Deadly Odds

by Allen Wyler

  Fisher’s face lit up in a broad smile. “Then I’ll—”

  Davidson interrupted him. “Just so you know, before you get any ideas of removing or accessing the evidence prior to any negotiations with Justice, the only equipment physically on the property are the recorder and cameras. That actual video is stored on a cloud and only Mr. Gold has the ability to access that. In other words, you’ll need our cooperation to obtain it.”

  Fisher didn’t seem too happy being handled this way.

  Davidson added, “What does my client receive in return for full cooperation? In addition to the WPP, that is.”

  Fisher began picking at his left thumbnail, probably, Arnold thought, to avoid having to face Davidson. “What’s he want?”

  Arnold wondered where his lawyer was going with this. Hadn’t it been discussed?

  Davison asked, “Who knows about the income tax allegations?”

  “The other agents on my team. We haven’t written up reports yet.”

  “Good. We want that matter to go away.”

  Ahh. Good point.

  Fisher scratched the angle of his jaw again. “We can do that, but I’m sure you realize there’s no way to hide his exposure if someone from the IRS were to audit him. In other words, we cannot and will not tamper with evidence or do anything to cover up the commission of a federal crime. However, we will see what an agreement might generate as far as withholding tax penalties.”

  Davidson glanced at Arnold, who nodded approval. He said to Fisher, “Before he’ll agree to testify, we want a written guarantee for the witness protection program and,” he paused to emphasize this next point, “and immunity for any crimes that may have been committed, either by omission or commission, when dealing with any of the Jahandars, meaning both brothers and the wife.”

  He realized Davidson was trying to negotiate away his involvement in the bombing. Very smart, very crafty. His admiration for his lawyer increased another notch.

  Fisher flattened his palms against the desk, as if preparing to stand. “Can’t guarantee anything until I talk to Justice, but I promise you I’ll be as persuasive as possible.”

  Davidson nodded for Arnold to begin talking. Arnold gave Fisher a thumbnail sketch of his computing background, the system, and how he uses it to gamble online. Mostly sports, a lot of football both professional and collegiate. He admitted to Fisher the only reason he visited Vegas was for sex and that he’d decided on Breeze simply because her website appealed to him more than others. He went on to explain that in an attempt to impress her, he’d used his system to predict the outcomes of three races and had done well enough to catch her attention. Once he’d convinced her of being able to model a variety of political and sporting events well enough to fairly accurately predict their outcomes, she began grilling him on its potential applications. He stopped at this point in the story, figuring he wouldn’t admit his involvement in the embassy bombing until after he and Davidson were convinced he’d been granted immunity from prosecution.

  When Arnold finished, Fisher ran a finger down the notes he’d accumulated on several pages of a yellow legal pad, got to the end of the list, and repeated the act. Now, seemingly satisfied, he asked, “Your bets, where do you place them?”

  Arnold didn’t see any downside to answering, yet glanced at Davidson for approval, just in case he was missing an incriminating facet of the question. Davidson nodded. Arnold answered, “Online.”

  “Right, but what I’m really asking is which site do you use?”

  For some reason this struck him as funny. Naive funny. “Wow, there’re a ton of sites, depending on how much you want to gamble. For low-stake bets I use the commons ones you can find with a simple Google search. Type in “online betting” and see how many pop up.”

  Fisher made another note. “What size bets you talking about when you say low-stakes?”

  “Hundred dollars or less.”

  Fisher made another note. “And for bets over a hundred?”

  Arnold started to massage his left knuckles, worrying about where this was taking him. “That’s different. For those I don’t use the internet. At least not as you might know it.” Oh, boy, here we go.

  “Meaning?”

  “I use various sites on Darknet.”

  Both Fisher and Davidson were looking at him questioningly now. Arnold asked, “What?”

  “Darknet?” Fisher asked.

  “Yeah, Darknet, Deep Web, goes by a couple different names but they all refer to the same thing.” Then, just to be sure they understood him, Arnold asked, “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Are there really people left on this planet who don’t know? Probably.

