Netminder

by Jeff Adams

  Not only did the network seem fried, but I couldn’t execute any of the emergency protocols. While texting Lorenzo didn’t appear on the list of things to do in an emergency, trying to reach anyone on official channels—both on and off the secure network—failed with just silence. Even the designated last-chance phone number simply rang. Theoretically that last-chance number should always be answered because it was a standard landline number in a secure, always manned location. I didn’t know where it was, but I envisioned something like a military bunker.

  Once I’d exhausted attempts to find the network, I decided to do something I’d put off. There might be some clues on the security footage from the house.

  I accessed the videos from our home cloud, which thankfully worked normally. Changing my password was the first order of business in case my computers landed in the wrong hands while fully operational.

  I started from about twenty minutes before I got home. I chose feeds for the front door, the door coming in from the garage, the patio, in and outside of Mom and Dad’s office, and in and outside of my room.

  John was at his desk, and outside two men and a woman dressed in casual business attire—khakis and polo shirts—came down the sidewalk. They’d parked outside of the camera’s range. As they turned up our walk, the woman came to the door, but the other two peeled away, going to either side of the porch and out of camera range.

  John didn’t check the cameras before he went to the door.

  I paused and took a breath. While I knew the final outcome, I couldn’t stop the tension seizing me.

  I finally clicked Play.

  John opened the door and appeared to have a regular conversation until the woman stepped forward. She pulled something from her pocket that I couldn’t see. John stepped back, and the two others charged inside quickly and closed the door. They moved from the front hall, and for a few painfully long seconds, they were off-screen. When they came back, John walked in front of them, hands up, toward his desk. John and the woman talked.

  Why had I never added mics to these cameras?

  My heart raced.

  John looked calm while one of the men got agitated and appeared to yell. More words. Suddenly the upset man pulled a gun from his waistband and fired. John’s hand went to his chest, and he crumpled to the floor. The trio went crazy, screaming at each other. They quickly left the office. John appeared to struggle, but I couldn’t see anything other than his legs.

  It didn’t take long for them to show up outside my door. There’s no way John told them anything about me or what was in the room. These guys already knew the layout of the house.

  They tried the door, but it didn’t open.

  Attempting to break down the reinforced door also failed. There were no sensors in place to detect slamming into the door, but had it been forced open, alarms would’ve gone off.

  The woman studied the door, the frame, and the wall surrounding it. She focused on the doorknob, crouching down to examine it. To a casual observer the doorknob looked like any other, but if you got close enough, you’d see the biometric sensors.

  The group soon retreated back toward the stairs.

  I fast-forwarded over the gruesome parts. The woman watched as the men did the dirty work. I couldn’t take my eyes off the cleaver cutting through the air.

  Once they had the hand, they hustled back upstairs, opened the door, and immediately went to my desk. They yanked out cables and took all of the CPUs. They looked through the desk, drawers, the dresser, and even a quick look in the closet but didn’t take anything else.

  A gray SUV pulled into the driveway, and another man and woman got out. Inside the house, the man went upstairs while the woman went toward the kitchen. She went into the pantry. Thirty seconds later, while the guys carried the equipment out, the video went dark.

  She’d done something to the security system. No wonder I couldn’t arm it when I left.

  They’d been in the house for six minutes and thirteen seconds before the video cut.

  Mitch and I missed them by less than five.

  My God.

  I gently closed the laptop, quelling my desire to slam it shut.

  If we’d been any faster—left practice without Mitch calling Iris about their date or not catching so many red lights—he would’ve ended up in the middle of it.

  And John.

  Was he okay? Did they save him? Could they save him?

  Searching for information on whether it was possible to survive having your hand cut off provided the smallest hope. If the cut happened in exactly the right way and proper medical attention could be administered, the person could be saved.

  There’d been a lot of blood—was it too much?

  Had I called in time?

  “Please, God,” I whispered. “You don’t hear from me much. But if there’s anything you can do for John… please….” Tears fell, but I didn’t lose control like I had earlier. “Make him be okay. And please look out for everyone else too. If you’re there, somewhere, you know how messed up things are.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I JERKED awake because of the buzzing.

  Light came from the TV, which I’d left on low volume. I didn’t usually sleep with noise, but I’d tossed and turned for a half hour before I decided some noise might help distract my brain from grinding on all of the problems.

  It only helped a little. I slept in short bursts and felt terrible as I attempted to force my tired eyes to focus as a dull throb pulsed across the back of my head.

  The buzz went off again, and I recognized the pattern as Mitch’s. A glance at my watch showed he was texting and that it was six thirty. He’d be on his way to pick me up—if he wasn’t already there.

  Crap.

  I should’ve told him last night not to pick me up.

  I propped myself against the headboard and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

  Are you all right? I just drove by your house and there’s three black SUVs there and a scary-looking dude outside the front door. I’m around the corner if you want me to pick you up. Let me know.

