The Phoenix Egg

by Richard Bamberg

  It was about time.

  “Which inquiry?” he asked.

  “The Web monitors have spotted a portion of the file you expressed interest in.”

  “Just a portion?”

  “Yes. Max has determined that it’s the encryption code portion of the file. It appears someone has broken out that section and is seeking help in breaking the cipher.”

  Max was the nickname of the big multiprocessor Cray back at the barn. “Interesting. What do we have on the transmission site?”

  “It originated in the San Jose area. We’re having trouble spotting the exact location. The URL site doesn’t match any recorded listings. Max thinks it’s a CHAOS location.”

  “CHAOS? What the hell is that?” Holdren asked.

  “Computer Hackers Alliance for Open Speech.”

  “Shouldn’t that be CHAFOS?”

  “Yeah, you’d think.”

  “And what is CHAOS’s interest in our file?” Holdren asked.

  “Max thinks they had a hand in its theft. Personally, I think they’re nothing more than a bunch of computer nerds who have gotten together to increase their own sense of self-worth.”

  “You came up with that all by yourself?”

  There was a pause on the line before the watch officer replied. “Not really. That comes out of the Internal Threat Office. They think Max is giving these guys too much credit.”

  “So they’re just a bunch of computer hackers who just happened to stumble on the most closely guarded secret since Kennedy and Monroe? It sounds like Max may be earning the billions it cost to create it.”

  “Well, yeah, if they are involved, it’ll mean stepping up the surveillance of their activities.”

  “See to it. We can’t wait for the next committee meeting to make a decision. How long before Max can trace that transmission point?”

  “He’s going back through public utility records for the last decade and comparing them with all changes in –”

  Holdren interrupted with an impatient snap. “I don’t need to know what he’s doing. I just need to know when I’ll get the information.”

  “Yes, one, maybe two hours at the most.”

  “All right. We’ll move our operations to San Jose and be ready to move when you have the address. How long before Max will have the file decrypted?”

  “He finished it nearly an hour ago.”

  “Really? I was told that it would take all of the night and probably most of tomorrow.”

  “Yes, normally it would have, but Max doesn’t work the normal way.”

  “Oh, and how did it find the password so fast?”

  “Max assumed that since it was sent from Scott Corning to Caitlin Maxwell, it had to have a password connected with the two of them.”

  “Interesting, and how did it isolate the password?”

  “He went through everything we know about them and eventually found that the password was the name of a small town near Cancun, Mexico.”

  “What was its significance?”

  “It’s where they spent the first night of their honeymoon.”

  “Max knew that?” Holdren asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “And the contents of the file?”

  “Only partial success there. It appears to be the plans for the encoder, but not the plans for the actual devices.”

  Holdren raised a hand to cover his face. He slowly shook his head. “All right, if that’s all there was congratulations on getting at least that much. One more thing....”

  “Yes?”

  “Put someone on the addresses the file segment was sent to. We’ll need to investigate each one thoroughly.”

  “Max is already working on it.”

  Holdren closed the phone and picked up his tea. It was cold. He motioned for the waiter over to bring a fresh cup. While waiting, he considered the conversation. The barn’s computer seemed to be getting a little too smart.

  Holdren waited in the car with Romax while the armed response team cleared the house. It had taken them longer than Max’s two-hour estimate to find this house. It took nearly three. Was that an indication of how good these CHAOS people were or was it more an indication that Max wasn’t as good as his programmers thought? Neither answer appealed to Holdren. Perhaps when this operation was under control, he should spend some time personally looking into CHAOS.

  When the office-in-charge came to the car, his hood was pulled back from his face, and his gun slung over his shoulder. Holdren let down his window, and smoke billowed out into the night air.

  “Mr. Holdren. There was only one occupant. He is being restrained. We found no sign of weapons or explosives.”

  Holdren tossed his cigarette to the curb and opened his door. “Thank you. You may take us to him now.”

  “Yes sir, this way.”

  Romax had joined Holdren by the time they reached the edge of the brown lawn. The front door lay back against the side-wall, its hinges, and multiple bolts were shattered by the force of the battering ram the response team had used. Holdren and Romax followed the officer to the rear of the house to a room filled with computer hardware.

  For a moment, Holdren thought their suspect was a child. Then he focused his attention on the person and realized he was a dwarf, a little person, a damn midget.

  He turned to Romax.

  “This, this is what gave us so much trouble?” he asked Romax.

  Romax met his gaze and shrugged.

  Holdren turned to the officer who had led them in. “Take your men and search the rest of the house. Don’t interrupt us, but if you find anything noteworthy I want to hear about it when we finish questioning this person.”

  “Yes, sir. All right, everybody out.”

  The officer and his two men left quickly, and Holdren closed the door behind them. He took a chair from one corner and pulled it to a comfortable talking distance from the suspect. Sitting down, he took a pack of cigarettes from an inner pocket and lit it. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled in the dwarf’s face.

