“So an error with the computers then?” I ask.
He nods, licking his lips. “There’s more. I shouldn’t even be telling you about it, but I figure you’ve got a right to know. Still, this stays between us, got it?”
I nod, so he continues. “The email I got from the plane wasn’t a discrepancy. It was a warning. Someone manipulated the computers to send out false codes.”
I blink rapidly, letting that sink in. Someone hacked the planes. I know all the systems in the JSF are automated, but this is unheard of. I don’t ask how it happened. I could probably do it myself if I really tried. That in itself is a terrifying thought.
Seeing my expression, he leans forward, “So I have to ask…”
I cut him off. “I didn’t do this,” I say defensively.
He shakes his head. “No, I know it wasn’t you. But you are one of the best computer people I know. You could probably code circles around those idiots they brought up to fix the computer issues. So if someone did do this, how do you think they did it?”
“How would I have done it, you mean?”
He nods.
I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “First, I’d need a way in. Your computers run on UNIX, and that’s basically unhackable. But, some of the work station computers are dual OS, so I’d go in that way. I’d send a meme, something with an eagle and a flag, as a jpeg to one of those unprotected emails. Once they got opened, it would get sent to all the other Unix-based computers. I’d hide a virus or malware behind the jpeg.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up his email, and passes the phone to me. “Something like this?”
The image is exactly as I described. An eagle superimposed on a flag with a message that read, ‘Freedom through superior firepower’. There were two crossed M-16s at the bottom. I nodded. “Yeah, something like this. Something they’d be likely to pass around.”
“But we just cleaned out the systems,” he says, taking the phone back. “Any viruses would have been cleared out.”
I shrug. “Not if all the virus did was create a backdoor into the system, then delete itself. They wouldn’t even be looking for it. But, having that on your phone, you should get it swept for malware, just to be safe.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “This is a fucking disaster.”
“Why? If you know the messages were bogus, then what’s the issue?”
He looks up. “The fleet is down for fourteen days, for testing. We can’t fly again until they bring the DOJ in to confirm the error. We’ll be lucky to be ready for the deployment in time.”
“So why do you think this is happening?” I ask, wringing my hands together.
He scratches his head. “Whoever it is, they want to stop the deployment. There are a million reasons someone might want to do that. Which means I get to spend the next fourteen days talking to each department, trying to find someone who might know something about it, someone who has a reason to want to stay.”
I let that sink in. He’s right; there are a million reasons someone might want to blow a deployment. But if this is fixed soon enough, that person will have to escalate in order to get what they want. I shudder at the thought.
“I can help,” I offer. “I can take a look at your computer, try to pick up a trail.”
“I need you to stay clear of all this, ok?” he says sternly. “How would it look if the DOJ gets here and finds out that you, the CO’s daughter, has been screwing around in the system? They might think you had something to do with it. I won’t risk that.”
“I can at least look at your phone for you, maybe see if that image has anything hidden inside?”
He thinks about it for a minute. “No. Not a good idea. Let us handle this,” he says in a tone that tells me the conversation is over.
I curl my knees into my chest as he stands and heads toward the kitchen. I’m still holding my sneakers when he yells, “You hungry? How ‘bout frozen taquitos?”
“Pork?” I ask, straightening myself out.
“Of course.”
“I’ll have two,” I holler, standing. If he honestly thinks that’s the end of the conversation, he has a surprise coming.
Something strange is going on, and I’m going to find out what.
Sunday comes and goes in a blur of football and homemade chili, Dad’s favorite things. My ploy at softening him up has gone unnoticed, or at least, uncommented upon. Some weirdly protective button has been switched on in my brain, and I’m nagged by the desire to do something—anything—to fix the mess he found himself in. For his part, Dad seems pretty relaxed about it all. I suppose knowing the reason for the chaos has at least absolved him of the guilt that came from thinking it was his doing. Funny how having someone to blame, someone to point a finger at, could set one at ease. Even if that person is a nameless, faceless ghost in the machine.
I haven’t asked him any more about it yet, though I’ve been twitchy with it, questions always on the tip of my tongue, but not wanting him to realize I’m not going to drop the matter as instructed. It’ll be easier to snoop around if he doesn’t know I’m still interested. It will also allow him some measure of plausible deniability if I’m caught.
Besides, he should really know better. I am one of those kids who shake their Christmas gifts to see if I can figure out what they are weeks before the event. Spending most of my down time curled on the couch with my tablet, I scroll through the social media accounts of some of his Marines, looking for the same thing he’ll be looking for next week. A suspect. Someone with reason to want off the deployment cycle. Nothing is jumping out at me. By nature, soldiers aren’t big on sharing personal stuff, especially online. Hours pass and my eyes sting, dry and raw from staring at the screen. I close them, pressing my thumb and forefinger on the lids until they water.
This is pointless. None of these people appear to have the means to perpetrate something like this. Ninety percent probably don’t know the difference between an MD5 hash and a XOR function. I sigh, rolling my head side to side, stretching the stiff muscles.
Frustrated but trying not to let it show, I head back to my bedroom and lock myself away with a well-worn copy of Beowulf. I fall asleep on my floor reading.
