Cybernation nf-6

by Tom Clancy

  As he showered, lathering himself with her hard-milled soap, he hummed a little tune. The next part of the project was about to start. There was only so much they could do with their computers and advertising, and soon it would be up to him and men like him to make things really happen.

  He stepped out of the shower and dried himself with one of the huge towels Missy kept. He should go and practice his moves, now that he was relaxed. The ship’s gym had room once you moved all the equipment back out of the way. Making love, having a hot shower, those were things that made a man want to go to bed and take a nap, but discipline must be maintained. He worked out every day, no matter what, no matter where he was, he found a way to do something. The fighting edge was one that grew dull if not sharpened frequently. It would be easy to justify a day off now and then. But if you could do that, you could justify two days off. Then four. There was no end to that, and the next thing you knew, you were fat and lazy, meat for some lean and hungry player who did not fool himself into thinking he still had the moves when he had let them rust away.

  He found his striped workout pants and rubber sandals, grabbed a clean towel, and headed for the door.

  Lying naked on the bed, Missy saw him. “You’re not going to work out?”

  “I am.”

  “But you must be tired.”

  “Yes. That does not matter.”

  “Why don’t you come back to bed? You can work out later.”

  “I could. I will. But I am also going to work out now.”

  She shook her head, and he left. She could not understand. She was a woman. Women did not know the ways of men, not in the important things. Oh, yes, they knew about what a man wanted in bed, but about honor and discipline and what made a man a man? No. They knew nothing of these things. How could they? No more than a man could know about bearing children. It was just not in them.

  24

  Net Force HQ

  Quantico, Virginia

  In the conference room bright and early, Michaels listened to his team give their reports. Toni was here, Jay, John Howard, and Julio Fernandez.

  Toni said, “Police are certain that the car that rammed Senator DeWitt’s vehicle did so deliberately. There were no skid marks before the impact, and the hit-and-run car, which has been identified from paint and chrome chips, has been located, only a few miles away. Area residents got a glimpse of the driver, but he was wearing a helmet and heavy gloves, so no one got a look at his features. He could be white, black, or even a woman.”

  Michaels said, “And Jay thinks this ties to CyberNation. Jay?”

  Jay nodded. “Yep. Just one more log on the circumstantial fire, boss, but it’s burning pretty good right now. I’ve been poking around and have found some interesting stuff out about their gambling ship. It never puts into port anywhere, at least it hasn’t since it was refitted and went to sea more than a year ago.”

  “That’s unlikely. How does it resupply and refuel?” Howard asked.

  “Fuel, mail, food, everything comes in either by helicopter or by special cargo ships that show up once a month. Since the ship is in international waters, nobody can bother it. There are no plans for the rebuilding and refitting on file, nothing since the original vessel was chartered. Libyan registry means nobody pays any attention to it as long as they pay the fees. There are webcams on-line, but only of the main casino and the outside. We don’t know what all is on the ship. I’ve culled reports from various web pages, posts by tourists, and if you put them altogether, you come up with a composite picture that is missing a lot.”

  “Such as?” Michaels said.

  “Such as, half the ship. Here, take a look at the graphic.” Jay touched a button on his flatscreen, and a line drawing wireframe holoproj lit the air above the projection port. “There are passenger cabins here and here, on these decks.” Part of the 3-D schematic lit up in red.

  “The casino is here. This is the pool, here is a gym, over here a big dining hall, and an entertainment hall.”

  More of the image came to life in different colors.

  “If this area is crew quarters, and you allow for these decks to be dedicated to engines, supplies, miscellaneous storage, fuel, all that”—more colors flashed on—“then you throw in a couple more big spots for the hell of it, you still have a fair amount of the ship that looks to be empty. And none of the reports can fill in those unused decks.”

  “Maybe they are building more casinos?” Fernandez ventured.

  “Nope, no signs of construction, no construction stuff delivered on the supply vessels for at least the last six months — I was able to get those manifests.”

  “So, what exactly are you trying to say here, Jay?” Toni said.

  He shook his head. “I dunno enough about ships to be sure, but it seems to me you wouldn’t leave all that space empty.”

  “That’s generally true,” Howard said.

  “So, if that’s the case, what is on these decks? I’m betting it’s something connected to CyberNation and not to gambling per se.”

  “Such as?” Michaels said.

  Jay shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe computers. Some kind of production facility, for all those ads they run. They do those themselves, I found out, no outside agency involved.”

  “Which means what, even if that’s so?” Toni said. “Nothing sinister about that. They had some extra room, they put it to good use.”

  Jay shook his head. “They don’t need the room. CyberNation HQ is in Switzerland. They have a twenty-story office building in Geneva, and a big honkin’ warehouse there, too. What’s a ship half full of slot machines and card tables compared to that?”

  “You have a theory, though, don’t you?” Michaels said.

  “Yes, sir, boss, I do. See, if they were up to something illegal, the Swiss police could go and knock on their door and check out that building in Geneva. But what if they had something going on down in the Caribbean? Who has the power to go and check it out?”

