“None that I could find. Maybe it’s not related. So far, she’s easily broken into the local police department on multiple occasions. She’s read the police report on his accident multiple times. She’s also hacked into the company that owns the apartment complex where he lives. Not sure what she was looking to find. All hacks appear to have the same goal—information on Matthews. The investigator I hired reports she and two classmates—their dossiers were sent to you an hour ago—also visited the police department in person to plead the case for the vice principal. Apparently, the daughter strongly believes him to be innocent of charges. I followed her tracks into the police department and downloaded the police report. It notes that Matthews admitted to willfully running over the female pedestrian, but currently has no known motive. There is one anomaly in her searching that I am not sure is significant. She has spent significant time probing a website called nothingbutthetruth.com. I researched it myself, and it appears to be an amateur effort, consisting of fake news culled from the subject’s school. I am guessing it’s a peer effort, but I can’t guess its purpose or her interest. The IP address has been noted, traced, and sent to you. It does not appear her focus on this website is connected to the disappearance of her father, but we can investigate further, as desired. Clearly, she is exceptionally capable of managing high-profile hacks and inciting collusion.”
“Collusion?”
“Yeah. She apparently incited a classmate to penetrate a DoD human resources database to obtain information on Matthews’s military records.”
Isaac swore. “How did we track her in the first place if our monitoring wasn’t picking her up?”
“From the DoD hack. It took place from her apartment. I don’t know all the details. But I’m adjusting my methods to accommodate her expertise.”
“You’d better. What’s NSOC going to do about the hacking?”
“At this point, nothing. I told them to pass the information to you as part of the investigation. You should see that on your desk shortly.”
“Good. Continue to observe her and report. This is an intriguing development. Maybe there is some way to use the daughter to our advantage.”
“How?”
“Let’s set up a honeypot. Create a site inside our firewall and populate it with junk and some selective information on her father. Drop some bread crumbs about how to get in and see if she will take the bait. Maybe if we give her some information on her father, she’ll lead us to him. If she’s that invested in her vice principal, imagine what she might do to find her father. If the IT guys give you a problem about granting her a broken window into our system, have them contact me for authorization.”
“What? You can’t be serious. She’s not even sixteen yet. Do you think she can find her father when we haven’t been able to?”
“If he knows she’s looking for him, he may come to her. If he does, we’ll be ready.”
“You’re calling the shots. Understood.”
“Let me know when you are ready to go with the honeypot. And for God’s sake, have someone review and patch the security hole on the DoD site ASAP.”
“Already done, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ANGEL SINCLAIR
I sat in front of a laptop, my hands itching to start typing. “What are we going to hack first?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice.
“We’re not hacking anything.” Still, she smiled at my undisguised enthusiasm. “I still have access to the BioLimbs system.”
I was disappointed. “Oh, man. No hacking?”
“None needed.” Lexi smiled as her hands flew over the keyboard of her laptop. “We should be able to quickly determine if they have any employees named Vincent. Are you sure that’s his name?”
“That’s what Mr. Matthews called him.”
“Okay, then let’s see what we’ve got.” She pulled up a document called “Staff Directory” and started scrolling. “Bingo. There are two Vincents. A Vincent Dodayev and a Vincent Kars.”
“Any photos of them?”
“Not in the directory, but now that we have names, let’s look on LinkedIn.”
She opened another window and pulled up LinkedIn. Vincent Dodayev had a profile that identified him as working at BioLimbs and a photo. He wasn’t the man in Mr. Matthews’s office.
Vincent Kars didn’t have a profile.
Frustration swept through me. “Figures. Maybe we can hack into the DMV to get a look at him.”
“Not from X-Corp.” Lexi patted my arm absently as she looked at something on her screen. “Vincent Kars is listed as director of research, bioengineering. That is interesting.”
“It is? Why?”
“Well, it seems logical he’d lead the team that builds the inner workings of the prostheses. If he came all the way down to Excalibur Academy to talk to a patient, that might be significant.”
“But what if he’s not the person I saw? How can we be sure without seeing him in person?”
“You will see him in person. I’ll give you something related to our work for BioLimbs to take him Monday after school. It’s a job for an intern. It will also give you an opportunity for a face-to-face with Mr. Kars, whoever he is. I have a feeling that will be far more useful than hacking into the DMV at this point.”
I reluctantly agreed. It was a sound approach, but I was disappointed I wasn’t going to be hacking with her. “Okay. Makes sense.”
By the time we wrapped things up, all the interns had left, including Wally. Lexi volunteered to give me a ride home. After we got in her car, a cherry-red Miata, I decided to take the opportunity to ask her some questions I’d been thinking about.
“Lexi, why is so hard for females in the tech industry? Right now, the field is only eighteen percent women, and it’s declining by the year. Other than the usual sexist crap that happens at a lot of jobs, what’s happening that is so awful it causes women to quit or leave?”
