by Josie Brown
I throw up my hands in frustration. As much as I’d like to believe Carl was the source of the virus, I’m beginning to think the Mad Hacker may just be our man—or woman.
But if the Hacker isn’t the culprit, we better prove it, and quickly.
My own Doomsday is less than forty-eight hours away.
While they run off down the hall in opposite directions to gather up their teams, I head toward the elevator. I’ve got to get on the next flight out.
I’ve got to confront the past with the children, and prepare them for our future.
Somewhere between the third and second floor, the elevator stops cold.
Worse yet, the light goes off.
I’m in complete darkness, except for a fluorescent green glow of elevator buttons.
Has the power gone off throughout the whole building? That would be very odd.
Once again, I push the button to the ground floor. Nothing.
Instead, over the elevator’s intercom, a man’s voice proclaims playfully, “My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere, you must run twice as fast as that.”
Well what do you know—it’s the Mad Hacker.
“You’re quoting the Red Queen.” Despite my matter-of-fact tone, my heart is beating quickly. “Who are you, anyway?”
He chuckles. “Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle.”
“Yes, I know, Alice said that,” I retort angrily. “I get it, you’re one clever dude! And as for the hack job on the IC database, bravo, you’ve made your point. Everyone from POTUS on down is impressed.” I try to keep the trembling out of my voice. “So, get to the point. What do you want, a big payday? You know the U.S. can outbid its enemies if it comes to that, so now it’s my turn to quote Alice: ‘I think you might do something better with the time than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers.’”
The elevator drops many feet, and I bump my head on the ceiling. Before I can recover, it flies back up, and I crash to the floor again.
“If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting IT,” Mad Hacker retorts angrily. “It's HIM.”
He’s quoting the Mad Hatter. “Okay, I get it! You’re trying to tell me—that it wasn’t you. Am I right?”
I hold my breath for another drop—
Nothing.
Maybe I’m on the right track now.
“Look, Mister Hacker—um, would you prefer I call you Mad? Obviously you see me as someone who can negotiate on your behalf. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be hacking my phone and email. But if it wasn’t you, then who released the virus in the IC database?”
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. I know why. He doesn’t want to break the code hackers’ oath of silence.
So that he believes I’m here to help him, I quote the unicorn: “If you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”
He sighs. Finally: “Speak roughly to your little boy and beat him when he sneezes! He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases!”
He sneezes?
Of course—Carl.
“Are you telling me the vulnerability is the handiwork of Director Stone?”
“Yes, that's it!” the Mad Hacker exclaims.
“But why would he deliberately hack into a system where he already has full access?”
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality,” he says, quoting the Cheshire Cat.
I think for a minute, then I throw out my interpretation to this clue. “So, what you’re saying is that he wants it to look as if we’ve been hacked by a major enemy, am I right?”
“She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it.)”
It’s a direct quote from the book, but no arguments here. “If you want him to pay, as I do, it’s best that you tell me directly and specifically what you know,” I warn him.
“Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction,” he responds with a line spoken by the Door Knob in Alice’s story.
“At least give me a clue,” I beg.
After a moment, he says, “A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them.”
A rose tree. White roses. Three gardeners. I’m stumped. Still, I throw out a guess. “You’re trying to tell me that Carl is working with three other co-conspirators. Am I right? And I’m supposed to watch them.”
“I mean what I say.” He sounds tired and beaten as he quotes the Mock Turtle.
“How much time do we have?”
“Why, you won’t have a wink of sleep these three weeks!” He has deviated from quoting the story’s pigeon in order to insert me into this Doomsday scenario.
Suddenly, I’m blinded by the harsh glare of the elevator light. I hear the soft whir of the elevator’s engine as it starts its descent.
His final parting quote to me is, “She who saves a single soul, saves the universe.”
When the doors open, I can’t run out of there quickly enough.
Chapter 8
Breadcrumbs
As in the story “Hansel and Gretel,” the term “breadcrumbs” means leaving a trail of information. In software design, breadcrumbs are what tech designers call a user interface element that is designed to make the navigation of software programs easy—and just as importantly, intuitive.
Wouldn’t it be great if your significant other followed the breadcrumbs you left for him? For example, the interface of a clean kitchen is a breadcrumb that speaks to the way you’d like him to keep it after he’s rummaged through the cabinets and fridge. And when you stick a note on the fridge that says “Don’t forget to pick up the kids from school today,” it should readily imply that he has to be somewhere, at a specific time, to pick up his progeny.