  Who was at the house? It sounded like more than the regular police. Was TOS looking for me? Had Mom sent them? Or was it whoever had been in the house yesterday?

  I pulled my legs to my chest and held them to me while I dropped my head onto my knees. I didn’t know what to do.

  Another buzz from Mitch.

  You’re freaking me out. Text me back.

  Shit.

  What could I tell him, so he wouldn’t worry?

  Staring at the screen didn’t help.

  Unlocking the phone with my thumb, I stared at the messages. He’d know I’d seen them.

  I typed: Sorry. Should’ve texted. John’s meeting some people for Mom and Dad. I left early. Catch you at school.

  I sent it and almost immediately the three dots appeared as he typed. In a few seconds the response arrived.

  No worries. Just glad you’re okay. Tell your parents they need less scary colleagues. Didn’t expect to be freaked out first thing.

  Mitch knew the basic cover for my parents with the FBI and Homeland Security jobs and that John worked with them.

  Of course, this would only satisfy Mitch until he got to school and discovered I wasn’t there. Eventually news about John would get out, unless somebody was already keeping that quiet. That had to be why so many people were at the house.

  Maybe TOS had mobilized without the network. A quick look in the corner of the phone screen showed that the network icon wasn’t present. Maybe I could find Lorenzo now or…. I still didn’t know what the or could be. My parents, John, and Lorenzo were the only ones I had personal contact information for. I didn’t even have Coach Daly’s number for security reasons.

  I rested my head against the headboard and considered my options.

  I MUST’VE dozed off.

  Vibrations on my wrist and the phone in my hand woke me up. Several messages from Mitch were on my watch. He must be in school
because normally if he had that much to say he’d call.

  Iris had sent messages too, as did others who didn’t have a unique vibration pattern. The notification list filled up with texts from many friends and teammates.

  I found the phone on the bed next to me and went to Mitch’s:

  Where the hell are you? There are clones of the dude that was at your front door at the school. People are looking for you. I told the one the principal made me talk to that I haven’t seen you since I dropped you off last night. Which is true. But where are you? I won’t tell them I just need to know you’re okay.

  I had no idea if someone was over Mitch’s shoulder watching as he typed. It was better for him if I said nothing.

  Three dots appeared.

  Come on man. I know you just read that.

  I turned the phone off.

  Whether it was TOS or others, looking for me at school was not subtle. Someone was taking extraordinary efforts to get me.

  But why? And were other TOS agents being tracked too?

  Lying to Mitch rattled me to the core. Hopefully he’d understand if I got through this.

  Without warning, a sob choked its way out. Clutching the phone, I wished I could control myself better.

  What would Mom and Dad do if they were cut off? We didn’t talk much about scenarios like this. When we’d set up the protocols for having to escape, we assumed that we’d be able to use TOS to reconnect, and that if we weren’t talking directly, we’d be able to pass messages, get to a safe house, something.

  I worked through Shield’s calming techniques hoping they’d work better than they had last night. I had work to do. I’d hacked TOS security when I was eleven. I should be able to find a way out this—either to fix the network or track down the people who broke it.

  I sat up straight and wiped my sleeve over my face.

  If someone had control of the network, I had to disable the tracker chip. I’d also have to assess the security of the rest of my electronics to make sure I stayed out of sight.

  The TOS phone required modifications to knockout its tracking. Ditching the phone wasn’t an option, though, because it had functions that didn’t require the network, and I needed all the tools I could get.

  I probably should’ve reviewed all of the security measures last night, but I’d kept looking for the network and trying the emergency protocols until I’d been too tired to go on. Given the crazy going on at home, this morning’s priority revolved around becoming as invisible as possible.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS SOON as my feet hit the floor from rolling out of bed, my stomach rumbled. I got the sandwich and water I’d bought last night from the fridge and nibbled on it while getting online.

  I reviewed the security of the connection I’d set up last night. The IPs and geolocation were scrambled, so the computer should be solid. Without the TOS network, the secure phone would only be traceable on the regular cell network. But if someone else had control of the network, they could be tracking me even though they hadn’t revealed themselves yet.

  The phone was easy to disable—at least for me since I’d worked on its security. With the phone connected to the computer, I accessed the root systems and removed the code that handled the tracking.

  The more difficult problem was the tracker chip. If I could access the network, I could likely hack the agent list to remove myself since I’d been part of the team that reworked the software after Blackbird had breached the system.

  I had to get rid of the chip. I chomped on the sandwich while I considered how to do that.

  It was behind my right ear. Running my hand over the skin, I easily found the small scar. It’d been removed and later replaced almost a year ago because of the Blackbird attack on the system. The surgical procedure was quick and painless with a local anesthesia.

  Getting it out on my own would be the opposite.

