by Drew Murray
“Most of that stuff’s fake,” I interrupt. “How did he get from there to a Fukushima Unicorn?”
“I think he figured that out, too,” says Bradley. “He started looking at stuff from Japan about a year ago. I haven’t been through it all yet. In the more recent history, he got into Fukushima stuff the way people got into the Chernobyl stuff. Forbidden, possibly dangerous.
“I also found a partially deleted cache with snippets of text. Looks like message logs. He was talking to someone who had ‘radioactive stuff’ to sell. Some local near Fukushima. They’re really cagey.”
“That’s because the government strictly forbids removal or possession of radioactive artifacts,” I say.
“So, people turn to the Dark Net to trade it?” asks Dana.
“Exactly,” says Bradley turning back to the camera. “Apparently there were pictures, too. I haven’t been able to find them yet, but whatever was in them clicked for Caplan. The seller didn’t know what it was, but I think Caplan had a guess. There was a search for ‘Fukushima Semiconductor’ which led him to the famous Reddit thread on the regular web, and then the trail ends. He started getting as cautious as a cheating husband: browsing privately and deleting histories.”
“How would he know what this computer looked like?” Dana asks.
“The famous Reddit thread Bradley’s talking about was started by someone claiming to be a former employee who published a detailed description. I could never find out who it was; they posted once and never again. The description was bang on, and people have used it for years to attempt to sell fakes.”
“If there are so many fakes, why would he suddenly think it’s the real deal?” asks Bradley.
“The message snippets,” I say, raising my voice to be sure Bradley hears me clearly. “How much was this person selling? Just one item?”
“No, he was selling all sorts of stuff,” he answers, typing rapidly. “But Caplan zeroed in on the one thing.”
“Then we’ve got two reasons,” I say. “First, it’s supposedly radioactive. That’s easily tested, and it’s really tough to fake. Second, someone selling a fake Fukushima Unicorn, says it’s a Fukushima Unicorn.”
“Oh my God,” gushes Bradley. His hand appears with a handful of colorful sugar candy, which he pops in his mouth. “But if this guy’s selling rando radioactif jun,” he says around the confectionary. “not saying it’s a Unicorn, makes it more likely it is one.”
“So he gets his hands on this thing, how?” asks Dana.
“Check with CBP and DHS,” I tell Bradley. “Look at his email, his credit cards. See if he’s been to Japan.”
“Will do, Boss,” he says, typing notes on the second screen. “And once he does get it …” starts Dana.
“Then he’s got to sell it,” I finish. And then, to Bradley, “Was he using an auction site?”
“No, he did it all using message boards. Looks like he blundered around until he found a forum where they took him seriously about having a Fukushima Unicorn. But when he did, he struck gold. He took bids in private messages. There were a lot at first, but it narrowed down quickly to four serious players.”
“He isn’t covering his tracks anymore?” I ask.
“Not for two weeks. He had to go in the open to draw the bidders and things have been happening quickly since then.”
“Who’s bidding?”
“All we have are handles,” says Bradley, typing rapidly.
My phone pops up a message. A screen capture from Bradley. There are four message headers and four handles: reap495; jforce80; DarkRiderX; and Kaiju2k.
“None tagged in the cyber unit database,” says Bradley.
“Which doesn’t mean anything,” I muse. “Likely all fresh burners just for this.”
“How long will it take to find out who’s behind them?” asks Dana.
“I’ll do my best,” says Bradley. “But don’t hold your breath.”
“Why not?” asks Dana. “If they’re leaving messages, can’t we track their IDs?”
“On the Dark Net, people cherish their anonymity above all things, and it’s set up for that,” says Bradley.
“How did he convince the bidders he had a legit Unicorn?” I ask.
“He had the correct description,” says Bradley, crunching a single M&M. “And there was one picture I did find. Of a radiation detector screen. Like you said, it’s hard to fake, and the levels match the Fukushima accident. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“Is there a winner?” I ask. “Which handle?”
“That’s the thing—the auction’s not over.”
“Caplan’s dead, the Unicorn’s gone, I’d say it’s over,” says Dana.
“Well, no one told the bidders,” says Bradley. “All four of the finalists have posted within the last few hours. The music may have stopped, but they’re still dancing; I don’t know how much longer.”
“They’ll hang around as long as there’s a chance that this is real,” I say. “When was Caplan’s last post?”
“Lemme check. Uh, yeah, here it is,” he says, pulling up the information. “Last night. Via mobile, tagged by the app.”
“Mobile? We can’t find a phone. Not at the scene, not on the body.”
“Okay, I’ll see if I can find it,” Bradley says, adding it to his checklist.
“Wait,” says Dana. “If they’re still posting today, that means …”
“It’s still in play,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “If any of them had it, there’d be no reason for them to post again on the message board.”
“Then where is it?” asks Dana.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I say, leaning forward. “When’s the auction supposed to end?”
