NO SAFE PLACE

by Steven M. Roth

  The colonel paused, walked around behind his desk, then, still standing and glaring at Vista, said, “All right, Lieutenant, suit yourself. Since you insist, I’ll tell you.” He looked over at the sergeant to make sure he was paying attention.

  “Your evaluators concluded you’re not a team player, that’s why. You don’t have any friends in the unit. Not one.”

  He paused a beat. “You eat alone, take leave alone, do everything alone. You’ve made yourself an exile in your own squad.”

  He paused to let this sink in.

  “That won’t do for the Special Forces, Lieutenant. We depend on each other. Our lives depend on mutual trust and mutual reliability. Team work.” He slowly shook his head.

  “How could anyone in your unit feel he could trust you with his life and depend on you to have his back when you don’t even talk to anyone in your class?” He pulled the chair out from behind his desk and sat down.

  “My advice to you, Lieutenant Vista, is this: Go back to your regular unit. Continue what you were doing before, except also start mingling now. Socialize. Make friends with the men in your unit.

  “Keep your nose clean and don’t make waves. You’re still on the right track for command. Put this Special Forces blip behind you. One day you’ll forget all about it.”

  Anthony dug his fingernails into his palms until his hands stung. His neck turned crimson, but all he said was, “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  Then he saluted, smartly turned, and left the colonel’s office.

  CHAPTER 16

  Fort Lauderdale March 5

  Derek Peterson looked into the camera and said, “. . . the medical situation continues to deteriorate here in Fort Lauderdale. Doctors have run out of supplies and have stopped going to their offices. Area hospitals are without empty beds so they are turning away patients. ERs and clinics are without medicine, so they are closing.

  “The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported this morning that since last Friday eleven more children and sixteen adults in Fort Lauderdale have been reported as coming down with the mysterious late-season flu.

  “But there is a glimmer of good news. A well-placed source in the county government told this reporter that the CDC will soon deliver medicine to Fort Lauderdale. Although we are told this medication will not cure the disease afflicting our city, or even prevent people from catching it, the medicine will alleviate the symptoms for those people who suffer from the mysterious late-season flu.

  “My source assures me, too, that some hospital emergency rooms, some clinics, and many pharmacies will then reopen. In the meantime, however, you must remember. Do not go to hospital emergency rooms unless it is absolutely necessary. For now, for most cases of the illness and otherwise, ERs are officially off limits.”

  Derek paused and looked briefly at his clipboard. “I have one note of warning to show you how serious the medical situation in Broward County has become.” He glanced again at his notes, then looked back to the camera.

  “The authorities report that in the past nine days there have been thirty-one reported break-ins at hospital ERs and pharmacies, likely to steal medicines or regulated substances.

  “The governor has stated that this lawlessness will not be tolerated and, if necessary, he will call up the state’s national guard to protect hospitals and their ERs from unauthorized intrusions.”

  Derek paused to wipe his forehead with a red paisley handkerchief. “This is Derek Peterson for CNN, signing off for today.”

  CHAPTER 17

  1996/1999

  After Viktor completed his tour of duty in Chechnya in the first Russian-Chechen war, and had returned to Russia as an instructor teaching new recruits to perform as shooters, he found, much to his surprise, that his non-combat time caused him to become philosophical. It was during this lull in his military career, between combat assignments that Viktor, contemplating why he’d shown so little fear, as opposed to much restlessness, during the earlier Afghan and recent Chechnya campaigns, realized that the most frightening times for him during the two wars had been when he was resting and had become aware of all the horrors of the situation he’d previously found himself in. Viktor clearly needed combat and the risk of death or mutilation to maintain his equilibrium. A peacetime-like environment was corrosive for him.

  Viktor’s second respite as an instructor ended in 1999 when he again was transferred to Chechnya, this time to fight as a sniper/shooter in the second Russian-Chechen war.

  Chechnya was Hell on Earth. Perfect for Viktor.

  He spent most of his second deployment in Chechnya’s capital city, Grozny, using this urban environment as his base of operations.

  His first assignment in the city, much to his dismay, was not as a sniper or shooter. Instead, Viktor and his team were tasked with clearing the city’s sewers of mines that had been placed there, first by the enemy, then later by the Russians. The idea was to be able to use the sewers as tunnels for passage from one part of the city to another. Moving about on the surface, even under cover of night, even for men with highly developed stalking and camouflage skills, proved to be too dangerous and costly for the Russian military.

  The second Chechen war turned out to be endless. No matter how many people the Russians killed or wounded — civilians, rebels, terrorists, militia, regular military, hybrids, or whatever Viktor and his comrades chose to call them — more appeared to confront the invaders. In time, Viktor came to realize that no matter how many enemy he killed, he could not affect the outcome of the war. He was just marking time until his time was up.

  One afternoon during his second tour in Chechnya, Viktor found himself on a personal mission, stalking one of the enemy’s snipers who had picked off all of Viktor’s comrades, one by one, over three days and nights.

  Viktor set out on his own to find the Chechen terrorist.

