by Craig Hurren
“You’ve explained a great deal for me Scott but one thing I’m missing is where the cutting edge computer programming comes into the picture.”
The professor paused introspectively then turned his gaze back to Alan. “I can only suppose they are employing advanced computer technology to design intricate dendrimers to deliver whatever drugs they have developed to the specific sites they are targeting.”
“I would agree with you except for one thing; the computer expert on their team is Eric Rothstein, the famous computer game designer and programmer. His expertise is in designing ultra lifelike animation so it really wouldn’t fit with what you’ve explained to me.”
Guthrie scratched his balding head and absent mindedly pushed some chicken around his plate. He seemed very deep in thought but slowly came back to say, “I need to ponder this for a while. There are some avenues I can look down. Can you give me a couple of days?”
“By all means; anything you can do to help would be greatly appreciated. One more question for now though; you said Gelling is altruistic. Can you expand on that a bit?”
“I’ve known Linus for many years and he is a true gentleman. He has no interest in personal wealth, no family, and lives only for his work. As long as I have known him, he has always strived to develop treatments to help his fellow man. From what I’ve heard, he doesn’t even keep the patents to his discoveries for himself. In fact, as far as I’m aware, he donates them to charities. I’ve never met anyone as driven and selfless as him before.”
“Sounds like quite a guy. I thank you very much for these insights and your time Scott. I certainly owe Holly a big thank you for sending me to you.”
“It was my pleasure. I always enjoy an interesting hypothetical discussion. I also love this free Butter Chicken!”
“Not at all - and you’re right; this is some of the best Butter Chicken I’ve ever had.”
The two men continued chatting on lighter subjects as they finished their lunch then Alan thanked Guthrie again and left. Walking back to the car, his mind was still swimming with the possible ramifications of such a theory, when his phone rang. The display showed Larry Phillips’ name and he pressed the button to accept the call.
“Hi Larry. Any luck with your FBI contact?”
“Well, I’ve got some bad news, some more bad news, and a significant revelation for you. What do you want first?”
“I guess we’d better start at the beginning.”
“OK, the creepy little guy doesn’t exist in the FBI database and my friend even searched the Interpol files too – sorry, no hits.”
Alan groaned in disappointment. “OK, what next?”
“I tried to trace the owner of the web site you sent me. It led me down a very convoluted and well protected path until I finally got to the source page but as soon as it came up; the site crashed and simultaneously released a particularly nasty worm into my system which eventually shut the whole thing down. I don’t know who set this thing up but their skills are way beyond mine. There are not many people around that could build such a fast-acting and effective booby trap as that. It’s going to take all day to get my system back to full operational capabilities.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Larry - I do appreciate your efforts though. You said there was a revelation?”
“Yes; the source page flared in the split second before it disappeared and left a temporary ghost shadow burned on the old CRT screen I was testing at the time so I boosted the gain and put the monitor into negative view, which allowed me to make out the ghost of the final screen. It wasn’t clear but in the seconds before the shadow faded and I got a quick peek at an address in New Jersey. The crazy thing is that if I had been using one of the newer high definition monitors, I would never have been able to see it. Hold onto your hat, Al – you’re never going to believe this. The address is leased to a consumer rights advocate called Matt Lewis.”
Alan stopped in his tracks. “Wait a minute, you mean…”
“That’s exactly who I mean. The same Matt Lewis who was murdered along with Congressman Taylor.”
Chapter 9
Jake Riley sat at his work bench looking at a thirty inch LED monitor mounted at eye level behind the bench. He was reading scans of the documents Matt Lewis had left for him at the bus terminal, while cleaning one of his Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine guns. As his hands moved skillfully over the various parts and cleaning implements, his eyes didn’t leave the screen.
“Advance image.” he said quietly.
His voice activated computer responded, advancing to the next image on the screen as he finished lubricating the weapon and deftly reassembled it without looking down. He continued to read, committing as much information to memory as possible. Protocol dictated that in the event of Matt’s demise, Jake would open the sealed envelope, review the information and determine an appropriate plan of action after taking all aspects into consideration. As he placed the finished submachine gun on the left side of the work bench, his encrypted cell phone vibrated angrily. Jake looked down at the screen to read the incoming text message. “1600 magenta” was all it said. He knew instantly, the meaning and gravity of the message as well as its relevance to the last few days of activity. His fingers moved over the keyboard and replied with the single word, “Accept” then deleted both messages, changed the phone’s encryption code to the next prearranged setting and pushed the device into his pocket. Such extreme security measures had been an integral part of his life for so long that they were second nature, as were all aspects of his chosen existence. The source of the text message was completely trustworthy but even with the extreme security measures they employed, there was always a minor risk of discovery so the choice to be fully prepared was a simple one.