  Howard nodded. “Legally, nobody.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you’re saying you think the net attacks originated on that ship?” Toni said.

  “I can’t say that for sure. But if they did, how would anybody be able to find out about it? Or do anything if they could find out? Why does CyberNation have a gambling ship anyhow?”

  “Maybe we better find some answers,” Michaels said.

  “I’m working on it,” Jay said.

  After the meeting broke up, Jay found himself alone with Julio Fernandez.

  Julio said, “Sounds as if you have your work cut out for you on this thing.”

  Jay smiled. “Maybe not. I might be able to crack their personnel database. If I can find out who is working for them, maybe I can locate those people by other e-trails. You know, get hits on where they used their credit cards, made long-distance phone calls, like that. If they’ve got some crack programmers working on that ship, that would point another finger in their direction.”

  “You think you can blow past firewalls for a place like CyberNation?”

  “Well, yeah, if I had a lot of time and a couple superCrays to play with. But there’s an easier way. Social engineering.”

  Fernandez smiled. “I remember you talked about that,” he said. “But is that legal?”

  “Not in the strictest sense,” Jay said.

  “In what sense is it legal?”

  “Well, okay, not in any sense,” Jay admitted. “But let’s say, for instance, that I know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who has access to the files, and I can trade him something for the information. That doesn’t cost us anything.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but isn’t that exactly the kind of thing we are here to stop? Doesn’t sneaking into somebody’s computer system and stealing information constitute a crime?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  Fernandez gave him a wry grin. “Uh-huh.”

  “But look, we’re not talking about some hones
t citizen whose house we’re breaking into to steal his TV. I’m pretty sure these are the guys who cost nations around the world millions and millions of dollars. People died as a result of the net going down in places. These guys wear eye patches and carry cutlasses. They’re crooks.”

  “Slippery slope there, Jay. Blows right past the Fourth Amendment. Fruit of the poisoned vine and all like that.”

  “Since when did you become a constitutional scholar, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m sworn to uphold and protect it. You are, too, given Net Force’s charter. Once you start breaking the rules to get to the really bad guys, how long before you bend ’em to get to the plain old bad guys? And then the ones who are maybe not so bad, but that you don’t like?”

  Jay sighed. “Yeah, well, you have a point. There is probably another way to get to the information without doing anything illegal. Be harder though. And what if while I’m doing that, they hit again, shut down a hospital and kill off a bunch of patients or something?”

  “That would suck. But still.”

  “You obey all the traffic laws, Julio, all the time?”

  “Nope. And if I get caught, I don’t kick, either, I pay the fine. But running a red light in the middle of nowhere at midnight when nobody is around is not the same thing, is it?

  “Suppose you get the stuff you need and we use the information to nail these guys. No harm, no foul, right? But then one of their lawyers finds out what we did? The bad guys, who are guilty, get off, and you wind up looking for work, or maybe spending quality time in a cell in some country club federale, doing the warden’s taxes for five years. It’s the Rule of Law, Jay. It’s what separates the good guys from the bad guys. We toss that out, we’re no different than they are.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. It was just a thought.”

  “Can’t hang you for thinking. Not yet, anyway.”

  * * *

  Toni took a coffee break, but she sat at her desk, fiddling with the computer. It had been a while since she had done any serious scrimshaw work — if any of what she had done while she was housebound during her pregnancy could be called serious — and she decided to check in on Bob Hergert, whose on-line class had taught her what she knew about the art of scratching lines on ivory and then filling them with black paint.

  Bob’s method ran heavily to stippling, of putting a lot of tiny dots on the smooth surface, using very sharp needles, some of which he made himself, since ordinary needles were too dull for the microscrimshanding he liked to do. Bob could put a realistic portrait on a piece of ivory no bigger than a dime, so detailed that you could only see the thing properly under a big magnifying glass or even a stereomicroscope.

  There were folks who didn’t consider that art, but Toni wasn’t among them.

  Port Orford, Oregon

  Bob had redone his on-line shop in the past year, adding new material. Virtually everything he had produced for the last fifteen years was available for view, since he kept records of it all.

  Toni strolled down the wide aisles — floor space was cheap in VR — and looked at the various pieces set out for inspection. She had a more specific reason for dropping by than just checking. John Howard’s wife, Nadine, had bought her husband a set of faux-ivory grips for his revolver for his upcoming birthday. The newer versions of that looked so much like elephant ivory it would fool almost everybody, but cost a lot less, and didn’t require that Jumbo die for your sins. Nadine had asked Toni if she might be interested in doing some artwork on them. Toni had done a gun butt once, for one of Julio Fernandez’s buddies. The friend, an ex-green hat, had a cowboy six-shooter, and Julio had asked her to do something on one panel. She had done a simple design, with a beret over a thin scroll, with the words, “De Oppresso Liber” on the scroll. “To Free the Oppressed.” The design and motto were right out of the Special Forces T-shirt catalog, so it hadn’t been that hard. She wasn’t pleased with the way it had turned out, the lettering wasn’t perfect, and the shading was not quite right, though the recipient had seemed happy enough with it. Nadine Howard had something a little more complex in mind, and if Toni was going to do it, she needed some help.

