The Langley Profile

by Jack Bowie

  Chapter 4

  Omega Genomics, Boston, Massachusetts

  Tuesday, 11:15 a.m.

  Braxton’s meeting with McAllister had been interesting, but he hadn’t learned anything that would help with the audit. If he was to get that bonus, he needed to move this investigation along.

  “How long have you been with Omega Genomics, Mr. Kennedy?”

  “I joined about five years ago. Soon after Devon started the company. I’d held a number of positions in big pharma and he was looking for someone to help him move beyond just a technology play. It’s a great place to work. And this morning’s announcement is going to really increase our valuation.” He suddenly stopped his discourse. “Oh, sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have said that. Given who you work for.”

  Braxton just smiled. Kennedy knew exactly what he said. It was a negotiation ploy—something that he wanted to get back to In-Q-Tel. Braxton needed to be careful around this man. “Who manages your security operation?”

  “I guess I’m responsible,” Kennedy answered. “We don’t have a dedicated security officer. I have a team that coordinates physical security—id cards, scanners, access permissions—but Frank Wilson, our Operations Manager, handles data security. I don’t understand all that computer stuff. He reports to our VP of Research and Development.”

  “That’s Dr. McAllister’s daughter, right?”

  “Yes. Kerry McAllister.” The elevator door opened. “Unfortunately she’s in a staff meeting right now, but I’ll be sure she comes down to see you as soon as she’s free.”

  After they exited the elevator, Kennedy walked to the end of the hall and stuck his thumb into a small black box beside a door. The lock clicked and he led Braxton into a large open room. This was more like what Braxton had expected. He looked into a sea of cubicles, incredibly quiet except for an occasional head that popped up, looked around and disappeared back into its owner’s space. It reminded him of Whack a Mole.

  He followed Kennedy down one aisle, turned right and ended in front of a nondescript cubicle that was devoid of personality—and office supplies. There wasn’t even a chair.

  “Here’s your new home for the next few days,” Kennedy commented.

  “As I said, this will be fine, Mr. Kennedy. I’ve been given a lot worse.” Braxton hung his jacket on an available hook and dropped his backpack on the empty desktop.

  “Where are you staying?” Kennedy asked.

  “Across the river at the Harvard Square Hotel. It’s familiar territory.”

  “Yes. I believe Devon mentioned you had once lived in Cambridge. Well, I’ll let you get settled and think about what you need.” Kennedy started to leave.

  “Actually,” Braxton said, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a manila folder, “I’d like to begin by reviewing your security and employee manuals. And I’ll need to interview your senior managers, especially those individuals responsible for computer operations. I guess that would be Mr. Wilson. You’ll find all the document requirements here as well as a preliminary schedule of the audit.”

  He handed the folder to Kennedy who hesitated, then took it as if it were a ticking bomb and glanced at the papers inside.

  “I see. It looks like you have been through this kind of thing before.” Kennedy’s previous bonhomie now crackled with irritation. I’ll have someone gather the materials and check the managers’ calendars. Is there anything else?”

  “Just one thing. I noticed you used a fingerprint scanner when we entered this area. How will I get access?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a plastic card. “The security readers are dual sensor: fingerprint and keycard. We prepared a card for you. This will get you into any of the office areas. If you need to visit any of the secure laboratories, however, you’ll need an escort.”

  Braxton took the card. “That should be fine, Mr. Kennedy.” He knew he needed to break the tension that was forming between them, so he added, “Thank you. I really appreciate your assistance.”

  The gesture seemed to work. “Okay, then,” Kennedy replied with a weak smile. He paused, then continued as if he’d just made a decision. “Since you seem ready to get to work, should we see if Frank is available? His office is just over there.” Kennedy pointed across the top of the cubicles.

  “That would be great. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Kennedy led him back into the maze and seemed to be heading toward a set of offices on the inside wall. He approached one particular door and rapped the jamb.

  “Frank, you have a minute?”