Jake calmly looked at his watch then picked up one of two identical Para Tactical semiautomatic handguns from the right side of the bench, quickly disassembled it for cleaning and continued to read the scanned documents. He cleaned, oiled and reassembled the gun then repeated the process with its twin, his eyes never leaving the monitor. Once all three weapons sat glistening to his left, Jake pushed himself away from the bench and his chair rolled smoothly toward a small desk with a computer terminal and monitor on top. He clicked the mouse and typed a few words on the keyboard, causing a secure screen to appear on the display. He quickly read the instructions for, “Security Protocol Magenta”, noted the time and waited for the final seconds to tick away before clicking his mouse to connect with the sender of the text message at exactly 1600 hours.
As the page appeared, a row of strange coded digits rolled and fluttered at the top of the screen. Jake was highly computer literate but the security code system his contact used was only fully understood by a handful of elite computer scientists and hackers. It was specifically designed not only to stop anyone other than the two authorized parties from accessing the connection but to identify the source of any such attempt and cause the invader’s own system to shut down in less than one second. Jake’s contact had programmed this cyber-cipher system a few months earlier along with the color coded communication pathway protocol to ensure that even if their encrypted text messages were ever hacked, no one could reach this page without knowledge of the color coding system. As Jake watched the screen, his contact’s message began to appear as it was typed in real-time.
“There was an attempted trace of Lewis’ web site. Search originated from Columbus, Division of Police Crime Lab, Ohio. Automatic shut-down and worm triggered before information obtained. Why are Columbus Police trying to trace Matt’s site?”
Jake thought briefly and typed his response.
“Will investigate and initiate contact protocol when I have answers.”
“Acknowledged.” was the reply.
Jake shut the secure page down and the computer automatically deleted all traces of the connection through its encrypted recycling system. He pushed himself back to the work bench, picked up the three guns and stood to place them in their holde
rs in the weapons locker alongside other assorted rifles, side-arms, knives and tactical equipment then pushed the button on a small remote attached to his keychain and the entire locker folded into the wall, completely concealed from view.
He walked out of the room and pulled the heavy steel door closed behind him until a thick, high tensile alloy bolt magnetically shot past a strike plate and into its locking hole to secure the door. Now in the training area of his well camouflaged home base, he walked past various stations equipped with well used heavy punching bags, speed balls, Kung Fu dummies, weight racks and an assortment of training weapons and armor, then through the door and into the living area. It was an expansive, open plan area with a full chef’s kitchen, dining suite, and luxurious lounge area with an enormous flat screen television, and state of the art entertainment system. Around the corner, was a walkway to the bedroom concealed by an arrangement of cleverly painted false walls, giving the impression of one single wall, completely covered by a large work of art. To anyone unfamiliar with the layout, watching someone enter the bedroom, it would seem as though they had disappeared into the wall itself. On the other side, the décor of the bedroom was rich yet elegantly minimalist and dimly lit with variable LED lighting. An over-sized bed was covered in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets, some large Turkish floor cushions lay about randomly and a few pieces of tastefully placed art adorned the walls. On the opposite side of the room there was a hidden walk-through wardrobe which led to a large, luxurious bathroom also decorated in minimalist style. The whole room was mirror polished concrete, with a beautifully tiled open shower area, a bath tub built into the floor with gold plated faucets and water spout, a hand basin molded into a single solid concrete vanity piece, with a large smoked glass mirror toiletry cabinet above, and an opulent matching toilet and bidet set in the corner. The left side wall of the bathroom concealed a doorway to the next room, which housed an exit to the outer hallway, a spiral staircase leading down to the ground floor, and a window facing the street, coated with a tinting film which allowed the occupant to see out while no one could see in. At the bottom of the staircase was a garage equipped with highly sophisticated security systems, protecting several highly customized vehicles and motorcycles.
This elaborate complex took up the entire first and second floors of the aging but well-built seven story apartment building in Jersey City. Jake had bought the building some years earlier then renovated the interior of the upper floors and customized the lower two floors to suit his needs. The five floors above him housed forty families, who paid a controlled rate of rent. The reason for this was partly for the benefit of the tenants but mainly to provide believable camouflage for Jake’s base of operations. From the street it seemed a normal, secure apartment building in a respectable working class neighborhood, occupied by lower income families. To anyone looking through the security doors protecting the first or second floor hallways, they appeared identical to the other floors, with eight individual apartment doors. The difference being, that if one could look past the one-way peephole in each of the eight doors on floors one and two, one would see nothing. Whereas on the other floors each peephole would reveal a normal, blue collar family’s living room. It was a very cleverly concealed home and base of operations which had served him well for the past few years.
Jake’s past and the source of his considerable wealth were known only to a handful of people and his distinguished U.S. military service was highly classified. He joined the army at seventeen with his guardians’ permission and applied for Advanced Military Training immediately after basic training. Successful completion was followed by Paratrooper training then he was endorsed to enter U.S. Ranger School where his innate discipline, mental and physical toughness, and positive attitude saw him thrive and excel. Though his age was a barrier at first, his patience, abilities, and obvious potential gained him favor with the Ranger Instructors and at graduation, he was awarded as a distinguished graduate and became one of the youngest men ever accepted as a modern U.S. Army Ranger, with a merit promotion to the rank of Sergeant E-5.
