No Way Out

by David Kessler

  “Where were you? I was worried about you!”

  “What do you mean?” asked Andi coldly.

  “I found the dinner you cooked. Where d’you go… Andi?”

  Gene had finally noticed the anger on Andi’s face. The next thing she knew Andi’s hand was lashing out towards her. Instinctively she covered against it and blinked. But what she felt against her forearm was not a blow, but the light slap of a piece of paper. When she opened her eyes a split second later, she saw that the paper was an envelope. Andi made no effort to hold on to it and let it slip from her fingers. Again, acting more on instinct than thought, Gene caught the envelope before it hit the ground.

  “You’ve been served,” said Andi coldly.

  It took Gene a second to understand what was happening as she looked into Andi’s piercing eyes and saw the intractable look. She tore open the envelope and opened up the folded page to see a subpoena ordering her to be available as a witness on Monday the thirty first of August until discharged by the Court in the case of the State of California versus Elias Claymore.

  “What is this?”

  “I’m calling you as a witness.”

  Gene looked at Andi helplessly, while Andi looked back, if not with confidence, then at least with anger. In this moment, their roles were reversed.

  “Why?”

  “I have a duty to my client.”

  Then, without another word Andi turned abruptly and stormed out.

  But Gene realized that Andi could not remain strong for long. And only now, in Andi’s absence, with the spell of anger broken, did Gene succumb to concern for Andi rather than fear for herself.

  She leapt to her feet and ran out after her lover, flinging the front door open just in time to hear Andi’s car roars to life and watch it speed away. She looked on helplessly. Then, unsure of what she was going to do next, she walked slowly back into the house.

  Thursday, 27 August 2009 – 01:20

  Paul Greenberg sat at the console of the computer, with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, reading the science fiction book that he was holding in the other. It was a strange way to be celebrating his 24th birthday. But when you look like a speckled “nerd” and think like one, you may as well act like one. In any case, the county of Ventura paid good money for Systems Administrators to watch over the network at the Ventura County Government Center, the building that housed the pre-trial detention facility, the Court, the forensic lab, and the Local DNA Database Index.

  And on the graveyard shift, it wasn’t even hard work. At just after one o’clock in the morning there was virtually nothing for him to do. But there had to be a Systems Administrator there at all times in case anything went wrong with the network. The network and its peripherals had to be able to operate 24 hours a day. He was, in effect, the night-watchman over a mass of silicon.

  Thus it was completely unexpected when the phone by the computer console broke the silence with its inordinately loud ring – so unexpected that it made him jump. The switchboard operated 24/7, but when people called the direct line, it rang louder.

  “IT department.”

  “Hallo could I speak to Linda please?” said a woman’s voice. There was something warm and strangely seductive about the voice. But then again, most women’s voices were seductive to an computer geek like Greenberg.

  “Linda?” echoed Greenberg

  “Linda Black,” said the woman.

  “There’s no Linda Black here. Are you sure she works nights?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  The woman sounded irritated. It put Greenberg on the defensive.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of her. Are you sure you’ve got the right department.”

  “What do you mean department?” Now the woman sounded bewildered. “Who are you?”

  “Paul Greenberg. I’m the systems administrator.”

  “Systems what?”

  “Administrator.”

  It gave him a good feeling to say that. All of a sudden he felt as if he were the chief of operations some major in control room. The woman sounded like she was getting flustered but now she had given him a chance to flash his credentials at her. He hoped she was suitably impressed.

  “Wait a minute, that isn’t Ritchie’s Pizza?”

  “No it isn’t.” By now Greenberg was thoroughly amused. “This is the California government center.”

  “Oh God, this is so embarrassing,” replied the woman, gushing awkwardly. “I was calling my friend Linda at Ritchie’s pizza. Gee you must think I’m a right kook.”

  “It’s all right. We all make mistakes.”

  “Look I’m sorry I disturbed you. You must be terribly busy.”

  There was an awkward silence, as if she was waiting for him to say something.

  “No, not really. It gets kind of boring on the graveyard shift. I mean the system has to be manned twenty four hours a day just in case the network goes down, but it’s basically only used during the day.”

  “Did you say network?”

  “Yes.”

  “What, you mean like computers?”

  “That’s right,” said Greenberg, enjoying the warm enthusiasm in her voice.

  “I don’t really know much about computers. My ex-boyfriend tried to explain it to me once, but it was all too technical for me.”

  She did sound impressed… and she said ex-boyfriend.

  “Well it’s a field that’s got too much jargon. But it’s really all very logical.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, I guess I should… My name is Barbie… Barbie Jackson.”

  Barbie?

  Greenberg smiled.

  You couldn’t make it up.

  “Paul Greenberg. You can call me Paul.”

  “Thanks. And you can call me Barbie. So what exactly do you do Paul? I mean what’s a... what did you call it... Administrator...”

  “Systems Administrator.”

  “Is that like higher than a programmer?”