  He set up under cover of night, high on a hill. His position gave him an excellent panoramic view of the countryside. Viktor was camouflaged to blend in with his surroundings.

  Viktor knew the general location of his prey, but did not yet know their precise location. That would come with patience and observation.

  On his third day, Viktor noticed a movement among a stand of Cyprus trees, approximately four hundred meters from his hiding place. He pulled out his field glasses and studied the outcropping of rocks and trees. He counted three enemy. Two held weapons; one did not.

  Viktor eased his weapon forward and sighted the men through his telescopic site. For his first target, he settled on the soldier who was wearing a pair of binoculars on a strap around his neck. This man, he decided, was currently the most dangerous to him of the three since he likely was the spotter for the other two. Without him, the enemy snipers would be undermined because they would be without their trained set of eyes.

  Viktor leveled his sound-suppressed rifle, fixed the man’s forehead in the crosshairs of his scope, lowered his aim half a finger, then delicately, slowly, squeezed the trigger. The silent round caught the target just to the left of his nose, blowing half his face away.

  Viktor didn’t bask in the satisfaction of his kill. He quickly packed up his gear and stealthily moved to another location, one that again offered him a clean sight line to his targets. Then he set up to kill again.

  Within minutes Viktor saw the two other targets looking around for something, most likely looking for the sniper who had taken out their colleague. Viktor again focused on the target who now held the binoculars.

  He aimed at his target’s forehead. He expected the round to make contact just above the man’s nose.

  This second kill set the third man running.

  Viktor felt nothing but contempt for the running enemy. Had the man been properly trained and not been a mere terrorist, an amateur, Viktor thought, he would have gone to ground when his companions were hit, and would later that night slip away under cover of darkness. Instead, he chose to run like a frightened dog. Now he would pay with his life for h
is cowardice and lack of training.

  The running man, at first, was not an easy kill. He ran in a zigzag pattern that caused Viktor to miss two shots. This anomalous result brought Viktor to full fury. He rarely missed a target, let alone twice.

  Viktor calmed himself and reverted to his training so that the runner, zigging and zagging like a panicked rabbit, never again stood a chance against him.

  Instead of trying to follow his target as he dodged back and forth among the rocks and bushes, Viktor chose a sight line down the middle of the hypothetical path the man ran along, knowing that no matter how much the runner zigged and zagged, he eventually would cross the path’s hypothetical middle line, most likely many times, as he dodged back and forth. That was the one constant Viktor could rely on.

  Viktor took aim ahead of the runner along the middle line of the man’s idiosyncratic running trajectory. When the enemy almost approached the center line and was about to come within his crosshairs, Viktor squeezed the trigger, and the man disappeared from sight. A red blood stain on a rock near where the man had been running was all that was visible to Viktor.

  In 2007, with the war in Chechnya still raging, Viktor was deemed too old to continue as a shooter. The military rotated him through various assignments, none of which satisfied his need for risk. After two years of trial and error in various roles, Viktor mustered out of the army and emigrated from Russia to the United States, where he settled near Svetlana, his younger sister, who now lived in Fort Lauderdale.

  Viktor, a civilian again, could not become an auto mechanic again because automobile-installed computers had changed cars beyond anything Viktor was familiar with. His youthful training was, all these years later, totally obsolete. He turned, therefore, to weaponry, the only other trade he knew. Viktor opened a licensed gun shop on Route A1A in Fort Lauderdale, not far from the international airport.

  CHAPTER 18

  Fort Lauderdale

  March 5

  Trace paid the lunch check, then continued to sit with his feet propped up on the fence rail while Pete wandered over to the restaurant’s entrance and stood in front of a bulletin board reading messages and notices.

  Trace thought about Pete as a wannabe computer hacker. He didn’t know how to stop Pete from engaging in this criminal act short of taking away his computer privileges, and he knew that doing this would likely be useless and self-defeating. After all, he thought, Pete needed his computer for his schoolwork. And, if Pete really wanted to go online and hack, in spite of Trace’s prohibition, there were easy work-arounds he could use: friends’ computers, the public library, and Internet cafés. Trace realized he would have to deal with the underlying problem itself, not just ban it by parental fiat.

  Trace recalled a magazine article he’d read a few months before while in his dentist’s waiting room. At the time Trace thought the article was foolish, even reckless. Even its title, he’d thought, was questionable: “Parents! Why You Should Hack Computers With Your Teenager.” Trace could not think of any justification for a parent to commit a crime with his child.

  Until now.

  Today, Trace wasn’t so sure. If he could not keep Pete from hacking, perhaps he could keep Pete from hacking recklessly or from hacking into certain computers or from misusing the information his hacks might give him access to. At the very least, he thought, perhaps he could help keep Pete from being apprehended by the authorities, although he wasn’t very optimistic about that.

  I shouldn’t be surprised Pete hacks, Trace thought, not if the magazine article was correct.

