42
Kira Miller retreated to her bedroom at the back of the RV. She turned to Desh before she entered and said, “The gellcaps are in a secure spot. I’ll need about five minutes with a screwdriver to get at them.”
Desh nodded as she disappeared behind the curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the vehicle. “Let’s get you ready, Matt,” he said. He gestured for the hacker to take a seat at the kitchen table in front of Kira’s keyboard and monitors.
Once he was seated, Desh and Metzger wasted no time roping him securely to the chair. They bound his ankles with both metal and plastic handcuffs and taped his calves to the chair’s two front legs with a stronger version of duct tape.
They had just finished when Kira emerged with a small stainless steel canister and handed it to Desh. He removed a single pill and gave it to Griffin while Kira took a small glass from a cabinet and filled it with tap water. Griffin took the water from Kira and downed the pill without ceremony.
“When will this take effect?” he asked.
“In about five minutes,” replied Kira.
Desh pulled an MP-5 from the canvas bag and handed it to Metzger. “Take a position in Kira’s bedroom as far from Matt as you can get,” he said, “and cover him.”
Metzger did as instructed, opening the curtain to have a clear view of the entire vehicle, while Desh stacked both canvas bags on the floor in front of the passenger seat and pulled an MP-5 for himself. “Colonel, you’re with me.”
Desh turned the passenger seat around so it faced the road again and knelt on it, extending his head above the high seatback with the machine pistol protruding over it. He insisted that Connelly sit normally in the comfortable driver’s seat, unarmed. The colonel argued that he could carry his own weight and help cover Griffin, but Desh wouldn’t hear of it, reminding him that a rifle shot had recently torn a hole through his shoulder, mere inches away from his heart. “Save your strength, Colonel,” Desh told him. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
Reluctantly, Connelly took the seat as requested.
“Kira, I want you in the bedroom, safely behind the major,” said Desh.
Kira opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. She had been in charge, and alone, for far too long. The reason she had wanted to team up with Desh in the first place was to get help. With a slight smile she realized she should let herself enjoy not making all the decisions for a change. She walked to the back of the RV and for once played the role of the damsel, taking a position behind and to the left of the war-hardened major.
“Major,” Desh called out.
Metzger caught his eye from thirty feet away.
“If he shows any suspicious behavior whatsoever, shoot him in the leg immediately. No hesitation. Don’t forget that he’ll be much faster than we are, mentally and physically.”
Metzger nodded.
The group took consolation from the fact that in addition to being bound, Griffin was slow and untrained, so that even if the transformation tripled his speed they should be able to handle him. Should be. No one was in a hurry to test this theory.
Griffin began navigating the web so he would be poised at the entrance to the NSA’s system when the mental transformation took effect. He didn’t have to wait long. “Holy crap!” he yelled the instant it did. He continued speaking after this but at a rate too fast for the rest of the group to decipher.
Griffin turned back to the keyboard and his fingers flew over it like those of a possessed concert pianist, filling all three monitors with an ever-changing parade of menus, data, and web pages. He had worked too fast for most people to have any hope of following before he was enhanced, but now his speed was off the charts. He continued working at a dizzying pace for twenty minutes while Desh and Metzger kept their weapons carefully trained on him.
“Matt, how is it looking?” said Desh finally. “Can you do it?”
Griffin snapped an unintelligible response.
“We can’t understand you,” said Desh.
“Can’t-operate-at-your-pathetic-speed-so-leave-me-the-hell-alone,” blurted out Griffin harshly, having slowed just enough that Desh could separate the words.
“Divert a portion of your mind to act as a slow version of yourself,” instructed Desh. “Less frustrating speaking with normals that way.”
“Done,” said Griffin.
“How are you feeling?” asked Desh cautiously.
“Idiot question!” snapped Griffin immediately. “What you’re really asking is: have I turned into the devil? If not, I would tell you no. If so, I would lie and still tell you no. Moron!” he finished disdainfully.
It may have been a stupid question, Kira thought, but Griffin’s response had been illuminating nonetheless. “You realize—”
“That I was as pathetic and slow as you are a few minutes ago. Yes, I know.” The blistering pace of Griffin’s keyboard and mouse manipulations didn’t slow as he spoke nor did conversation seem to affect his ability to digest entire screens of information at a glance.
Desh caught Kira’s eye worriedly, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Griffin was also handling the transformation less well than had Kira. Less well, perhaps, even than Desh. So perhaps it was a testosterone effect after all.
The group let Griffin continue working in silence for the next fifteen minutes, not wanting to provoke the demon within. Kira finally decided it was time for a status report. “How is it coming, Matt?” she called from the other end of the vehicle.
Griffin’s hands hadn’t once stopped moving over the keyboard since he had begun. “Child’s play,” he said smugly. “I’ll be in NSA’s personnel database in about ten minutes.” He paused. “Meanwhile,” he announced with a superior air, “I’ve broken into the Federal Reserve and diverted 500 million dollars into your numbered Swiss bank account.”
Kira drew back, stunned.
