as well?” Garrison asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Peter said.
Garrison gave up his chair. Peter sat down at the computer, and stared at the gibberish on the screen. He was no genius when it came to technology, but he didn’t have to be. Picking up the phone on the desk, he hit a button for an outside line, and punched in a ten-digit number.
“You’re calling that hacker who works for you,” Garrison said.
“I sure am.”
“You can’t be serious. No one can bust the AES 256 level.”
“Don’t tell Snoop that. He’s done it before.”
“What? I knew I should have busted that guy when I had the chance. He’s a threat to national security,” Garrison said.
Peter covered the phone’s mouthpiece, and shot Garrison a wicked look. “Snoop is part of our deal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can’t arrest him, no matter how many laws he breaks.”
“Your friend’s a public menace.”
“Yes, he is. Now nod your head, and agree.”
Garrison scowled, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Peter heard Snoop’s ever-cheerful voice say, “Hey, Peter, what’s shaking?”
“Stop whatever you’re doing,” Peter said. “I’ve got a job for you.”
50
The AES 256 level algorithm was more important to national security than Peter could have ever imagined. According to Snoop, the complicated encryption device was used to protect the Pentagon, the CIA, and the National Security Agency, as well as the computers of every major bank and financial institution on Wall Street. The keeper of secrets, AES 256 was considered impenetrable.
“Ready when you are,” Peter said to the intercom.
“Let me explain a few things,” Snoop said. “Any password can be cracked if you give a hacker enough time. The software I use will run through all possible permutations of numbers and letters given the password’s size. If the password has five characters, no sweat. Six, and I’ll need more time, because there are two billion possibilities. Seven, and it jumps to seventy-eight billion possibilities. Any larger, and we’ll be here all night. Make sense?”
“Loud and clear,” Garrison said.
“How can you know the size of the password before you start?” Peter asked.
“Magic,” Snoop said.
“Come on, be serious.”
“It’s actually pretty straightforward,” his assistant explained. “A password must be easy to remember if it’s used every day. Is the computer you’re trying to hack being used often?”
“We think so,” Peter said.
“Good. Then the password won’t be complicated. I’ll need information about the person using the computer. Name, date of birth, phone numbers, that sort of thing. Most passwords consist of familiar letters and numbers. Is that information available?”
“I’ll go check,” Garrison said.
The FBI agent beat a path to the door. Valuable time was slipping away, and Peter felt a growing sense of panic. Sometimes, it was murder to know the future.
“Is Papa Bear gone?” came Snoop’s voice out of the box.
“He’s gone,” Peter said. “What’s up?”
“Have you talked to Liza in the past couple of hours?”
No, he hadn’t. Peter shut his eyes, fearing the worst. “Is something wrong?”
“She called me earlier, asked if she could rent Zack’s space from me,” Snoop said. “Are you guys Splitsville again? I thought you were getting things worked out.”
“I don’t want to be talking about this,” Peter said.
“I’m in the middle of this, Peter,” Snoop said. “I work for you, and your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend wants to live in my place. That puts me in a delicate situation, as they say.”
“Yes, we’re Splitsville. I’ve been holding back on her about some things in my life.”
Snoop let out a whistle that sounded like a bomb falling through space.
“Spare me the sound effects,” Peter said.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Snoop said, his tone mildly scolding. “You should have confided in her from the start. It’s what women want from us.”
“I realize that. If there was any way to undo it, I would.”
“You really hurt her.”
“You’re really cheering me up, you know that?”
“I’m sorry, man. Somebody had to tell you.”
Peter stared at the screen of Carr’s computer. Talking to Snoop about his personal life was torture, and he wanted the conversation to end.
“You can’t run away from this forever,” Snoop said.
“Who said I was running away?”
“It’s what you do when you don’t like how things turn out in your personal life. You run away, instead of facing reality.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil. Next caller, please.”
“You’re my best friend. I just want to see you happy. Okay?”
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay.”
Garrison returned with a copy of Carr’s personnel file, which he began to read into the intercom. “Here’s the information you asked for. Doctor Lucas Carr. Age fifty-six. Height, five-foot-nine. Weight, one hundred and sixty pounds. Home phone number—”
“Hold on a second,” Snoop said. “What kind of doctor is he?”