  “No.” Fisher glanced at Davidson, who just shrugged in reply. Fisher said to Arnold, “Okay, I’ll bite. Explain it.”

  “Oh, boy…” Arnold closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. Hated trying to explain these things, especially to someone he suspected wasn’t computer sophisticated.

  “Everyone knows what the Internet is and how it’s used. But there’s another part of it most people don’t know about. That part you use for routine things like email or browsing with Internet Explorer or Firefox is only a segment of what’s actually available. The other segment can’t be accessed with a standard browser and is referred to by several names: Deepnet or Darknet or Deep Web, or even the Hidden Web. There are some areas that remain so hidden they can only be accessed by a handful of people, so remain very private areas. With me so far?”

  “Huh!” Fisher nodded. “If that area is invisible, as you claim, how can anyone access it?”

  It always amazed Arnold how many aspects of his day-to-day life—as it pertained to computers—were unknown to most people. “That part of the Internet can only be accessed with a special browser. The most popular one is Tor, and they work on what’s called an anonymity network.”

  Fisher held up his pen to stop Arnold. “Anonymity network?”

  “Yup. One of the biggest attractions of using Darknet is people can conduct business and remain completely anonymous. Pretty amazing, if you stop to think about it. And it works very well. Better yet, your average Internet user doesn’t have a clue it’s out there.”

  Fisher whistled softly. “I didn’t know. How long has it been,” he seemed to search for words, “out there?”

  He was thankful Fisher was following this without a having to ask a ton of questions and sidetrack the conversation, making this easier. Both the FBI agent and his lawyer were sitting up in their chairs, seemingly now glued to his mini-lecture. Having two well-educated men listen so raptly to a kid who had never attended a day of college felt great, buoying his self-confidence. He cautioned himself to not get carried away in self-aggrandizement.

  “Since 2002,” said Arnold. “That’s when the US Naval Research Laboratory originally developed TOR. The original goal was to be able to operate on the Internet with complete anonymity.”

  “The Navy?”

  “Yep. Think about it. The Internet allows rapid transmission of large chunks of data—such as aerial reconnaissance—some of which you might want untraceable and not prone to interception by your enemy. It provides serious military utility.”

  Fisher nodded pensively. “So how do users stay anonymous?”

  “If you were to go on the regular Internet right now, say to use Google, you’d log on to your Internet service provider. Comcast or whatever. The moment you connect to that server, all the information about your computer—the city you’re in, your name—goes right along with everything in the connection. It’s one of the ways the NSA or Google can track your activities. Instead, when you use the Darknet you’re handed off from one computer to another in a random pattern between you and your target site. And each time you log-on, because it’s a random path, it uses a different set of computers. It’s this bouncing between random sites that preserves your identify. That and the Tor browser. But there’s a huge downside to using it because any information transfer takes time
, slowing things down. Imagine going on Amazon and having to wait a minute for them to acknowledge your search. So the next question is where do all these random computers come from? Well, most Darknet users allow their computers to be nodes for linking other people using Tor.”

  Fisher whistled again. “I can see where this could go.”

  “The Darknet is used more than you think. But not all of it is evil like the name implies. It is used for legitimate purposes but, as you’ve probably already figured out, the anonymity makes it perfect for conducting criminal activities. In fact, there’s a virtual eBay for criminal services; sites for professional money laundering, another where you can buy hacked PayPal accounts with balances ready to transfer to an offshore bank, you can order illicit drugs, obtain false IDs, including US and Canada drivers licenses and passports. Want to hire a professional hacker? Easy. Want a contract killer? No problem. You name it, it’s out there. But unlike the normal web, the Deepnet doesn’t use self-evident addresses like Hitman-dot-com. Instead, addresses are strings of random looking characters followed by dot-onion instead of dot-com. So you need to know a complicated address to access a site. There’s a Darknet Wiki site that provides a directory of some legitimate and criminal sites, but even that is not widely known.”

