“Everybody loved your father,” Brian replied emphatically. “I never heard a word said against him. Why?”
“I … I’ve just become aware of some … family history. A long-lost but rather cranky relative.” It wasn’t a total lie. “I was hoping Dad might have said something or had some documentation about them.”
“Aside from you, your father didn’t talk much about the family. But he was very proud of you. And, of course, Danny.”
Danny—always the postscript, the sibling people felt obligated to mention. “So, you don’t know.”
“Lila, I was a junior partner. Your father didn’t confide in me. Sorry, I know that doesn’t help much.” She didn’t reply. “Listen, Lila, do you think maybe you and I … ”
She knew where he was going and cut him off. “Brian, do you know anyone who does know about this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Steganography,” she said impatiently.
“Sorry.” Brian was turning out to be rather useless. Then he added, “But your father always said his webmaster was a genius.”
“His webmaster?”
“The person who runs the firm’s website.”
“The guy in India?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
“Lila … ”
“I’ll be in touch.” She hung up and clicked onto the Hilliard and Associates website. At the bottom of the home page was a tiny box with a link that said the website had been designed by Jayanthra Angler, Inc. She clicked on the link. An email address popped up. She composed a note and was just hitting “Send” when her phone rang. Figuring it was Brian, she picked up without thinking.
“Hey. What did you forget?” No one responded. “Brian?”
Silence. Then a click.
Lila stared at the phone, then checked the caller ID. “Unavailable.” She ran to the window and peeked around the sheet. The street was dark and quiet. Only a few passing cars. She felt cold. She should call someone. But who?
She went to the door and made sure it was locked. Determination was one thing, but stupidity was another. If her pursuers were closing in, she needed protection. A gun was her first choice, but it would take time to get the license and take lessons. Time she didn’t have. She hurried into the kitchen, opened the drawer, and took out a knife.
EIGHTEEN
Electronic beeps woke Lila. It was still dark, and she felt disoriented. She checked the clock. Nearly midnight. She was surprised she’d fallen asleep. The beeps sounded again, and she realized it was someone calling her on Skype, the Internet service that turned a computer into a phone. Peabody Stern required all its employees to have their user name as part of their email signature, since one never knew when a call from a trader in Tokyo, an investment banker in Switzerland, or a client on vacation might need to be answered. She’d downloaded it onto Danny’s computer when she moved in.
The incoming call had a unique sound, a little like a European police siren but more cheerful. She hurried to the computer. The call was coming from Jayanthra Angler. Her father’s webmaster. She slipped on the headphones. “Lila Hilliard.”
“Hello, Ms. Hilliard.”
“Thank you for calling, Mr. Angler.”
“Call me Jay.”
“Thanks. You got my email, I assume.”
“Yes, and when I saw you were a Skyper, I decided this would be the most convenient way to communicate. How wonderful to make your acquaintance. How is your father?” His voice had a sing-song cadence and clipped British accent.
“You haven’t heard?”
There was a slight hesitation. “Heard what?”
She filled him in.
“I am so sorry. I had the deepest respect for your father.”
“It’s been … hard.” She swallowed. “Jay, I need your help. I’ve been going through my father’s computer files, and I found a tutorial on steganography. Do you know what that is?”
His reply was slow in coming. “Yes.”
Lila sensed there was more. “Would you know enough to have prepared it for him?”
Again a pregnant pause. “I might have.”
At last, she was making progress. “Why? What did he want to hide?”
“That I do not know.”
Her spirits sank.
“Lila Hilliard, my relationship with your father was a business one. If he asked for my knowledge, I was happy to be of service. But I did not ask questions that were not my place to know.”
Lila ran a frustrated hand through her hair.
“Did you read through the tutorial?” he asked.
“Yes. But that …”
“From your reading, then, you know you can embed small messages within other data files. Much like a message in a bottle. Except they’re hidden. And if you encrypt them, they’re practically impossible to detect.”
“Those messages … they would be embedded in larger files, right? MP3s or digital images, for example?”
“Normally the bigger the file, the better. That way you do not notice a few extra KBs, which would be the text of the actual message.” He giggled in that high-pitched way some Indians do. “You see, you do know something about this.”
“Not enough. Let’s say I think a message has been hidden in a larger file. How would I retrieve it?”
“You would need—in effect—a digital ‘key’ to unlock it. In this case, the same software that the person who concealed the message used. You’d also need the encryptor’s password. And the encryption method they used.”
“Did my father have all those things?”
A momentary pause. “I sent him the software and encryption method several years ago. But I would not know his password.”
Lila shifted. “Well, assuming I could figure that out, where would I look for the embedded message?”
“That is hard to say. It could be anywhere.”
“Where would you look for it?”
Jay was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps someplace obvious. In the open. No one would know it was there, you see, unless your father specifically told them.”
Lila considered it. Her father didn’t have any MP3 files. Or many digital images. Except one. “Jay, he scanned in a photograph … oh, about five years ago. Of a group of young people in a park. I have it on a CD.”