  Greenberg smiled at the prospect of enlightening this neophyte. She sounded like she was in awe of his knowledge already. Maybe he’d get lucky with her.

  “Not exactly. I mean I am a programmer. But that’s not my job here. I’m in charge of the system as a whole. I make sure that it’s working okay, that all the computers on the network are okay, that everything gets properly backed up and all the passwords stored safely.”

  “You mean you know everyone’s password? I guess they must really trust you.”

  “No but if they lose it I can access their files and give them a new password. I mean they do trust me I guess. I’m what’s called a Superuser.”

  “Superuser?” she repeated, rolling the words on her tongue. “That sounds kind of sexy. What does it mean?”

  He smiled, his ego well and truly buttered.

  “It means I’m a highly privileged user.”

  “You make it sound so exciting.”

  Looking around at the dimly lit room, he realized that he had built it up out of all proportion with a few simple words. It was time to let her down gently.

  “Believe me it’s not. It’s actually rather boring.”

  “Oh!” She sounded disappointed. “I always thought that sort of work was terribly exciting. I mean how do you do all these things or get the computer to do them. Do you have your own special privileged user password?”

  “That’s exactly it. I have a password which the computer recognizes as a Superuser password and it gives me access to all sorts of things that other users don’t have access to.”

  “My ex-boyfriend used to have a password for his computer. But I knew what it was.”

  She sounded like an airhead. But so what? She was fun, and she seemed to like him… at least over the phone.

  “What was it?”

  “It was a four letter word,” she said, giggling.

  He was now sure of his airhead theory. But then again, she had a kind of naïve charm? It wasn’t her head that he was interested in. He imagin
ed her with platinum blonde hair, silicone-enhanced breasts and wide child-bearing hips. That was the marvelous thing about the phone – and the Internet – you could imagine the other person as whatever you liked.

  “A lot of user’s are like that. They pick a four letter word or a derogatory comment about their boss.”

  “I bet you don’t. You sound too smart for that.”

  He had the slightest inkling that she might be schmoozing him.

  “I can just imagine you picking some long-winded off-the-wall password like rumplestiltskin.”

  Well at least she reads children’s stories, he thought.

  “No, I use a short password. They’re easier to remember and harder to mistype.”

  “I can understand the bit about typing, but I’d’ve thought it doesn’t matter how long the password is, as long as it’s something you’re likely to remember.”

  “Well I always use my mother’s maiden name.”

  “Isn’t that two words?” she asked with another girlish giggle.”

  “Just the surname,” he said.

  “Okay, well I won’t ask you what it is. Listen, I’ve got to go now ‘cause I promised Linda I’d call her. I hope she’s not too busy. Look, maybe I could call you again tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I’d like that. I’m on night duty all week.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Can I call you during the day?”

  “No, I'm only on nights: ten at night till six in the morning.”

  “Okay I'll call same time tomorrow.”

  After she hung up, Paul Greenberg tried to get back into his book. But he couldn’t concentrate on it anymore.

  Thursday, 27 August 2009 – 10:50

  She called again in the morning at a time when she knew he would be off-duty.

  “Ventura County” said the switchboard operator, answering the call. It was a woman’s voice, one of those artificially cheerful telephone voices that dripped saccharine from every word.

  “Could you put me through to the IT System’s Administrator,” said the woman on the other end of the line. Her voice was deeper than the last time she called. Now she was trying to sound more like a serious educated professional than an airhead. She didn’t want her call to be diverted to some lackey away from the computer console.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Oh, er Barbara,” the woman replied. “Barbara Jackson.” She sounded flustered, almost as if she had forgotten her name.

  “Just one minute.”

  “Systems Administration,” said a man’s voice.

  “Hallo, can I speak to Paul Greenberg please.”

  Now she sounded like the airhead again. The voice was higher, almost squeaky.

  “I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. He’s on nights this week.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” said the woman, sounding deeply embarrassed. “I guess I’m making a bit of a fool of myself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The Systems Administrator sounded confused, but there was a kind of enthusiasm in his voice. This meant that she “had” him.

  “Well I spoke to last night. I got a wrong number and we started talking. He sounded kind of cute.”

  “Oh yeh he–”

  The Systems Administrator broke off. The woman well knew why. He had been about to say “he told me all about you,” presumably as he signed off and handed over in the morning. But realized it would have been tactless. It would have made Paul seem like a gossip.

  “Yes?”

  The Systems Administrator fumbled for something else to say instead.

  “He’s working nights all this week.”

  realized that he had said this a moment ago.

  “I don’t suppose you could tell me if he... no I shouldn’t ask.

  “What?” asked the man, smiling. He was enjoying listening to her. She had this kind of girlish way of babbling about her, just like Paul had said.

  “Well I was just wondering if he had a girlfriend.”

  The System’s Administrator was grinning broadly at this. No wonder Paul couldn’t stop talking about this woman.

