Total Control

by David Baldacci

  rest is history."

  "So I understand. Gamble had the money bags and Rowe brought along the brains?"

  Hardy shook his head. "Don't sell Nathan Gamble short. It's not easy making the bucks he did on Wall Street. He is one bright guy and a hell of a businessman."

  Sawyer wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Good thing, because the man ain't going to get by on his charm."

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It was eight o'clock when Sidney reached Jeff Fisher's home, a restored row house on the outskirts of Old Town Alexandria's elite residential area. Dressed in MIT sweats and battered tennis shoes, a Red Sox cap perched on his nearly bald head, the short, pudgy Fisher welcomed her and led her to a large room crammed top to bottom with computer equipment of all descriptions, cables running all over the hardwood floors, and multiple electrical outlets jammed to capacity.

  Sidney thought the space looked as though it belonged more in the Pentagon War Room than in this quiet suburban area.

  Fisher proudly watched her obvious astonishment. "Actually, I've cut back some. I thought I might be getting out of control a little bit." He grinned broadly.

  Sidney pulled the disk out of her pocket. "Jeff, could you put this in your computer and read what's on it?"

  Fisher took the disk, a disappointed look on his face. "Is that all you need? Your computer at work can read this floppy, Sidney."

  "I know, but I was afraid I might screw it up somehow. It came in the mail and it might be damaged. I'm not in your league when it comes to computers, Jeff. I wanted to come to the best."

  Fisher beamed at this ego-stroking. "Okay. It'll just take a second."

  He started to pop the disk into the computer.

  Sidney put a hand over his, halting him. "Jeff, is that computer on-line?"

  He looked at the computer and then back at her. "Yeah. I've got three different services I use, plus my own gateway onto the Inter-net I got through using MIT as a host. Why?"

  "Could you use a computer that isn't on-line? I mean, can't other people get to things on your database if you're on-line?"

  "Yeah, it's a two-way street. You send stuff out. Others can hack it. That's the trade-off. But it's a big trade-off. Although you don't have to be on-line to get hacked."

  "What do you mean?" Sidney asked.

  "Ever heard of Van Eck radiation?" Fisher asked. Sidney shook her head. "It's really electromagnetic eavesdropping."

  Sidney's face held a blank look. "What's that?"

  Fisher swiveled around in his chair and looked at the puzzled attorney.

  "All electrical current produces a magnetic field, thus computers emit magnetic fields, relatively strong ones. These transmissions can be easily captured and recorded. On top of it, computers also give off digital impulses. This CRT"--Fisher pointed at his computer monitor--"throws off clear video images if you have the right receiving equipment, which is widely available. I could drive through downtown D.C. with a directional antenna, a black-and-white TV and a few bucks' worth of electronic parts and steal the information off every computer network in every law firm, accounting firm and government facility in the city. Easy."

  Sidney was incredulous. "You're saying if it's on someone else's screen you can see it? How is that possible?"

  "Simple. The shapes and lines on a computer screen are composed of millions of tiny dots called picture elements--or pixels, for short.

  When you type in a command, electrons are fired at the appropriate spot on the screen to light appropriate pixels--like painting a picture.

  The computer screen must be continually refreshed with electrons to keep the pixels lit. Whether you're playing a computer game or doing word processing or whatever, that's how you can see things on your screen. You with me so far?" Sidney nodded.

  "Okay, each time electrons are shot at the screen, they give off a high-voltage pulse of electromagnetic emission. A TV monitor can receive these pulses pixel by pixel. However, since an ordinary TV monitor can't adequately organize these pixels to reconstruct what's on your screen, an artificial synchronization signal is used so the picture can be exactly reproduced."

  Fisher paused to look at his computer again and then continued.

  "Printer? Fax? Same thing. Cellular phones? Give me one minute with a scanner and I can have your internal electronics serial number, or ESN, your cell phone number, your station class data and the phone's maker. I program that data into another cell phone with some reconfigured chips, and I start selling long-distance service and charge it to you. Any information that flows through a computer, either through the phone lines or through the air, is fair game.

  And what doesn't these days? Absolutely nothing is safe.

  "You know what my theory is? Pretty soon we'll stop using computers because of all the security problems. Go back to typewriters and 'snail mail.""

  Sidney looked puzzled.

  "Snail mail is a techie's derogatory term for the U.S. mail. They may get the last laugh, though. Mark my words. That day is coming."

  A sudden thought entered Sidney's head. "Jeff, what about regular phones? How could it be that I call a number, say my firm number, and someone answers who I know for a fact cannot be at my firm?"

