Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2)

by C. E. Tobisman

  “Are you Curtis?” Caroline asked, though his identity was obvious based on Floyd’s physical description.

  Curtis kept his attention on the bag. He peered at it intently, as if building anticipation for opening a birthday present. Then he opened it, jutting his long neck down to gauge its contents.

  “Damn! Just scones.” He dropped the bag at his feet and dived back into the dumpster.

  “Floyd sent us,” Caroline said to Curtis’s butt. “He told us you had a computer I might be able to borrow. It’s a matter of life and death. It’ll save lives.” And quietly, “Mine included.”

  But Curtis continued rummaging through the dumpster’s contents, the occasional swear words resonating in the metal box.

  “What are you looking for?” Caroline asked.

  “Doughnuts and their holes. Most eat them because they are sweet.”

  “That’s true,” Caroline agreed. “But you don’t?”

  Curtis withdrew his face from the dumpster.

  Straightening to his full height, he towered over Caroline like a basketball player.

  “Why do I eat doughnuts?” he echoed.

  “Yes. You said most people eat them because they are sweet. That suggests that isn’t your reason.” Caroline knew how to talk to crazy people. She was related to a few. She’d logged many hours navigating the distorted dimensions of their realities.

  “I eat doughnuts because they are the perfect Zen snack. Round and endless on the outside, the empty space in the center is there to remind you of the missing piece, which is also fried in oil. Together they are whole. Yin and yang.”

  He brought his two hands together in a thunderous clap.

  “How about computers? Can we talk about computers?” Caroline asked.

  “I don’t eat computers.”

  “Of course not,” Caroline agreed. “That would be nuts. But if you have a computer I could borrow for just a half hour, I’d—” She tried to think of something she could trade.

  “You’d what? Tell the authorities where I live, and then they would confiscate my computer along with all of my belongings?” Curtis returned to his hunt for doughnuts. “Only I know the undisclosed safe location where the computer lives. Where the movies play.”

  “Movies?” Caroline echoed. The word hummed with significance.

  “Yes, but the evil Comcast thinks that I am a torrent freak, so they keep throttling my flow so I can only watch one movie at a time,” Curtis said, his voice echoing in the dumpster. “One screen at a time. It is a hateful choking.”

  Caroline considered the information. This mad hatter of a man apparently had access to electricity and a computer. She sent silent thanks to Floyd.

  “You mean you don’t have the bandwidth you want,” she said.

  Pulling himself from the dumpster, Curtis frowned and brought his hands together. “My reach is oh, so, so, so short. And there are so many movies. So many images that I cannot reach.”

  A tear formed at the corner of his eye, and he used the bottom of his shirt to dab at it.

  “Now go.” He waved his other hand away.

  “It’s not a permanent problem,” Caroline ventured. “It’s just the, um, evil Comcast throttling your flow.”

  Curtis looked up from his shirt.

  With tears still in his eyes, he nodded.

  “What if I could get you more bandwidth?” Caroline asked.

  Curtis raised his eyebrows, hope igniting in his gaze. From his expression, Caroline could tell that bandwidth was even better than doughnuts in Curtis’s Pantheon of Favorite Things.

  “Yes, much more bandwidth—huge, long bandwidth,” Caroline offered, lowering her voice to a deeper register. “What if I could get you a constant torrent?”

  “You can do this?” Curtis asked.

  “Oh yes,” Caroline said. “But only if you’ll let me use your computer.”

  Curtis rubbed his hands together again like an addict being offered his favorite vice.

  “If you can bring me the torrent, then you may use my computer,” he announced.

  “No, I need to use the computer first,” Caroline said. She was running out of time.

  But Curtis shook his head. “I have told you what I need. You must bring me the torrent. Then you may use the computer.”

  “But you can wait for bandwidth. I need a computer now. You don’t understand—”

  “No, you do not understand. My computer. My rules. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

  Caroline controlled her desire to scream at the clearly insane man.

  “Do you have a wireless router?” she asked instead, caging her temper.

  “Yes, yes. I have all manner of only slightly old tech. People are fickle. Oh, so very fickle. They throw away things. Monitors. Ethernet cables. Routers. All of it is mine now.” When Curtis smiled, the spaces between his teeth reminded Caroline of a small child.

  “You want movies?” she asked again, her mind working hard to figure out how to get Curtis what he wanted. There were many ways to pirate bandwidth. But without seeing Curtis’s setup, it was difficult to determine how to augment it. She needed more information from him.

  “Yes. But not only that,” Curtis said. “I am also wanting legal things.”

  “Legal things?” Caroline echoed, exhaling in exasperation. The deal the tall man had struck was apparently now growing an amendment.

  “Yes. I am studying all the time. All, all, all the time. Except when I am gathering doughnuts,” he added. “Professor Graverstein is my favorite for studying.” Now Curtis’s voice dropped to a lower register, suggesting the sort of interest beyond the merely academic.

  “Professor Graverstein? You mean the Con Law professor at Southwestern Law School?” Caroline had owned a textbook authored by Professor Graverstein. The professor was not only brilliant, she was beautiful, as Caroline had learned from the book jacket. She could understand Curtis’s interest, if not how he’d managed to watch one of the professor’s lectures. Law schools guarded their intellectual property. Otherwise, there’d be little point in charging tuition.

