by D. B. Goodin
The link appeared to be a random alphanumeric string. Nigel went to a web link scanner called Malicious-Total. He was careful to enter the alphanumeric string exactly like it appeared on Peter’s computer. After about a minute of processing, he received the following message.
URL scan complete. The link contains strings from the P.ORION.0-Z malware. Would you like to analyze?
Nigel refused the analysis portion. A deep analysis of the file could provide personally identifiable information (PII) about Peter. He didn’t want to take the chance of exposing his first client to thousands of security researchers; besides, external analysis was pointless when Nigel owned the same tools himself.
“It’s possible that you have a virus, but I won’t know until I dig around a bit. You can wait here, but it may be a while,” Nigel said.
Peter seemed to consider for a long moment.
“How long? I have to be at the football field soon.”
“At least a couple of hours.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours, but please don’t look at my private folders,” Peter said as he left.
He knows our privacy policy. Why does he keep asking me that?
It took some doing, but Nigel connected his forensic imaging equipment to Peter’s computer and started the process. He approached it like a professional would in an actual investigation.
Peter just wants me to fix his laptop. Why am I taking a full disk image that could take hours?
As Nigel’s eyes settled on the progress bar, a familiar feeling of déjà vu overcame him.
His phone chirped; it was a call from an anonymous number, so he let it go to voicemail. Several moments later he received a flood of texts. He started filing through them. Many were duplicates of the same message, which read:
Need to talk immediately, Nige.
M.
Who in the hell is M? Melissa?
Moments later, Nigel’s phone rang from the unknown number again. He picked up this time.
“Hello?” Nigel said hesitantly.
“Hold for Ms. Mason,” a man’s voice said.
Nigel could hear a few clicking sounds, and then a ringing sound.
“Hello, Nigel. I left a message on your other line as well,” a female voice said.
“Melissa?”
“It’s been a long time since we last spoke. Have you given any thought about my offer?” Melissa asked.
Nigel was silent for a long moment.
“Nigel, you there?”
“Yeah—things have been happening so fast. I meant to call you about it before now.”
“The offer still stands. You and Jet can come to work for my foundation. We are helping people, and I would love for you to be a part of it.”
Nigel flushed, the sudden rush of blood put him off-balance.
“Well . . . I’ve . . . started a new investigative business with Jet. We—just moved in together this week. It’s been a while—too long. We should get together sometime,” Nigel said.
“I’m coming back to the States, and I would like to see you.”
“We should have lunch or something. When will you be here?”
“My plane lands in New York tomorrow. Can you meet in two days?”
“What? That’s too soon, Jet and I need—”
“No pressure, Nigel, but I have an idea. Why don’t you come to New York this weekend? Think of it as an all-expenses-paid trip. You should bring Jet. Speaking of which, April has been asking for permission to play that online game again. Can you remind Jet about it?”
“Sure, let me discuss things with Jet, and I’ll get back to you.”
“I await your call, Nigel.” Melissa disconnected the line.
Jet doesn’t know Melissa very well, but it would be fun to have an all-expenses-paid trip to New York, Nigel figured. I hope Jet will come.
Nigel jumped in his seat when his cell phone rang. It was Jet.
“Hey,” he answered, “that was good timing—”
“Hey, Nige, I just got off the phone with my dad. He’s sending over an important client,” Jet said.
“Is it Peter?”
“Not sure, but we need the business.”
“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out. So far I just have this kid named Peter. Come to think of it, he’s from Milford. I’m surprised he didn’t go to Better Buy Computers instead.”
“Well, I’m grateful for the business. I hope we can get more paying customers soon. I don’t want to disappoint my father. After all he did take care of the first six months’ rent for the new office and loft.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Nigel said.
“I don’t think I’ll be back from Milford until later tonight. We can celebrate our first night in our new place. Perhaps break in that new bed,” Jet said, chuckling.
Nigel flushed again, his heart racing at the thought of being with her.
“I can’t think of any other place I’d rather be.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Jet said.
As the line disconnected, he remembered Melissa’s call.
Damn—it’s probably best that I speak with her about the New York trip tonight. But I don’t want to spoil the mood.
Later that afternoon
The calls with Melissa and Jet had caused Nigel to become behind on his forensic work. He had barely finished the imaging process when his client interrupted him.
“Do you have my computer ready yet?”
I didn’t hear him come in! I’d better start locking that door.
Nigel looked toward the voice. Peter stood in front of him with an impatient look.
“Not yet—it takes time to diagnose and fix this kind of problem,” Nigel explained.
“I can’t wait. Give me back my computer.”
“It’s not ready. It’s likely infected, and you could risk all of your data getting corrupted, deleted, or worse.”
Peter gave Nigel a curious look.
“What’s worse than having your data deleted?”
“Having it stolen,” Nigel said.
Peter appeared to be in deep thought, his brow furrowed. He looked like he was holding the weight of all creation on his shoulders.
“Fine. I’ll give you a few more hours before taking the computer back. I have a video shoot scheduled for tonight.”
I wonder what kind of video shoot it is, Nigel pondered. This seems to go beyond innocent fun with his girlfriend.