When I wake up Monday, there’s a tight knot in my back to match the one in my chest. I’d woken up just long enough to strip to my underwear before climbing into bed and crashing out again. Now, the sun is rising, its warm glow filling my room. Kicking off my blanket, I scuttle to the bathroom, showering and brushing my teeth as quickly as possible, trying to focus on the day ahead. In one weekend, I’ve gotten close to two great guys, who just happen to hate each other.
No, this isn’t going to be awkward at all.
I wish, as I slide into a pair of dark denim jeans and a faded blue tank top, that there were some obvious flaw to one of them that would make it easier on me to simply choose one or the other. But that’s not the case. I like them both, in different ways and for vastly different reasons. I want them both. Maybe that makes me selfish. I’m not sure I care. I just hope I can keep their drama off me, at least for as long as possible.
When I get to the kitchen, expecting to see Dad at the table, the room is empty. A yellow sticky note hangs from the fridge. I snatch it off quickly.
Kid,
I had to go to work early. Why don’t you come by after school?
Love, Dad
I crumple the paper and toss it into the wire trash can as I grab the last of the still-warm coffee and pour myself a cup. Does he want me to come in and look at his computer? Has he changed his mind about wanting my advice? I let the thoughts roll around in my head. Finally, I go back to my room, rummaging around for the small, yellow firewire cable in my desk. Stuffing it and my tablet in my bag, I head for the door.
***
In the car, Derek is his usual quiet self while Kayla rattles on about the lockdown on Saturday. They had both been off base and were looking forward to a night in a hote
l until the MPs had reopened the gate, ruining their plans. The only one who seems disturbed by the event is Reid. Of course, with his parents being in the squadron, he was probably as nervous as I’d been. His agitation shows clearly now, in the tight, square set of his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes.
I should have called him, I think, guilt gnawing at me. Things like that are always easier to handle in groups. I make a mental note to call him if, God forbid, it happens again.
The whole school is buzzing about the lockdown. Rumors fly like fire on the wind, everything from a plane crash to a bomb scare. No one seems to have it figured out, but everyone has a theory. I listen, nodding or making a shocked face when appropriate, pretending to be as clueless as the rest of them. Only a very stern lecture from my homeroom teacher manages to quell the rampant speculation and get everyone on task. After class, Oliver waits for me in the doorway with some of the boys I recognize from the picnic, Trey and Cole. Instead of walking off when they see me, they wait in a large group, smiling warmly in my direction.
Of course, these are the same boys I accused of being sacks of dicks not two weeks ago. I can’t help but smirk a little at the memory.
“Hey Farris,” Trey greets me with a jerk of his chin.
“‘Sup, girl?” Cole asks, holding his fist out to me expectantly. I raise one eyebrow and he laughs, retracting it.
“Hi guys.” I smile, trying not to look awkward.
Oliver snakes his arm around my shoulder and with one smooth movement, slips my backpack off my back and onto his. It’s so 1950s, him carrying my books like that. The gesture makes me feel very girlie, and I’m not altogether sure how I feel about it.
It’s not like I’m one of those girls who doesn’t want her doors opened and for her date to pay for dinner. Those things are all very nice. Chivalry can be a beautiful thing. But this, it somehow triggers another part of my brain, the defiant, angry part that is fully capable of carrying her own books, thank you very much. While I struggle internally, trying to figure out my own stupid, emotional damage, Cole pipes up.
“So, you catch the game yesterday?” he asks. “The Panthers game, that is.”
I nod. “Yeah, and thank God I did, because the refs clearly didn’t.”
He stops, waving his hand. “And did you see that block in the back in the third quarter?”
“I bet he’s out all season. They say how bad it was yet? Looked like a blown ACL to me.”
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, man, that was ugly.”
“I’m just glad they squeaked it out. That could have cost them the playoff spot,” Trey adds. “What about you, Ollie? You catch the game?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I had a project I had to work on all day.”
“By project, you mean playing on your PS3, don’t you?” Rob asks, his tone light, punching Oliver in the arm as he melds into the group.
We walk down the hall in a loud, boisterous group, continuing to talk football. Stopping occasionally, we pick up a couple of the girls, who quickly change the subject.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Jenna asks as she is hoisted onto Rob’s back, monkey style.
“Um, well…” I pause.
Has Oliver told them about homecoming? Does he want me to say anything? I take a breath and go for it. “Oliver asked me to the dance,” I say, trying to sound like it’s no big deal.
“And you said yes?” Georgia asks slowly, arching one perfect eyebrow. “I figured you for smarter than that,” she teases.
“Well, I tried to say no, but he wore me down,” I say with a shrug.
She chuckles and pats me on the back. “Yeah. He’s good at that.”
When she sticks her tongue out at Oliver, he grabs her, roughly rubbing her head as she shrieks and tries to fix her hair.
The group breaks off and heads our separate ways, except for Oliver, who walks me to my next class before returning my backpack. Reid is leaning against the doorjamb, donut bag in hand. My heart falls to my feet as I watch his face darken.
“See ya at lunch,” Oliver says, turning on his heel and stalking off.
