Cold Snap

by J. Clayton Rogers

  sandwich.

  "You got one for Ahmad."

  "But he's been in America. I expect him to be corrupted."

  "Hell is a comfortable chaise lounge surrounded by cozy fires."

  "Is it?" said Abu Jasim with lifted brow. "I must have skipped madrasa on the day they had that lesson. Who will our guests be? Nobody unexpected, I hope."

  "You've met Ben Torson. He's the one you delivered Uday to."

  "Seems OK."

  "He should be here, soon. The other guest...you'll see."

  "That doesn't sound OK."

  When they entered the motel room they found Ahmad in the same position they had left him in, but his frown had deepened.

  "Have you successfully violated the password?" Ari asked, easing into the lone chair, a wicker contraption that poked him in the ribs with loose strands.

  "Yes and no."

  "That sounds less than promising."

  "Yeah," said Abu Jasim, throwing the torta at him. "Be more upbeat."

  He hefted a can of cream soda, as though considering throwing that, too. Not wanting to damage the laptops, he rested it next to the boy's leg.

  "Hey, where's my beer?"

  "We want you to keep a clear head," said Ari, twisting the cap off a bottle of Thunderbird. The name appealed to Ari, sounding virile and suggestive of thunderclaps. When he had asked the clerk if it was any good, he had received a thumbs up in reply. Abu Jasim brought a plastic cup from the bathroom. Ari unwrapped it and poured himself a glass. He took a sip and gagged.

  "This horse has been drinking diesel fuel!" he cried out.

  Abu Jasim took the cup and sipped. "Mmmm, not bad."

  "Peasant. Take it all."

  "Don't you need a clear head?" Ahmad stared darts at his uncle.

  "What is this yes and no answer I heard?" said Ari.

  "There's a zillion password hacking programs on the Web. They're perfectly legal. Lots of companies use them. How else can they recover data when an employee quits and walks out without telling the boss all his passwords? I like HackPest."

  Ari glanced at the screen of the laptop Ahmad had brought with him. There were two columns. The first seemed comprehensible enough: Session Name, Status, Input Mode, Hash Target, Hash Type, Time and so forth. The second column gave Ari an instant headache: oclHackPest, Cracked, Mask (followed by a series of numbers)...under which were more numbers and abbreviations that were completely meaningless to him—which was, he supposed, exactly what he had expected.

  "You don't have to be a geek to use one of these programs," Ahmad continued. "And whoever set up the password didn't give it any bit strength. 'Tomorrowcomes'. I mean, give me a break. No numbers or special characters. If you're serious, you're not supposed to use real words."

  "That sounds clear enough," Ari lied.

  "I guess I should count myself lucky it isn't in Arabic."

  "But you know Arabic."

  "Sorta," Ahmad shrugged. "But there's something funny here..."

  Ari peered at where Ahmad was pointing and saw yet another incomprehensible string of numbers.

  "Yes?"

  "Aw cm'on, Colonel...you're military. Look again."

  37.382865, -77.423146.

  "GPS coordinates," said Ari.

  "Our GPS coordinates," said Ahmad. "I get the feeling that if I bypass the security on this, it'll send a signal."

  "To the original owners?"

  "Who else?"

  "Is there any way to prevent it?"

  "Not with wi-fi here."

  "You mean we rented this expensive computer room for no reason?"

  "No, I needed to get online to see some codes..." He tapped his own laptop. "Plus get advice. There's all sorts of guys in cyberspace who get a kick out of this."

  "You're communicating with guys in cyberspace?"

  "Sure."

  "Will these guys be able to see what is on this computer when you follow their instructions?"

  "Maybe. Does that bother you?"

  "Since I don't know what is on this computer, I can't say."

  "When the owners get the signal, they might activate a worm and erase this hard drive."

  "A worm?"

  "So it's all a gamble. To top it all, even if the hard drive isn't erased, the owners might zero in on us. We won't be able to sleep here, tonight."

  "This is most problematic," said Ari.

  "It stinks of shit," said Abu Jasim, deep into his second cup of Thunderbird.

  "Well...since we have nothing as it is, and we're at risk of having brought you all the way down here to no purpose.... Should we go to a motel without wi-fi?"