“He’s a nuclear physicist at the Shoreham plant on Long Island.”
“Holy crap! Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place,” Snoop said. “If he’s working with classified information, the government requires him to encrypt his files with a password that’s a minimum of twenty characters. We could be here all week.”
Garrison tossed the file on the desk in disgust. “That wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.”
The intercom went silent. Peter could almost hear Snoop thinking.
“Has Carr been in trouble recently?” his assistant asked.
“He’s been acting weird,” Garrison said. “Lost his family. Why?”
“Did the people who supervise him notice?”
Garrison retrieved the file, and looked through Carr’s records. “Matter of fact, they did. His supervisor noted Carr’s erratic behavior on three separate occasions in the past year.”
“Bingo! He’s got a key-logger!” Snoop said triumphantly.
“How do you know he’s got a key-logger?” Garrison asked.
“Because all government employees handling classified information who display erratic behavior in the workplace have key-loggers put on their computers without their knowledge.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read it on a government Web site that I hacked.”
“I pray to God you’re right.” Garrison got on his knees, and crawled beneath the desk. “Well, I’ll be damned, there’s a key-logger plugged into the power cord.” He came out holding a device the size of a pack of cigarettes with wires attached to it. “I need another computer to look at this. I’ll be right back.”
Garrison did another sprint to the door. Peter checked his watch. They were creeping toward nightfall. Simple logic told him that it would be harder to catch Carr when the sun went down. That gave them only a few hours to find him. That was one scenario. The other was that they wouldn’t find him, and whatever he was carrying in his knapsack would be unleashed.
“I need you to do me a favor,” he said to Snoop. “Find Liza, and tell her to stay inside. Same for you. You don’t want to be outside right now.”
“Liza is at the theater. I was just heading there. What about tonight’s show?”
“Cancel it.”
Garrison returned to the room. In his hand was a pad of paper containing the password to Carr’s computer that he’d lifted off the key-logger. He typed the password into the computer. On the screen appeared a page of complicated chemical equations. There was also a photo of a vaned spherical device the size of a bowling ball. Garrison let out an exasperated breath.
�
�We need to evacuate the building,” he said.
“Later,” came Snoop’s voice over the intercom.
They ran down the hallway to the lab where the CSI techs were gathering evidence. Garrison made the techs strip down to their shorts, and ushered them outside, where he found a garden hose, and proceeded to spray them down. The techs knew the drill, and did not protest. When Garrison was finished, the techs went to their van, and put on spare uniforms.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Peter said.
“The strange-looking thing you saw on Carr’s computer is called a bomblet, and is used to unleash biological weapons.” Garrison ripped out his cell phone, and began punching in numbers. “Our government stopped making them in the seventies, but there are some still around. When the bomblet is dropped, its outer shell shatters, and the agent is sprayed out of the top.”
“What kind of agent?”
“Based on what I saw on Carr’s computer, I’d say it was Novichok, the most deadly nerve agent ever made. Exposure to Novichok will cause the involuntary contraction of every muscle in your body. That leads to cardiac arrest and immediate death. If Novichok is released into the atmosphere, tens of thousands of people will die. That’s what you saw during your séance.”
Garrison started talking into his cell. His eyes were filled with dread. This was it, Peter thought. If they didn’t figure out a way to stop Carr, the game was over. He looked helplessly at the sky, as if the answer were hidden in the clouds. A flock of birds passed overhead, and it made him think of Holly, and the power she had over the crows. It gave him an idea, and he stepped away from the FBI agent, and called her. Holly picked up on the first ring.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At my aunt’s apartment,” Holly said. “The doctor let her come home this afternoon. Max is making his famous chicken noodle soup to cheer her up.”
The Dakota was thirty blocks from Times Square. The apartment would be infected if Carr detonated his bomb. What had Nemo called it the other day? A hell storm. And his three closest friends were about to be caught up in it.
“I have some bad news,” he said, hearing the fear in his voice. “The attack I saw during our séance is about to take place. A madman is going to release a biological weapon. He’s on his way into the city right now. I don’t know if the police can stop him.”