“Relax,” snapped Griffin, correctly having predicted her reaction despite her being well out of his sight. “It’s a victimless crime. Just numbers in a computer. I didn’t steal anyone’s money, just created 500 million more. And yes, even though it’s a numbered and oh-so-secret Swiss account, I’m sure I put the funds in the correct one.”
“Why, Matt?” said Kira, concerned. “What prompted you to do that?”
“Sadly, I’m forced to live most of my life as a moron,” Griffin shot back. “I’ll soon return to my pathetic former self who will be joining this sanctimonious team of yours. The better capitalized we are, especially in the beginning before invention money pours in, the faster we can achieve our ultimate goals.”
The four other members of the group exchanged meaningful glances and raised eyebrows. Griffin had become ultra-arrogant, certainly, but in his own way he knew that the future of his lesser self was tied to the team, which was at least somewhat comforting.
“You have to reverse this transaction, Matt,” said Kira softly. “It’s not right.”
“Don’t preach to me!” barked Griffin. “Spare me your brainless and misguided moralizing. A sum this great will help our cause, and you know it.”
“But—”
“This discussion is over!” thundered Griffin.
Kira sighed deeply and decided not to push it further. The truth was that he was right. It was a victimless crime and would help them accomplish a greater good. She was certainly no stranger to these hard choices. She had broken the law to develop her treatment. She had killed Lusetti and she had injured several others to avoid capture. That night alone she had been involved in the theft of two cars and a misappropriation of a military helicopter.
But this was while she was her normal self. Those experiencing the mind altering effects of her treatment wielded too much power, and had too little conscience, to be allowed even the smallest step onto this slippery slope. The team would need to make sure that in the future those they enhanced had no ability to directly affect the outside world while still in the thrall of the transformation.
“I’m in,” announced Griffin. “Quickly, describe Sam.”
“Well,” began Desh, “His height is about—”
“Too slow,” barked Griffin. “I’ll find him without you.” There was the briefest of pauses and then, “This is him, correct?”
A headshot security photo of a man filled an entire screen. For the first time since Griffin had become transformed he left something on a monitor for more than a few seconds.
Desh’s eyes widened. “But—”
“How?” Griffin interrupted, anticipating Desh’s question once again. “Without hearing your description?” As he spoke, his fingers once again sped over the keyboard and Sam’s picture disappeared to be replaced by a screen of what looked like computer code. Once Griffin had learned from Desh’s reaction he had found the right person he continued to pursue other projects he had been working on in parallel. “I can access the log-in patterns of any employee. I know Sam’s locations over the past few days and the timing of some of his activities. From your story I know his approximate age and I can guess the precise level and position in the organization that would allow him to achieve all that he has. I narrowed it to five men. His name is S. Frank Putnam. The S stands for Samuel. He’s among the top twenty people in the NSA.”
Kira was speechless. He had done it! At long last, she knew the identity of the man who had killed her brother and turned her life into a nightmare. “Do you have—”
“Yes, of course,” snapped Griffin. “His address and more.”
“What are you doing now?” asked Desh, his weapon still trained on the hacker. Finally, Griffin’s slower-witted avatar had allowed someone to get out an entire question without being interrupted.
“Clearing Kira’s and the colonel’s good names,” he replied.
Given that Griffin appeared to have almost free rein of the cyber domain, Kira was encouraged that he continued to work toward helping the team. “But won’t—”
“That be a tip-off to S. Frank Putnam,” finished Griffin. “No. The records will remain as they are for twenty-four hours. Kira and Connelly will continue to be wanted fugitives.”
“And in twenty-four hours?” called out Kira from her post in the bedroom with extreme interest.
“The record will show that the accusations and evidence against Kira Miller were false, but that she was shot and killed before this was discovered. You’ll be off the grid for good, Kira. I’ll set up a new identity for you later. When I’m finished, you’ll be able to ride naked on a horse through Fort Bragg without attracting military attention.”
“I’d take money on that bet,” mused Desh, who then quickly winced as if he couldn’t believe he had said this out loud.
A smile came to Kira’s face, knowing this was meant as a compliment, but she didn’t respond. “And the colonel?” she asked Griffin.
“New evidence will emerge that he is completely innocent, with prior information to the contrary an attempt by an unnamed NSA employee with a personal vendetta to frame him.”
“And what will—”
“Enough!” thundered Griffin. “I’ve been more than patient.”
He continued his work with the computer unabated; as if unaware he had just made an outburst. Eight minutes later he gasped and looked as if his best friend had just died.
Desh caught Kira’s eye and nodded knowingly. “Welcome back, Matt,” he said.
“This well and truly sucks,” complained the giant.
“Give yourself a few minutes,” said Desh. “It won’t annoy you so much.”
“Do you think you could untie me?” asked Griffin.
Desh shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not for ten minutes. I need to be sure this isn’t a ruse.”
Griffin didn’t look happy about this but didn’t argue. Having been transformed, he now was one of the few people who would know firsthand why Desh had been so cautious.
“Do you remember what happened?” asked Connelly.
