Stolen Secrets

by Nancy Radke

  Ryan could hardly wait to get his hands on it. “Go get it, man.”

  “Will do.” Markum walked out the door.

  Ryan stood up and called after him. “And if you have it, bring a list of recently fired or laid off employees. Go back, say, six months.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Don’t you think he was being a little extreme, saying environmentalists were ‘terrorists?’” Angie asked.

  “Just a few of them, of course. They destroy thing and scare people from their jobs.”

  Angie looked at him skeptically. “For instance?”

  “Research labs. They burned down the Urban Horticulture Center at the UW years ago and destroyed fifty years of experiments.”

  “I heard about that.”

  “The worse thing is...” he paused to watch a flurry of commands coming across the screen. Someone was trying out different passwords. “Write these down.” She wrote faster than he, and he wanted to watch for a pattern, if any.

  Angie grabbed her notebook and started writing.

  The cracker kept trying names and dates, then variations of them. The computer refused them all, but the cracker remained persistent, trying variation after variation.

  Ryan leaned against the table and it gave a little hop as he did so. He noted the hop absentmindedly as he watched the screen. He had set up this computer— and only this one— to allow all attempts made. The others blocked access after four tries. This computer kept a log of all attempts to enter.

  The cracker wasn’t using the computer to try to locate passwords, although he might’ve already tried that and failed. Ryan made sure all his clients use passwords that contained both letters and numbers, thus preventing a cracker from doing a computer-run code-breaking attack.

  He ran his finger across his thumbnail, feeling the deep “V” worn there from his pocketknife. He needed to do something else while he was thinking, something that wouldn’t leave an imprint.

  “You got those?” he asked, when the screen went blank.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll see if the names and dates mean anything to Jim. If so, our cracker is in the company.”

  “And not a terrorist.”

  “Right.” He pulled the chair sideways so he could keep both her and the screen in view, and sat down. He felt another little hop as he did so. Alaska never failed to remind you that its ground wasn’t always stationary.

  Angie tapped her finger on the table. “You started to tell me the worse thing about an environmental ‘terrorist.’”

  “Huh? Oh. Yeah. It’s done for money.”

  She looked puzzled. “I don’t connect.”

  “The leaders find a cause, real or not, and rake off most of the proceeds. Like a benefit concert that ends up benefiting them. Very little goes to the actual cause. The leaders get the people who support them to think they are really helping to make a difference. Like global warming. Real science doesn’t support it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” She was frowning.

  “Yes. The earth has actually switched to a cooling cycle.” He could see Angie would need proof. He’d have to show it to her. “If people could alter climates, we’d be pretty powerful. Anyway, if the cause goes away, they look for another one— or manufacture one.”

  “Huh. I’d think that, being a mountain climber, you’d be an environmentalist.”

  “I am. I just know better than to join a group. I send my money directly to folks I know, who actually work at maintaining trails and parks. And I’m careful even doing that. There’s something about a large sum of money that brings out the worst in people.”

  “Wealth and power corrupts.”

  “Right. I’m going to call Scott. Bring him up to date.”

  Scott picked up on the second ring and Ryan told him where they were.

  “Is it wise, leaving your place unguarded? I could go stay there,” Scott said.

  “No. But thanks. I hired a guard. They’ll keep one posted until I return. I thought you were going to Portland to work on the new account there?”

  “They asked me to wait a week. Seems their network wasn’t totally in place. The snowstorm slowed them down, too.”

  “Oh. If I’d known that, I’d have had you stay at my place.”

  “You order a continuous guard?”

  “Yes. I want the kids protected— the ones climbing my wall.”

  “Good.”

  Ryan hung up and stretched. “How’re you doing?” he asked Angie.

  She stood also. “A little tired of sitting.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Good idea.” She grabbed the mugs and he poured, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. She was a pleasure to work with, her voice gentle on his ears.

  Taking his mug he lifted it in a toast. “Down with all crackers!”

  “Hear. Hear.”

  She met his gaze, a determined light in her eyes. Ryan liked what he saw. She enjoyed the challenge as much as he.

  They had just started to drink what proved to be terrible coffee, bitter black and thick as soup, when Jim re-entered, papers in hand, and handed them to Ryan.

  Jim waved at the coffeepot. “Harold fixed that. You probably won’t like his brew. None of the rest of us can stomach it.”

  “That’s for sure.” Ryan set his cup down and Angie did the same.

  “I’ll send for a fresh pot. Something worth drinking. And some food too, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks.” Ryan looked down at the list of names of former employees. No one there he recognized as a hacker. Next he scanned the phone records, looking at the area codes in front of each number. “Hmmm. He’s no computer genius. He’s made several mistakes although he re-routed himself all over the world. Tokyo, Paris, Hamburg, Cape Town, Pittsburgh, and some I don’t recognize. What? That can’t be.” He stared at the last number in the sequence. He had read that number off to the police— this morning. He looked at his watch— actually, yesterday morning. It was now past midnight.

  “What have you got?” Jim asked.

  “It’s the phone number of Patti’s boyfriend, Ted.”

