by Drew Murray
I swing the door of the safe open wide, standing on my tiptoes to see all the way to the back. Inside is a sleek gray laptop. The MacBook. But nothing else.
I let out a sigh of relief and disappointment.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Well, is it in there?” Decker asks behind me.
He and the locals are gathered in a tight group around the closet. They can’t see past my head into the safe I just hacked. I hear Decker’s bulk shifting around trying to get a glimpse.
“No, there’s just the laptop.”
“Just that? What else are you looking for?” I can feel Dana’s breath on my neck, she’s so close.
“A Fukushima Unicorn.” I step away, backing them off while reaching into my pocket for a pair of nitrile gloves.
“Stop, that’s classified,” says Decker.
“No, it’s not. Everyone knows he had a deal to buy it,” says Miller. “It’s on Will’s Wikipedia page.”
“You have a Wikipedia page?” Dana’s eyebrow goes up again. She stays close, hands on her hips.
“Of course, he does. Agent Parker, can I get in there to take a picture?” Miller asks, angling in with the camera.
“What’s a Fukushima Unicorn?” Dana asks, but I’m too focused on the laptop to answer and Decker doesn’t want to.
When Miller finishes with the camera, he gently lifts the laptop out of the safe and puts it on the desk, pushing the empty donut box out of the way. I lift the screen up and it comes to life showing the standard macOS login screen. Caplan’s used a picture of Han Solo as his user avatar.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Dana demands. “He shouldn’t do that here, should he?” She looks at Miller who lifts his hands and shrugs.
She’s right. Normally I’d take the laptop back to a lab and get my techs working on it in a controlled environment. But my lab is thousands of miles away, and we’re on a time crunch. If Dragoniis got his hands on the Fukushima Unicorn, every second that ticks by takes them both further away.
“For what I’m going to do, I can.”
“And what’s that?”
“I need to get this laptop to my technician.”
“Then why do you need to open it?” Dana asks, her hand on my arm in caution.
“He’s in LA.”
She looks at Miller who says, “I’d let him do whatever he wants. His company wrote the book on security and encryption.”
“Company? I thought you were an FBI agent,” she says to me, the grip tightening.
“Special Agent,” I say with a grimace. Why does no one remember the Special? “Miller’s talking about the company I founded before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I got to the FBI. Now listen, we’re on a countdown here. Caplan’s from out of town. So, unless this is some random hotel robbery gone wrong, his killer is going to be connected to him or why he’s here.”
“The Comic Con,” Dana says.
“Right, so if he isn’t gone already, we have …” I check the time on my smartwatch … “just over fifty-four hours to solve this. After that, the Con is over, and everyone associated with it, and with Roger Caplan, leaves town.”
I watch as she evaluates my logic. She locks eyes with me. Gives me the penetrating cop stare, but I’m used to it now. Her eyes are dark brown. Soft, yet intense.
She lets go of my arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says.
“If anyone does, it’s me,” I say.
Miller’s right. For our secure messaging, CastorNet developed and deployed some of the most advanced encryption on the planet. Certainly better than what the FBI is capable of. Don’t know about the NSA though; Burke won’t let me talk to them. But the Unicorn would change everything.
I need to send the contents of the laptop to Bradley. I could analyze what’s on it, sure, but that’s not the best use of my time.
Before I can do anything though, I need to unlock it.
“It’s got a password,” Dana says. “How do we get past it?”
“Me.”
I sit still for a minute, thinking. Dana and Decker look over my shoulder. Miller’s around somewhere, and I’m sure he’s watching me, too. But it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been in a fishbowl all my life.
The simplest way to hack a password is to guess it. There are other ways, but they’re all more complicated, and take time. If I can guess it, we can keep moving. To have a chance at guessing, you need to know the individual. You have to use all the data you can. And hope to hell he didn’t use a strong password.
“Is Caplan married?”
“Divorced,” says Dana.
“His birthday?” Miller asks.
