by Nancy Radke
He shrugged. “Maybe. Money often leads to murder.”
Setting Tag on the wooden deck, she took Ryan’s extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. Still trembling, she followed him inside, wanting him to deny what he had just said.
The phone rang and Angie gripped her hands tightly as he answered it.
“Yes? Oh, sure, I can do that. What does she want? Will do.” He hung up, glanced at an anxious Angie.
“Robyn. She said Mary needs some of her father’s things brought to the hospital— his comb, a photo of her mother— things like that. Come along.”
He grabbed his coat and slung it on, when Angie stopped him. “Don’t you think— ”
“Yes?”
She pointed to his outfit. “You might want to put on different clothes. Socks.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Pulling his hand across his unshaven chin, he nodded and ran up the staircase. Angie sat down on the nearest chair and petted Tag as she waited. She felt empty, disconnected from reality. Things like this didn’t happen in her world. Why were they happening now?
Tag gave a yelp and she realized she had squeezed her too hard. She apologized to the little dog and put her on the floor. The pup lay watching her, ears pricked to catch the sound of her speech, eyes alert, yet at ease.
Ryan reappeared after a time dressed in a long sleeved plaid shirt and gray pants, a heavy jacket. He showed her the gun he carried, in a shoulder holster. It put the final touch on the situation.
They shut Tag in the bathroom, leaving her crying and barking, letting them know she didn’t approve of their abandoning her.
They drove towards Warren’s home, not speaking, but Angie felt comforted just having Ryan next to her. Living at Grandma Miller’s had distanced her from Ryan somewhat and she had felt the loss. Since the first few days in the houseboat, Ryan hadn’t tried to kiss her. Perhaps he was waiting for her to say ‘yes’ after saying ‘no’ on the night the thief came. Should she make the next move?
Not yet. First Mary and her father. Then this tragedy with Patti. Everything needed to wait.
* * *
As Ryan unlocked Warren’s front door, he thought about Warren, and Patti, and how quickly life could end. He opened the door and stepped inside, with Angie close behind. The damp chill of winter vacancy permeated the air with an unsettling presence.
“No need to spend much time here,” he said, looking around the neat house. “Mary wanted her mother’s picture off the mantel and a certain blanket. Robyn thought it might comfort Mary to touch it.”
They walked through to the living room. It was a good-sized house, much larger than one man would need, but then Mary had been living with her father up until a month ago. Warren probably hadn’t considered new living arrangements, since Mary could easily move back in without warning.
Ryan picked up the framed photo from the mantel, then looked around to see if he could spot the blanket Robyn had mentioned. There were geodes and other rock samples in a display case along one wall, geologic quarterlies on the coffee table and a huge map of Mt. Rainier with little flags on it, probably marking rescue sites. Ryan looked closely and found “his” flag— where Warren had rescued Scott and him years ago.
Angie came out of a bedroom holding a tan and blue blanket all threadbare and tattered, the binding completely gone and the pattern unintelligible. “You think this is it?” she asked. “It looks like a rag, but was folded neatly and placed on a small shelf by itself.”
“That’s it. It was her mother’s favorite wrap.”
Angie held it up. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, which is better— a mother who is gone but of whom you have lasting memories, or a mother who is still living but whom you don’t care to remember?”
“I can’t answer that.”
Angie stroked the flimsy piece of cloth gently. “She must’ve been some woman to make Warren and Mary love her so much.”
“I’m sure part of her mystique lay in the way she died— so violently. It etched her forever into their lives.”
Angie looked up at him, her face pensive. “Warren never remarried?”
“No. Mary took all his time. For years she wouldn’t let him out of her sight. See that chair?” He pointed to an old yellow armchair, its stuffing completely gone, thread-worn and completely out of place in the living room. “That belonged to her mother. Warren brought it back from the mid-east after her death, because Mary found comfort in it. He said she would sit for hours there, snuggled up in this blanket. I wonder why they don’t want me to bring the chair to the hospital?”
“They might need it at Robyn’s, after he dies.”
“Yes.” He checked the heat, turned out the lights. “I don’t know how she’ll manage. She can’t spend the rest of her life living with Robyn and Alison. Those two will be married in a few years. They’re at that age.” Going outside, he locked the door.
“Hello.” A tall, red-headed woman had driven up behind Ryan’s car and threw open her door, talking as she thrust out one leg. “Is Warren home?” She reached back for her purse, slid out. In her early forties, she was dressed casually in a soft buckskin coat and slim blue jeans. “I’ve been trying to get him. There’s an auction coming up I think he’d be interested in.”
Angie gasped and clasped her chest. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” The woman’s face paled. “Is Warren hurt?”
Ryan hurried down the walk to her car. “He was shot in a robbery. He’s, uh... at Harborview.”
The woman shrunk back onto the seat, her fingers clutched white on the wheel. Her mouth opened and closed, words formed but not voiced. Her eyes stared, stricken, at Ryan. He could think of nothing to say, and he shook his head at her fearful, questioning gaze.
“He’s dying.”
She broke into tears as Ryan explained. “He’s hung on so far... in a coma. Did you know him well?”