  "Somebody hacked into the switch," Fisher said immediately.

  "The switch?" Sidney looked completely bewildered.

  "It's the electronics network over which all communications from pay phones to cellular phones travel across the United States. If you hack into it, you can communicate with impunity." Fisher turned back to his computer. "However, with all that said, I've got a really good security system on my computer, Sid."

  "Is it completely foolproof? No one could break it?"

  Jeff laughed. "I don't know anyone in their right mind who could make that claim, Sidney."

  Sidney looked at the disk, wishing she could just tear pages out of it and read them. 'Tm sorry if I sound paranoid."

  "No sweat. No offense, but most lawyers I know are borderline paranoid. They must have a class in law school on it or something.

  But we can at least do this." He unplugged the phone line from his CPU. "Now we're officially off-line. I have a first-rate virus sweeper on this system, in case anything got on previously. I just ran a check, so I think we're safe."

  He motioned Sidney to sit down. She slid a chair around and they both studied the screen. Fisher hit a series of keys and a directory of the files on the disk appeared. He looked over at Sidney. "About a dozen files--from the number of bytes listed I'd say about four hundred or so pages if it's standard text. But if there are a lot of graphics there's really no way to gauge the length." Fisher hit some more keys. When the screen filled up with images, his eyes sparkled.

  Sidney's face fell as she stared at the screen. It was all gibberish, high-tech hieroglyphics.

  She looked at Fisher. "Is there something wrong with your computer?"

  Fisher typed rapidly. The screen went blank and then reappeared with the same mess of digital images. Then at the bottom of the screen a box appeared with the command line requesting a password.

  "No, and there's nothing wrong with the disk either. Where'd you get it?"

  "It was sent to me. By a client," she answered lamely.

  Luckily, Fisher was too engrossed in the high-tech conundrum to question her further about the origin of the disk.

  His fingers flew across the keyboard for several more minutes as he tried all the other files. The gibberish on the screen always reappeared.

  So did the message requesting a password. Finally he turned to her, a smile on his face.

  "It's encrypted," he said simply.

  Sidney stared at him. "Encrypted?"

  Fisher continued to stare at the screen. "Encryption is a process whereby you take readable form text and put it into a nonreadable form before you send it out."

  "What good is it if the person you sent it to can't read it?"

  "Ah, but they can if they have the key that allows you to dec
rypt the message."

  "How do you get the key?"

  "The sender has to forward it to you, or you have to already have it in your possession."

  Sidney slumped back in the chair. Jason would have had the damned key. "I don't have it."

  "That doesn't make any sense."

  "Would someone send an encrypted message to himself?" she asked.

  Fisher looked over at her. "He wouldn't. I mean, ordinarily he wouldn't. If you have the message already in hand, you wouldn't encrypt it and then send it across the Internet to yourself at another location.

  It would just give someone the opportunity to intercept it and then maybe break it. But I thought you said a client sent you this?"

  Sidney suddenly shivered. "Jeff, do you have any coffee? It seems chilly in here."

  "Actually, I've got a fresh pot made. I keep this room a little cooler than the rest of the house because of the heat thrown off by the equipment. I'll be back in a minute."

  "Thanks."

  When Fisher returned with two cups of coffee, Sidney was staring at the screen.

  Fisher took a sip of the hot liquid while Sidney sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. Fisher hunched forward and studied the screen.

  He returned to his last train of thought. "Yeah, you wouldn't encrypt a message you meant to send to yourself." He took another sip of coffee.

  "You'd only do it if you were sending it to someone else."

  Sidney's eyes flew open and she jolted upright. The image of the e-mail flashing across Jason's computer screen like an electronic phantom swept through her memory. It was there and then gone.

  The key. Was it the key? Was he sending it to her?

  She gripped Fisher's arm. "Jeff, how is it possible for an e-mail to appear on your computer screen and then vanish? It's not in your mailbox. It's nowhere on the system. How can that happen?"

  "Pretty easily. The sender has a window of opportunity to cancel the transmission. I mean, he couldn't do it once the mail was opened and read. But on some systems, depending on their configuration, you can recall a message up until it's opened by the receiver. In that regard it's better than the U.S. mail." Fisher grinned. "You know, you get pissed off at someone and you write them a letter and mail it, and then you regret having done it. Once it's in the metal box, you cannot get it back. No way, nohow. With electronic mail, you can. Up to a point."

  "How about outside a network? Like across the Internet?"