“It won’t be his birthday. Too obvious. This is a guy that takes the time to put his laptop in the safe.”
“So what?” says Decker. “Maybe he just doesn’t want the hotel staff to lift it.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but it shows he’s security minded. He took the time to change his avatar. He thought about it.”
“What if it’s a strong password?” Miller asks.
“Then we’ll have to try something completely different. Let’s hope it’s not.”
“How can you tell if it’s strong?” asks Decker.
“You can’t,” says Dana. “Not until you crack it. Strong means a combination of numbers and letters, maybe punctuation, that doesn’t spell a word or portion of a word.”
I lift my hands away from the desk and turn to look at Dana in surprise. I hadn’t expected her to answer that question. Usually, I try to keep greasy n00b fingers as far away as possible from the tech. When I look at Dana’s fingers, I see neatly manicured nails. No colors or shiny coatings.
Wait a second. Fingers. Shiny. Images collide in my mind, clicking into place.
I lift the laptop, angling it under the light. I rotate it around, studying the keys carefully.
“Oh, come on,” says Decker. “Even I know you can’t see it.”
“On the contrary,” I say, “you can see it perfectly clearly. Especially if you just ate a box of donuts. Look, some keys are shiny with grease, transferred there from the donuts by Caplan’s fingers, but most aren’t. The trackpad’s shiny with donut grease too, in a little circle. Looks like Caplan logged in and then did some surfing.”
“I’ll be damned,” says Decker, leaning over my shoulder.
“Now we simply decipher the password from these letters.”
“What letters do we have?” Dana asks.
“Looks like E, U, I, L, N, M,” I say looking at the keys in the light of the desk lamp.
Not a great list if you’re playing Scrabble. Short on the most common consonants, but that’s good for me here, it limits the opportunities. Four words jump out at me.
I try them all, starting with “ileum” and ending with “lumen.” No luck. The little login window shakes at me in disapproval each time.
“Try shorter words?” asks Miller.
I sense their breathless awe at my greasy keys discovery starting to fade. They’re thinking this isn’t so simple after all. They’re thinking this whole idea is flash with no follow-through. They’re thinking I can’t do this.
I already know shorter words won’t work, so I ignore Miller to focus on the problem. People live their entire lives in their computers. Even more so their phones, but I assume that’s with the body, and I’ll get to it later. I need to get into the laptop now. Bradley’s waiting and the Unicorn is on the loose.
Is it possible that Caplan went strong? A random combination of those letters? Usually numbers and punctuation make up strong passwords and there’s no grease on the top row. Maybe it’s strong but not random. Maybe I’m thinking about the wrong language. The guy’s here at a Comic Con. Maybe it’s Klingon or something.
While I’m thinking over options, I roll the letters around in my head. What do they feel like? What could they be connected to? What could make them complete? There’s something about them, on the tip of my to
ngue. I mutter combinations. The others wait and watch. Decker shifts back and forth, restless. Dana is tapping her fingers on the desk. Slow and steady, thinking, not impatient. A nervous tick. Ritualized behavior brought on by anxiety. Not even aware she’s doing it. Her fingers move subconsciously, repeating the same rhythm.
That’s what’s missing. Repetition. Each greasy key could be pressed more than once. I need more coffee. I should’ve seen that quicker.
The separate pieces in my mind fit together and become one. The words, the sounds of them, combine in my head to form bigger words made from the same letters, now that I can use each letter as many times as I want.
I type in another attempt, hoping it’s the last. If I fail now, they’ll think they can do this too, and want to take turns. Then this whole process slows to a mind-numbing crawl. We can’t afford to lose any more time. I have to be right.
I press ENTER.
The screen opens, revealing Caplan’s desktop.
“Whoa!” says Miller.
“How did you do that?” Decker demands.
“Nice work,” says Dana, patting me on the back. “What was it?”