  “Louis Russell?”

  The dwarf blinked as if the smoke was burning his eyes, and then said, “Yes?”

  “Mr. Russell, you have been in contact with a Caitlin Maxwell. She gave you something tonight, something that didn’t belong to her. I want you to give it to me and tell me everything you’ve learned about it.”

  The dwarf held Romax’s stare for several seconds, and then met Holdren’s gaze. “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s the wrong attitude to take,” Romax counseled.

  “Louie, you don’t mind if I call you Louie, do you?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Holdren continued, “Louie, this is a matter of national security. We don’t want to have to bring charges against you. We feel like you don’t really know what Maxwell was getting you involved in and we’re willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. If you answer our questions truthfully, to the best of your knowledge, then I’m sure the special prosecutor will take your behavior into account.”

  Holdren paused to take another drag on the cigarette.

  “I don’t know a Caitlin Maxwell.”

  “See, that’s just what I mean. She probably didn’t even use her real name. Now that shows she wasn’t honest with you. If she lied about her name, then she probably lied about everything she told you tonight.

  “I’ll bet she told you she came by this computer file by accident. That someone sent it to her without explaining how they came by it, even that she doesn’t know what’s in the file. Am I close?”

  Holdren could see the indecision in the dwarf’s eyes as he lowered his head. The little guy was unsure of himself. Either he really hadn’t known Caitlin Maxwell before tonight, or he didn’t know her well enough to trust her. They would soon have everything they needed from him.

  Something changed in the dwarf’s eyes as he raised his head to meet Holdren’s gaze. His hesitancy, his indecision was gone.

  “No, John
wouldn’t do me that way. I trust him.”

  “John? Are you perhaps referring to John Q. Blalock? You should know that the two of them are in this together. They’ve arranged the theft and sale of technologies critical to national security.”

  The dwarf frowned. “I think I need to talk to a lawyer before I say anything else.”

  Holdren’s gaze met Romax’s, and they shared a subtle smile. “Lawyer, Louie? You don’t need a lawyer. You aren’t under arrest. You’re just being questioned about your connection to someone who has violated national security. What would you need a lawyer for?”

  “I know my rights. I don’t have to answer any questions unless I speak to a lawyer first.”

  “Ordinarily that would be true, but you see Louie, this isn’t an ordinary case. Have you ever heard the term carte blanche? Look it up, if you ever get the chance. You see, Louie, I have the authority to deal with this problem anyway I see fit. I can transfer you to a maximum-security prison in the Aleutians, which, by the way, isn’t on any map, or I can release you and forget your little mistake. It’s all up to me.”

  “You can’t do that. That’s not legal.”

  Holdren dropped his cigarette to the floor and stomped it out. “True, it is one of those gray areas in the Constitution, but regardless, I am the final authority in your case.”

  The dwarf’s eyes hesitated again. He glanced up at Romax as if wanting someone to correct Holdren, to say that he was bound by constitutional constraints, to the rule of law, to morality.

  “You see, Louie. This is between just you and me. Either you will provide me with everything I need to know or you won’t. One way you leave this room free to come and go as you please, an honest law abiding citizen, the other way you disappear, never to be seen again. Which will it be, Louie?”

  The dwarf couldn’t meet his gaze.

  CHAPTER 20

  Caitlin awoke to find the room dimly lit by the glow of the morning sun around the thick curtains that shaded the windows. For a second, a heartbeat, she wondered. Full consciousness brought memory. She raised her head and looked around the room. The other bed was unmade but empty.

  “Good morning.”

  John’s voice came out of the gloom, but then she made out the deeper shadows in the chair.

  “What time is it?” Caitlin asked.

  “About nine.”

  “Goodness. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late.”

  “It’s not late. Louie wasn’t expecting to have anything for several more hours. Besides, you should catch up on your sleep whenever you can. You never can tell when you’ll get an opportunity again.”

  “Gees. You sound cheerful.”

  “Optimistic.”

  “Optimistic?”

  “Yeah, I always think I’ll get another chance to sleep, sooner or later.”

  That didn’t sound optimistic. It sounded fatalistic. “What’s first?”

  “Get dressed while I check on Louie’s progress, then we can get some breakfast.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Caitlin slipped out from under the covers. She unzipped her suitcase and removed a folded pair of gray slacks, a light cotton sweater, and a pair of charcoal socks. She carried them with her into the bath.

  She was zipping up her pants when John knocked.

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s go. We have to leave, now!”

  Caitlin opened the door. John was throwing her toiletries into her suitcase and zipping it shut.

  “What? What is it?”

  He tossed her Rockports toward her and lifted the case from the bed. Caitlin caught them without dropping her socks.

  “Something’s happened to Louie.”

  A chill went through her. “What?”

  “I don’t know, yet. We have to relocate fast. They may have been able to trace my call.”