  "It might not open without access to the Net," Ahmad sighed. "So...do it?"

  "Do it."

  Ahmad tapped the touchpad and the login screen popped up. He typed in the password and then sat back, popping open his soda and staring at the display.

  "OK, we're in. Let's wait and see what happens..."

  Ari waited a minute and then said, "Well?"

  "It looks like we're OK. That doesn't mean they aren't tracking us right now."

  "We will slaughter any stranger who approaches this room," Ari asserted.

  "Aw, shit," said Ahmad.

  "Do not be dismayed. Your uncle and I will do all the shooting." He turned to Abu Jasim, swaying in his third cup. "My friend, you might want to put aside that poison for the time being."

  "Sure," said Abu Jasim, pouring another cupful. "I can shoot anything and everybody on a dime."

  "C'est une catastrophe," said Ari.

  There was a knock at the door. Ari peeked through the window curtain, nodded, and opened up.

  "Ben!"

  Ben Torson entered, nodded at Ari. When he saw Ahmad on the bed he offered a friendly wave. Then he turned and saw Abu Jasim. His eyes widened in horror.

  "Oh shit!" he cried out, staggering backwards. "Oh shit!"

  "Oh shit!" Abu Jasim chuckled, raising his cup.

  "It's you! It's him! Oh shit!"

  "Ben!" Ari admonished. "You're swearing! This is not like you!"

  "But it's him! The Number One card! Saddam!"

  Ari was puzzled. "But you met before. He delivered Uday to you."

  "Oh shit! The father sold out his son!"

  "You don't know what you see."

  "I know what I see!"

  Ari turned to Abu Jasim. "Tell him the truth, that you are not Saddam Hussein."

  Abu Jasim bowed. "I am Abu Jasim, Son of God."

  "Oh shit!"

  "But did he react this way when he saw you before?" asked Ari.

  "Uh..."

  "We put the ski masks back on before meeting Mr. Torson," said Ahmad from the bed. "You want to hold it down? I'm getting some wild shit, here."

  "Stop your swearing!" Abu Jasim raised his fist in the boy's direction.

  Ari, Abu Jasim and Ahmad had worn Chicago Bears Super Bowl novelty ski masks to disguise themselves in the wilds of Cumberland. Apparently, Abu Jasim had thought it prudent to put the masks on when meeting Ben. Judging from Ben's reaction now, it was looking to Ari as if it had been a good idea.

  "You had Uday, the real Uday!" Ben protested. "What's to say you don't have the real father?"

  "My father was an honest man," said Abu Jasim. "He was a loser."

  "If you trust me you'll believe me," said Ari.

  "I don't know if I trust you."

  "Then just believe me. This is Abu Jasim, a peasant of the lowest order, former fedai to Saddam Hussein—meaning his body double—until his ass puckered so badly he had to escape. Which I helped him to do, and which I wished he would remember and be grateful for."

  "Never forget," said Abu Jasim, slopping himself onto the first bed.

  "Would Saddam Hussein ever have been caught dead in this position?" said Ari, pointing at the evidence.

  "No," said Ben. "He had bodyguards to hide him away."

  Ahmad was staring at Ben intently. "Uh, mister? You might want to look at this."

>   "His name is Ben Torson," Ari admonished.

  "Hey, Mr. Torson. And you might want to look at this."

  "What?"

  "You." Ahmad tapped the screen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was a photograph of Ben in dress uniform, with the triangular yellow, blue and red First Armored 'Old Ironsides' badge on his shoulder. Next to it was a schematic of his face based on the photo.

  "I wouldn't trust it for accuracy," said Ahmad. "Not many nodes, and the grids are spaced far apart."

  "What does it mean?" Ben asked.

  "You tell me," said Ahmad. "There's a hundred or so pictures in here like this. I've only looked at a couple. I can search by file names...or the person's initials."

  He went into Detail View and scrolled down the list. "You know any of these guys?"

  "Can you give another view, with pictures?"

  "You mean thumbnail." He switched to Small thumbnail view, but skipped Medium and went straight to Large when Ari grumbled.

  "Ah, lots of faces," Ari said, pleased. "But they all have those facial graphs or whatever you call them next to them. And you have no idea what it means?"

