Returning to Zero (Mick O'Malley Series Book 2)

by Alan B. Johnston

  Mick liked to watch how others reacted to the wall. The tourists wanted photos and to touch it. One, he saw, wanted a piece. Weren’t there enough ‘authentic’ pieces in the souvenir shops? But the locals just walked past it without looking. One boy, kicking his football along the footpath, banked a pass off the wall back to himself—the best use of the wall Mick had seen all day.

  The next morning, at a nearby café, Mick set about following the communication protocol. He found the following encrypted message from Jasinski:

  Follow me as catfancy4raptorz. J

  Mick searched a popular micro-blogging site and created his own account. He spent a few minutes following random people. He then started interacting with others on the site—replying, reposting, retorting. Soon he had a bunch of conversations, and decent number of followers. He then followed catfancy4raptorz.

  Jasinski’s account was quite active and she already had a bunch of enthusiastic followers. It seemed she was already credited with creating a few new memes, most involving cats and raptors as best friends. A few made him laugh out loud, getting Gunter’s attention.

  “What?”

  “Jaz is busy creating new memes. Look at this one!” Mick replied. Gunter looked at him sideways. “What? The raptor is stalking through the jungle, and the chubby cat on the tree above him says…” Mick began, but Gunter had lost interest. Gunter is too old for memes, Mick decided, and chuckled again.

  Going back a few posts, he found what he was looking for: catfancy4raptorz had posted a nondescript picture of a cat sitting in a pretty filthy room, asking others to create a meme out of it. Mick downloaded the picture and ran it through his meta-data analyzer. Out came a set of geo-coordinates. One click later, he knew his next destination.

  This is not good.

  “So tell me what you know about Jaz?” he asked Gunter later, who looked up at him in surprise.

  “Sure, what do you want to know?” he replied.

  “When did you start investigating her? Where’d she come from? Who does she associate with? Is she for real?”

  “Ah, so just a few questions. I’ll start with the last one. Yes, she is for real. You and I both know how easy it is for someone to take over someone else’s identity or persona. As far as I can tell, she really has done all the things she claims.

  “As for who she associates with, after I found out about the first meeting between you two in London, I tracked down that group and asked about her. Turns out, they didn’t hang out for long. She disappeared from London just a few days later and no one had any contact with her. I did find a little old lady who lived in the flat below her in London.”

  “Don’t tell me—Jaz used to help her cross the street?”

  “Pretty much. She seemed to have a very quiet life off-line. As to where she came from, she has lived in London, Porto, and of course Warsaw. I’d say she has taken a strong interest in you.”

  “She’s not interested in me—she’s interested in the botnet. I think she’s telling the truth that she didn’t know what Cloud 8 plus plus wanted with her P2PMSG software, and that she would shut down the botnet if she had the chance.”

  “That’s my guess, too, but it’s only a guess. You and she… have you… did you?” Gunter asked haltingly.

  “No, we did not! We have spent a lot of nights together on the road, but no.”

  “I see—still hung up on Kat.”

  “Do you think that because you are a funny old man I won’t beat you senseless?” Mick replied, but the smile came out in his voice. Gunter raised his hands about his head in a protective way, then laughed.

  “But now she’s with No-viz.”

  “Now she’s with No-viz… and we have to find them.”

  Chapter 19.

  The meeting convened as soon as the General walked into the room. He glanced around, seeing many familiar faces, but also some new faces, very young. He grimaced—hadn’t he left all this behind? Washington was a long way from Montana, and he missed being on his ranch.

  “So what do we know?” he asked, looking about the room. After a moment’s silence, a young woman spoke up first.

  “We think O’Malley was in Prague three days ago.”

  “How the hell did he get there?” the General asked, already guessing the answer.

  “We suspect he crossed over into Mexico and flew via Cuba, possibly under a different passport.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “The Czech BIS was tailing a Russian national and when they moved for the arrest, the target reportedly was meeting with a man and woman that fit the description of our couple. They all escaped custody. We are now searching through the city Internet traffic trying to isolate theirs, but no luck so far.”

  “Good luck with that!” he muttered under his breath. Obfuscation might as well be O’Malley’s middle name. “Where is he now?” he asked to no one in particular in the room. There were no answers. “And what have we found out about the girlfriend?”

  “We don’t think she is his girlfriend. We have been able to piece together some of O’Malley’s life story, and there’s no evidence of him meeting a Polish hacker, at least in person.”

  “I want his family and friends under surveillance. Someone must reach out to someone, and then we’ll have them. I can’t believe this guy is still making fools of us. Anything else?” He paused and looked around the room. It was a pathetic sight. “Thank you, everyone. Until this afternoon.” The group filed out of the room. The General picked up the desk phone and dialed a number. “I want this moved up. Yes, to a Level 2. I know, but I don’t care. This is our best shot right now, and if we fail.”

  He hung up the phone and looked out over the view of the Maryland countryside.

  Part II.

  .

  Chapter 1A.

  Mick felt the wave of tropical air wash across his face as he stepped out onto the jet bridge. It was not unexpected based on his previous visits, but he was still surprised by its intensity.

