The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)

by Randy Dutton

  “Was it that ‘people are viruses’ comment I made in bed?”

  She sighed and walked to the window overlooking the sea. “It got me thinking.”

  “I thought I felt you react a little strongly to that. Come on, I said I didn’t ascribe to that concept. I’m practical...why would I want to condemn three-quarters of my prospective audience? Since when did you ever worry about anything? You and me, we live for the moment and nothing that may happen will adversely affect us. Isn’t that what’s important?”

  “I’m reconsidering what’s important to me.” She was watching the idle rich in their sailboats ply the distant water.

  “How about spending the weekend together? Maybe take in a round of golf, then we can attend the Festival de Jazz d’Antibes at La Pinède Gould for an evening outdoor concert? There’s a ball in Monaco Saturday night. I’m sure you’d enjoy it...some traveling royalty will be there. You could wear that one-shouldered black lace gown that’s so stunning on you.... Come on, it’s a good place to see and be seen,” he cajoled.

  “Sorry, Robert, work has me preoccupied.”

  “Think of this as work if you must. You can make more contacts. I know how important that is to you.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Anna, this isn’t like you! Where’s that sense of adventure? You’ve always made time for Riviera events before.”

  The sailboat she was watching jibed toward shore. “I’ve got a deadline I’m working on.... Maybe in a few weeks.”

  He paused. “I get it. You found a man who’s keeping you company. Good for you! Just remember, when it doesn’t work out, and you abandon him, I’ll be around.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. When? Abandon? Am I that selfish? “It’s not like that, Robert, but thanks for the perpetual offer. I’ll keep it in mind. Goodbye, Robert.” She ended it gently but with finality.

  She sighed again as she hung up. I’m not that person anymore...or, am I?

  Chapter 52

  July 20, 1500 hours

  Snath Genetics, South San Francisco

  Another report was laid onto his desk. “We’ve shipped a total of 75 loads as of today,” Eric reported to Sven. “In the past couple days we sent the last batches to the North Atlantic, a few more to the Indian Ocean, and to the South Pacific.”

  “And the sea life?”

  “Good news, the clams aren’t digesting our phytoplankton, and are safe to eat. The Department of Sustainable Agriculture has lifted the ban but is monitoring daily. What they did notice, though, is that the clams are having trouble getting enough to eat.”

  “Tough for the clams. They’ll survive.” Sven looked over his shoulder, through the plate-glass windows that framed his view of San Francisco Bay. It seems greener than even yesterday. Maybe it’s the light?

  “Sven, is there something wrong? You seem distracted.”

  “Eric, DoSA’s now investigating the phytoplankton bloom. We’re one of a hundred biotech companies that have worked on this type of solution. They’ve asked for samples of the plankton we were going to offer.”

  “Are we going to comply?”

  “I told them yes.” Before Eric could respond, Sven held up his index finger. “I want you to take one of the first stage samples that we used before the DNA manipulation, and have it couriered over to them. It’ll be a far cry from what we later developed. I want to show cooperation without giving them anything helpful. Perhaps when the carbon levels cross the threshold—”

  “The Carbon Cross,” Eric chimed in.

  “Yes, the apex of atmospheric carbon dioxide concentrations...and the level starts dropping, we’ll step forward to take credit for the phytoplankton that ended global warming.”

  “Won’t they realize it much sooner when the blooms hit all the world’s oceans and seas about the same time? I mean how difficult is it to cross-reference the shipping routes and the timing of our container shipments.”

  “But these aren’t our containers.” Sven leaned back in his chair, his steepled fingers pointing forward.

  “Whose are they?”

  “Oh, they belong to another company.” Sven was grinning. “I bought them through a shell corporation. And we paid the freight bill through other shell accounts.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed. “What about the empty containers sitting on the docks around the world?”

  “After the empty containers have been delivered, I had Tanya schedule each to be forwarded to a recycling center for breakup. By the time the feds figure it out, the containers will be cleaned, and ripped apart for scrap metal.”