“Can you delay your plans? I need the system overnight to properly diagnose and fix the problem.”
“I’ll be right back,” Peter said as he stormed out of the shop.
Nigel resumed his examination. He disabled the Wi-Fi on Peter’s laptop on a hardware level; this was a precaution, because he couldn’t afford Peter’s laptop auto-connecting to the nearby coffee shop—or to Peter’s cell phone—and thereby compromising all of his work. He worked on the forensic image anyway, so this wasn’t an issue.
“Yes, Donnie, please reschedule the girls . . .”
Peter walked in with his cell phone, engaged in conversation. He trailed off when he saw Nigel.
“I need to call you back,” Peter barked into his cell phone.
Peter is definitely hiding something, Nigel noted. Then something occurred to him. Is it the same Donnie? Jake’s best friend from high school?
“Keep the computer until tomorrow. I’ll come by after school,” Peter said.
“Great. Give me your number, just in case I finish early.”
Peter hastily wrote down his cell phone number and thrust it into Nigel’s face, then left without another word.
Nigel watched Peter leave. The cell phone was back in his hands the moment he left the shop.
Nigel turned on a light to fend off the darkness as menacing clouds moved in. He shut down Peter’s laptop and worked on the forensic image he’d taken earlier. While he suspected the system had some sort of malware, Nigel wasn’t totally prepared for what he found.
He started his
examination by reviewing the cache folders on Peter’s system. Most operating systems he was familiar with downloaded pointers to files that either were or had been on the system. This gave Nigel an understanding of how the computer was used.
Peter was right; there were a lot of video files on there. Nigel loaded hash libraries that contained a list of known files for every known operating system. Since a hash is a cryptographic representation of a file, no two files are the same. Once he eliminated the operating system files, there were more than five hundred gigabytes of video files and pictures. He ran his standard set of filters on all files.
About an hour later, Nigel’s computer was alerted with a message:
System processing of 1,014 files complete.
A summary of categories was automatically displayed:
Warning: 567 files or 56% of the scanned files contain explicit material.
Nigel reviewed the categories, which, of the 567 files, at least 314 were reported as underaged pornography.
If these files contain information about children, then I have to report it to the police.
Nigel expanded the folders with the highest score. Several images of naked woman and men in various positions appeared. None of the models appeared to be under eighteen. Nigel let out a long sigh.
Was I holding my breath?
When he checked the video folder with the highest explicit rating, he braced himself as he opened it. A teenage girl was strapped in a chair wearing a bikini that was a little too small. She might as well have not been wearing anything at all, Nigel thought.
She was bound to the chair, but she didn’t try to struggle or move. Nigel scanned the room; other than some differences of color in the paint, the room was nondescript. It was like someone had removed the paintings and other furniture from the room. The walls were a ruddy brown color. Nigel unmuted his speakers to analyze the audio portion of the recording. He heard several cheers and voices in the background. Nigel could make out some words. “Take it off” and “spray her” were the only words he could understand.
Where was this filmed?
It was like watching a video with half of its audio tracks removed. After several minutes of the girl only moving slightly in her chair, he detected movement. A masked man entered the room with a burlap sack in one hand and a plastic bag in another. He held the sack up to the camera. The man put down the bag, then opened the burlap sack and shook it over the girl’s head. Four or five enormous-looking tarantulas fell on the girl. She fidgeted as they crawled on her bare skin. One of the spiders fell between her breasts, and another crawled in her hair. The camera zoomed in. Although the girl was blindfolded, Nigel recognized terror when he saw it. As the camera panned out and across her body, the video shook. It was as if the person holding the camera was convulsing. She did her best to keep from screaming. The spiders didn’t seem to have the desired effect, because the masked man came back into view and yanked the girl’s hair back. Her face glistened with tears. Nigel heard moaning. He wished he could help her.
Did Peter film this?
No wonder why he hadn’t wanted to take the computer to Mr. Henry at Better Buy Computers; Mr. Henry was a former NSA agent, and Peter could get into some serious trouble for this.
Nigel’s heart ached for the girl. He wanted her to be okay, but he was riveted to the screen. The man caressed the girl’s face; then, as he progressed to other more private parts of the girl’s anatomy, the spiders moved suddenly, and the girl screamed. She began to thrust violently in the chair, desperate to get the spider off. The more the girl moved, the more the spiders reacted. The camera zoomed in on one of the spiders. Nigel could see red bumps forming on her bare skin.
I’m going to be sick.
The video ended abruptly.
What the hell is Peter doing? I have a bad feeling about this.
Nigel observed a naming pattern for much of the video content he’d found on Peter’s computer. He was able to link the files in the particular series by following the naming convention.
This is going to take a very long time.
He glanced at the directory listing of the thousands of video files on the computer. Nigel selected the next file in the series.
The timestamp was two hours after the first video. The video opened on an empty chair. Moments later, the girl in the bikini that he’d seen earlier was herded into the room by a man. He wore dark clothes, and it was difficult to make out any distinguishing features because he also wore a mask.
“Sit down, bitch,” the man said.
I recognize that voice. But from where?