She nodded, moaning, unable to speak.
“It was in all the papers.”
“I’ve been in... LA. I... I didn’t— ” She cried harder, the sobs raking her body.
Angie had followed him, and as Ryan sought for words, she stepped forward. “Do you know his daughter, Mary?” she asked gently.
“Sort of.”
“She’s taking it hard, but we’ve lots of support for her, both friends and doctors. We’re going to the hospital right now, to take Mary some things. Do you want to come with us?”
“No. Not... not right now.”
“Can we get you anything?”
She waved Angie away, still shaking her head in denial, pulled her foot back in and closed the door. She started the motor and glanced back to check for traffic.
Ryan stepped next to the car, tapping rapidly on the window. “You shouldn’t drive; not yet. Why not come with us?”
“I... I can’t.”
Angie stepped up next to him. “How about to a restaurant, or a hotel or somewhere?” she said. “I could drive you.”
“No... I... I just— ”
“Then turn off the motor for a minute. Give yourself time,” Ryan said.
“That’s right,” Angie added. “We’ve had days to get used to this, but I can see it’s been a great shock to you.”
The woman turned the motor off and opened the door. Angie knelt down, putting her arms around her. The redhead broke into heavy weeping and Angie just held her, amazing Ryan with her ability to empathize. He always felt inadequate when trying to tell someone about an injury or death. Yet women— most women— automatically hugged and held each other, able to connect at that moment.
He was glad Angie was with him right now. Her talents— abilities— especially her people skills, were such that they closed the gap of awkwardness for him. Actually, he felt he needed her near him all the time. She had become the sunshine in his day.
If he no longer employed her, would she go her own way? She seemed independent of family and friends, drifting from situation to situation, fitting in whereve
r she found herself. She could easily drift away from him, if he let her.
He had been devastated when Kathleen left. What would happen if... when... Angie drifted away? He could think of no way he could prepare himself for that moment.
His cell phone vibrated. Jim Markum from Anchorage. The MXOIL computers were being hacked into, once again. He was ready to call the hotel to reserve a room for Ryan, then changed it to two rooms when Ryan said he’d bring an assistant.
Ryan hung up. “Are you going to be all right if we leave?” he asked the grieving woman, who seemed to be gaining control of her tears.
She nodded, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “Yes.”
“We can stay a few minutes. What’s your name?”
“Barbara. I’ll wait here a little bit. You say he’s at Harborview? With Mary?”
“Yes. Where do you live? We could take you home— ”
She waved away his questions. “I’ll drive to the hospital. After a while. You go ahead.”
He touched Angie’s shoulder and she stood up.
“We have to go to Anchorage. We’ll drop Warren’s things off on the way to the airport. If we hurry, we may catch the cracker.”
“But it takes four hours to fly up there. Plus the two hour wait at the airport. Won’t we—”
“I’ve priority clearance. I’m like an air marshal when I fly— I fly armed. They’ll have things ready for me when we arrive, even hold a plane if need be. We’ll take the first flight out.”
“What about Tag?”
19
Six PM. Pitch black, except for the city lights spread out like fireflies trapped in a large bowl. As the plane circled to land, Ryan noted that although the surrounding Chugach Mountains were white, the city of Anchorage had no snow on the ground. No snowballs for Angie here.
He had enjoyed their flight up here, talking with her about various topics until Robyn had called with the news that Warren had died. Then they talked quietly about Mary and her future.
He leaned past Angie and pointed to the groups of lights. “That’s Fort Richardson over there, and Elmendorf Air Force Base near the water. Anchorage itself is in that area. The airport is out on the point, you’ll see it as we turn.”
“You must have to fly up often, to know the city so well.”
“Yes, but also, my grandparents lived here for over sixty years, at 12th and R, in a cooperative apartment complex called Safehaven. Robyn and I used to come up and spend summers with them.”
“Are they still alive?”
“No. If they were, I’d take you to meet them. They were wonderful folks, fiercely loyal to Alaska and to America. Alaskan pioneers... sourdoughs. They drove us over most of the state. There aren’t that many main roads.”
He had left his house key at Harborview with Robyn, who promised to drive over and rescue Tag. From the plane he called Scott, giving him his itinerary. Then Angie called Grandma Miller to bring her up-to-date.
Jim Markum met them in the luggage area. Ryan introduced her to the transplanted Texan— thin, wiry, and not much taller than himself. Ryan had talked to Markum from the airplane, letting him know which flight they were on.
“Car’s over yonder,” Jim said, pointing to a spot in the covered parking garage. He spoke without moving his lips, which emphasized the slow pace of his lingering southern accent.
The MXOIL corporate offices took up two square blocks in downtown Anchorage. With Angie beside him, Ryan followed Jim down a long carpeted corridor replete with Alaskan art and up an elevator. Jim led them to a small windowless room, bare except for a couple of swivel chairs and an army cot. A table held a computer and notebook, three empty mugs, and a large pot of hot coffee.
The last time he came, Ryan had set up this room, along with an alarm to alert whoever baby-sat the system. It was all they needed.
Networks were especially vulnerable to hacking. So many users, so many machines, so many ways for someone to enter the system.