  Arnold paused to catch a breath.

  “But to get back to your original question about where I bet. I use the regular Internet for small bets but I move around between them to keep a low profile and not attract attention by winning too much on the same site. For bigger bets, I use DeepNet sites.”

  Fisher jotted another note. “When you say bigger bet, how much we talking about?”

  Arnold swiped his palm over his hair. “Depends on how much of a sure thing I think the outcome is. When I’m really convinced it’ll pay, I lay down up to fifty bets across as many as ten sites. And the reason is, most of them have a two-thousand dollar limit.” Arnold laughed at what he was about to say. “Every now and then, especially if I think a bet’s weak, I bet a loser simply to keep my profile more kosher. Don’t know for a fact, but I’m pretty sure the online bookies keep tabs on who wins and who doesn’t.”

  Davidson was listening raptly, eyes darting from Fisher to Arnold and back like a tennis match. He interrupted with, “Okay, okay, enough explanation. He’s cooperated. We’re done here,” and started to push up out of the chair.

  “Sit down,” Fisher said sharply, leaning forward and pointing at Davidson’s chair. “We’re not done yet.”

  Davidson paused in mid stance. “Wait a minute, we—”

  “Had a deal?” Fisher finished for him.

  Davidson glared at the FBI agent before sitting down. “That was my understanding.”

  “Only thing we talked about was your client’s income tax issues.” Fisher paused long enough for Arnold to begin pacing again, “There’s another issue we haven’t discussed.” Then, turning to Arnold: “What’s your relationship with Naseem Farhad?”

  “Who?”

  Fisher studied him a beat. “Naseem’s an Iranian name. Means breeze. Farhad was her maiden name, before becoming a Jahandar.”

  Arnold felt his face pale. He dropped back into his chair and turned to Davidson for help.

  Davidson said, “He already answered that. He hired her for sex. What’s your point?”

  “Simple question. Deserves a simple answer. Why is your client suddenly so twitchy?”

  Davidson leaned forward and stabbed a finger at Fisher. “Because your tone is unquestionably accusatory. We don’t appreciate your attitude and we certainly don’t have to put up with it any longer. This discussion is over.” He motioned to Arnold. “Let’s go.”

  Before either could rise from their chairs, Fisher waved them down. “Don’t push it, Mr. Davidson.” Fisher’s face stone-cold serious now. “Your client could live to regret it.”

  Davidson snapped back, “Are you threatening us?”

  “No. Purely a statement of fact. We know his involvement with them is more than simple sex for hire.”

  Arnold slumped back in the chair, prepared to be charged with a felony.

  Fisher said, “Relax, Gold, I have an offer for you, one that should be attractive, given the alternatives.”

  He doubted that. “What?”

  Fisher began twirling his ballpoint between fingers like a little baton, a trick Arnold assumed he’d practiced for a long time before becoming any good at it. Probably developed the skill in high school to impress classmates.

  Fisher said, “Just out of curiosity, how many years you been hacking?”

  Arnold caught Davidson’s slight tight-lipped headshake. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I do online gambling, nothing more.”

  “Oh, bullshit. There’s enough computing technology in your basement to run NASA. You’re a hacker and a gambler and maybe a few other things I’m not quite sure about. Yet. But I intend to find out. Hey, don’t be giving me that innocent look. It doesn’t become you, Gold.”

  Arnold swallowed. “You said you have an offer for me. What?”

  Fisher stood and headed for the door saying, “Before we discuss this any further, the two of you need to sign confidentiality agreements.”

  Agreements signed and secured in the manila file folder, Fisher propped his butt on the desk corner. “Our intelligence sources indicate the cell the Jahandars work for is planning a major bomb attack somewhere in the United States. We also believe it’s scheduled to occur within the next thirty days, perhaps even a week earlier We have nothing to indicate where the attack is supposed to occur or what magnitude it will be. Might be as small as the Boston Marathon or a big as the Oklahoma Federal Building, but the chatter from overseas indicates it will be huge. We strongly suspect a mortality on a scale of the Twin Towers.” Fisher wiped the corner of his mouth.