The man tied the girl up. He pulled back her hair, revealing her face. She was beautiful and appeared to be in her early twenties. She tried screaming, but only a muffled sound emitted since she was gagged.
I should show this to John Appleton. He is a former FBI agent. Maybe he can look into it. But—is this illegal? Peter could just be making a movie. This all could be fake.
Nigel decided to continue watching to see if any crime was being committed. He didn’t want to risk his new business by invading his client’s privacy, but he decided to call John if he knew he was witnessing a crime.
Several minutes passed without anything of note. The girl dropped her head and continued to sob. The man pulled her hair back; she looked at him with a fearful expression then he punched her. Nigel stood up and started pacing; he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his phone and pulled up the contact for John Appleton. He was just about to dial when something changed on the video; the camera zoomed up on the girl, revealing a high-definition view of the woman’s body. The spider bites he witnessed before were gone. He rechecked the video timestamp, and the time was correct.
“Are you ready to show the world?” the man said.
The woman shook her head.
“Fine then—I’ll need to force you.”
The man punched the woman. Nigel found himself jumping a little. The man started digging his fingers into her skin, and the woman screamed. Then he took a tool out of his pocket and started pealing her skin off. Nigel jumped involuntarily again, then rapidly tapped John Appleton’s contact information.
“Hello? Nigel?” a voice emitted from Nigel’s phone.
Nigel was about to respond when he saw something on the video that took his breath away. The man started to peel her skin back. A pink, mucus-like substance poured out of her as she screamed. Nigel thought he could see metal underneath.
Am I seeing things?
Nigel attempted to speak, but his mouth didn’t obey his command. He hung up the phone, then rubbed his eyes.
Chapter 2
Honolulu, October 16th, 8:01 a.m.
Mr. Chen sat on his penthouse balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Honolulu had many high-rises, and Chen’s had a panoramic, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the ocean, city, and mountains. Although he had been born in Gansu Province in China, he hated living there and rarely visited. He seized the opportunity to leave when he was a teenager. The Hawaiian Islands had been home for most of his adult life.
He checked the numbers for his local operations. In recent months, the police were cracking down on most of Chen’s business fronts, particularly his drug and money laundering operations. The raids on Tonga and Samoa had cost him dearly.
Cash flow is going to be a problem if I don’t act soon.
Ezekiel, Mr. Chen’s lieutenant, set his breakfast atop the table. Mr. Chen opened the lid, and to his delight he smelled his favorite breakfast of two over-easy eggs, one strip of bacon, and three pineapple strips. His smile faded when he saw the bowl of poi.
Why does he insist on serving that purple slop? It’s made from that disgusting taro root.
Mr. Chen shot Ezekiel a glance. “Why do your people like this purple slop so much?”
“The poi? It’s a staple in all the Pacific Islands,” he answered. “I have fond memories of poi growing up in Samoa. My nana had a garden that contained a special section where her roo
ts were cultivated. She made the best poi I’ve ever had.”
“Well, I don’t wish to insult your mother, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“You should eat your poi—it’s good for your digestion. It’s a superfood, you know.”
“I don’t trust anything that will kill me if I eat it raw.”
Ezekiel poured another cup of the Kona blend that Mr. Chen enjoyed so much.
“Is everything set for our Newport visit?” Mr. Chen asked.
“Yes. You leave on tonight’s red-eye direct to Newport. And I got you a first-class ticket, so you will have a full bed, as requested,” Ezekiel said.
“Excellent. I need to tie up some loose ends before departing. I’ve invested much in a new business venture.”
“The one involving the data?”
“It’s not just any data—it’s the cache of data that Jeremiah Mason collected. Its significance should not be underestimated.”
“The one to expose the scumbags and pedophiles?”
“Yes, and if Mr. Mason had done his job, I wouldn’t be in this financial predicament. That is one of the many reasons we’re traveling. We need to get that plan back into motion,” Mr. Chen said.
I was set to profit handsomely from all the protective services I was to provide the guilty. Mr. Chen grew bitter.
“The video uplink to the principal members of the Cabal is scheduled within the hour,” Ezekiel told him.
“Excellent. I wish to get set up as soon as I’m finished with breakfast.”
An hour later, Chen strode into his office, which was bigger than most hotel suites. Ezekiel swept the area for additional surveillance before allowing Chen to set up the call. In the center of the room was a table big enough to seat twenty.
A small monitor sat in the center of the table. Chen tapped on the “start conference” button, and a gigantic movie screen lowered from the ceiling and blinds covered the windows, leaving the room in a semi-darkened state.
Moments later, several video feeds appeared on the gigantic screen. Ezekiel contacted the conference attendees who had disabled the video feed; Chen enjoyed seeing everyone’s faces when he was speaking to them. He liked how it provided a little more intimacy in an age where that was rare. He glanced at his watch; it was 8:57 a.m. Latecomers weren’t reprimanded, but Chen reserved the right to suspend any territory payments for those in violation of his rules. Chen always waited until the scheduled meeting time to begin. He disliked repeating himself, and if anyone was late, it was their responsibility to get caught up.