  “The cracker?”

  “Ted is dead.” Ryan muttered, running his fingers down the page. “That’s it though, the last number of this sequence. And the next sequence. All the other numbers are different, except for these two. The original number is Ted’s apartment in Bellevue.”

  He printed out the log of all former password attempts and compared it with what Angie had written. The cracker kept trying variations of certain combinations. Ryan circled these, then handed all the papers to Angie.

  “Start a file. Make sure everything has dates and times. And Jim, you initial them.” He looked at the security officer. “We’ve a murderer loose in Seattle who might be your cracker. Somehow your company and mine are involved.”

  “Murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Weird.”

  “Totally weird.” Ryan sat down at the computer and typed in a series of commands. He had done it many times before, so knew the sequence by heart. “There. That’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” Jim asked.

  Ryan stood up and put his hands on his hips, satisfied with their progress. “I just linked this computer to one at my home. Since he’s in the Seattle area, I’ll chase him from there. Don’t bother ordering food or coffee— we’ll be leaving.”

  “Want to know something scary?” Jim asked.

  “Sure.”

  “This hand-written paper you want me to initial.” He looked at Angie. “Off this computer?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, it contains my wife’s name, my kids’ names, and the name of my dog. My birth date’s there too. Address. Social security number. Along with variations.”

  20

  Ryan helped Angie into the back of Jim Markum’s car. She shivered on the cold leather seat and grabbed the blanket that lay there. The temperature remained below freezing, but he knew that Jim had plugged
in the car’s head-bolt heater when they first arrived, so as soon as Jim started his car, they’d have heat.

  Alaskan cars had a head-bolt heater on their engines with a short cord extending out through the grill, making them look like electrical toys. The cord could be plugged into an outlet to keep the engine warm while the car was parked. Jim had an outlet at the front of his parking space and he unplugged it as he walked past.

  “I hope you can sleep on airplanes,” Ryan said, straightening the wrap on Angie’s legs.

  “I’m quite good at it,” she replied, pulling the top of the wrap around her. “A carryover from innumerable gymnastics meets.”

  “Good.” He’d have to get her a heavier coat, he thought as he shut the door and climbed in beside Jim. Her coat was adequate for Seattle, but not for Anchorage in the winter.

  He was used to traveling at an instant’s notice and kept a bag in his car. He would prepare a suitcase for Angie and keep it packed to go.

  “Were you ever in Anchorage before?” Jim asked, calling back to Angie as he started the car. The heat blew hot and plenty and filled the space.

  “No. The closest I got was some meets in Canada.”

  “Angie’s a gymnast. She took silver in the summer Olympics,” Ryan told him, proud of her accomplishment.

  “Six years ago,” she added.

  “Oh! That’s why you seemed so familiar,” said Jim, backing out of his spot. The tires were stiff— just enough to make the car hump a few minutes until they resumed their round shape. “My cousin was competing then... Margaret Markum.”

  “Maggie?” Angie sounded delighted.

  “Yes.”

  “What a small world— your cousin?”

  “She didn’t place, but she calls that the experience of a lifetime. She tells everyone about it.”

  Ryan listened to their talk with interest. Maybe now Angie wouldn’t feel so bad about “just” taking second place.

  “She was a delight,” Angie said. “What’s she doing now?”

  “She’s married and teaches gymnastics at the local high school. In Texas.”

  “We had lots of fun.”

  “She spoke about you. All the time. So when you won silver, I noticed.”

  “We did everything together.”

  “Well, since this is your first visit, I’ll go though downtown Anchorage and let you see it. It actually looks like most cities, except for the occasional moose that wanders down the street. Don’t get as many of those as we used to.”

  “‘We’ you transplanted Texan? Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Ryan teased him. He’d known Markum briefly when he lived in Texas. At that time no other state even rated a mention.

  Jim chuckled. “Alaska grows on you. People leave, then come back to settle. Especially the independent ones. Our people pride themselves on being mavericks.”

  He pointed to a park. “The Good Friday earthquake removed the buildings along the north side of 3rd Avenue. None rebuilt; the next big earthquake would take them out.”

  “What makes them think it would hit there again?” Angie asked.

  “If you look at air photographs, you can see where the earth slid at different times. It leaves a crescent shape in the hillside. Alaskans no longer build in those areas.”

  “Do you get many earthquakes?” Angie asked.

  “Usually little ones. They make your desk jump and set the pictures swinging on the wall. We had one while you were here. Didn’t you feel it?”

  “Was that what that was? Things ‘hopped.’ One little hop, then another one. I thought I imagined it.”

  “You didn’t. Every building up here has been built to withstand earthquakes. The code is very strict. You’re safest in a building. At least in our country. Remember that.”

  “I will. If I’m ever in a quake.”

  “You may be. Ryan tends to get called everywhere. Crackers know no country boundaries.”

  Ryan nodded to himself. He had fought them all over the world. The internet had enabled crooks to cross oceans in seconds and enter a company undetected. “Jim’s right. Yet the more I see of this one, the less he fits the general pattern. He seems to be an expert in some areas, then will do something utterly careless. Like using Ted’s phone number.”