  “Clever, Sven. Very clever!” Eric nodded in satisfaction. “And, what about the moss?”

  “Proliferating beautifully. DoSA’s already considering it an invasive species. By this time next year, it’ll change the landscape.”

  The last report dropped onto the desk two days later. “That’s it!” Eric stood in front of the desk. “All 100 cylinders have been shipped. The last loads went out to the Northern Pacific and the Arctic. I’m monitoring the results.”

  “Great,” Sven grinned. “It’s time to sanitize the tanks.”

  “Already on it. By the way, this will interest you.” Eric leaned forward. “NASA released satellite images of the California Current. It’s bright green from just off our coast, sweeps down past Baja California then west all the way to the central Pacific. It’s a beautiful sight!”

  “I look forward to seeing it. Post it anonymously on Pinterest for all to see, and keep posting satellite photos for each day to log the progress. What else?”

  “The shipping crew did a great job and as soon as the tanks are flushed I’ve notified them they’ll get the three weeks off, supervisors too.”

  “Good.” Sven looked up at Eric. “I’m authorizing your bonus today.”—Eric’s eyes lit up—“You’ll have $5 million deposited to this Swiss bank account.” He handed him a slip of paper.

  “Thanks.”

  “I think our time here may be short. Get ready to take that very long, inaccessible vacation. Take all the production and R&D information for this project off the secure server and any standalone computers. Do it personally. Wipe the server and put the data on thumbdrives. Keep them in the safe. The feds are asking questions, but don’t know yet what happened in the Bay or along the coast. Right now, they’ve told NOAA to figure it out.”

  Chapter 53

  July 23, 1100 hours

  Maldives National Museum

  The Fed-Ex carrier handed over an art shipping tube.

  The Maldives National Museum curator looked curiously at the shipping manifest. It read only that it contained, ‘Art-Loaner Return’.

  “Who would send me something from Madrid?” He unpacked it, his heart rate soared when he saw the contents.

  “This was the painting that cost me so much grief!”

  He had been threatened weeks earlier with dismissal for having sold the painting, but because he was the only curator in the Maldives, and related to a minor official, he was retained.

  That didn’t mean he got to keep the money, though. He had to donate it to the Museum. When the investigators turned him in, he considered claiming he received a smaller amount but realized that if they caught this Maria woman, the discrepancy could ensure his dismissal, or worse.

  Along with the painting was a photo and note.

  The very surprised curator looked at the photo of the slender olive-skinned woman with long black hair. He quickly rushed to the law firm that had helped investigate Hassan’s death and showed them the evidence.

  “This is Maria! This is the woman who came that day!”

  That the facial features were subtly different from Maria’s was forgotten. Western women all looked alike to him, and apparently to the Palace guard, Museum ticket agent, and waiter.

  The law firm passed this new Maria’s photo to Interpol and the Maldives Investigator, but there was no real interest in pursuing this new suspect.

  Chapter 54

&nb
sp; July 29, 1400 hours

  Las Vegas Strip

  A frying pan’s not this hot! It’s like an oven here! Anna thought while quickly walking the jetway with other passengers toward the concourse air conditioning. And I thought going from Nice to the Cayman Islands and then Houston was bad.

  Today, under a false passport, she had travelled in tan capris and jacket and ballet-style flats. Her hair was now wheaten blonde with sun-streaks and twisted into an elegant chignon. Dark glasses and a floppy-brimmed hat obscured much of her heavily made-upped face, well-shielding her from security cameras.

  “Wheel...of...Fortune!” blared the large slot machine in the concourse center. The bells and flashing lights caught her attention as she strode past the gamblers trying their luck at the slots one last time before their flights departed.

  One last opportunity for Vegas to soak up the last of your cash – suckers!

  With two metal rolling suitcases in the trunk and the hat shading her face, Anna rode in the cab to Caesars Palace – site of Black Hat.

  This is the worst time to be in Vegas…. Must be 120 degrees! Of course, the hackers will hardly notice. They’ll be too interested in the conference and their own computers to notice things like temperature, or for that matter, daylight.