  “Professor Graverstein is teaching always about the government’s powers,” Curtis continued. “What it can do. What it can take away. What it cannot do. Listening to her . . .” He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth.

  “Did you find something on YouTube about her?” Caroline asked.

  Curtis bobbed his head up and down. “She gave only one interview on CNN, and I have learned all there is to learn from that interview. Now I must learn more. I also saw her in person once, too, but I stayed away so that I would not frighten her. She is too important to be frightened. Instead, I tried to talk to the students to find where the video lectures are hiding.”

  The corners of his mouth turned down.

  “You talked to students at Southwestern Law School?” Caroline asked.

  “Some would not talk to me. One did. He confirmed there are dozens, hundreds, thousands of videos of Professor Graverstein. But they are caged.” He frowned more, the light leaving his eyes. “They are not on the Internet.”

  Judging by the location of the doughnut shop, Caroline had an idea where Curtis lived. She knew how to help him pirate bandwidth for watching movies. But she still had to figure out how to give him access to a law school professor’s video lectures that resided solely on Southwestern Law School’s server.

  “Find me a wireless router and some Ethernet cable and I’ll get you your bandwidth,” Caroline said. “I’ll need a few hours to get your access to Professor Graverstein’s lectures.”

  “But you can do it?” Curtis asked.

  “Yes.”

  “If you do this, you can come to the undisclosed safe location where the computer resides.”

  Caroline’s heart thrilled. Right now, it was better than an invitation to the White House.

  But then she realized something.

  “How will I know where the undisclosed location is?”

  “Enzo
will bring you,” Curtis said. “You will find him at the soup kitchen near City Hall. He is always there when he is not here. Or somewhere else.”

  Caroline frowned. Find some dude named Enzo at a soup kitchen he was at sometimes. Except when he wasn’t. What could possibly go wrong?

  Caroline flexed her toes in her ill-fitting shoes. The fifteen-block walk to her destination had ensured that the blisters growing on her heels would take weeks to heal. She hoped she’d be able to hitch a ride back to Julian Street, where she’d meet up again with Hitch and Jake. But right now, she had other things to worry about.

  Looking up, Caroline regarded the building she needed to figure out how to enter.

  The exterior of the Bullocks Wilshire building hadn’t changed since Caroline had last been there, but the inside had been gutted and turned into Southwestern Law School. Still, the shell of the structure remained exactly as she remembered it from childhood. The Art Deco edifice rose a half dozen stories from the street, its taupe and mint walls harkening back to an age of elegance. But the doors that had once welcomed high-end shoppers in overcoats and fedoras now teemed with students in backpacks and blue jeans.

  Feeling like an interloper, Caroline circumnavigated the school until she found what she sought: the side entrance. It was right where she remembered it. She’d passed through it many times with her mother. Joanne Auden had been allowed to use the special entrance reserved for Bullocks Wilshire’s best customers. As a child, Caroline had thrilled at the special treatment. The smiles of the uniformed staff as they held open the door. The cheerful attentions of the personal shopping assistants waiting on the other side.

  Looking back, Caroline recognized her mom was a “best customer” because she went on manic spending sprees. She recalled her mother grabbing fistfuls of shirts from the display tables, the personal shopping assistant gleefully suggesting accessories to go with each. The mood had been elating. Festive. Hours after entering the special side door, Joanne Auden would leave with a valet carrying a half dozen full shopping bags to the car.

  Now, the door that had once allowed her mother to mainline her shopping addiction allowed Caroline to avoid the security desk at the front of the school. A desk where she’d be asked for an identification card.

  Caroline had no time for questions. Hence, the side door.

  Leaning back against the side of the building, Caroline opened the newspaper she’d found in a free kiosk on the corner near the bus stop. She scratched at the back of her neck, where the tag of the shirt she’d grabbed from an open locker at the YMCA bothered her neck. She’d risked the trip to the public pool to use the showers. The clean T-shirt had been a bonus. Both were necessary for what she had planned now.

  Soon, the door opened. A student emerged, backpack in hand, cell phone in the other. He hardly missed a step as Caroline brushed past him, through the open door.

  Once she was inside, Caroline stopped to get her bearings. While she was familiar with the building, she wasn’t familiar with the law school’s build-out.

  Gone were the mannequins. Gone were the clothes. Gone were the helpful assistants, waiting to ply her mother with compliments and stoke her mania. But Caroline could still guess where to find the server. It would be somewhere near the library or the administration center. Somewhere at the nexus of information. The layout would be predictable. She just needed to find the landmarks that would tell her where to look.

  A sign listed the faculty and their offices. Below the directory, arrows pointed in different directions.

  Caroline followed the arrow that pointed toward the Sonesseri Computer Lab.

  As Caroline had hoped, the server room was located two doors down from the computer lab. A keypad was mounted at face level beside the server room—a layer of security that Caroline would have to figure out how to crack.

  But first she had to write some code. She glanced at the clock in the hall.