  The tool kit in my pack had a small pocket knife, along with a couple of screwdrivers, lockpicks, scissors, and first aid items like Band-Aids and alcohol wipes. Mom and Dad had given it to me after Denver, and it mirrored kits they traveled with. I’d augmented it with some tech items as well, like various chargers and connectors.

  No one anticipated I’d attempt minor surgery with what I had.

  I took the tool kit and went into the bathroom, very unsure of my plan. A not-so-subtle voice in my head said in no uncertain terms that I was crazy for trying this.

  Grabbing one of the alcohol wipes, I tore it open, so I could clean the spot where I’d poke a hole in my neck. I used another to clean the knife.

  This was gonna become number one on the suck list. I didn’t like blood, and I was about to slice into my neck in an area I couldn’t see, hoping to extract something not much bigger than a grain of rice.

  Knife in my right hand, I intended to push the knife in and pop the chip out. I guided the knife with my left hand, awkwardly stretched behind my head.

  My hands shook. The point of the knife poked my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to drive it in.

  What the hell was I doing?

  This was insanity. I couldn’t get this out. One slip and I’d be done for. Of course, if I’m caught, it could be just as bad.

  There weren’t enough deep breaths to calm me.

  I pulled back and sat the knife on the countertop. I didn’t want blood on my clothes, so I stripped out of the T-shirt I’d slept in and hung it on the doorknob.

  From what I remembered from biology, most of the blood vessels that could bleed too fast and kill me were in the front of the neck. Bio wasn’t my subject, so I could be wrong.

  The doctor had used tweezers to remove it once. While I had a pair, I didn’t think it’d be effective since I couldn’t see. It’d be like playing a blind game of Operation.

  There had to be a better way.

  The chip had microelectronics inside and the design was fairly simple since it only emitted a signal.

  Jamming the signal could be done but doing that was enough outside my expertise that I couldn’t guarantee doing it right.

  Oh… oh! Maybe I could turn it off.

  We’d developed a way for the TOS phones to emit an electromagnetic pulse of varying power. It could be very low and targeted or go big and even take out the phone itself. It shouldn’t take much to knock out the chip.

  I pulled my shirt back on and got the phone. I hadn’t worked on this app, but I’d been trained on it and had even used it once.

  I reviewed the settings. I wanted to choose the half-foot setting since I wanted enough power to ensure neutralization. As an extra precaution I decided to go outside and move away from the hotel in case something went wrong. I didn’t want to be responsible for a widespread electrical problem.

  I’d noticed when I’d arrived that the hotel had a field next to and behind it.

  After leaving my watch and wallet in the room, I headed out. The only thing besides the phone that I took was the room key. In the field I went a dozen or so feet from the building, and I even left the key on a rock at a safe distance too.

  I probably didn’t need to take so many safety measures, but I had enough problems without creating more.

  After unlocking the phone, I double checked the settings on the app and put it against my neck.

  “Pulse,” I said.

  “Five,” the phone’s voice responded, “four, three, two, one. Pulse.”

  I felt the slightest twinge… at least I thought I did. Maybe I imagined it.

  “Complete.”

  Or maybe the sensation came from the tracker’s destruction. I’d have to hope this worked as planned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BACK IN the room, I took an inventory of the tools I had. The phone still connected to my personal cloud, so I had access to the code snippets, scripts, and bots. I copied those to the phone in case I lost access. Looking at the apps, there were some I ignored because they wouldn’t work without the secure network.

  The contact lenses
, however, had some functions powered solely from the phone that could come in handy. In fact these could verify the tracker was offline.

  Before I crashed last night, I’d restored everything in the backpack in case I had to move quick. I fished out the lenses and went into the bathroom to put them in.

  The lenses had been valuable a couple of times in New York this summer. In the months since then, we’d made improvements. Not only had the lens been modified to be more comfortable to wear for extended periods, but the night vision was much clearer. We’d also added infrared along with some other enhancements, including zoom and messaging functions. Getting text messages directly to the eye had major benefits. I hated sending them, though—I didn’t get along well with the eye targeting keyboard. The team was working to refine it, however, so one day I hoped it would be better.

  As soon they made full contact with my cornea, they activated and read my biometric signature.

  Whoa! Not only did the lens connect to my phone as it should, but it also connected to the TOS network. The square that displayed in the top left would’ve been yellow if it only found the phone. Green meant network connectivity. That might be my way in.

  But first, I could use the lens to look at data streams. The development team built in the abilities to see electric currents, Wi-Fi signals, and data flows along fiber optic cables. They would also detect the signal the tracker put out, which was similar to Wi-Fi.

  I accessed the menus via the eye tracking and activated all the data flows at once. Suddenly I saw the waves of signals coming off the phone, fiber optics in the walls and Wi-Fi emanating from the router in the hall. Using the shaving mirror bolted to the wall, I could see the back of my neck, and there was no signal coming from me.

  Just to prove I could see signals through the mirrors, I slipped my phone into my back pocket, and I continued to see the signal waves.