“Millennium. We’re at a Comic Con, but they’re not just about comics. You get all the fandoms from anime to horror, video games to graphic novels, and of course, sci-fi. The avatar was the giveaway.”
I push back from the desk and dial my phone. It’s been fifteen minutes.
“I still don’t get it,” says Decker.
“Millennium,” says Miller, louder, as if that makes it obvious.
Decker shakes his head, looking vacant. It doesn’t mean anything to him.
“Caplan’s a Star Wars fan,” says Miller. “His avatar was Han Solo. The Millennium Falcon is Han Solo’s ship.”
I have a split second to enjoy the sour look on Decker’s face before the call connects and is immediately answered.
“I’m here, Boss,” says Bradley accompanied by a loud staticky noise on the line.
“What is that? A wrapper? Are you eating?” The trash at Bradley’s desk routinely looks like the bin in a food court, filled with fast-food containers.
“Your texts stressed me out. And I’m still a little rough from last night.”
“I need you to dig deep for me, Bradley.”
“I know, I know. I got it. I grabbed two Egg McMuffins to go with the Peruvian Gold. I’m good, I promise.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am about a date with Ryan Reynolds.”
I shake my head. Like many in LA, he’s obsessed with celebrity. Totally different from where I grew up in Silicon Valley. Bradley has it worse than most. If there’s a chance of his favorite celebs turning up at any given club, he’ll be there. The current object of his devotion is Ryan Reynolds. Can’t fault his taste.
“I’ve got a laptop that belonged to a Roger Caplan from Boston, in town for a Comic Con. He was a vendor. Someone murdered him last night.”
“Interes-ing,” says Bradley, his mouth full of McDonald’s breakfast, obscuring his words. “You wan’ me ’o do a full worku’? Any-fing special?”
“Everything. We’re on the clock here. In fifty-four hours, it’s over. Drop everything else. Get me quick hits first. Online profile. Then get into details. I want to know where he shops, what forums he hangs out in, what social media he uses, and what kind of porn he likes. What does he read, watch, or listen to? All of it. But right now, only you, Bradley.”
“What? You want all that, but I don’t get any help?”
“We need to keep this on the down-low.”
“Why?”
“There could be a Unicorn here.”
“What, you mean like a My Little Pony?”
“No. What? Where did that come from?” I pull the phone back in dismay.
“You’re at a Comic Con, you said. Right? I thought maybe you’re a Brony.” I hear his voice from the speaker. “Sorry, just leapt to a conclusion.”
“A Fukushima Unicorn, Bradley.”
“Holy shit! Seriously? Okay, yeah, I’m on it, Boss.”
I hang up the phone and Dana bends down so that we’re eye to eye before she says, “I think it’s about time you tell me what a Fukushima Unicorn is.”
CHAPTER SIX
“We can’t talk about the Fukushima Unicorn,” says Decker.
Dana never takes her eyes off me. She knows the Unicorn is my thing, not Decker’s.
“Well, you can talk about some of it,” says Miller. “Wikipedia, remember?”
“I will, but first I have to set up this transfer to my lab.”
She waits for a second. That frown of hers flickers across her face.
“All right,” she says, “But we’re not leaving this room until you do.”
I know she wants answers, and the investigation will be better off when she has them. Getting the copy up and running gives me a few minutes to decide what to tell her about the Unicorn.
Turning back to Caplan’s laptop, I open a browser and enter an IP address manually. When I’m prompted for credentials, I log in and a small application automatically downloads. When it installs, it gives Bradley complete remote control of the laptop, fully encrypted, all the way. A chat window pops up.
Bradley W: Got it. I’ll start the copy.
Will P: How’s the connection? How long?
Bradley W: Average. Looking at a couple of hours.
Will P: In the meantime, start on the online profile.
Bradley W: Will do. What’s going on with the Fukushima Unicorn?
Will P: Not now.
Bradley W: Okay. TTYL.