“According to Caplan’s last post, tomorrow,” says Bradley, lifting a handful of M&Ms to his mouth.
I turn to Dana. “Can we keep it going that long?”
“I don’t see why not,” she says slowly. “If this is all as anonymous as you say, there’s a good chance they don’t know Caplan was running the auction. And even if they did, Farber made sure we kept the murder quiet. No one outside of law enforcement knows he’s dead. My department’s tight. We can keep a lid on it.”
I start pacing up and down the rows of chairs. One of the four bidders must be Dragoniis, the legendary Chinese hacker that drew Decker here. If he realizes Caplan’s been murdered, and along with him any chance of getting the Unicorn, he’ll disappear back into cyberspace.
“How much is the bid?” I ask Bradley.
“Ten million,” he replies.
Dana’s mouth drops open and those expressive eyebrows reach for the sky. “Who would spend ten million dollars for this?”
“People who wouldn’t think twice about killing Caplan or anyone else in the way to get it. Innocent or otherwise.”
“Terrorists?” Dana asks, swallowing firmly.
“Doubtful. Don’t let the radiation distract you,” says Bradley. “Religious radicals who set off bombs in public spaces don’t need an omniscient supercomputer to do it. Just an endless stream of angry young men.”
“Think bigger,” I say, dropping into a chair. “Corporations. Drug cartels. Nation-states. They have the resources not only to buy it, but to put it to work, too. If they’re bidding, the people they send will be ruthless.”
It’s a big risk for Dragoniis to come to the U.S. One wrong move and he’s spending the rest of his life in an American prison. Or even worse, if Decker gets his claws into him. But for the Chinese, it’s worth the risk. They’d be able to level-up their game from corporate and political espionage, to target the Pentagon’s Cyber Warfare department, CIA headquarters in Langley, or even the NSA.
Martin Hicks isn’t a thief or a spy, as far as I know, but I’m certain he’s here for the Unicorn all the same. Bringing it back to Pyntel, the chip company he works for, would make him a corporate superstar. Right now, quantum computers are the size of a closet, nowhere near as sophisticated as t
he Fukushima Unicorn, and require heavy-duty cooling systems, thus limiting their use to research. Before what Fukushima Semi had done, enabling real artificial intelligence, on your desk, or in your hand, was nothing more than theory.
Made real and brought to market, they’d make a traditional computer, even one powered by Pyntel’s flagship processor, look like an abacus. My deal for Fukushima Semi was a near miss for them. It would have put their primary business on the fast track to bankruptcy. After the accident, they poured millions into R&D but never produced a working prototype. If the Fukushima Unicorn reappears, so does the threat. Unless, of course, Pyntel are the ones to commercialize it.
“No question Caplan was in a dangerous game,” says Bradley. “But why kill him before the deal is done? Ten million dollars is a fortune to Caplan, but a drop in the bucket for an MNC, or a government. Why risk losing the Unicorn altogether by trying to steal it?”
“Because you weren’t going to win the bid,” I say. “Or maybe you were, but you didn’t think your competition would accept it. With what the Unicorn is worth, these organizations will pay anything, or do anything, to get their hands on it.”
“But how would you know if you were losing?” asks Dana, “And if the Dark Net is so anonymous, how would they find Caplan?”
“Caplan made a whopper of a mistake,” says Bradley.
“He didn’t use his name, his actual email, or anything that foolish, did he?” Dana asks.
“Oh God no, he wasn’t that much of a newb,” says Bradley. “But you know what I always say, Detective? You write it, someone can read it. He set the pickup location.”
“Once he did that, the list of possibilities got a whole lot smaller,” I say, running my hands through my hair.
“What’s the location?” Dana asks.
“I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” says Bradley.
“Here.” I wave my arms expansively. “The Comic Con.”
Ending the call with Bradley, I walk out the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Decker: Where did you go?
Me: Talking to Bradley. Caplan auctioning Unicorn on Dark Net.
Decker: Dragoniis? Probably one of the bidders.
Decker: More than one?
Me: Yes.
Decker: That’s a problem. What are you doing now?
Me: Going shopping.
Decker: ?
I look up from my phone to find I’ve wandered back out to the main entrance hall. The light is bright here and I squint.
Beside me, Dana says, “You know you just walked up a corridor full of people with your head down and you didn’t run into anything once?”
Of course I didn’t. I would have noticed that. “Did I?”
“How do you do that?”
“Practice. Where’s Caplan’s booth?”
“I’ll show you.” She sets off through the crowd toward the vendor hall.
“One more thing,” I add, chasing after her. I try to make it sound casual, like I’m asking where to get a good cup of coffee. “I need to see the Pelican case the Fukushima Unicorn was in.”
“When we’re done here, I can take you back to the station.”
“I need it at the hotel.”
She stops and pivots around to face me so abruptly, I almost crash into her. Instead, we’re toe-to-toe. There’s an aura of energy around her. I really feel it this close-up. She’s a person of action, ready to run, jump, or fight at a moment’s notice. Her muscles are always tense, ready to spring.