  The article’s author had written that many intelligent teenagers are motivated to hack computer systems for one or more reasons: general curiosity, or the technical challenge to see if they can do it; peer pressure to do it; peer recognition for having done it; or, a teenager’s natural proclivity to defy authority, especially parental authority.

  If this was so, the author had written, a parent’s attempt to stop his teenager from hacking would be futile and would actually fuel the teen’s interest in hacking just to defy his parent. But, asked the author, would a teen want to hack networks if his parent joined him in the act?

  By participating with his child, the author had written, the parent might be able to steer his teen away from malicious hacking and channel his efforts into white hat hacking. Furthermore, the author argued, the parent’s very presence would likely make hacking less appealing to the teen, not cool, not something the teen would want his or her peers to know about. This, in and of itself, might discourage the teen from hacking.

  Or, Trace had thought at the time, it might spur him on to do his own, private, malicious hacking. The possibilities made him wonder why he’d ever thought he was fit to be a parent.

  Even as he considered this now, even after his failed conversations with Pete, Trace thought that the article and the author’s premise were nuts, but he didn’t know what else to do about Pete’s hacking.

  “Pete, we need to talk,” Trace said, raising his voice so Pete, who still was reading the postings on the bulletin board, could hear him.

  “What’s up,” Pete said, as he walked back to Trace. “I thought we talked during lunch?”

  “Not about hacking, we didn’t.”

  Pete’s face flushed. “Come on, Dad, give me a break, will you. We’ve been all over this. Can’t we just drop it and not spoil our time together?”

  “No, we can’t drop it. I have something to say and I expect you to listen to me. Now sit down,” Trace said, pointing to a chair near him. “It doesn’t have to spoil our day together unless you let it.”

  Pete took the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at the space behind Trace, looking over Trace’s shoulder, his head turned slightly away from his father. His eyes narrowed. He seemed to be mentally stomping his foot.

  “So, go on, talk,” he said. He continued to look beyond Trace.

  “You know I don’t want you hacking,” Trace said.

  “You made that clear.”

  “Because I also know you’re not likely to stop,” Trace said, “I want to be involved.”

  Pete’s head whipped around so fast to look at his father, he could have suffered whiplash. “What’s that mean? Involved? I don’t get it.” He frowned, suspicious of what he’d just heard.

  “It means I want you to show me what you do when you hack. I shouldn’t have any problem understanding it, given my Navy experience and my technology law practice. You’ll just have to introduce me to state-of-the-art tools.”

  Pete’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened. “This is a joke, right?”

  Trace shook his head. “It’s no joke.”

  “What about all the things you said this morning about hacking? Was that just posturing?”

  “I meant every word of it,” Trace said, “but I also realize I can’t be your policeman 24/7. So, if I can’t make you stop hacking, and I don’t believe I can, maybe I can guide you along into better and safer paths within hacking. To do that, I have to become familiar with the software tools you’re using.”

  Pete stared briefly at Trace, then said, “This is really weird. You’re creeping me out, Dad. Picture it: the father and son hacking team busted together. That would make mom real happy. Especially on visiting day at the federal pen. I can’t wait to tell her.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Pete. It’s an act of desperation by me out of my love for you. You should at least recognize this for what it is and respect why I’ve made this difficult decision.”

  Pete nodded, and his grin faded. “All right. Have it your way, Dad. When do you want me to start showing you?”

  “On the fishing trip. At night. We’ll have lots of time to kill, as well as privacy at night.”

  “Privacy?” Pete said. “Meaning, as in, mom not knowing? Okay. I get it.”

  “Make no mistake, Pete, this doesn’t change anything I’ve said concerning how I feel about you hacking. Understand?”

  “Sure, Dad. I understand.
You just want to bond with me.”

  As they belted themselves into the car and prepared to drive back to Nanna’s, Pete said, “Listen, Dad, this probably isn’t the best time to ask this, but I’d like to go to an Internet café for a while. There’s one on Sunrise Boulevard. Will you drop me off?”

  Trace looked over at Pete, and said, “You’re kidding, right? After what we talked about?”

  “I’m not going to hack. I promise. I’m just learning a game I don’t have on my laptop yet because I haven’t played enough to qualify to download it. That’s all I want to do, nothing else.”

  No hacking?”

  Pete shook his head. “You made your point, Dad. I gave you my word. You need to trust me.”

  “All right,” Trace said. “Fair enough. I do trust you. I’ll drop you off at the café. Call me when you’re ready to come home. I’ll pick you up.”

  Pete called two hours later.

  “I’m on my way home, Dad, but you don’t need to pick me up. We’re just around the corner.”

  “You’re walking?” Trace said. “It’s too far. What do you mean, ‘We’re just around the corner?’ Who are you with?”

  “I caught a ride with my new friend, Karl, a guy I met at the café who was helping me with the game. We’ll be outside Nanna’s in just a minute. Come downstairs and I’ll introduce you to him,” Pete said.

  CHAPTER 19

  Fort Lauderdale

  March 13

  Trace and Pete returned to Fort Lauderdale after several days and nights fishing in Key West.