  Stepping under Caesar’s portico and into the hotel, Anna feigned disinterest in the hackers milling around the lobby. There’s little to make me stand out. In this climate, not even the large hat’s unusual.

  Crossing the lobby, she made mental notes about the people she saw, who they talked with, and whether she was noticed.

  Using her best Moscovian accent, she checked in as Olga Svechinsky.

  Once in the large suite, she took her usual defensive measures. First locking the deadbolt, she took an alarmed door wedge and firmly jammed it under the door to prevent an unexpected intrusion. This device was unusual in that instead of emitting a loud shriek when moved, it growled like a Rottweiler. She placed a bath towel at the door’s bottom to prevent fiberoptic camera surveillance, and a piece of electrical tape over the peephole to block a ‘peephole reverser’ imager. The curtains were closed and the TV news turned on for background noise.

  She opened a false panel from the rolling bag, removed several pieces of ceramic, steel and polymer, and assembled them into a minimally detectable, custom Walther P99 QA. She preferred the pistol’s small size and the ability to select from either the stealth of a subsonic hollow point or the lethality of the 124 gram Hydra-Shok rounds. She screwed on a silencer. It went under a towel in the bathroom. Only when her security was set did she start the transition.

  She opened the second suitcase.

  Time to unpack Nike, Greek Goddess of Victory and hacker diva. She doesn’t get out much, just once a year, whereas Claire was free to use her army to exploit the Net every week or so. Truth be told, Nike’s enigmatic computer hacking reputation exploits are famous, if mostly illusory, often getting credit for hacker exploits that really aren’t mine. My black hatters thought the persona was a ruse, never fully realizing I stepped in as Nike every year. Good thing I can describe the feats from their briefing reports even if I can’t replicate the more intricate maneuvers. God I hope my team doesn’t get caught before this last gig’s up.

  First things first! She went through the same process she used for Claire – but with a Gothic outcome. She mentally walked through the steps.

  Goths are unpredictable and diffident, not so emotional. Well that’s easy to do, it’s been my nature. Gadget says I seldom laugh and I keep my emotional distance. Wonder what he’d say if he had seem me with Pete? I want more days like those!

  She pursed her lips.

  Is Robert right? He claimed I always abandon a guy soon as I have what I want. I never thought of it as abandoning.

  Her brow furrowed.

  Pete and I have very different personalities. Will I get bored and abandon him? Funny, I’ve never really concerned myself about other guys’ reactions.

  She shook her head. I can’t do this right now. I need something calming to immerse into the new persona.... Got it! I’ll start with one my favorite gothic rock songs, Arcana's Innocent Child. The lyrics are eerily relevant to my past.

  Time for the shower. She undressed and turned on her iPod. Laying in the full tub, she closed her eyes, listened to the beautiful melody, and soulfully sang along.

  “My sweet innocent child how can I explain;

  How I hear the nature cry for mercy;

  How the greed and power sets the rules for you and me;

  Why we destroy and torture out of greed;

  I wish I could give you something else...”

  She winced. A lot more depressing than I remember.

  After several songs, she switched to recalling previous conversations Nike had had in English and Russian with other hackers and acquaintances over the years. I need to prevent surprises during the next four days.

  Finally, she felt she had recaptured Nike’s diffident, brusque Russian personality. She toweled off and sat down at the makeup table.

  Now for the outward change”—she groaned—“and the part I hate...the heavy make-up!

  After applying pale foundation on her face, throat and hands, she critically evaluated her appearance in the mirror. I look like a vampire, just like so many of my sun-deprived hackers.

  She put on a dark black wig with feathered ends, and admired the look. Not nearly as colorful as Claire’s, but still kinda cute.

  Brown contacts went in to cover up her blue eyes.

  And now the art. She accentuated the eyes with black eye shadow, with red highlights at the outer edges.

  On went the black leather pants, a long-sleeve black shirt, and black leather boots with stiletto heels.