  “Not as far as I know.”

  He will pretty soon though, thought the Systems Administrator. It sounds like his luck is changing.

  “He hasn’t?”

  Greenberg’s colleague realized that he had made a faux pas

  “I mean he just broke up with his girlfriend. He’s kind of… um…. Upset about it. But he tries not to show it.”

  “Oh... well...I was wondering if you could tell me a couple of things? I know I should ask, but it’s just that I’m... kind of curious.”

  “Like what?”

  If she hadn’t sounded like such an airhead, his suspicions would have been aroused by this question. But she sounded too dumb to be a threat to security.

  “Well like, he said he was five feet ten.”

  There was muffled laughter at the other end of the line.

  “Was he lying?” she asked, almost overdoing the girlish indignance.

  “Well, I mean, not exactly lying… maybe just exaggerating.”

  “And what about his eyes? What color are they?”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Ah, no,” she said with another little nervous giggle, “ if I tell you that, then you’ll just say the same thing.”

  “Well I’ve never really looked at his eyes.”

  “Typical of a man! Could they be blue?”

  “I… I think so.”

  The Systems Administrator breathed a sigh of relief. If she was some sort of a criminal, with infiltration in mind, she certainly couldn’t slip in a ringer based on a mere description of Greenberg’s eyes and height.

  “Okay now this time, you have to give me a straight answer without any help from me. How old is he?”

  “Twenty four.”

  “Do you… “ she broke off for a couple of second. Oh God this is gonna sound really silly.”

  “No, go on.”

  “Do you… by any chance… know what his star sign is?”

  “I’m not sure. Oh wait a minute! Yesterday was his birthday.”

  “So he’s a Virgo!” She blurted out enthusiastically. “And I’m a Taurus! That makes us compatible.”

  She asked a few more questions. But that was really all she wanted.

  Saturday, 29 August 2009 – 11:25

  The fingers of “Lannosea” were flying across the keyboard. She didn’t even need to go to the public records office. All the records of births, marriage, divorce and death had now been put on-line and were available on the same terms as at the public records office itself. It always amazed her that so many people relied on a person’s mother’s maiden name for security purposes, despite the fact that some one’s mother’s maiden name is a detail so easy to obtain. She knew his name and she knew his age. She could search through the records based on his name and the quarter of the year in which he was born. But having his exact date of birth made the process even quicker.

  So, after getting the information from the daytime systems administrator, she

  had logged on to the public records and looked for the record of Paul Greenberg’s birth based on his age and birthday. This record included his mother’s maiden name: Ruth Berman. And he had already told her that he used his mother’s maiden name as his password.

  But yesterday they might not yet have scanned the electropherogram from the new DNA profile into the computer. It normally takes four days from start to finish, and the judge had ordered it on Wednesday. They probably wouldn’t even run the actual comparison until Sunday morning. That meant that she had her window of opportunity now.

  Using the information she had, she set about gaining access to the Ventura Local Database Index System. It took her a while to track down the IP address of the server that hosted the LDIS but once she did, she used the Telnet protocol to take her to the root prompt and from there she typed in “pgreenberg” as the username and “Berman�
� as the password. Her reasoning was that Greenberg was evidently a lazy person for using such a short and obvious password to begin with, so it was probable that he used some form of his name as his username.

  In a matter of seconds, she had root control over the LDIS server!

  She downloaded copies of the evidence sample file and Claymore’s reference sample file. She then copied over the data from Claymore’s reference sample file to the evidence sample itself, thereby bringing the evidence sample file into line with the Elias Claymore reference sample. Finally she deleted the old evidence sample file from the server and uploaded the false evidence sample file in its place.

  When Alvarez got the report showing a perfect match, Claymore’s fate would be sealed.

  Sunday, 30 August 2009 – 13:50

  “You’re spoiling me,” said Alex, as Martine served him a plate that was full to toppling point.

  Alex had invited Martine again for Friday evening dinner, which they had prepared together this time.

  Like last week, Martine had stayed the night, as he had predicted she would from the overnight bag in her hand when he answered the door. But this time, she had stayed over till Sunday and was now reciprocating his culinary hospitality by treating him to a traditional English Sunday roast, complete with roast beef (he drew the line at pork), roast potatoes and parsnips, sage and onion stuffing, Yorkshire pudding, Brussels sprouts, carrots and peas.

  “So they said they’ll courier the results over?” asked Martine

  “As soon as they get them.”

  They were talking about the DNA results of the new tests. They were due to get them today, in preparation for the Court hearing tomorrow.

  “Any bets on what they’ll show?”

  “Not with me. All bets are off.”

  “She was looking at him across the table.”

  “You look uncomfortable.”

  “It’s the waiting,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “The waiting is the hardest part.”

  “For us or for Claymore.”

  Alex shrugged sheepishly.

  “You’re right. Here we are feeling sorry for ourselves when it’s Elias who’s fate is hanging in the balance.”