Lexi fell silent, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, Angel. I’ve only officially been in the field a few years, but on at least two dozen occasions—and that’s a conservative estimate—I’ve had to move a man’s hand from my thigh, back, or hair, and that’s during an official meeting or a professional gathering. I’ve reported it each time it happens, but half the time, no one believes me. Coworkers have called me sweetheart, honey, and little girl. Men are openly shocked when I tell them I’m a hacker. We’re called fake geek girls or wannabe engineers. I’ve personally been told I’m too emotional and I can’t possibly think deeply enough on technical issues. I’m evaluated on personality and looks in ways men are not. It’s a hostile environment for women, and I’m putting that mildly because I think you need to be prepared for that going in. You know my background. I’m an excellent programmer and coder, and I’ve published dozens of articles in respected peer publications. I’m often invited to speak on important and trending topics. But none of that stops jerks in the audience from trying to disrupt or disrespect me, all while disparaging my work, because I don’t have a Y chromosome. I’ve received hate mail, disgusting suggestions about where I can stick my code, and comments on everything from my hair to my clothing. I ignore it because at twenty-six, I’m already near the top of my field. Why? Because I’m damn good at what I do.”
For a full minute, I stared at her in awe. “Wow. Just wow. I’d like to say that if I hadn’t already formed your fan club, I’d do it right now. But when you lay it out like that, I totally understand the exodus. That majorly sucks.”
“Majorly.” Lexi adjusted the rearview mirror and switched lanes. “Here’s the kicker, though. Women are already rocking it so many areas of the tech field. For example, in the open-source software market, women have found that if they submit their work under their initials instead of their names, their code is accepted more often than men’s.”
“Really?
“Really. Because we are just as good, if not better, than our male counterpa
rts. So how does change come about? Those eighteen percent of us who are sticking around—we’re going to make it happen. Trust me, I’m not letting anyone stand in the way of my dreams. Coding and computers are my life. I love the challenge, the puzzles, and the fast-moving environment, not to mention the sheer enormity of how important the field is becoming in the development of the entire human race. I was born to be a coder, Angel. It’s my passion, my gift—it’s in my DNA. I’m not going to let some jerks derail me from what I was born to do.”
“That was, by far, the most inspiring speech I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“It wasn’t a speech. Okay, maybe it was. Look, you and your female coworkers will help each other, and you’ll figure out which of your male coworkers are giving you lip service and which ones will support you whether you’re in the room or not. Remember, I’ve met two of my best friends—the Zimmerman twins—and my boyfriend in the industry. They’re amazing guys and super supportive. Did you know that Slash was instrumental in helping to set up a diversity committee within the NSA to examine the agency’s tech culture and make it more hospitable for women? He didn’t even tell me. I found out from someone else.”
“Slash is definitely a keeper,” I said with feeling.
Her expression softened. “He is. But my point, Angel, is that things will change if ordinary women, like you and me, are willing to stay on the front lines of the industry and fight the stereotypes to get the work done. The glass ceiling is ours to shatter. But you need to be ready for the fight. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be pretty. But I guarantee you, it’ll be worth it.”
With those words of wisdom, she dropped me off at home. I safely tucked away the manila envelope I would deliver to BioLimbs on Monday in my room. Since I had time before my mom got home, I would do some penetration testing to see what kind of defenses BioLimbs had. Not that I was planning on hacking, I just wanted to know. Oh, who was I kidding? I was totally going to hack as soon as I could.
I was so deep into examining the defenses at BioLimbs I didn’t even hear my mom until she knocked on my door.
“Angel, are you in there?”
I jumped so violently, I nearly knocked my chair over. “Oh, hey, Mom. I’m here. Sorry, I was…focused. I’ll be right out.”
I quickly shut down the laptop and opened my door when my phone rang. It was Frankie.
“Hey, Angel. Guess what?”
“No idea. What?”
“I decided we need a name for our group.”
“What group?”
“Us. The Scooby gang. You, me, and Wally. Except we need our own name and logo.”
“What?”
“I considered the Lone Hackers, but I’m not a hacker. I came up with the Computer Busters, which is a wordplay on Ghostbusters, but we don’t bust computers. So I went closer to home. Excalibur’s mascot is the knight, right? Then I remembered that lecture you gave me on cracking and white hatting, and it gave me the perfect name for our group.”
“Hey, that was not a lecture.”
“So she says. Anyway, the name I came up with is the White Knights. The white is for the white-hatting part and the knights symbolize our connection to Excalibur. What do you think?”
She couldn’t possibly be serious. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say we don’t need a name or a logo.”
“Yes, we do,” Frankie said firmly. “If we’re going to be responsible for clearing Mr. Matthews, we’ll need to be identified by name as the trio who saved the day. Now, about the logo. I’ve already made it. The White Knights are classy, smart, and cool.”
“Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself?”
“In this day and age of instant media? Never. Better to be prepared. I’m sending you a copy of the logo now. Let me know what you think.”