“He scanned it in?” Jay asked. “How big was the file?”
She went to the picture and quickly checked the properties. “Says here about 125 KB.”
“Not large enough. If something were embedded within it, an image that small would have become unrecognizable.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“A larger image, say from a website, for example, would work.”
“You mean, like his business website? Hilliard and Associates?”
“It’s possible.”
“Oh god, I think they’re planning to take off everything having to do with my father. Maybe they already have.”
“If so, they’re using a new webmaster. I haven’t been notified about any changes.”
She quickly pointed the mouse to the Hilliard and Associates website. It hadn’t changed. Thank God. “Jay, I need to find out if my father embedded a message on the website. Can you help me do that?”
He didn’t answer.
“It … it could be a matter of life and death.”
“I can recreate the software I sent him,” he said after a pause. “And a new tutorial so you can retrieve it. The encryption would likely not be a problem either. I remember suggesting that he use Triple DES.”
“What?”
“It’s an encryption algorithm, a block cipher formed from the Data Encryption Standard cipher by using it three times.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
He giggled again. “Just remember to enter the words Triple DES when you are prompted for an algorithm.” He paused. “However, there is still the problem of the password. And where the message might be. If it is there at all.”
“Actually, I may know his password. He always used the same one for everything.”
Jay sighed. “I warned him not to do that.”
“I guess he didn’t listen. As usual.” It was her turn to laugh. “Tell me, how did you and my father meet?”
“I suppose … well, you could say it was a family affair.”
“Excuse me?”
“My father knew your father.”
She frowned. “How? You’re in India.”
“That’s correct. In Sri Ganganagar. It’s not far from Delhi.”
“Did your father come to Chicago?”
“Your father came to India.”
“My father traveled to India?” Lila couldn’t hide her surprise. “When?”
“Let me see. My father lives with us. I will ask.”
“Oh, don’t wake him.”
Another laugh. “It is almost noon here.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Through her headphones she heard the murmur of voices.
Then Jay came back on. “My father says it must have been in 1968 or 1969.”
Lila’s shoulders gave an involuntary twitch. Her father had never told her he’d gone to India. “Where did he go? Who was with him? I’m sorry for all the questions, but I had no idea he’d done that.”
She heard more soft murmurs. Then, “He came with one other young man. They traveled to Rishikesh.”
“Rishikesh?”
“It’s in Northern India near the Himalayas. It’s considered a holy city for Hindus. On the Ganges river. It’s where the Maharishi’s ashram was.”
“Maharishi?”
“Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. He taught transcendental meditation. My father worked at the ashram when your father visited.”
Lila dimly recalled reading something about the Beatles and others flocking to India to study meditation during the Sixties.
“Does your father remember the other man who came with him?”
More conversation off mike. Then, “My father can’t remember the name of the young man, but says he was tall, with dark hair down to his shoulders. Very slender.”
“Was … was it Dar Gantner?”
More talk, then Jay came back on. “Yes. My father says that was his name.”
Lila stiffened. Dar Gantner had gone to India with her father. Why? Was it just a youthful adventure, kids backpacking through Europe? Or was it something else? “So how did you end up managing his website?”
“Our fathers liked each other. They stayed in touch with the occasional letter and card. Then after I taught my father how to email, they corresponded more frequently. Once my father told your father what I was doing, your father hired me.”
Lila nodded to herself. It made sense. Her father always talked about the importance of connections. Circles within circles. Between people, ideas, time. She remembered a BBC series with British science historian James Burke. Burke apparently came up with hundreds of fascinating and clever connections to explain progress and society. Since those were the days before Netflix or OnDemand, she’d had her father’s permission to stay home from school if it ever came on TV.
“Jay, thank you so much. I’ll wait for the software.”
He asked her a few questions about her computer and promised to send it within twenty-four hours.
NINETEEN
The lobby of Danny’s condo building was a tiny room with mailboxes on one wall and a table underneath. Lila crept downstairs the next morning to get the mail. Everything looked normal. No one hanging around the lobby. No one loitering on the street. But a package lay on the table. A small, padded manila mailer. Her name and address were written by hand, and there was no return address. The postmark said Chicago. Her heart started to race. Should she touch it? What if it was some kind of booby-trap? What if it exploded when she opened it? She left it where it was and started back upstairs.
Then she stopped. What if the package contained information about who killed her family? Or who was pursuing her? She went back to the table and stared at the package. Nothing seemed to be ticking, and it looked lightweight. She picked it up by a corner. Nothing happened. She took it upstairs, put it on the kitchen counter, and stared at it some more. She shouldn’t open it.
She opened the knife drawer and pulled out the knife she liked. She approached the mailer holding the knife aloft. She took a breath. Then, slowly, gingerly, she sliced through the packing tape covering the ends. Nothing happened. She carefully opened one end. So far, so good. She opened it wider and rummaged inside. Her fingers touched bubble wrap. As she eased it out of the package, a scrap of paper fell out too. It said: Sharp edges. Handle with care.