  Fisher rubbed his chin. "It's more difficult to do because of the travel chain the message has to go through. Sort of like the monkey bars on the playground." Sidney again stared at him with a blank face. "You know, you climb up one side, swing yourself across and then climb down the other side. That's a rough analogy of how mail travels over the Internet. The parts are fluid per se, but they don't necessarily form a single cohesive unit. The result is, sometimes in formation sent cannot be retrieved."

  "But it's possible?"

  "If the e-mail was sent using one on-line service through the whole route--like, for example, America Online--you can retrieve it."

  Sidney thought quickly. They had American Online at home. But why would Jason have sent her the key and then taken it back? She shuddered. Unless he wasn't the one who had canceled the transmission.

  "Jeff, if you're sending the e-mail and you want it to go through, but someone else doesn't, could they stop it? Cancel the transmission like you said, even if the sender wants it to go through?"

  "That's kind of a weird question. But the answer is yes. All you have to do is have access to the keyboard. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm just thinking out loud."

  Fisher looked at her quizzically. "Is something wrong, Sidney?"

  Sidney ignored the question. "Is it possible to read the message without the key?"

  Fisher looked at the screen and then turned slowly back to Sidney.

  "There are some methods one can employ." He sounded hesitant, his tone much more formal.

  "Could you try to do it, Jeff?"

  He looked down. "Look, Sidney, right after you called today, I phoned the office just to check on some ongoing projects. They told me..." He paused and looked at her with troubled eyes. "They told me about you."

  Sidney stood up, her eyes downcast.

  "I also happened to read the paper before you came over. Is that what this is all about? I don't want to get into trouble."

  Sidney sat back down and looked directly at Fisher, gripping his hand with one of hers. "Jeff, an e-mail came across my computer at home. I think it was from my husband. But then it vanished. I think it might have been the key for this message because Jason mailed that disk to himself. Whatever is on that disk I've got to be able to read. I haven't done anything wrong, despite what my firm or the paper or anyone says. I have no way of proving that. Yet. All you have is my word."

  Fisher looked at her for a long moment and then finally nodded.

  "Okay, I believe you. You happen to be one of the few attorneys at the firm I like." He turned back to the screen with a determined air.

  "You might want to get some more coffee. If you're hungry, there's some sandwich stuff in the fridge. This could take a while."

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The dinner with Frank Hardy had been an early one and it was only about eight o'clock when Sawyer pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment. When he climbed out of the car, his stomach felt immensely comfortable. His brain, however, didn't share that pleasant feeling. This case seemed to have so many angles, he wasn't quite sure where to start grabbing.

  When he slammed the car door shut, he noticed the vintage Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce high-stepping down the street toward him.

  His neighborhood was seldom, if ever, witness to that sort of spectacular wealth. Through the windshield Sawyer could see a black-capped chauffeur at the wheel. Sawyer had to look twice and then it hit him what was odd. The driver was on the right side--it was a British-built car. It slowed down and came to a quiet stop next to him. Sawyer couldn't see in the back of the car because the glass was tinted. He wondered if that was an original production item or had been added later. He didn't have time to wonder past that. The rear window came down and Sawyer was staring into the countenance of Nathan Gamble. In the meantime the chauffeur had exited the car and stood ready by the passenger door.

  Sawyer's eyes swept the length of the massive vehicle before coming to rest on the Triton chairman again. "Nice set of wheels. How's the gas mileage?"

  "Like I care. You into basketball?" Gamble used a cutter to snip off the back end of his cigar and took a moment to light up.

  "Excuse me?"

  "NBA. Tall black guys running around in little shorts in return for shitloads of money."

  "I catch it on the tube when I get a chance."

  "Well, hop in, then."

  "Why?"

  "You'll see. I promise you won't be bored."

  Sawyer looked up and down the street and shrugged. He jostled his car keys in his pocket and then looked at the chauffeur. "I got it, buddy." Sawyer pulled open the door and climbed in. When he settled back against the leather he noted Richard Lucas in the rear-facing seat. Sawyer inclined his head slightly. Triton's security chief returned the bare gesture. The Rolls pulled swiftly away.

  "You want one?" Gamble held out a cigar. "Cuban. It's against the law to import them into this country. I think that's why I like them so much."

  Sawyer took the offered cigar and snipped off the end with the cutter Gamble handed him. He looked surprised when Lucas held out a butane lighter, but accepted the service.

  He took a few quick puffs and then a long one as he got it going.

  "Not bad. Guess I'll have to give you a break on the illegal smokes."

  "Thanks tons."

  "By the way, how'd you know where I lived? I hoped you weren't