And when you leave down the toilet seat, it is a clear signal that this is its rightful position after use.
That being said, if he ignores your savory little breadcrumbs because he’s on a self-imposed diet of blissful obliviousness, feel free to reboot him—
Where the sun don’t shine.
Jack booked us on the first flight tomorrow out of Dulles to LAX at the crack of dawn. When we get to the airport, somehow he sweet-talks the airline’s ticketing agent into upgrading us into an empty first class row.
Dominic is in first class too. However, Arnie was on standby, and is one of the last people who makes it onto the plane. Passing Jack and me, he gives me a thumbs-up on his way into coach.
“I hope he’s not upset he’s in steerage instead of up here with us,” I murmur to Jack.
“Don’t worry about him. I think he’s just happy to be going home to Emma. I just wish she felt the same way about him.”
So, Jack has also noticed her reticence with Arnie. To be expected. Nothing gets by my man.
I flag down the flight attendant to request something to drink. I’m sure she’s expecting me to ask for something more morning-appropriate, like coffee or orange juice or on the la vida loca side, a mimosa. So when I say, “Scotch, straight,” she purses her lips, and leans forward in order to point to the screen on the seat in front of me.
“As soon as we take off and the captain has turned off the ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ light, just push the menu button for the items you desire, and I’ll be back with your refreshments.”
I’m in no mood for any happy-pappy pushback. “But since we’re up here in first class, and they’re free anyway, can’t you just remember my order? You know, like the good ol’ days?”
She clicks her tongue. “Sadly, those days are long gone. Everything is computerized. But, don’t worry, the moment I see it on my screen in the galley, I’ll bring it right out. Okay?”
I shrug. Her line would be more believable if I hadn’t seen her slip Dominic two tiny bottles of
ten-year-old Laphroaig Scotch Whiskey.
Her eyes shift to Jack as if to say, my, my, my, I guess you have your hands full with this one.
He ignores it. Instead, he holds fast to my hand. “If you’re worried about the kids, I hope you realize they will love you, no matter what,” he assures me.
Even if that turns out to be true, at first they will hate me. We both know it.
Still, I smile and pretend he’s right.
As we lift off, he asks, “As ecstatic as I am that the Mad Hacker has fingered Carl, do you really believe him? I mean, considering he’s already hacked your devices, couldn’t he just be shifting the blame to someone he already knows you despise?”
“Sure, if he’s been scrolling through my Sketchbook Express app, he might have noticed my drawings of Carl in various torture devices.” I shrug. “But I believe there’s some credence to Arnie’s theory about the Mad Hacker. He points out that it was a few weeks after the virus hit the database that the IC techs were even aware of one. And, in fact, it was the Mad Hacker who brought it to their attention. At the same time, the only thing that even has the Mad Hacker’s fingerprints on it was a file called Operation Clark Kent, which has since been deleted.”
Jack stares out at the endless blanket of clouds below us. “Do we know what the file contained?”
“No, but the minute we land, I’ll ask Abu to pull something up on it.” Now that we’re finally airborne, I tap the screen in front of me. An array of the airline’s services pop up as fanciful icons.
I scroll through them until I find the one that indicates beverages: a glass. I tap onto it, and the screen changes to a triple grid of various kinds of beverages: water, fruit drinks, coffee, tea, beer, wine, and spirits.
I click the spirits icon. But, instead of a screen divided into a grid showing bottles branded with the familiar logos of vodka, gin, scotch, rye, brandy or whiskey, the screen shows the classic illustration of Lewis Carroll’s Alice, holding a tiny vial with a label that says, DRINK ME.
Oh. Shit.
I nudge Jack to get his attention.
He sighs. “There’s no way the Mad Hacker could have known we’d be on this flight, let alone that you’d ask for a drink!”
“You sent me the flight confirmation, remember?” I stare at the screen. “We know he’s hacked my email and cell texts, so I guess he saw our seat numbers. And, besides, this is a transcontinental flight, so eventually we’d order food.” Or, in my case, something to drink.
We need his clue, so I click onto the Alice icon. Immediately, I’m taken to a screen showing a logo for a company called Shazaaaam—a fireball, held between a wizard’s hands.