She removed the bubble wrap. A tool of some kind, sheathed in white cardboard. She tore off the cardboard and found another piece of paper inside with the word Directions. She put it aside and picked up the tool. There was a ring at one end, a small, stubby but sharp blade at the other. It looked like a small Exacto knife.
She grabbed the directions, scanning them for an explanation.
“You are now the proud owner of a HideAway knife,” it read.
Proud owner?
A sketch of the knife in a human hand followed. She slipped her fingers through the ring. It felt like a pair of scissors. She unfolded the directions. The knife had been invented by a woman who knew from experience that a woman’s physical strength might not be enough during a struggle. The HideAway was easily concealed, yet accessible, and you could hang on to it during a fight. Another sketch showed a woman holding the knife aloft. Lila mimicked the sketch and made a few slashes.
Was this a warning … or a message? She slid the knife off her fingers. The directions made Lila think that perhaps—just perhaps—the knife wasn’t sent by an enemy. But then, who? Aunt Val was in South America. Brian? The insurance adjusters? Her father’s estate lawyer? None of them had any idea Lila was in danger.
She started to pace, thinking about the people she’d met recently. The fire investigators, James Redaker, his wife Natsumi. Then there was the man on the motorcycle, and the man who’d thrown himself on top of her. She’d assumed the stranger was just a passerby, a good Samaritan. But what if he knew she was in danger and was there to protect her? No … that was crazy. That would mean he knew who she was. Where she lived. Which meant he might have been following her.
She stopped pacing. Someone had been stalking her. In the Loop and in Evanston. She’d thought it was an enemy. But what if it wasn’t? She picked up the directions. They included a website for the HideAway knife. She took the paper back to the computer. She would email the website. Insist they divulge who sent it to her.
She opened Danny’s browser. His homepage, a news website, was the same as hers. It was the way she assured herself, especially after 9/11, that her world was intact, that no disaster had occurred since the last time she went online. Knowing her twin did the same thing triggered a twinge of regret. Despite their differences, she and Danny did have a connection.
The homepage of the website was crowded with images, headlines, and banner ads. Lila entered the URL for HideAway Knives and was just about to hit “enter” when one of the images stopped her.
It was a photo of a young man with a megawatt smile. Darkly handsome with longish hair and sideburns. He wore a white shirt with an alligator emblem on the pocket. A tennis racket was slung over his shoulder.
She knew that man! He was one of the people in the photo with her parents and Dar Gantner. The photo from forty years ago. She rooted around for the photo on the computer and opened the file. Yes, there he was on one end, standing next to her father. His face was partially in profile, but she could see the same features, sideburns, even the same alligator emblem on his shirt. She went back to the photo on the website and read the caption. “Senator Ted Markham, Democratic candidate for president, as a young man. Click here to read an interview with the candidate’s father.”
She clicked. Two new photos popped up. The first was an elderly man wi
th stern eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a military bearing: federal judge Stephen Markham. The second was a current shot of Ted Markham on the campaign trail shaking hands. His sideburns were shorter now and nicely grayed. He looked older and more solid, but his face was unlined, and he was smiling broadly. His sleeves were rolled up, and his jacket was slung over his shoulder, like the tennis racket forty years ago.
According to the article, Markham was doing well in the polls but hadn’t clinched the nomination. A liberal Democrat, he’d been raised in southern Wisconsin, then attended the University of Michigan—just like her father and Dar Gantner. While on campus, Ted had been active in antiwar politics. He claimed to have been beaten and arrested at the 1968 Democratic Convention. Lila bit her lip. Gantner was, too.
Unlike Gantner, though, Markham found his way back into the system. He entered law school at the University of Wisconsin, and after graduating, clerked in federal court. He moved to the state prosecutor’s office, and eventually was elected District Attorney of Dane County. Five years later he ran for the U.S. Senate and won. He decided to run for president three years into his first term.
The senator’s father, Judge Stephen Markham, was a former politician, too, albeit with a less storied career. After running—and losing—an election for governor, he decided his skills were best used in the judiciary. LBJ agreed and appointed him to the federal bench in 1966.
Lila rubbed the side of her neck. Too much was coming at her at once. She had to slow down, review where she was. She’d started tracking down the people in the photo in an effort to find her mother’s family. She’d managed to identify Dar Gantner, and now Senator Ted Markham. She had no idea of the relationship between them, but Michigan had to be the link—all three, including her father, had been there at the same time.
But that didn’t mean either Gantner or Markham knew her mother’s family. In fact, it was possible they didn’t know her mother at all—they could have all come together just for the photo. How many times had Lila posed for photos with people she barely knew, just to commemorate an occasion?
On the other hand, Senator Ted Markham was a powerful politician. Presumably with powerful connections. If he did know her mother, he could undoubtedly do more for her than she could on her own. But why would he? A man running for president had far more important things to do than help the daughter of someone he once posed with in a photograph.
Set the Night on Fire Page 11