  “What do you mean, ‘number?’” Angie asked. “Didn’t he use the phone itself?”

  Ryan turned slightly in his seat, so he could talk over his shoulder to her. “Probably not. Crackers get into a telephone company’s computers and use any phone number. They can be anywhere in the world. But I think our man used this number because he knew it was available.”

  “You keep saying ‘he.’ Could it be a ‘she?’”

  He thought a second. He had never run into a female cracker. “Highly unlikely. Crackers tend to be male, aggressive, with an urge to mess up people’s lives. Besides, if it’s the person who shot Patti, I saw him. Briefly. A white male.”

  “With red hair?”

  “You thinking of the messenger?”

  Angie nodded.

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “How will you find him, once we get back to Seattle?”

  “The messenger will be easy. To prove he’s the cracker, we’d have to go to the phone company and get their records. I’ll need a warrant.”

  “I can request the warrant from here,” Jim announced. “I’ve already got the FBI involved. They can set you up with someone in the Seattle office.”

  “Good.”

  “This is Knik Arm.” Jim slowed the car to point out a large expanse of water with mountains on the other side. “It’s actually a long arm of the ocean, so we get tidal movement in it. When you fly out, look down. You may be able to see a tidal bore; either in this arm or in Turnagain Arm, which is on the other side of the airport. The bore will look like a white line from the air.”

  “What’s a bore?” Angie asked.

  “A wall of water. The tide pushes water up the narrow arm so fast it forms a wall across the front edge.”

  “Too bad they can’t put turbines in it and harness all that power.”

  Jim chuckled. “That’s a thought. Although the water would probably tear them out; it’s unimaginably strong.” He drove for a few more minutes. “Now, just ahead you’ll be able to see Mt. Susitna— the Sleeping Lady.”

  No answer. Ryan looked over his shoulder. “You’ve got one in the back seat,” he remarked. “Might as well take us on to the airport. I’ll search for our cracker in Seattle.”

  “You don’t think he’s here?”

  “With the passwords he used, he knew you. And he knew Ted was dead. I think it may be one of the former employees on your list. Check their present addresses. See who is in the Seattle area. Especially someone who was fired. Fax me your results.”

  “But you said to follow the money.”

  “I could be wrong. Revenge is powerful.”

  * * *

  Angie stirred, then looked around. She felt awake, but still tired. Forty more minutes and they’d be back in Seattle. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked Ryan, who had managed to get a seat next to her in spite of the full plane and last minute connection. He had an aisle seat, flying again as an air marshal. She could just make out the slight bulge of the gun under his coat.

  “Some. My cell phone woke me. The Seattle police.”

  She stretched, enjoying the movement. “What did they want?”

  “Patti was killed by the same gun as the stiff you identified at the morgue.”

  That cleared the sleep away. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d they connect— Did you ask them to check?”

  “Yes. You were so positive, I thought it worth a look.”

  She glanced toward the person sitting next to her. The snoring told Angie she needn’t worry saying something he’d overhear. “So two people have been killed over this CD.”

  “Looks like it. We need to think this through. Somebody wants something from MXOIL.
”

  “Are you sure there’s a connection?” she asked.

  “Positive. Of course it could be a coincidence. I’ve seen it happen. But I always check out coincidences.”

  “So he wants something.”

  “Or to destroy something. He wants revenge.”

  “A disgruntled employee?” Angie asked. “Fired? Laid off?”

  “My thoughts. He moves to Seattle. Decides to ruin MXOIL.”

  Angie reached for the coffee the stewardess offered her, then waited until the cart moved on. “But why start killing people? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Everyone has a motive for what they do. You just need to figure it out.”

  “Motive. Okay. How about this. He kills the first man because he had an argument with him.”

  “Or because he didn’t get the CD he was supposed to steal,” Ryan said, sipping his coffee.

  Angie nodded. That made sense to her. “You messed him up by taking one with you to Alaska. So he destroyed his hard drive.”

  “Now that would make him mad.”

  “But why kill Patti? She might’ve been able to get it for him.”

  Ryan pulled out his notebook and flipped it open. He jotted down the ideas they had been tossing around, then said, “Patti said she didn’t know him. He had called her, and threatened her.”

  “Maybe she tried to set a trap for him. He called, so she asked him to meet her at the Park and Ride, figuring you’d be there.”

  “And I got there too late.”

  “Right.”

  “We’re still missing something. Why would the killer steal the CD in the first place?”

  “You said he was trying to destroy the MXOIL files.”

  “But why?”

  “He wants to destroy MXOIL,” she said. That sounded logical to her.

  “He could slow them down, but all the files are backed up. All Jim has to do is purge the equipment and reinsert the data.

  “Maybe the killer didn’t know that.”

  “He’d know. He’s too savvy. We’ve time— tell me again.”

  “What?”

  “All the details of that first night as well as you can. I’ve got most of it down here but there are some gaps.”

  “Sure.”

  “Where were you before you ran into Scott?