  He recalled his first visit to the ‘other’ China. Then, he had actually flown from Beijing, where it had been cold and wintry, and the temperature difference had been even more extreme. The cultural differences he noticed back then had been particularly striking. On that trip, he had unexpectedly fallen in love with Taiwan, Republic of China. He had really taken to its steamy air, streets filled with buzzing scooters, and the friendly people. He had enjoyed the amazing variety of Chinese food as well. And the museums held amazing treasures that Chiang Kai-shek and his cohorts had removed from Beijing while retreating to this island.

  Instead of a wall, there was the China Sea separating the two Chinas. But there were other walls: political, historical, and even linguistic. Tearing down a physical wall might be easier than breaking down these other walls, he mused.

  Collecting their bags, he and Gunter jumped in a taxi and settled in for the ride to the center of Taipei, the largest city in Taiwan. Mick felt exhausted, not so much from the physical effort, but from the mental stress. These days, he hated flying, and had to coach himself to breathe in and out as he proceeded through immigration lines. One of these times, he knew, his luck would run out and he would be detained. On this occasion, he was able to arrive in Taiwan without any problems.

  Jasinski’s message indicated that she and NØviz were headed to Shanghai, so he and Gunter needed a plan to join them there. He had tried without success to come up with an alternative way to get from Germany to China without having to fly, but it was just too far. He had considered, but rejected, the trans-Siberian railway. It was on his to-do list, but it would take too long, and he didn’t want to risk traveling through Russia. Also, since getting a visa to enter China legally was out of the question since the visa process might alert U.S. authorities, he needed a ‘back door’ entry into China. He felt there was some kind of logic for him to use contacts in Taiwan to smuggle him into mainland China. Gunter thought Mick was crazy but couldn’t come up with a better idea.

&nbs
p; The taxi dropped them off at a modern looking hotel, just to the north of the city center. He had chosen this area because on previous visits he had enjoyed the local restaurants and nightlife. The bar where he was meeting his RAPtOR contact was just around the corner.

  To get ready, he had first to re-image his computers and mobile from a backup on his personal cloud servers. As a precaution against a search or seizure, he had deleted all his sensitive files. The downloads took a while, as the data bounced around several servers around the world. He took a break and went for a walk to purchase a pocketful of prepaid SIMs. Gunter, it seemed, had gone straight to sleep.

  The afternoon sunlight shone down between the buildings. He looked up at the cloud formations to try to get an idea of the likelihood of a rain shower. As on his previous visits, he found he had no clue—tropical weather forecasting was just not one of his skills. However, assuming a late afternoon shower would happen every day worked pretty well in tropical Taiwan.

  While walking, he thought of Jasinski and where she might be. He guessed that she and NØviz had flown to China, possibly through Beijing to get to Shanghai. She had said she always wanted to visit China and would likely make the most of it. He could easily imagine her excitedly walking the streets, wanting to see everything and experience it all. Was she even thinking of him at all?

  Their RAPtOR contact was right on time. He was a lanky Indian who had a strong accent when he spoke English, but his Chinese seemed fluent to them. He laughed loudly at his own jokes, and was inclined to slap Gunter on the arm, which Gunter did not appreciate.

  “I can’t believe you are here! You! No one is going to believe me!” Krishna said, then noticing the alarm in Mick’s face quickly continued. “I know, I can’t tell anyone until all this is over. I know. But still, I can’t believe it. Can you sign a couple of RAPtOR stickers?” Mick nodded.

  They left the bar and set out walking on the street. They stopped at a small park and sat down at a bench that was still a little damp from a morning shower. Humidity permeated the air.

  “Now that we’re here—and I can’t believe we are—what do you need?” Krishna asked.

  “We need to get to Shanghai,” Mick began in a low voice. “A security conference starts next week and we need to be there, but we can’t enter officially.”

  “I see, so no visa?” Mick shook his head. “Hmm,” Krishna thought for a few minutes. “I may have a solution, although it is likely to be low on the luxury scale. We will need to take a train trip to the southern part of the island.”

  “Sounds fine. When can we go?”

  “Tomorrow—let’s meet at the station at seven. Are you guys good until then? I need to make a few arrangements.”

  “Sure. Let me know about any expenses.”

  “Just have plenty of cash.”

  “No worries—until tomorrow. Thanks, Krishna.”

  “My pleasure, no my honor. I can’t believe I’m helping you.” Krishna shook his head as he ambled away.

  “Enthusiastic guy,” Gunter commented. “I guess he’s less excited to be helping me out.”

  “I know, life is tough as a sidekick,” Mick replied. He braced for a punch on the shoulder as he would have received from Jasinski, but Gunter just grunted.

  Jaz, where are you? Are you OK?

