by Drew Murray
“But I saw through it. My parents loved the country and I spent time there growing up, so I knew the language and culture. I went there and dug around. Eventually, I found the truth in an industrial building next to the Fukushima-Daiichi nuclear power plant where a tiny little computer chip company had set up shop. Low and behold, here were all these engineers with something to change the world. I had a software company; they had a hardware company. A match made in heaven. We became friends. Eventually, I convinced them to sell their company to me.”
“How did you do that?” asks Dana.
“I’m very persuasive.”
It’s true. I laid down all that “for the people” and “transformational” promo material and told them we’d change the world together. They believed me, so they agreed to sell.
“What happened to the deal?” asks Dana.
I hesitate. Memories of the night my life was torn apart roar to the forefront of my mind. But I can’t give in to them. Not now.
“Fukushima? The nuclear accident, right?” Miller says.
I nod. “Fifty minutes after getting hit by a tsunami, the Fukushima-Daiichi nuclear plant lost four reactors to meltdowns. When the radiation leaked, everything nearby got a lethal dose. Fukushima Semi was in a village right next door to the plant.” I sigh, shaking my head. “They got fried.”
Dana opens her mouth but seemingly changes her mind and closes it again. Something on her face softens.
“Your friends, what happened to them? Did they get out?”
“I don’t think so.” I stop again, clearing my throat. “A member of the Board of Directors in Tokyo got a text message that they were packing to evacuate. That’s the last he heard. They, and their prototype, vanished. This time without a trace. The people. The equipment. Everything. CastorNet ended up buying the company for the intellectual property rights, at a fraction of the price. The design of the quantum computer was too sensitive to have in the cloud, and was stored on-site. The Board was eager to salvage anything out of the deal when the data backups disappeared with the people.”
I pause, remembering the destruction I saw in the aftermath of the tsunami.
“Best guess? There’s a bridge they would have crossed on their most likely route. By the time rescuers got into the area, that bridge was gone. A lot of people disappeared along with their vehicles that day.”
Dana leans back in her chair, looking over at Decker, then back at Miller. “And this thing was never seen again?”
“A car belonging to one of the staff washed up on a beach hundreds of miles away. But it was empty. Beyond that, only rumors on the internet,” I answer with a shrug. “None of them ever panned out. That’s the other reason it’s called a Unicorn.”
“A mythical creature no one has ever seen,” says Miller.
“But you saw it,” Dana says, ignoring him.
“Yeah.”
“And now it’s here.”
“Looks that way.” I point to Miller’s camera.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a thoughtful pause. “It’s a fast computer, I get it. But that was years ago. Computers get faster all the time. Are you sure this is still worth killing for?”
“Dead certain. Bend your head around the fact that at the quantum level, the circuits actually exist in multiple states simultaneously,” I explain, holding up my hands and interlacing my fingers. “On and off. That means it doesn’t have to finish one calculation before moving on to the next.
“For example, to break encryption, a binary computer calculates every possible combination of keys, one at a time, until it finds the right one. But there are trillions, so even at thousands per second it could take years before it finds the right key. A quantum computer can calculate all of them at the same time, and simply picks the right answer. Breaking encryption goes from years to seconds.”
“Encryption, as in messages?”
“Messages, stored data, anything. Private, corporate, government, military …”
“Careful,” warns Decker.
The wave of understanding washes over Dana’s face, starting with amazement and ending with her deepest frown yet.
“And that’s just the warm-up,” says Miller. “With the right software, it could read your mind and predict the future.”
“Come again?” asks Decker, pushing off from the wall. Apparently, his understanding of quantum computing begins and ends with security.
“That’s impossible,” Dana says, leaning back.
“Miller’s right,” I say with a nod of my head. “Collect enough data, feed it to artificial intelligence software, running on a quantum processor, and it would know what you’re going to do before you do it. Imagine the system watching you shop at a grocery store. You walk down the ice cream aisle. It predicts what flavor of ice cream you will think of, so that at the critical moment of decision, it recommends a brand and flavor to tip you over the edge and swing the sale.”
“That’s creepy,” she says.
“Now scale it up.” I lean forward, locking eyes with Dana again. “Imagine that same computer system in the hands of government. It collects all the data it can about a person, private or not, because nothing can keep it out. It raids phones, tablets, computers, even your car. Feed all that into the AI, so it knows what you’re going to do before you do it. Including a crime. Now imagine that government has a different definition of crime. They’d know who’s going to speak out against them, attend a protest, or post a social media link they don’t like, before they do it. What if it’s a government that routinely ignores human rights? What comes next?”
“Oh my God.” I see her physically shudder.
“Can you think of a country that would want that power?”
“That’s enough,” says Decker.
“Think they’d kill for it?” I push on.
“I said that’s enough,” says Decker, raising his voice. He’s blasting me with the warning glare I’m sure he gave his soldiers when they stepped out of line back in the day. But I’m not one of his soldiers, so I glare right back.