I push back from the desk. Dana’s waiting with her arms crossed. She’s smart. She’s local. She could help me find the Unicorn. That is, if the Unicorn is actually here. The radiation and the case are a good sign, but it could still be faked by someone with access to the Fukushima exclusion zones.
“Hey, Miller,” I say, crossing to where the white-suited crime tech is standing next to the bed. “Do you have any pictures of the case?”
He fiddles with the back-panel controls of the camera and brings up some shots. It’s a black case. Pelican. Interior padding is composed of gray foam pillars you peel out one by one until you’ve made an opening the size and shape you want. And the shape, in this case, is a narrowing series of rectangles like the Empire State Building.
Advancing through the photos, I see that Miller’s done his job right, saving me time. Bravo, Miller. In some pics he placed a small yellow measuring T-square adjacent to the opening. The cutout looks to be about eight and a quarter inches long.
The last time I saw the Unicorn, it was hooked up to wires on a bench at Fukushima Semiconductor. Surrounded by larger machines, it seemed tiny, but up close you could tell it was roughly the size of two fists. I remember it was hot outside that day, but frosty cold inside, with that mild fishy smell that seemed to be everywhere in the village.
I turn back to Dana, now tapping her fingers on her crossed arms. What do I need to tell her? How much is enough?
“What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is? I assume it’s not a horse with a horn in its head.”
This is the closest I’ve come to the Unicorn since the tsunami, and I may never get this close again. The more I tell her, the better the chance I have of finding it. But the tenser Decker’s going to be. I decide I’ll deal with that later.
“The Fukushima Unicorn is a fully functional, miniaturized, and portable quantum computer.”
“A computer?” Dana asks, rolling her eyes. “You want me to believe the FBI’s here for a lost computer?”
“It’s not an ordinary computer.”
“How so? Explain it to me.”
Most of the time, when I talk tech to non-technology people, they nod their heads and make noises like “uh-huh” and say things like “exactly” or “absolutely.” But not Dana. She doesn’t seem to think that asking questions makes her look
foolish. No hesitation, no break in her confidence. Nice.
Before I can answer, Miller jumps in, eager to impress his detective.
“A normal computer uses binary, cycling the circuits between their two states, on and off, very quickly. Quantum computers are different. According to particle physics, quantum particles can exist in more than just two states, and they can be in those states simultaneously, opening up the ability to perform calculations faster. A lot faster.”
Miller looks at me for approval. I nod. Simplified, but enough. I glance over by the door where Storm Decker is brewing, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t like opening the kimono like this. It’s also bugging him that it’s Miller doing the explaining, which means I’m right: it isn’t secret. This amuses me.
But when Miller continues on into the various states of quantum particles, Dana’s eyes glaze over.
“Don’t worry about the technical details,” I say. “That’s not what you want to know.”
“You’re right,” she says, blinking. “What I want to know is why someone would kill for it.”
“For starters, it’s worth a lot of money.”
“How much money?”
“My company, CastorNet, was in the process of buying Fukushima Semiconductor, inventors of that computer,” I say, settling back down into the chair at the desk. “Any company able to commercialize it would be worth over a billion dollars, which is one of the reasons they call it a Unicorn.”
“You were buying this company for a billion dollars?” Dana asks, raising her one eyebrow again.
“My company was, yes.”
“You had a billion dollars?”
“CastorNet had that leverage, yes.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“As the largest shareholder, let’s call it almost.” Back then I obsessed over how close I was to that goal. Now I try not to think about it.
“Why sell to you?”
“Because I was the one that discovered what they were up to.” I glance at the laptop screen watching a little blue line move millimeter by millimeter across the screen. “I saw the pattern when no one else did. A handful of the most brilliant computer engineers in Japan quit their jobs and dropped out of sight, walking away from universities and high-paying corporate jobs. All under bizarre circumstances. One fell in love with a Maid Café girl and they ran away together. Another had unpaid gambling debts to the Yakuza, who killed him for it. Stories that kept anyone from going looking for them.