Following several successive, classified deployments, he was promoted to Staff Sergeant E-6 but began to feel the strict structure and constraints of the Ranger assignment may prevent him from realizing his full potential. He consulted with his NCO’s and Officers, who recommended him for the Special Forces Assessment and Selection program. Special Forces training began shortly after his acceptance and as he advanced through the various phases, his intelligence, creativity, social astuteness, and durability shone through. His highly advanced martial arts skills and command of the French and Mandarin languages were well recognized throughout the grueling courses and about a year after commencing, Jake became a Special Forces Warrant Officer One, second in command of an Operational Detachment-A or ODA. Jake served two years in the Special Forces, mainly in South East Asia, before he was approached to join Delta Force where he underwent further Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape or SERE training, as well as other advanced courses. During his time with The Unit, he was often seconded by the CIA’s Special Operations Group because of his record and reputation.
After five years with Delta Force and many operations with the Special Activities Division of the CIA, Jake was seriously injured during a highly classified operation. He was shot three times in the right leg, which required full replacement surgery and left him with an almost imperceptible but permanent limp. At the same time, a large piece of shrapnel had lodged into the bone spanning above and below his right eye, leaving a deep, rippled scar which ran from two inches above his eyebrow down to the middle of his cheek. He had narrowly escaped blindness in his right eye but his other injuries meant that he could not maintain active duty status in The Unit. A few weeks after his injuries, Jake was informed that his older brother was killed in action while on highly classified Navy SEAL mission. The loss of his only remaining family member devastated Jake but his grief turned to resentment when he discovered details of the doomed mission. His loss of faith in the system overseen by elected officials rather than skilled military strategists, and faced with being forced into a training position or a desk job, made him opt for an honorable discharge from service. Due to the highly classified nature of his many missions and the inherent danger of being involved with such things, the CIA gave him a totally new identity for his new civilian life and Jake Riley was born.
Since leaving the service, Jake developed relationships with a number of people who uncovered and resisted abuse of power by civilian authorities and corrupt activities by powerful business moguls. Some of his contacts were former assets from his secondments to the CIA. They included a highly skilled small arms engineer, advanced electronics experts, and a particularly talented computer hacker known only as ‘Equilibrium’. During one CIA mission, Jake had tried to uncover the identity of Equilibrium but was unable to do so. The hacker later sent Jake an encrypted email suggesting he use his skills for more altruistic endeavors once leaving the military and a clandestine partnership evolved with Equilibrium providing cases for Jake to work and intelligence for the operations they undertook. Jake never again tried to discover Equilibrium’s true identity as he felt it would be safer for the enigmatic hacker to remain completely anonymous.
It was Equilibrium who introduced Matt Lewis to Jake and together they had foiled several corrupt ventures during their association. Though they rarely met face to face, Jake liked Matt and admired his resourcefulness and tenacity. The consumer rights advocate’s death in Congressman Taylor’s meeting room at the Capitol Building only strengthened Jake’s resolve to continue their crusade against Alex Devlin and his ever expanding empire.
Jake packed a small bag and prepared for the trip to Teterboro Airport, where his Beechcraft King Air 350i Turboprop was hangared. Dressed casually, he left the building through the front door and hailed a taxi then phoned ahead to have his plane prepared and submit his flight plan. The taxi had him at the airport in just over twenty five minutes and
as he walked toward his hangar, the aircraft mechanic met him at the main door.
“I’m almost finished fuelling her Jake. Do you know when you’ll be back from Columbus?” he asked cheerfully.
“That depends how long it takes to close the deal Jimmy.”
“Always wheeling and dealing; aren’t you boss.”
“It pays the bills.” Jake smiled wryly, his deep facial scar wrinkling at the sides from the tension on his skin.
Jimmy had been contracting his services to Jake for several years and was an excellent mechanic. He contracted to several different private aircraft owners but had always favored Jake and was used to providing service at a moment’s notice for the rather spontaneous investor. This was not only Jake’s public cover to provide believable reasons for his erratic travel and strange hours but there was also an element of truth involved. Over the years, Jake had amassed a significant portfolio of commercial and residential properties throughout the USA and overseas, and was always on the lookout for new deals. His holdings were well hidden through a convoluted structure of investment companies and provided him with substantial financial returns to fund his other activities.
“Well, I hope it’s a successful trip.”
“Thanks Jimmy. See you soon.”
Jake did his preflight check of the plane’s exterior then boarded to complete the process and started the engines. He waved to Jimmy, began his taxi to the designated runway and soon took off to begin the brief flight. Cruising at 290 knots, he would arrive at Bolton Field in just over an hour and a half, where a rented car awaited him for the short drive to Columbus city center.
Alan had driven back to the station after his meeting with Professor Guthrie and walked into the Crime Lab to see Larry.
“Hi Larry. I wanted to ask you on the phone but I couldn’t talk openly while I was with Professor Guthrie; can you look into the personal finances of Helen Benson’s colleagues please. I haven’t got time or sufficient evidence for a warrant so we need to keep this one between us. Can you get in under the radar and get me overviews and anomalies?”