  A completely bald head bobbed over a pile of printouts. Braxton expected to see a journeyman systems operator ready for retirement, but when the head raised, intense blue eyes stared back at him. Wilson looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a smooth, tanned face and decidedly unfriendly expression.

  “You must be Braxton, the contractor,” he said.

  Bad start.

  “Mr. Wilson. Good to meet you.” Braxton stepped forward and shook hands with the Operations Manager. His grip was dry and firm.

  Braxton had been here before. The unknown consultant coming in to evaluate the long-time, hardworking manager. It was a situation rife with conflict. And Wilson seemed like the kind of manager who wouldn’t hesitate to protect his territory from any invader.

  “I’ve gotten Mr. Braxton settled in a cubicle, Frank,” Kennedy began, breaking the awkward silence. “As we discussed, please give him any help you can. This audit is very important for the company.” Kennedy turned to leave then stopped. “I’ll have someone bring you the manuals later this afternoon, Mr. Braxton. Wouldn’t want you to be wasting any time.”

  Braxton nodded, and Kennedy left, leaving the door open. Wilson’s office was all corporate standard: metal file cabinets and bookcases filled with plastic binders. The only personal item was a shiny black Cannondale racing bicycle resting against the side wall. Braxton was no cycling expert but from what little he knew, that was a few grand worth of bike.

  He turned back to Wilson. “Nice bike. You ride a lot?”

  Wilson frowned as if he resented the personal question. “Club races, that sort of thing. Keeps me in shape. I usually ride to work. It’s a lot easier than fighting Boston traffic. Today looked a little iffy but I think it will clear up.” He almost managed a smile then apparently thought better of it. After a short hesitation, he continued. “All our policies are documented in the employee and procedures manuals, Mr. Braxton. I’m not sure what I can add.”

  So much for the personal touch. Back to business.

  “Well, policies are one thing, but execution is what really counts. How is compliance by the employees?”

  Wilson paused for a moment before answering. “About what you would expect. Everyone complains about changing their password every quarter and keeping documents locked in their desks, but I’d say compliance is quite good. A lot better than other places I’ve worked. I think everyone understands the need for confidentiality of our data.”

  “How long have you been at Omega?”

  “Four years now. Time has gone by quite quickly. And I think we’ve accomplished a lot.”

  “There’s a lot of cubicles on this floor. Are they all software engineers? I didn’t realize there was so much development going on.”

  Wilson nodded. “Oh, yes. Dr. McAllister is always trying to improve and speed up our processes. Software is necessary for data acquisition from the Omega engines. Then there’s all the reconstruction and encoding of the sequence results.”

  “That sounds like quite an operation. Thank you. Can you tell me more about the specific software technologies that you use?”

  “You’d best talk with Kerry about that, Mr. Braxton. She’s the expert on the algorithms and supporting software. I just try to keep the computers running. Will that be all?”

  Wilson began nervously flipping the corners of the thick printout. Braxton could tell he was about out of time.

  “Just one mor
e question. Do you manage all the computer systems? Including those for ChildSafe?”

  “ChildSafe? Well, yes. We are responsible for all the operations. I have a small staff here to maintain our on-site servers and handle support requests from the staff. Plus I’m responsible for our six off-site server and storage farms. We do maintain, ah, the search indices for the ChildSafe samples, but that’s fairly minor.”

  Braxton noticed Wilson’s caution about ChildSafe. I wonder why?

  “Interesting. What happens when a ChildSafe sample has to be retrieved?”

  “Our call center typically gets a request from law-enforcement. I don’t know exactly what processes they go through to validate the request. You’d need to talk with Michael. Once it’s authenticated, though, we get the request and identify the sample. Everything is anonymous, of course. After that, it’s up to Kerry to resolve.”

  “And all of these retrievals are logged?”

  “Absolutely,” Wilson replied quickly. “Every request is logged with time, date and requester. And given a unique access identifier. Dr. McAllister personally reviews the retrieval logs weekly. But honestly, we don’t get that many. At most a handful a week.”