  I love this outfit. And today, I’ll accessorize with a black coral necklace, a silver chain belt and a silver ring for each finger. We Goths do love silver!

  She added black nails with red tips – a Goth version of a French manicure – underneath black satin gloves to finish the look.

  Another transformation’s done – Once again, I’m Nike.

  Removing the Krugerrands from the suitcase walls, she secured them and other items in the room safe. The loose items were locked back into the suitcase.

  Hanging a ‘Do Not Disturb’ card on the door handle, she headed down to the booths in the conference hall with a black laptop bag.

  Show time!

  Ignoring the gathering crowd and commotion, Nike kept a stern expression while approaching her double-booth. A 20-something woman, with auburn hair, had nearly finished setting up.

  Nike evaluated her. Looks like most booth bunnies, attired in an all black pleather—polyurethane based fake leather—body suit. Eye candy to lure socially inexperienced men to a booth. This stretchable skin-tight outfit sure shows off a woman’s assets, and she’s got a killer body! Overdid the make up though.

  “Good morning, Heather,” Nike announced in a strong Russian accent, and put her bag on a chair.

  “You must be the boss lady,” the pert girl said, extending her hand. “We gabbed on the phone.”

  “Nike.” She briefly shook and let go, maintaining a diffident attitude.

  “Wow, you’re gamorgeous!”

  “Thank you for the compliment but in Russia, we do not use the same techno-slang. So that there is good understanding, please limit it.”

  “Gotcha. Ya’ know, I work a lot of shows here. I know people. I could’ve gotten ya a much better location. This corner sucks! It’s the worst! It hardly gets traffic.”

  “It will do,” Nike said flatly while considering the locations real purpose. It’s positioned for minimal visibility, not for the general public. My goal is to provide easy and unobtrusive access to a select clientele.

  “I dunno,” Heather said. “Most vendors want maximum vis...not be crammed in a blind corner. You were screwed. They shouldn’t even rent this space.”

  “The contest winners will know where t
o find me.”

  “Well, you’re paying for the gig, pretty good too, and not on commission, so that’s cool.”

  “I wanted someone with the right computer skill set.”

  “Gaberate...Sorry, I mean, hang and gab with hackers long enough, ya pick up the lingo and tricks. I can even read Leet, ya know, the ASCI characters—”

  “That replace Latin letters. Yes, I know it.”

  Heather crinkled her nose. “Ya know, this booth is the pits...boorrriinngggg! Black only works if it’s got accents. The purple stencil on the sign’s too small and flat. No imagination. And the canvas...let me tell ya, it was heavy! I...sweet talked a guy to help me put this up...he sure was dwin—”

  “Dwin?”

  “I mean good-looking! Hey, what me to connect you up with a designer? He can remake this into a chillin’ display.... What’s it for anyway?”

  “Contest winners,” Nike said. If only you knew, your expertise is to provide credibility if federal investigators snoop around, and the old sign? It emits electronic noise to jam signals.

  “But you got all that inside space and just a couple seats and a table. Your company has a stinkin’ marketing guy.” Her eyes widened and mouth hung open. “I’m sorry...you’re not the marketing guy...are ya?”

  Nike’s lips pursed during the appraisal lest she reveal her amusement. “No. You are right. I will talk to the...marketing guy...after Black Hat. As a booth bunny, you are very astute.”

  Heather leaned closer. “Do me a favor? Don’t call me a booth bunny—booth babe’s okay. Gotta image to keep.”

  Nike stifled a smile. “Whatever...yes.” She held out a $50. Get me a cup of coffee....Espresso, and something for you.”

  “Sure. Be right back.”

  “Take your time.” Of course the booth’s bland! I don’t want attention.

  As the girl walked off, Nike walked into the booth’s dark meeting area. The fabric’s in good shape. Should provide the security I need.

  She turned on the overhead LED lights. From her bag she removed the tiny fiberoptic camera and inserted it through the specially designed booth frame and plugged the USB3 cable into her laptop. She connected an antenna through the covered booth roof and threaded the lead to the laptop.