“Good question,” said Griffin, tilting his head for several long seconds. “I remember what I accomplished,” he said finally. “I only have the vaguest idea how.” He held out his hands in wonder. “I was like a hotrodding God,” he said in awe. “What I was able to do in an hour, I couldn’t do normally if I was given a thousand years.”
Griffin continued to take inventory of the past hour and a guilty expression came over his face. “I was a bit of an asshole, wasn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that at all,” said Desh. “You were a total asshole.” He grinned. “But don’t worry about it. Your work was phenomenal.”
Griffin turned to Kira and shook his head in wonder. “That’s quite a treatment you’ve got there,” he said admiringly. Still facing her, he let out a heavy sigh and the smile retreated from his face. “Got anything to eat?” he asked eagerly.
43
Matt Griffin quickly proceeded to devour four bagels and then started in on a large bag of corn chips Kira had given him. Desh released the giant from his bonds while crumbs rained onto his head at a steady pace.
Once Griffin had been restored to full freedom, the entire group gathered around him as best they could in the tight space. “My superhuman alter ego may not win any Miss Congeniality awards,” he said, “but he sure was a God of the cyber domain. Allow me to demonstrate.” Griffin hit a few keys and a satellite photo came up on one of the monitors. It showed a central residence and two small, red barns, contained within the expansive grounds. The house was nestled among several mature trees. About thirty yards from the house a number of tiny horses could be identified milling about inside a fenced-in area about the size of a football field.
“This is the Sam Putnam residence,” explained Griffin.
“He lives on a farm?” said Kira in surprise.
“A small one,” said Griffin. “And he doesn’t actually farm anything. But he does have eight horses and two barns.”
“A perfect layout for him,” noted Desh. “It lets him be isolated from near neighbors without seeming to be a recluse. He’s just a rugged outdoorsman. And while the farm must have been expensive, it isn’t showy enough to make anyone wonder how he could afford it.”
“And the isolation leaves open numerous options for security,” added Metzger.
“Where is it?” asked Kira.
Griffin worked the mouse and zoomed out, showing the scene from a far higher altitude. Putnam’s farm disappeared. As if by magic, a map with borders and place names was overlaid onto the satellite image. Griffin pointed at the center of the screen. “Putnam lives here,” he said. “In Severn Maryland.”
The town was directly between Washington to the southwest and Baltimore to the northeast. It was at most fifteen minutes away from NSA headquarters at Fort Meade.
While the group studied the map, Griffin pulled up a page of information about the town and left it on the adjacent monitor. Severn had been a small rural town for most of its existence, but in the past several decades it had seen explosive growth given its proximity to D.C. and Baltimore and the growth of the government, including the NSA. While much of the town was originally zoned as rural farmland, the vast majority of land had now be rezoned for residential purposes. Putnam owned one of the few remaining properties that could be designated as a farm.
Griffin changed the view of Putnam’s property, zooming in to give the view from about a hundred feet overhead. “He has enough video cameras blanketing the property that there are virtually no blind spots. They all feed into two separate banks of monitors, one bank inside his bedroom and the other,” he said, pointing to the barn that was the farthest from the residence, “inside here.”
Griffin moved the view a few hundred yards from the residence and zoomed in until a relatively unassuming fence came into view. “This is a chain-link fence, ten feet high, completely encircling the periphery of the property,” he announced. “It looks innocent enough—almost inviting. No razor wire, no electricity. But don’t be fooled. It has vibration sensors
. Try to climb over it or cut through it and your exact location is revealed.”
Griffin showed a closer view of the main dwelling. “There’s a microwave perimeter exactly twenty feet out from the house. Break the beam and once again Putnam will know about it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Presupposing you could get over the first fence without any alarms going off, and he didn’t see you on the monitors.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Metzger.
“He has a very advanced system,” explained Griffin. “He has a computer devoted just to home security, and this is tied into the Internet. That way, anyone with the proper codes can check all of the video feeds and security monitors from any computer.”
“And you hacked into this computer?” said Kira.
“Yes. And reprogrammed it while I was inside,” said Griffin proudly. “For the next twenty-four hours the system will ignore certain inputs. Cut through the fence and break the microwave barrier and the system won’t notice. The video monitors are set to show the same benign view of the estate on a continual basis.”
Desh scratched his head. “It doesn’t make sense to have a security system online that’s vulnerable to what you just did,” he said.
“I agree,” said Griffin. “But it isn’t vulnerable. A top-drawer hacker could hack into the system and identify what security safeguards are in place. But anyone skilled at storming this kind of heavily protected castle could do that in other ways. But reprogramming it the way I did simply isn’t possible with normal human faculties. Trust me on this one.”
“Did you get anything useful from his personal computer?” asked Kira eagerly. “Anything that might give us a lead to the sterilization plot?”
Griffin frowned. “No. He didn’t have any computers online during the time I was altered. I suspect he only allows an online connection to be active when he’s using it, and then physically disrupts the connection when he isn’t.”
This was a bad break, thought Desh. But all things considered, Griffin had accomplished more than Desh could ever have hoped for.
Wired Page 25