  “How about other activity? Backups, index handling, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, we do maintain standard server logs that capture all the database activity. Those generally don’t need to be accessed.”

  “Except for audits,” Braxton said with a pleasant smile.

  “Oh.” Wilson’s page flipping abruptly stopped. “Yes, of course. We can certainly make some summaries available.”

  “I’d like to review a few full logs,” Braxton said, handing Wilson a sheet of paper with a set of dates. “Let’s start with these. And please include a few of the profile access logs as well. I’d like to take a look at them. You can just drop them all on a zip drive.”

  “Ah, certainly, Mr. Braxton. Would tomorrow morning be soon enough?”

  “That will be fine. I’ll probably still be reviewing the policy manuals tonight.”

  “Then we are done?”

  “Yes. For today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Braxton left Wilson to his printouts and headed back into the maze to find his cubicle. He had a lot to think about.

  * * *

  “The new job keeping you busy, Roger?”

  Slattery was sitting, rather uncomfortably, in a highly-misnamed “easy” chair in his boss’s office. Peter Markovsky, Deputy Director of Intelligence for the CIA, sat across from him, nervously thumbing through the contents of a file folder.

  Markovsky was a small, owlish man, with short white hair and dark penetrating eyes usually hidden behind a pair of thick wire-rimmed eyeglasses. To those just meeting him, he looked like an elderly college professor, but he was career-CIA, having seen extensive field duty in Europe and the Middle East. In addition to being a recognized expert in expressionist art, he was also one of the most cold-blooded agents in the history of the Agency.

  His office was classic academia: filled with books and journals, photographs and memorabilia of trips to the far ends of the earth. But nothing to suggest why he had made those trips. Or who he met, or dispatched, during his journeys.

  “Which one, Peter? Counterterrorism or that damned position with In-Q-Tel?”

  Markovsky grinned at his friend. “I was thinking primarily of In-Q-Tel. I heard you finally got the okay to proceed with Omega Genomics.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a battle,” Slattery said. “Thanks for your help. The last piece is the security audit. That started today.”

  “Good. Unfortunate about the Nobel announcement, though. I told you we should have gotten that term sheet signed this summer. Now McAllister’s head’s going to be even bigger than it was. It’ll cost us.”

  The DDI reached up, removed his glasses and began squeezing the bridge of his nose. An affectation that was simultaneously familiar and frightening to Slattery. It usually resulted in some major disruption of the agent’s life.

  After a few seconds, Markovsky replaced the eyewear and looked up at his subordinate. “You brought in your friend Braxton.” It wasn’t a question.

  Slattery stiffened. He wasn’t sure why the DDI would care who he used for a security audit, but the fact that he did raised alarms. Braxton had a complicated history with the Agency and an even more complex relationship with Slattery.

  “He’s not my friend, Peter. But I wanted someone I could trust. I understand the importance of McAllister’s work, but I’m not about to let the Agency invest in a company that’s hemorrhaging its own secrets.”

  Markovsky smiled. “No need to get your hackles raised, Roger. I was just asking. He won’t figure out our real interest will he?”

  “I don’t see how. It’s beyond his expertise. And no one at Omega Genomics is going to explain it to him.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Markovsky slapped the folder on his desk closed. “Going back to your real job, any chatter on the assassination?” The news of the Crown Prince’s assassination had lit the in-boxes of every intelligence agency on both sides of the Atlantic. It was no surprise Markovsky would want an update. “Oh, and I was very impressed with that novel you wrote for the DNI.”

  “What the hell was I supposed to do? Mossad’s coming up empty and the Saudis won’t even talk to me. It’s not like we have any actual evidence. The Muslim extremists are patting themselves on their backs for the death of a ‘friend of Satan’ and the moderates are all blaming anti-Islam forces in Israel. If someone wanted to create instability in the Middle East, they’ve certainly succeeded.”

  “Any update on the other casualties?”