  "Someone converted old pictures of these people into digital snapshots to create maps of people's faces...maybe for passports. One thing they have in common, they'd be perfect for biometric passport photos. Neutral expressions, no smiles..."

  "What would the Puppets be using such things for?"

  "The who?" Ben asked.

  "There was a group of Korean importers—"

  "You were in the middle of that?" Ben demanded suddenly.

  Ari raised an inquiring eye.

  "It's all over the news," Ben continued. "Big shoot-out, three Korean immigrants beat up...near the Seaboard Building."

  "I may have been in the environment," Ari admitted.

  "Vicinity," Ahmad corrected without glancing up from the screen.

  "Does that alarm you?" Ari asked Ahmad.

  "Hey, another gunfight," the boy shrugged. "Just so long as I wasn't there."

  "The killers were downloading information from the A-Zed computers when we arrived."

  "'We'?"

  "Perhaps the Koreans were using this as part of their illegal immigrant database."

  "You're losing me," said Ben. "But my picture's in there and I'm Virginian born and bred."

  "When did all this happen?" Ahmad asked.

  "A few days ago."

  "What's today's date?"

  "A geek like you doesn't know the date?" Abu Jasim half-moaned from the other bed.

  "What's wrong with you?" Ari demanded.

  "I have a headache."

  "Ben, would you be so kind as to dump the remaining contents of that poisonous grape bottle into the bathroom toilet?"

  "Sure."

  "I gave up thinking of dates after Super Bowl XLI," Ahmad fussed. "When you stuck me in the middle of the woods and I missed—"

  "Yes, yes," said Ari in annoyance. "Why do you want to know when the mother of all gunfights happened?"

  "If that's when they downloaded off the A-Zed's computers, it would probably be in the Download file. I mean, if you snatched this away in the middle of all the action, they wouldn't have had time to rename it. I think this was on the laptop already."

  "What was taken from the company computer, then?"

  Ahmad alt-tabbed and searched the files. "Here, just what I thought: a big file dated the same day you executed whoever."

  "I did no such thing." Ari made a sound of protest when Ahmad began fiddling with his own laptop. "You're looking at the wrong computer."

  "I want to download some packet capture software. Find out if we're being pinged."

  "He won't give it up," said Ben, trying to tug the bottle away from Abu Jasim. "Man, is it ever creepy, stealing Thunderbird from Saddam Hussein."

  "I need the poison for the cure," Abu Jasim reasoned.

  "Leave him be, then," said Ari.

  Ben looked at Ari, then back down at Abu Jasim. In a sudden flash of movement he snatched the bottle out of the surprised man's hand and marched it to the bathroom. Abu Jasim began reaching awkwardly under his jacket.

  "Don't even think of shooting him," Ari warned.

  "But he's the enemy!"

  "That was yesterday. Today he is our companion in arms."

  "Colonel, why don't you—"

  Ari gave him a warning glance and Abu Jasim subsided into a sulk. When Ben came back into the room he looked so self-righteous that Ari himself was tempted to shoot him. Instead, he took out his wallet and removed a hundred-dollar bill.

  "Ben, could you go to the motel office and rent the room next door? If this laptop is being tracked...we need to be prepared. We will use the room as a hunting nest."

  "A duck blind?"

  "Yes, I believe that's an appropriate analogy."

  "All right..." Ben said uncertainly, taking the money. "But what if the room's already taken?"

  "Abu Jasim will evict them, if he can stand."

  Looking squeamish, Ben went to the door. He froze.

  "I hear someone out there."

  Ahmad's head shot up, his face spread in a grimace. "Shit! You're going to get me killed! Again!"

  "Were you killed the first time?" Ari said, drawing his Glock as Ben stepped away from the door.

  There was a knock.

  "Who is it?" Ari called out.

  "A fucking popsicle! Let me in!"

  Ari put his gun back under his coat. "It's our other guest. You may safely open the door."

  The reassurance made little impact on Ben, who cautiously turned the bolt and jumped back. Elmore Lawson shuffled into the room. Ahmad let out a breath of dismay. Abu Jasim and Ben, familiar with the damage war could inflict on the human body, were still impressed. That was one thing Iraq had not taken from him. Lawson had always been and always would be an imposing presence.