Reid holds out a donut, his expression unreadable. “Thanks,” I mutter, feeling like a total ass. He doesn’t say anything, just turns and leaves.
Kayla is waiting for me by my desk.
“So, you and Oliver?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say noncommittally.
“And Reid?” she asks sharply. “You know they can’t stand each other.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “I know. But does that mean I can’t be friends with both of them? Do I really have to choose?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Historically, yes.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.” I frown. “I don’t know what to do.”
She smiles, her dark purple lipstick thinning as it presses against her white teeth. “You want my advice?”
Do I? Probably not. “Sure.”
“This school runs on a system of cliques and balances. No matter how much you want to be neutral, it won’t stay that way. It’s like, an unwritten rule. You’ll end up swinging this way or that, and before you know it, you’ve chosen a side without ever meaning to. It happens; I’ve seen it.”
I shake my head. “And if I refuse to choose? If I decide I want to cross the lines, break the rules?”
She flicks her long, black fingernail. “Then a side will be chosen for you.”
***
I know Oliver expects me to join his table for lunch, which leaves me with a problem. After my valiant speech about not allowing myself to be drawn into one clique or another, here I am, being pulled away from Kayla and Derek and the rest of my little group. The whole thing is making me so ill I may not be able to eat anyway. I don’t want Reid and the others to think I’m ditching them, but I also don’t want to blow off Oliver. I nibble on my thumbnail as I wait for Reid by his locker after class.
“Hey, Reid. You got a sec?” I ask.
He reaches past me, opening his locker and tossing a book inside, then slams it quickly. “Sure, what’s up?”
We walk toward the cafeteria, but I keep my pace slow.
“I got invited to sit with Oliver today, and I don’t want you to think it’s a permanent change, or because I don’t like you.” I fidget with the strap of my bag, realizing how stupid and childish I sound. “I don’t want to be stuck in one clique. I don’t want to have to take sides or get drawn into a fight between you. I want to hang out with both of you. And I don’t want it to be a problem.”
His face twitches in my peripheral vision. “You’ve been talking to Kayla.” I don’t say anything, but it isn’t really a question anyway. Finally, he stops walking, turning to face me, “Look, I get it. I get that you don’t want to wade into someone else’s drama. So, if you want to be friends with both of us, well, that’s your choice. Just don’t expect the three of us to go get coffee together. Because that’s never gonna happen.”
“So you’re saying I can be friends with both of you, just not at the same time?” I ask.
He nods. “That’s the deal.”
“Fair enough,” I say, raising my hands in surrender.
He jerks his head, and we start walking again. “Has he asked you to homecoming yet?” he asks, a twinge of something in his voice I can’t quite place.
“Um, yeah. I said yes.”
He licks his bottom lip just a little. “How ‘bout you and I go see a movie tonight? Since your weekend is taken.” He laughs, and there’s an edge to it.
“I’d like that. But I’m going to eat with him today,” I say. “Don’t worry, Cassy will be there to keep you company,” I offer, wagging my eyebrows suggestively.
He blushes. “Have fun.”
Guilt stabs at me. “Hey, I really appreciate you understanding.”
“Well, I’m a truly remarkable guy. Just so you know,” he jokes, nudging me in the side with his elbow. “But seriously, just be careful about Oliver.
I don’t know what he’s into, but I know that if he hurts you, it’ll be more than a few nasty words we exchange.”
He steps in front of me, his adorable glasses slipping down his nose. His expression is serious, unwavering, a fierce protectiveness flashing behind his green eyes as he pushes his glasses back up. Stepping forward, he holds the door open for me, then gives me a goodbye wave as he heads to our usual table, leaving me standing there, death gripping my bag.
My eyes follow him to our table, where Derek and Kayla sit listening to music on her phone while they share a tray of chicken nuggets and fries. Glancing in the opposite direction, I catch sight of Oliver. He watches me with subtle interest as I make my way through the à la carte line, grabbing a chili dog and root beer. When I walk toward his table, I throw a wink at Kayla as I pass. Seeing me approaching, Oliver smacks Cole in the shoulder and gestures for him to scoot down. Cole slides over, making an empty space beside Oliver, and pats the seat before turning back to his conversation. I set my tray down and climb onto the bench.
Everyone talks over each other. Struggling to make sense of the chatter, I catch snatches of conversation about the weekend, the weather, dress shopping and, of course, the lockdown.
Oliver frowns, leaning into my side as he speaks. “Your dad alright?” he asks, his voice soft.
I nod.
“Any idea what happened?” he continues, taking a sip of his soda.
I make a pained face. “Not really. Only that no one was hurt.”
“My mom says the fleet’s grounded for two weeks. Some kind of system error they think.” Bianca’s voice rings out, louder than the others. She’s picking at a grilled cheese, taking tiny, rolled-up bites.
“I didn’t know your mom is in the squadron,” I say, surprised.
She nods. “She’s admin. Almost got in a hell of a lot of trouble when the ordering went all weird too. Turns out, it’s a glitch or something.”
In the back of my head, alarms go off, an internal warning system I’ve learned to listen to over the years. Maybe Dad isn’t looking for a Marine or even a spouse who wants to stop the deployment.
Playing with Fire Page 10