  “Besides Faisal, there were nine killed and another twenty-three injured. The dead include the local teacher and six students.” Slattery rubbed his temples. The throbbing in his head was getting worse. “Dammit, Peter. Killing with a kid? Who the hell would do something like that?” Markovsky was undoubtedly about to recite the list of terrorist organizations that had done just that, starting with the Viet Cong, but Slattery waved him off.

  “An assassination of someone as prominent as the Crown Prince takes a lot of preparation,” he continued. “ISIS could have pulled it off in the past, but we don’t think they’re up to it now. I’m worried about an independent actor. The Mossad agrees.”

  “Mercenaries?” Markovsky’s eyes popped behind his thick glasses. “A contract hit? Do you think it was connected to the Peace Prize announcement?”

  “Not the announcement per se, they couldn’t have pulled it off that fast. The real question is whether it was a hit on Faisal or the beginning of a vendetta on all the signators. Those four men have tied their careers to the treaty. And now maybe their lives.”

  “We need to get on top of this, Roger. Do whatever it takes. The President is still riding the wave of his re-election and seems to have let us be. At least until the next crisis. Or screw-up. We don’t want this to be the one that changes that.”

  “But we had nothing to do with it. He can’t blame us.”

  The DDI shook his head. “Doesn’t always work that way, Roger. You’ve been around long enough to know that.”

  Slattery had known Markovsky for over twenty years. They had both moved up the CIA hierarchy, finally settling into relatively sedentary desk jobs in Langley. He wasn’t sure about Markovsky, but Slattery felt sure he had reached the end of his journey. He didn’t want this incident to be his invitation to retirement.

  Chapter 5

  Omega Genomics, Boston, Massachusetts

  Tuesday, 2:40 p.m.

  “THUMP.”

  Braxton spun in his chair—one he had appropriated from an adjacent empty office—to see what caused the sound.

  Standing in the entry to his cubicle was a skinny young girl dressed in a faded Patriots sweatshirt, jeans and running shoes. Lying on the floor in front of her was a large cardboard Bankers Box. The girl was short, maybe five foot two inches, barely taller than the cubicle wall. Lo
ng blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail revealing what would have been a pretty face, if it hadn’t been for the unfriendly scowl.

  “Michael said you wanted these.”

  Braxton got up, grabbed the box and hefted it—it was a lot heavier than he had expected—onto the desktop. He couldn’t imagine how the assistant had managed to bring it.

  He opened the box and inside were at least a dozen plastic notebooks all emblazoned with the Omega Genomics logo. They appeared to be the corporate policy manuals he had requested.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “I’m sorry they were so heavy.”

  The scowl became deeper. “Someone had to bring them.”

  Another warm Omega Genomics greeting.

  “Well, I do appreciate it, Miss …”

  “Doctor,” she interrupted. Her voice was sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel. “Dr. Kerry McAllister, Mr. Braxton.”

  Braxton felt his jaw drop and quickly snapped it shut. What a great way to meet his client’s daughter.

  “Ah, Dr. McAllister… Yes. … A pleasure to meet you.” The words dribbled out of his mouth.

  “Mr. Braxton.” McAllister nodded slightly. “I go by Kerry here in the office. Dr. McAllister is my father. It eliminates potential confusion.”

  “Certainly, Kerry. You can call me Adam.”

  “Mr. Braxton will do just fine. We use Kerry to simply eliminate confusion. It is not a sign of familiarity.”

  “Of course.” Maybe she’d like “Dr. Kerry” better.

  “I understand you’re staying with us for a few days. I would appreciate if you limit your interactions with the other employees. It shouldn’t be necessary to bother them for a security audit. We have a lot of work to do and don’t need any unnecessary distractions.”

  “Dr. McAllister.” Braxton looked straight into the scientist’s eyes. It was time to draw his own line in the sand. “I don’t know what you have against me, but I was led to believe from your father that his prospectus, and this associated audit, was important to Omega Genomics. If I’m wrong in this regard, just tell me and I’ll prepare an appropriate report for your potential investors. Otherwise, I expect your assistance in this matter.”