  He opened the door a crack and glanced out. “It looks safe. Let’s go.”

  She followed him to his car. He tossed their bags into the back seat and climbed in. As soon as her door closed, he cranked the engine and shifted the transmission into gear. In a few seconds, they were at the side street. He turned away from Del Mar and drove up the back street into a residential area.

  “Wouldn’t we make better time on the main street?”

  “Sure, but they got a good look at my car last night. They’re sure to be watching for it. In the dark, it’s one thing, but in broad daylight, it’s too easy to spot.”

  In a few blocks, the houses became newer and the neighborhood cleaner.

  Caitlin brushed a light layer of grit from her soles and pulled on her socks. “What do you think happened to Louie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then what are you concerned about?”

  His condescending tone made her feel like he felt he was dealing with a slow-witted child. “Caitlin, he didn’t answer the phone, and when his computer picked up, it didn’t give the correct recording for his voice mail.”

  “His voice mail?”

  “Yes. His computer is tied into his security system. I helped him upgrade it last year. If there’s an intrusion, the computer is programmed to use any of several different pre-recordings until it’s reset. It was set up to let him know if an intruder was still in the house and whether or not his computer files had been tampered with and even whether or not his phone line and Web line had been tapped.”

  He paused as they stopped at an intersection. He glanced both ways and then turned east.

  “And which was it?” Caitlin asked as she laced up the Rockports.

  “All.”

  “All?”

  “Yeah, his computer had been tampered with, the lines bugged, and someone unauthorized was still on the premises.”

  “But if the computer was tampered with how could it–”

  “How could it still identify that it had been tampered with?”

  “Must you do that?” Caitlin asked.

  He gave her a curious glance. “Do what?”

  “Finish my sentences for me.”

  He hesitated then smiled. “Sorry, was I doing that again? It’s an old habit that I thought I’d kicked.”

  “It’s all right, but it does get annoying.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

  “Now, as to how the computer could still tell you that the security had been breached?”

  “There’s a secure chip inside it, an old e-prom that contains the instructions for answering the phone. The only way to modify it is to take it out and first erase its memory with an ultraviolet light. But once it’s erased you can’t reprogram it unless you know what the original instruction set contained. He kept the old e-prom for just that reason. Hardly anyone uses them these days and don’t have the proper equipment for screwing up an e-prom without leaving traces.”

  “What did his recording say?”

  “It said ‘You have reached Louie’s place. Please leave a message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.’“

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, anyone who knows Louie knows that he’d never leave such a message. It’s just not his style.”

  “I see. And what made you think they were tracing your call. Surely you didn’t use the hotel’s phone.”

  “Correct. I used my cellular.”

  “Then–”

  “How did I know they were tracing the call?”

  “You did it again.”

  “Did what?”

  “Finished my sentence.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, how did you?” Caitlin resisted a sudden urge to pinch his arm. She didn’t remember him being this exasperating.

  “If they’re tapping his line, then it’s no leap of imagination that they’re tracing any calls to his number.”

  “But you can’t track a cellular phone’s location that easily.”

  “Who says?”

  “Well ... all right it’s possible, but you’d have to have receivers to triangulate the tr
ansmission. That would mean you’d have to expect the signal to come from a particular area and set your receiver’s up beforehand.”

  “You’re partially right, but even under those circumstances, they could have gotten our location. They would just have to assume that we were still in the Bay Area and be ready to triangulate all calls out of this region.”

  “But that would take time.”

  “Right, but that’s not how they do it.”

  “Okay, obviously you know something I don’t. Give. What else can they do?”

  “For several years now all of the cellular phone chips have been encoded to allow their tracking using the GPS network. Like a GPS receiver, the cellular gets the signal from the GPS satellites. When queried by the proper signal your cellular phone will broadcast that data and bingo, you’re located.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “I wish I were.”

  “But, how can that be legal?”

  “Who knows from legal? How was it legal to install V-chips in all the televisions?”

  “But that’s different. It just lets the user lock out all the signals that exceed a preset level of violence or sexuality.”

  “Sure that’s what the proponents claimed it would be used for. The V-chip’s construction allows it to be reprogrammed remotely. Even people who don’t use it can have programs blocked out.”

  “I don’t understand. What would that accomplish?”

  “Don’t you see? It gives them the power to control what you watch.”

  “Yes, but it would just control sex and violence. There can’t be anything sinister about that. So what if someone doesn’t get to watch Playboy After Dark or some such trite?”

  John’s head shook slowly.

  “What?” she asked.

  He slowed the car for a traffic light, then turned east again onto the access road for the Mid-Bay Bridge. In a minute, they were driving a few yards above the choppy water.

  “Who do you think puts the rating encoding onto the program’s signal?”

  “I don’t know. I guess the networks,” she said.

  “The V-chip signal can be added remotely; just like the V-chip itself can be encoded remotely.”

  “You mean someone, the government, can modify the coding on any program they want?”