  The store had been sorted according to her needs when she logged in, so it was easy to find the pistol grips. There were quite a few of them. There was a nice set given to a retiring sheriff by his friends, his badge and name on them. Some that had fancy lettering and geometric designs. Some with a portrait of a grandchild.

  The ones that caught her attention were a set showing the front and back of a nude black woman, who was crouched down in an outdoor courtyard, over what looked like a tile floor, surrounded by Middle Easternlike structures. The detail work was intricate — the columns supporting the arched roof were carved, the balusters, rails, parapets of the building, all were exquisite. A domed roof showed in the distance in the back view. You could see the reflection of the woman’s foot on the tile floor. And the nude herself was gorgeous. She had short hair, almost a crew cut, a nose that looked as if it had been broken, and with five-power magnification, you could see that her eyes were light-colored.

  She looked familiar.

  Bob drifted over. “Hey, Toni,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Hey, Bob. I might have some gun grips to do, and I thought I’d come and get some inspiration. This is beautiful work.”

  “Thanks. That’s Dirisha. Look close at the back of her hand, right there.”

  Toni did. There was what looked like a small square with a tube sticking out of one side, extending out like a finger. She dialed up the magnification to get a better look.

  “That’s a spetsdöd,” he said. “A dart gun. She’s a character from a science fiction novel; I did this for the writer.”

  “It’s incredible work, Bob.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I should live long enough to get this good.”

  “All it takes is practice, kiddo. If I can do it, anybody can.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Well, okay, a little talent helps. But mostly it’s hard work. Oops, gotta run, customer. See you around, Toni. Let me know if I can help you.”

  “Thanks, Bob.”

  She bent to marvel at the gun grips again. Bob did his work under a stereomicroscope, and Alex, bless him, had surprised her with one. Which, as it turned out, was instrumental in solving a case he’d been working on, so it had been a pretty good investment for that alone. But if Toni was going to do work like this, it would take a lot more than a good stereoscope. Whatever Bob had to say about it, it took a lot of talent and patience to produce a work of art so detailed that under twenty-power magnification, you could count every hair on the woman’s eyebrows, and not a one was out of place.

  Lord.

  On the Bon Chance

  Jasmine Chance looked at the numbers. New memberships were up, way up, but not nearly at the levels that CyberNation wanted. It had been a good campaign, the combination pushes, but it had pretty much peaked.

  She leaned back in the chair and sighed. Well, she’d expected it to come to this. None of the governments they had lobbied were ready to step on board: There hadn’t been enough of a public clamor, and that was what it was going to take. Politicians did not venture far from their power bases, everybody knew that, and the way to get legislation passed was to get enough static from the voters so the elected officials knew which way to go. Politicians were, by their natures, followers, not leaders. They reflected public opinion more than they shaped it. That made for more longevity in their jobs, and getting re-elected was more important than any single piece of law they might sponsor.

  So, it was time to step up things enough so that an outraged public would demand that those people who did their elected bidding got off the stick and fixed things.

  Chance and her teams had to give them something to fix. Something it would take them a lot of time and money and effort to make right. And that meant taking down more than computer networks with software. It meant taking down
hardware, and whether it was cutting cables or blowing up buildings, whatever it took was whatever it took.

  She looked at her watch. Keller’s team would need to be told. She’d put in a call to him to let him know the schedule was being moved up again.

  Roberto would be tickled. He could cut loose, pull out all the stops, and that’s what had always attracted him about this project. That and the money, of course. He liked being with her, no question, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe she came first.

  Well. Sometimes she came first…

  She grinned, and reached for her com. Things were going to get active around here.

  25

  Joe’s Diner

  Kansas City, Kansas

  June 1955

  Joe’s Diner was a classic — or it would be, if it survived to the 1980s. Shaped like a fat hot dog bun, the front was glass from waist-height up. Inside, a counter with boomerang patterns on the Formica ran the length of the place, and was utilized by sitting upon bolted-to-the floor chrome-plated stools with red Naugahyde covering the padded tops. Joe’s served burgers, fries, and toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch. For dinner, the blue plate special was sliced roast beef and mashed potatoes, both covered with thick gravy, and your choice of a vegetable — as long as it was canned green peas or diced carrots. For breakfast, you could get ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, or sausage and eggs, and they all came with hash browns. If you were looking for health food, you’d starve to death in Joe’s, and nobody would feel sorry for you. Only some kind of commie queer ate nothing but vegetables, and good riddance if he croaked.

  Since it was early, Jay was having breakfast, and the light version at that: eggs, sunnyside up, two of them. Four little sausages, Bisquick biscuits drenched in melted butter. Hash brown potatoes in a puddle of warm oil. The heart-attack special they’d have called it in the twenty-first century. Sixty years before, this was what people ate regularly and never thought twice about. And if they wanted cereal to go along with it, they had Frosted Sugar Whatevers with whole milk, and a couple heaping teaspoons of granulated sugar on top of that. And nobody here called it White Death.