Before I could say anything else, Frankie hung up. My phone instantly beeped, notifying me I had a text. I opened it up.
For a second I could only stare. The logo was…spectacular. Frankie had used her crazy, mad skills to create this simple and cool design of a white knight chess piece that looked both medieval and edgy. Even though I didn’t want a name or a logo, I had to admit that girl had serious talent.
My phone dinged again with another text from Frankie.
So…what do you think?
You are wicked talented. It’s prime.
Excellent. I will consider that as formal approval. You may now refer to me as the queen of digital graphics, or QDG for short.
I snorted. I had no idea how she did it, but she made me laugh…and, as this logo proved, she was incredibly skilled. I was lucky to have her as a friend.
That reminded me that Frankie and I had some unfinished business. Pushing aside my dread of talking about such things, I typed a message.
Look, I may have said or done things that have hurt your feelings. If so, I’m sorry. If I’m wrong, just ignore this text.
After I pushed Send, I felt like maybe I’d been too hopeful on the last part. Still, the best-case scenario was she’d think I was crazy.
You’re not wrong, Angel.
I sighed, pressing my hand to my forehead. I’d figured as much. Still, I didn’t like seeing myself and my screwups through other people’s eyes. It wasn’t a flattering picture.
I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m not good at this friendship stuff. Will you forgive me?
Of course. I already have. That’s why we’re still friends.
Thank you. I’m going to try harder, I promise.
I know you will. You’re going to discover that having friends isn’t that hard.
Ugh! Speak for yourself!
She countered with a LOL and a weird emoji of a fox hugging a rabbit. I presumed that meant all was right with us.
I stuck my phone back in my pocket. It was pretty mind-boggling when I thought about it. I had a friend. I had two friends, if I counted Wally. And I did. I didn’t know what I was doing right on the friendship front, but they were willing to hang in there with me. What did they see in me that I couldn’t see in myself?
I had no rational explanation for it except sometimes the universe gave you just what you needed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ANGEL SINCLAIR
The weekend passed quietly. I took stats for a football scrimmage game on Friday during which Excalibur destroyed Jefferson Tech forty-eight to seven. Colt had a stunning fifty-eight completions (a school record), zero interceptions, three touchdowns, and a total of 672 passing yards (another school record).
On the less exciting side of my weekend, I cleaned my room, did a boatload of homework, took two quizzes for my Georgetown courses, and had a babysitting gig for Mrs. Ross and her four-year-old daughter, Samantha, on Saturday night. I also did a lot of research on BioLimbs to see what I else could find out about the mysterious Mr. Kars and the company.
Monday morning, Wally and Frankie were waiting at my locker, just like always. We were becoming a regular trio. The crazy thing was, I wasn’t minding it as much as I thought I would.
“We are almost full for the melee in terms of participants,” Wally said proudly as I emptied the contents of my backpack into my locker. “Not surprisingly, the Trains, or the athletes’ team, is already complete. I need a couple more guys for the Brains, but I’m not worried. Getting Colt onboard to captain the geeks was genius, if I do say so myself.”
I slammed my locker shut and grabbed both Wally and Frankie by the arms, pulling them in close and lowering my voice. “I’m glad to hear that, but I’ve got something important to tell you.” I gave them a quick update on what Lexi and I had discovered about BioLimbs on Friday and my assignment to deliver an envelope to Vincent Kars today after school.
“Are you sure he’s the Vincent we’re looking for?” Frankie whispered.
“No, I’m not sure, but if he’s not, we’ll rule him out. If he is, I’ll have some questions for him.” I did a double check over my shoulder to make sure we didn’t have any eavesdroppers
before I continued. “But I don’t think I’m going to be wrong. I did a little, um, exploring late last night. Guys, there have been seven accidents involving the exact same prostheses that BioLimbs manufactures.”
“Were they automobile accidents?” Frankie asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “They were different kinds of accidents, but most resulted in serious injury, and one death.”
“Death? What the heck?” Wally breathed. “Why haven’t they pulled the prostheses yet?”
“They’ve haven’t been able to tie the accidents to the prostheses,” I said. “But I bet that’s why they contacted X-Corp to see if they had a cyberpenetration. Only X-Corp didn’t find one. Maybe that’s not the problem. But they are worried that seven of their clients have had accidents, even if it can’t be pinned directly to the prostheses.”
“They should have pulled them anyway, just in case,” Frankie said indignantly. “Risking people’s lives for money is not right.”
“I’m not going to disagree with you, but that’s not all I found out.” I shifted on my feet and looked around to ensure our conversation remained private. “When I looked up the names of those seven people who had the accidents and cross-referenced them with the info Wally gathered, I found they had one thing in common.”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“They were all American veterans who served in a particular region of Iraq.”
“Mr. Matthews served in Iraq, too,” Frankie said quietly.
“I know. There’s something weird going on at BioLimbs. Can you guys go with me after school today to deliver the envelope?”
White Knights Page 15