“I think I’m starting to see why the FBI is here.” Dana looks from me to Decker, sucking in her cheeks between her teeth. “What are you going to do with it when you find it?”
Decker stays silent, shaking his head in my direction. For once I agree with him. I shrug and say nothing.
“Uh-huh,” she says, standing up, her hands on her hips. “Tell me, is this thing dangerous?”
“Define dangerous,” I say.
Dana holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“This thing is radioactive. Is it dangerous to the public?”
Decker and Miller look at me.
“Not if it’s kept in a shielded case,” I answer.
“Like the one that was under the bed, and is now empty.”
I see her point. How many lead-lined cases can there be around Indiana to store this thing safely?
“How do we find it?” Miller asks.
“We start by going to the Comic Con.”
“You’re thinking we find Caplan’s killer, we find the Unicorn,” says Dana.
“Bingo.”
“Just like that?” asks Decker, looking at his watch.
“It’s a start.”
Dana holds up a finger, swinging it between Decker and me. “Before you two walk out of here, let me be clear. My priorities are the safety of this community and finding whoever murdered Roger Caplan. In that order. If for one minute, I think you’re working against those goals, we’re going to have a problem.” She waggles her finger for emphasis.
The determined set of her face leaves little doubt as to how bad that would be.
“Are we going to have a problem?” she asks.
“Not at all,” I answer. “Right, Decker?”
His nostrils flare. He sucks air in through his teeth. “Nope,” he says in a tone that, to me, says anything but.
Looking over at the laptop, I see the copy is moving well. In an hour and a half, Bradl
ey will begin to pore over its secrets. Thoughts of Fukushima crash around in my head. I need something else to focus on. Like a murder. Suddenly the hotel room seems too small.
I stand up and walk out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The security office in the hotel is typical: small, out of the way, and filled with boxes of other stuff. Kitchen supplies from the looks of it, and extra linens stacked around two desks, one of which holds a computer, phone, papers, and a little gold sign that says, “Head of Hotel Security.”
But it’s the other desk I’m most interested in. It’s dominated by a wall of monitors on extendable aluminum arms. Three screens wide by three screens high. Neat bundles of blue cables connect the hotel security system to the network. It’s neat and tidy. Professional. Probably hasn’t been touched since it was installed, but at least it was done right in the first place.
In the office is a crisply dressed guy with a shaved head, likely to avoid the embarrassment of male pattern baldness if my glimpse of the stubble line is correct. He’s short, so it’s easy to catch it. If I were him, I’d shave my head too.
“Everything’s here,” he says. “The whole hotel network can be accessed from this desk.”
“The Wi-Fi too?”
“Yes, sir,” says short and bald. I think he introduced himself as Dwayne. “All the manuals are on this shelf over here.”
To get to the shelf, he clears away a stack of cardboard boxes. They must be heavy because he’s huffing and puffing quickly, despite looking like he’s in shape. I wait until he’s moved the last box and then look at the binders. I recognize them all. Good quality products, and if the software installation is as good as the hardware, we’re in business.
Assuming at one point the Fukushima Unicorn was in the Pelican case in Caplan’s room, the first step toward knowing where it is now is knowing when it left.
There’s a knock behind me. When Dwayne opens the door, Storm Decker surges into the room with Dana hot on his heels.
“Here he is,” says Decker.
“You just took off,” Dana says.
“He does that,” Decker grumbles, then to me, he asks, “What have you found?”
“So far, manuals,” I answer, sliding the first one off the shelf. I flip it open to the cover page. Yup. The Administrator login ID and password, as left by the contractor that set it up.
Plopping the manual down on the surveillance desk next to the keyboard, I settle into the chair and log in to the system with my purloined credentials.
“You mind if he does that?” Decker asks.
“Not at all, Agent,” says Dwayne. He leans into Decker, lowering his voice. “Can I ask you a question? How was Quantico? You know, I visited once.”
So, Dwayne’s a Fed Groupie. An Agent wannabe, working a security job he thinks might one day lead him to the Bureau. That’s good, they’re always eager to please. Though they tend to be chatty. As if on cue, Dwayne starts to pepper Decker with questions, keeping them both out of my hair.
I start exploring the computer. There are icons on the desktop for the three main security applications: surveillance cameras, key card system, and Wi-Fi administration. Perfect.
“Checking surveillance footage?” asks Dana. “Caplan was murdered hours ago. And we don’t know how long before that he arrived at the hotel. This could take a long time.”
“It could,” I say, opening up the key card system.
It’s a good one. The hotel paid for the right options. Most important of which, the system logs every time a guest room door is opened, whether the key card is swiped or not. Useful.
Next, I open the surveillance program.
“I’ve already talked to the hotel manager,” says Dana. “They’ve only got cameras in the main public spaces. The front lobby, elevator lobbies, front desk, and the outside perimeter.”
“Are you surprised?” I ask. “This isn’t a Vegas casino.”
“Maybe,” says Dana. “But more is always better.”
Can’t argue with her there.