“Interesting. It’s an online gaming company. But the fact that it’s an international tech behemoth means it can do a lot of damage if, in fact, it’s working as one of Carl’s co-conspirators,” Jack points out.
I tap the logo with a finger, and the current image dissolves into another that shows a court scene, with a king, a queen, and Alice. Beneath, it reads:
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—'I wish they'd get the trial done,' she thought, 'and hand round the refreshments!' But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.
“What do you think it means?” I wonder out loud.
Jack shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. In any event, we should pass along this and all the other missives to Ryan, as well as to Emma and her cryptography team.” Jack takes a picture of the screen with his cell phone.
Even an Irish whiskey won’t help at this point. I close my eyes in order to force myself to get some sleep, but it’s no use. When I do, I envision the White Rabbit looking at his watch, and I realize the clock is ticking against us too.
It’s approaching noon when we touch down at LAX, leaving us three-and-a-half hours before we have to pick up the kids. We’ll spend them at Acme headquarters, going over the Mad Hacker’s clues with Emma, while Arnie puts together a postmortem on the virus attack, and Dominic hunts down Susan.
Was she working with the Mad Hacker? If so, maybe she can be coerced into revealing his mission.
I’d left my car with Aunt Phyllis, so that she could carpool the kids to and from school, as opposed to cramming them into her Volkswagen Beetle, so I’ll ride back with Jack in his Lamborghini.
Or as Mary likes to call it, “the car I inherit when I can finally drive.”
Um…no.
When the time comes, I’ll break the news that she’ll earn her used set of wheels: perhaps my nice, safe mommy-mobile.
Neither of us says much as we hike through the airport garage toward the car. In just the few days he’s been in DC, a fine scrim of dust has accumulated on its usually spotless body. I wait until we’ve stowed our gear and are buckled in before broaching the topic heaviest on my heart. “I think we should both sit down with the children when I explain the situation to them—that is, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He squeezes my hand. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
I shrug. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m afraid they’ll lash out at you as well as at me. And heaven knows, this assignment wasn’t your choice.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind. Instead, he forces a smile on his lips. “We’ll never know why Carl flipped to the Quorum. But all we can do is explain to Mary, Jeff, and Trisha that you did your best with the knowledge you had at the time.”
I know he’s right. Still, it doesn’t make this new reality any easier for me.
The car crawls through the garage until we reach the cashier booth. The sky is clear and the sun is hot and US 1 going north to Marina del Rey is unusually empty—in other words, a beautiful day to push the speed limit in a car aerodynamically designed to go from zero to one hundred in only three seconds.
By the time we cross the bridge over Ballona Creek, the dust is all but gone with the wind.
If only all my troubles disappeared so easily.
“Let’s go over everything we know to date,” I say to Jack and Ryan; Arnie, Dominic, Emma and Abu have joined me. “Emma, go ahead and hand out our clue list.”
“The Mad Hacker’s airplane menu clues are still being analyzed,” Emma continues, “as are the clues he gave Donna in the elevator.”
She hands out copies of a list of the quotes:
WHO CLUES: CARL, SUSAN, SHAZAAAAM, AND ???
It's HIM.
Speak roughly to your little boy and beat him when he sneezes! He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases. [Elevator]
Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality. [Elevator]
A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them. [Elevator]
HOW CLUES:
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—'I wish they'd get the trial done,' she thought, 'and hand round the refreshments!' But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at
everything about her, to pass away the time. [Airplane]
WHEN CLUES:
If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting IT. [Elevator]
Why, you won’t have a wink of sleep these three weeks. [Elevator]
What a funny watch! It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is! [IC vulnerability]
WHAT CLUES:
It is better to be feared than loved. [IC vulnerability]
It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards. [Susan’s Computer]
If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does. [IC vulnerability]
She who saves a single soul, saves the universe. [IC vulnerability]
WHERE CLUES:
????
No clues at all for most important question of all: where does it go down?
After everyone has reviewed the sheet, I say, “The only question with no clues is WHERE, so let’s start with the categories that contain clues.” On the conference room’s white board, I write the word WHO. “If we’re to believe the Hacker’s contention that Carl is the source, despite his attempts to plead innocent and point the finger solely at Susan, the fact that she ran away strongly indicates that she was a knowing accomplice.”
“If Susan is in fact a WHO, she’s never had a record prior to now,” Dominic offers. “Frustratingly, even her IC employee facial recognition file has disappeared from its database, along with any employee photos. “