  Mick found one of his favorite noodle restaurants from a previous visit, although calling it a restaurant was a bit of a stretch. It was located in the crowded space between two tall buildings. The overlapping awnings blocked most of the rain that began to fall, but the floor was a river of water that washed towards the street. They had picked out the ingredients in their ramen by pointing and nodding as items were added to their colorful plastic basket. Mick’s basket had lots of cabbage and vegetables and some kind of sea food that might have been squid. The contents of the basket were dumped into a pot and boiled for a few minutes then poured in an enormous bowl and finished off with spicy oils that floated red on the surface.

  They slurped noisily, used their chopsticks, and drank the broth from the bowl as their fellow diners did, looking slightly sideways at them. Whenever Mick caught someone’s eye, he or she smiled and bowed slightly—Mick did the same in reply.

  As another shower came and went, they walked around the city. They explored the electronics district, which had been completely redone since Mick’s last visit. He missed the tiny and crowded stalls, but was amazed at the new selection. His favorite store was still there—it only sold computer motherboards—every manufacturer and model (most were made here in Taiwan). And the prices were amazing—better than online.

  He studied some of the liquid cooling rigs on display, and got a few ideas to enhance his own setup in the future. He thought about picking out a few and having them shipped, but then he realized: shipped to where? He had a feeling that he wasn’t heading back to Melbourne when this was all over.

  Gunter said he was tired and set off back to the hotel. Mick didn’t think he could sleep yet, so he decided to keep walking.

  Not for the first time he was surprised by the near absence of motorcycles. The few he did see were ones he liked—small-bore two stroke bikes, either Japanese or unfamiliar Taiwanese brands. Until very recently, motorcycles larger than 25Øcc had been illegal on the island, and as a result there were mainly scooters and small motorbikes.

  The locals seemed to live on their scooters. He had seen a whole family riding together—a mother with two children as passengers: one on the front of the mother, one behind, then an aunt or friend on the back completing the foursome. He also saw a solitary male rider who was texting and smoking, while holding an umbrella and bag of groceries as he sped past, weaving in and out of traffic.

  Signs and markings painted on the street in Taipei were complicated. On his first trip to Taipei, Mick managed to reverse engineer the meaning of some of the complicated patchwork of symbols by observation, which he later confirmed by asking a local. One was a large rectangle reserved area at an intersection marked in front of the line, behind which the cars had to stop. At a red light, the scooters would thread their way through the traffic and congregate in this box. At the change of the light, they would all gun their engines and roar off like a cloud of bees. After they cleared out, the cars would then pull away, only to repeat the whole thing at the next red light. There was also a smaller marked rectangle, further forward, usually on the other side of the crosswalk lines. This space was for scooters making left-hand turns. Instead of stopping in the middle of the intersection, left-turning scooters would go into the right lane, and stop in this box, joining the front of the traffic in the cross direction. When the light changed, they would complete their turn. It reminded Mick of the ‘hook turns’ required in Melbourne to avoid blocking the tram tracks in the middle of the road. Seeing all the scooters made Mick yearn to be on two wheels again.

  Mick stopped to rest his legs at an Irish bar that was inexplicably named after a primate.

  Sitting down at the bar, he ordered his favorite pint of export stout. He looked over the display of objects behind the bar and located a Kilkenny hurling jersey. He looked hard for a Galway one, but didn’t see it.

  His search was interrupted by laughter from the table behind him. He looked over the group of three guys, and mentally took his best guess at their nationality—Israeli. When he heard Hebrew a moment later, he knew he was correct. They were having difficulty understanding their Taiwanese waitress, whose English was heavily-accented. Their English didn’t sound very different from the Hebrew they were speaking a moment earlier, either.

  Mick turned around and listened to both sides for a moment. It seemed they were arguing about the price of drinks on their bill, but they were talking past each other.

  “Gentlemen, may I help?” he asked. They stopped and looked at him, which he took as a yes. “They don’t understand why these three drinks are priced differently from these ones,” he said to the waitress very clearly, using his best British English.

&n
bsp; “Ah, I see,” she replied, smiling at him, relieved. “These drinks were during Glad Time, you know, Glad Hour?”

  “Happy Hour?” he suggested.

  “Yes, yes! Happy Hour!” she replied. “Happy Hour pricing,” she said, turning to the men who nodded their understanding and got out their money and started piling cash on the table. “Thank you so much!” she said, turning back to Mick, smiling broadly.

  “Shay shay,” Mick nodded in reply, smiling back, pleased with his attempt to say ‘Xiè xiè’.

  He might not speak any other languages besides English, but it seems he could translate between heavily accented English from different corners of the world.

  The next morning, Mick, Gunter, and Krishna were aboard a southbound train from Taipei station. The train looked and felt just like the Shinkansen that Mick rode last year from Tokyo to Hiroshima. He didn’t need to use his GPS to find out the speed—a small display in the carriage showed it—198 km/h so far.

  They had dodged an early morning rain shower after a breakfast of fish and noodles to make it to the station early. Mick looked for his favorite sign at Taiwanese train stations and when he found it, he pointed it out to Gunter, who chuckled at the English translation. The sign marked a quick drop-off lane at the extremely busy station, and said “Kiss and Ride.” The little picture showed a figure closing a car door. Mick thought it would be funnier if it showed the figure kissing the driver.