Knowing the software well, I run through the configuration quickly. She’s right. Nothing in the guest hallways. Ditto the stairwells. Even the coffee shop and restaurant are blank spaces.
Finally, I look at the Wi-Fi system, diving right into the reports. The system automatically captures a massive volume of data, typically used in troubleshooting. I have other uses.
“It can’t have been that tough for you,” says Dwayne, looking up at Decker. “If you were Spec Ops before the Bureau, you must have aced the Academy.”
“Some of it was familiar ground,” admits Decker. I didn’t think it was possible but he manages to stand up even straighter, shoulders back, chest out, puffed up like he’s on parade.
“What are you going to get out of the Wi-Fi? What he was surfing?” asks Dana.
“Better than that, if we’re lucky,” I say, turning my attention back to the computer. I scan through the reports until I see one that says “Handoff.” Perfect.
Now that I know what’s in each system, I can really go to work. Flipping through the screens, I grab snippets of video. I must be making a bit of a racket on the keyboard because Dwayne stops talking followed by Decker’s heavy presence looming over my shoulder. I don’t slow down. I’m in the middle of the hunt, closing in on my quarry. A picture is forming, a framework first, followed by the details. Eventually, I push back from the desk, rolling a couple of feet in the chair, and stretching out.
“There it is.”
“There’s what?” Decker asks
“Caplan entered the hotel at 10:55 p.m. last night. He’s on video here,” I say, gliding back to the desk and cueing it up on screen.
The video is bright and clear. Caplan enters through the main lobby doors and makes a beeline for the elevator bank. Average height and build. He’s sporting a t-shirt with Captain America’s shield on it and floppy cargo shorts. Brown hair peeks out the back of a white ball cap. Possible mullet. Ouch.
“Wait a second. How did you know what Caplan looks like?” asks Dana leaning forward.
“Simple. I found his phone, and there he was holding it.”
“How did you do that?”
“I looked at the last entry to his room on the key card system.” I flip screens and point. “From there, I worked backwards, cross-referencing with the Wi-Fi.”
“What does the Wi-Fi have to do with it?”
She must have caught my eye roll because then she says, “Help me out, I want to get this right.”
The delay irritates me, but it’s a respectable question. She’s determined to get the job done, not wasting time by pretending to understand what she doesn’t.
“Every gadget has a device name. Most people never change what the operating system assigns when it’s set up. When they connect to Wi-Fi, they’re identified on the network with that name. Here at the hotel, if a device leaves and returns within the same twenty-four-hour period, the Wi-Fi automatically reconnects, using the same name.”
“Why twenty-four hours?” asks Decker.
“Guests are charged by the day,” answers Dwayne. “Even the rewards club members who get it for free have to say yes every day to the terms.”
“Still don’t see how you found Caplan specifically,” Dana says. Suspicious. Challenging. Is she interrogating me?
“Because when I look at the logs, I found an entry for ‘Roger’s iPhone.’ It connects to the main lobby access point four minutes before Caplan’s room is opened with the key card. So, I pulled up the lobby camera from the time the phone connects to the network, and there he is.” I rest my hand on the mouse. “Now, can I get back to the timeline?”
“By all means,” says Dana, holding up her hands.
“Caplan comes in at 10:55 p.m. His phone connects to the hotel Wi-Fi in the lobby. He makes a beeline for the elevator, but he’s not the only one. Look here.”
Backing up the video to just before Caplan enters, the lobby camera shows a family a
t the front desk with three kids. The biggest kid is chasing one of the other ones around. There’s no sound, but they must have been screaming, because everyone in the frame is looking at them. All except one.
A big guy in a suit isn’t distracted by the demonic children. He’s sitting on one of the sofas reading a newspaper, folded down so it doesn’t block his view. Another newspaper? Seriously, where are people finding these things?
I point him out to Decker and Dana.
“While the little hellions are running around like a prison riot, this guy just sits there, watching the front door. Calm.”
The main lobby door slides open and Caplan walks in. He glances at the infant banshees, then makes for the elevator. The man with the paper stands up and follows him.
“Care to guess where Mr. Newspaper’s going?”
“Caplan’s floor,” says Dana. “He was waiting for him.”
“Who is he?” asks Decker.
“No idea,” I say, grabbing the mouse.
I play a succession of clips. The two men waiting in the elevator lobby, followed by the ride up. Inside the elevator, Caplan doesn’t seem to notice he’s being watched. When the doors open and he steps off, Mr. Newspaper follows. The elevator lobby camera on Caplan’s floor shows them walk off down the hall in the same direction.
“Now we go dark on the surveillance footage.”
“That’s it? We lost them?” says Decker.
“No.” I rub my forehead. “We just don’t have video. But his phone is still connected to Wi-Fi, so we can use the access points to follow where he goes. Here in the logs you see ‘Roger’s iPhone’ connect to two access points in the fifth-floor hallway, one after the other, and then to the one in his room. Key card logs show his room door opens with the key at 10:59 p.m. He stays there until the door is opened, without a key card this time, at 11:17 p.m.”