Jim motioned around the room. “This time we kept our hands off the files. The outdated password he tried rounded him up and plunked him right here.”
“Perfect.” Ryan laid his laptop on the table, threw his jacket over the back of a chair, then seated himself in front of the computer and went to work. He first checked the log files which kept a record of any activity on the computer. In trying to cover up his intrusion, the cracker had erased his activity, leaving a blank space in the log which revealed the amount of time he had been inside.
He had entered at eight PM and left at five AM. The cracker probably lived on the West Coast— if he kept regular hacker hours, sleeping late and then working until early in the morning. He’d have entered much earlier in the day if he lived in an eastern time zone. Usually.
The cracker had gone to a root account and typed in a command. It would’ve erased all the files in the MXOIL computer system if Ryan hadn’t set up this computer as a “jail” to trap his activity. The command hadn’t worked; Ryan’s program protected against it.
The cracker had shown no regard for the company he was trying to destroy. It was the worst kind of malicious mischief.
“I’m going to take you down,” Ryan muttered. He’d take great joy in doing so, matching wits in the cat and mouse game that’d soon ensue.
Ryan glanced at his clock. Almost eight. Time for the cracker to try again. “Are all your networked computers synchronized?” he asked Jim.
“Yep. Just like you asked. Everything’s on atomic time, so they’ll stay in synch.”
“Good man.” He had been busy in the week Ryan was gone. He had had a lot of computers to change.
“Why is ‘synch’ so important?” Angie asked, removing her coat and putting it across the other chair.
“With the clocks synchronized, we can match the events at different stations on the network. The cracker could be using a string of computers to hide himself. Or...” He paused to watch some new activity picked up by his monitor. It looked like the cracker might be back. He watched longer. No, more like someone misspelled a file name and triggered this computer to pick it up.
“Or...?” Angie prompted, when Ryan looked back at them.
“Or it could be someone right here in MXOIL. We need to see if one computer is being used overtime.”
“Why hack in if they work here?” Angie asked. “Couldn’t they just take what they want?”
“Ryan set up the system with different levels of security,” Jim answered. “I have access to everything. Some people have access only to certain programs or functions.”
“You’re backing everything up, right?” Ryan asked him, wishing he had requested a room with a window. It didn’t matter for himself, but he’d like one for Angie.
Jim nodded. “Right. I’ve assigned a man to monitor the back-up activity, to make sure nothing is tampered with.”
“I’d like to know if this cracker is headed for anything specific. Did he go after your credit card files?”
“Nope.”
“Interesting. What does MXOIL have that a cracker would want to steal?”
“Lots of things. Drilling sites. Places where we’ve discovered oil and are still in the negotiating phase of buying the drilling rights. Business expansion plans. I don’t think our files would be valuable to anyone other than another oil company. But to them it’d be invaluable. Or pipeline information, if he’s a terrorist.”
“Terrorists. Oil. You can’t rule them out.”
“It was my first thought when it happened.”
“Hum. Any chance of a Russian interest?”
“Not likely, although some of our fields extend far out into the sea. People forget that Alaska is larger than half the lower forty-eight states put together— and if superimposed over them on a map, would touch at all four borders. Our oil reserves are huge— not small like the environmentalists would have you believe.”
“That’s a thought. An environmental group.”
“Possible. They’d love to get th
eir hands on our files. We’re the hated “big oil,” you know. We caught some trying to blow up one of our wells on the North Slope last summer. If they had their way, we’d all be burning wood for fuel and living in the smoky past. They’re the original terrorists.”
“Are you changing your passwords frequently?”
“Yes. Especially after last time.”
Ryan nodded. Jim learned fast. The first time the cracker invaded, he’d used fairly recent passwords to access vital information. Fortunately, Jim had been working late and had seen it. He did the only thing he could think of. He switched off the power, shutting everything down— then called Ryan. He kept MXOIL shut down for thirty-four hours while Ryan removed the damage and retrieved their files.
“Also,” Jim continued, “you mentioned putting a trap-and-trace on this line. I talked to our phone company and they did it. This computer only.”
“Good work! Sometimes the bureaucrats make that nigh impossible.”
“Hey, man, our local FBI and our Alaskan judges don’t take too kindly to this kind of ‘invasion.’ Both gave the go-ahead immediately.”
“I love Alaska.” Ryan looked at Angie. “This way the phone company can trace a call past any cutouts the cracker might use, all the way to the original number.”
“Which would give you an address,” she said.
“Uh, huh. With the 911 systems in place, we can even trace cell phones now.”
“No privacy.”
“The crooks use our technology against us. The police have to play catch-up, using the same technology.” Ryan glanced at the blank screen, then turned back to Jim. “Any way you can get a copy of those files? Just covering the break-in? We’ll go over it while we wait for the cracker to resume.”
“I’m ahead of you. I sent for it as soon as you said you were coming.”
“It’s here?”
“Yes. It only shows us the record of activity on this one computer... this phone line. They faxed it over. Eight pages of numbers. I have it in my desk. I didn’t want to leave it in this room, as too many people have access.”