  "This is Mr. Lawson, a former world traveler," said Ari. "He will assist us in cremating the bad people." Before he could be corrected, he added, "Ben, could you proceed with my request?"

  Ben looked down at the balled bill in his fist. "I'm afraid I mangled your C-note."

  Lawson exchanged neutral nods with Ari and Ben. The nod in Ahmad's direction was met with a frozen stare. Then he turned to the first bed.

  "It's..." He turned to Ben.

  "Don't start me to lyin'," said Ben. "Looks like him to me."

  "What are you gaping at?" Abu Jasim glowered as Lawson turned back to him. "I'm Saddam. Get over it."

  "Can I claim the reward, then?" Ahmad said. Seeing how no one else seemed overwhelmed by pity or horror by Lawson's presence, he quickly regained his composure.

  Ben's eyes brightened. "Is there a reward?"

  "Just you try," snarled Abu Jasim. "But before you do, run across the street and get me another Thunderbird."

  "Like fun I will," said Ben and left the room for the office.

  A small chime came from the A-Zed laptop. Glancing down, the young man gave a hiss.

  "What is it?"

  Ahmad reached into his bag and took out an external hard drive. He plugged it into the USB port.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Copying everything on the laptop. We're being pinged. They know we're in their hard drive."

  "Can they stop us from copying it?" Ari asked tensely.

  "Sure, they could send out a 'ping of death' that would crash the laptop. But if they did that, the GPS would stop working. They have to keep that going to know if we move."

  "They know where we are," Ari sighed.

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Let them come!" Abu Jasim declaimed and flopped back on the bed.

  "Mr. Ciminon, what have you gotten me into?" Lawson moaned.

  "I thought gunfights 'enabled' you."

  Ahmad, keeping half an eye on the laptop, shifted his eyes from Ari to Lawson. "You've both been in a gunfight?"

  "With some of the same men who we encountered before, I believe.
" Ari stood straight. "But now the odds are better: five against four."

  "Count me out!" Ahmad cried.

  "Very well, four against four."

  Ahmad pointed at his uncle. "And him, too!"

  "Three against four. Still acceptable."

  "Uh, I don't want to overdose on enabling," said Lawson. "I was in a teleconference with UCLA when you called. Operation Mend. I'm having some issues."

  "Psychological?"

  "That's a lost cause. No, physical."

  "Two against four," said Ahmad. "Not so hot."

  "You forget, I am a trained killer who can consume a hundred times his body weight."

  "You are?" Lawson and Ahmad said in unison.

  "Indeed," said Abu Jasim. "The stories I've heard about him, you wouldn't believe."

  "I don't," said Lawson. "Or I hope it's not true. I didn't realize Italy trained an elite corps of special ops."

  "The Compagnia Alpini Paracadutisti," said Ari, giving Ahmad and Abu Jasim hard looks.

  "I know you're lying, but you always come up with an answer," said Lawson, his eye drawing venom from the wounds surrounding it. "And what exactly is a wop special forces operative doing in my country?"

  "Retired," said Ari. He was thinking about Ben, who had told him once that he no longer had the will to hunt game. Would that include human game? He could carry a gun, but would he use it? Would the odds end up being one against four? It wouldn't be the first time for Ari to go solo against numerous adversaries. But after his confrontation with the assassin at Manchester Docks, he was not so sure of himself. He went over to the side of Ahmad's bed and studied the laptop screen. "Do you think you could reverse the process?"

  Ahmad glanced up quizzically.

  "If they can see us...can we see them?"

  "Only if they turn on the GPS in their computer, which I don't think they'll do."

  "Can these pings tell you how close they are?"

  "Probably...let me look at the log." He began opening other screens. "You know, if I jiggle the firewall...naw, shit. They've locked in an exception. Still..."

  "Let them find us," said Ari.

  "They've already pinpointed our address. We can blind them."

  "And if you block their GPS, will they ping you to death?"

  "Good point," said Ahmad, his face falling. "I'm not even halfway through copying. If we had fifteen minutes, that would be great."

  "Do we have fifteen minutes?"