  “So far,” he continued, “our attempts at intel gathering have been totally frustrated because we haven’t been able to determine how the cells communicate. Believe me, we’ve tried to find out but have been unsuccessful. There’s nothing to indicate they use email or text messaging, and there’s no evidence of a courier. But we know they must be communicating somehow. This, by the way, is the reason the Jahandars were under surveillance when you became involved.”

  A nauseous feeling developed in Arnold’s gut as he waited for what he figured might be coming.

  Fisher slid off the desk and stood behind his chair with his hands holding a corner. Made him look more like an actor giving a speech than an FBI agent ready to screw him.

  “You,” with a nod at Arnold, “for obvious reasons, are in a perfect position to help us on this.”

  Davidson silently raised his eyebrows at Arnold as if to say this might be an important bargaining chip.

  “Any questions so far?” Fisher asked, glancing from one to the other. Neither Arnold or Davidson answered.

  “Good, then we can go straight to the punch line. We want you to get involved with them, Mr. Gold. And when you do, we want you to get us access into their communications flow.”

  Although Arnold had suspected this was where all the foreplay was headed, nothing had prepared him for the impact of actually hearing the words. He held onto his own chair to keep from falling over and sucked a deep breath to stop the room from spinning. His gut was aching again, a deep gnawing pain boring through him.

  Davidson broke the heavy silence with, “Just so I’m absolutely clear on this, you’re asking my client to spy for the federal government? Do I have this right?”

  Fisher shook his head. “Wrong. On several counts.” He went back to sitting on the desk corner. “The difference is this isn’t a request. This is an ultimatum. Mr. Gold is being given the opportunity to either play ball or be prosecuted as a terrorist involved in actions against the interests of the United States.” Fisher drilled both Davidson and Arnold with knowing eyes. “And I think Mr. Gold is aware of what I’m referring to.”

  Arnold wanted to scream, kick, or thrash his ar
ms but knew it would solve nothing. He felt like the skipper of a small boat caught in a hurricane, unable to get away from the weather but knowing the boat would be swamped and sink. And there was no one to call for help. “This isn’t fair.”

  “Fair?” Fisher gave a sarcastic snort. “Everything’s fair in counterterrorism. There wasn’t anything fair about flying jets full of passengers into heavily occupied skyscrapers, either. This is war. We deal with a very simple principle: get these assholes before they get us. You’re a person who might be able to help us do just that.”

  Davidson was on his feet now, getting into Fisher’s face. “No, this is not as cut and dried as you’re making it. What you’re doing is forcing my client to spy for the United States government. He gets caught, we all know the outcome: he’s dead. But should he refuse and take his chances fighting your trumped-up charges in court, he’ll at least stand a chance of winning. And say he does lose in court. In that case he goes to prison but he still stays alive.”

  Fisher’s face was turning crimson with anger. “You both know that’s not how it’ll work. He’s a dead duck in prison. He knows it and I know it. Everyone in this room knows anything short of the disappearing into the witness protection program means he’s a dead man. There’s no prison on this earth that offers complete safety to any prisoner.

  “Okay, yes, I’ll concede we’re appealing to his patriotic sense of duty by asking him to help his country, and that is precisely why we create law enforcement agency and military branches, but we also ask individual citizens to share the burden in numerous ways. Think freedom comes without risks and sometimes loss of life?”

  Davidson said, “Last time I checked our military was all volunteer. The draft went away with Vietnam.”

  Arnold wedged between them like a referee in a boxing ring. “Whoa. Simmer down, let’s discuss this.” He knew Fisher was right, that he was a target in or out of prison. He had some questions in need of answers.

  Fisher and Davidson exchanged glares before backing off.