  It was 1:58 p.m. She needed to move quickly.

  Inside the computer lab, Caroline found six desktop computers available to any student who had a password. It was an artifact of earlier computing days when not all students had their own laptops. The room’s only occupant was a woman with ebony skin and an amber dress.

  A jar of memory sticks sat atop a small table by the entrance. A note card informed students that the memory sticks were complimentary from The Sonesseri Firm, which was also hiring unpaid externs for work during the summer. Another business that wanted cheap, desperate labor.

  Slipping a memory stick into her pocket, Caroline approached the ebony-skinned woman.

  “I’m new here,” Caroline began. “I mean, I’m a first year.”

  “Me, too,” said the woman with a French accent. She didn’t take her eyes from the computer.

  “My laptop got stolen,” Caroline volunteered. It wasn’t entirely untrue.

  “That’s terrible,” the woman commiserated, looking up.

  Caroline warmed at the reaction. Though she disliked preying on compassion, it was a useful human emotion for someone in desperate need of a favor.

  “I came from Ghana two months ago,” continued the woman. “I’m waiting two months already for my stipend so I can buy a laptop. Until then, I am here.”

  “At least you can get into your account and get your assignments,” Caroline said. In the African woman’s eyes, she noted the restrained urge to press for more information. Curiosity. Another malleable human emotion.

  “The truth is,” Caroline continued in a low voice, “I haven’t prepared for my Contracts exam. My professor posted a bunch of stuff we were supposed to read, and unfortunately I forgot my password for these.” Caroline gestured to the computers in the lab. She paused another beat. “I never wrote down my computer lab password. I thought I wouldn’t need it.” She looked down, as if acknowledging she’d been chastised by the fates for her arrogance.

  “Contracts?” the African woman asked, her eyes brightening. “Who’s your professor?”

  “Fesler,” Caroline answered. She was glad she’d read the staff directory.

  “Oh, I’m in Culberson’s class,” the woman said, her face falling. “But if you want, you can get in on my account.”

  “Really? Thanks so much.” Caroline hurried to sit down at the computer farthest from the African woman.

  With swift keystrokes, she brought up the log-in panel.

  As soon as the woman gave her a username and password, Caroline jammed the memory stick into the USB port and began her work. Instead of navigating to the course directories, she opened a document and began writing code. Once loaded onto the law school’s server, it would create a back door that she could open remotely for Curtis so he’d have endless access to Professor Graverstein’s lectures.

  The sensation of keys beneath her fingers gave Caroline the illusion of having reached her goal of securing a computer to hack Security Images, but she knew she couldn’t use the law school’s computers for that task. She needed a private computer with unfettered Internet access and hours of uninterrupted time—something the computer lab didn’t offer, but that hopefully Curtis could provide. If she could earn his trust.

  Writing swiftly but carefully, Caroline constructed the series of commands she needed the law school’s server to obey.

  From the corner of her eye, Caroline noticed the African woman looking over at her, probably wondering why someone who was supposed to be downloading course materials was furiously typing on a keyboard.

  Caroline hurried to finish her code. Just a few more strings of commands should do it. Just a few more orders to the server, telling it whom to let inside. Who was friend and who was foe.

  When she finished, Caroline forced herself to proofread her code. She didn’t want to spend any more time in the server room than she had to in order to load her work onto the server. Better to get it right now than stay in the server room where her presence would raise alarms.

  “What are you doing?” came the woman’s voice from dir
ectly behind Caroline.

  “Just printing out the law review article now,” Caroline said, pointing at the screen, where she’d pulled up Professor Fesler’s current reading assignments.

  She hit “Print,” then logged off before yanking the memory stick out of the USB port and pocketing it.

  “Thanks. You’re a real lifesaver,” Caroline said, hurrying out of the computer lab.

  CHAPTER 20

  Instead of trying to break into the pass code–protected server room, Caroline wandered the halls of Southwestern Law School. Despite the ticking clock, Caroline forced herself to slow down. She had an idea how to get inside the server room, but she’d need to use the computer lab again. This time, she had to make sure she had no witnesses.

  So she drifted past the library and watched the students study.

  She strolled by the mail room and grabbed a law school newsletter, which she tucked under her arm to use later.

  Finally, she reentered the computer lab.

  To her relief, she found it empty. The African woman must have finished her work. Hopefully she wouldn’t return soon.

  Placing the newsletter on the desk beside one of the computers, Caroline crouched low and followed the cord from the nearest computer to the lab’s router. Routers were used to connect computers to the Internet or, in this case, to the law school’s server.

  She discovered that the computer router was an outdated Cisco. In her software engineering days, Caroline had written articles about the common vulnerabilities and exposures—or CVEs—for routers. She knew Cisco routers were vulnerable to denial-of-service or DoS attacks. Inserting a string of characters into the log-in prompt would crash the router, resulting in a denial of service to everyone using the server.

  With deft keystrokes, Caroline inserted the characters.

  Then she waited.

  Ten seconds later, the screen of her computer flashed an urgent message: No network access.

  Twisting around in her chair, Caroline checked the screens of the other five computers in the computer lab.