“I need to examine it, and see how legitimate this is. I need to see the size and shape of the cutout,” I say.
“You know what the dimensions are. Miller measured them.”
“I’m the only one left alive who saw the computer before the nuclear accident. I’ll know for certain by seeing it, not from a photograph.”
“You want a radioactive case in your hotel room? You know, most people would want to get away from something like that.”
When she says it out loud, it does sound like a bad idea. But bad or not, it’s something we can do. She’s got a crime to solve, and the case is evidence. But Decker and I have other goals, and to us the case is a tool. If the bidders are still active, then they’re here. And if they know what the Fukushima Unicorn is, then they know who I am, and they’ve surely seen me by now. If one of them killed Caplan, failed to find the Unicorn, and then sees me with the specialized travel case, it could draw them out.
But I don’t want to tell her that and risk her saying no, so I settle for, “Exactly. Yes.”
“I’m not letting you put a radioactive object out where it can hurt people. That includes you.”
She doesn’t want me to get hurt? I knew I made an impression.
“It’s not that hot,” I reassure her. “The radiation’s transfer from an original source. If we keep it closed, it should be fine.”
“It’s evidence, and potentially dangerous.”
“Trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you,” she says, holding up her hands.
“But you know I’m an expert. You read my Wikipedia page!”
She takes a calm breath. “I don’t know how you normally do things at the FBI, but I have a community to protect. One person’s already dead. I’m not about to take chances with public safety.”
“Fine. Have Miller close it, and scan it. When he confirms it’s safe, bring it to my hotel room. I’ll keep it closed; it’ll be fine.”
She turns her head and narrows her eyes. Her jaw slides back and forth almost imperceptibly. She’s thinking. Running down the risk-reward. Analytical. I respect that.
It doesn’t take her long to make a decision. “I’ll have Miller get on it.”
Sharp vibrations from a phone in my pocket form a familiar pattern. FBI headquarters.
Checking my watch, I see Burke’s face in the call display. A picture I snapped while he was giving a speech. His face was all scrunched up like a giant pug. It’s how I like to think of him.
I know I’m only delaying the inevitable when I tap the ignore button. He’ll be back. But before I talk to him, I need a favor.
Noting the clock, I mentally add the hours to Tokyo time. How the Unicorn got here, and into Caplan’s hands bothers me. There’s nothing wrong with the collectibles business, but I’ve never met anyone in it that struck me as capable of fencing the world’s most valuable goods. How it got into America is one question, but how it got out of Japan is equally important. Maybe even more so.
(In Japanese)
Me: Han, old buddy.
Han: Parker-san. How are you?
Me: Very well. In the middle of something. Need some help.
Han: Name it.
Me: Need info on passenger.
Han: Stuck on puzzle 42. Big Fish Pyramid.
Me: I’ll see what I can do.
Han: Send me the details.
Me: Will do.
Han: Big Fish!
Han’s a good contact in Japan. For some reason, he thinks that because I worked in Silicon Valley, I know how to beat every video game ever produced. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to break him of that belief. So now, whenever I ask him for a favor, his preferred currency is hints for whatever video game he’s currently stuck on. Since he has what I need, what Han wants, Han gets.
“What language was that?” Dana asks as we make our way back to the vendor hall.
“You were looking over my shoulder?”
“It was hard to miss,” she says without elaborating. I consider being indignant, but one glance at her expression tells me it would be a waste of time.
“Japanese.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“An old friend.”
“About the case?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Fukushima? Japan? You’re texting someone in Japanese? You don’t have to be in the Bureau to suss that one out.”
A fair point.<
br />
“I can accept the fact that some random collectibles vendor has the Fukushima Unicorn,” I explain. “It also makes sense that he was trying to sell it. Most of these vendors are buy-low, sell-high types and clearly he knows what he has.”
Also bothering me is that Roger Caplan, purveyor of geek culture, found what I couldn’t. But Dana doesn’t need to know that.
“What I want to know is: How did he get it into the country? Something radioactive enough to spook Miller into evacuating the crime scene?”
She shrugs, holding her hands in front of her and biting her lip. “No idea.”
“Exactly. Han can help me with that.”
We arrive at Caplan’s booth. Black wire framework walls, supporting shelves of collectibles, form a miniature store, the entrance covered by a gray tarp. As we approach, the fabric rolls back and there’s Decker, looking unhappy, even for Decker.
He holds out a Bureau phone in my direction. “For you.”
Decker opens the tarp further and waves me in, dropping it back in Dana’s face, cutting her off outside.
Reluctantly, I lift the phone to my ear. “Parker.”
“Parker, where the hell have you been? Why don’t you answer your goddamn phone? It’s basically attached to your fucking hand.” Director Burke, and he’s main sail to the wind. Farber’s been busy.
“Chasing down leads, Sal.” He hates it when I call him Sal.
“Is one of those leads someone named Charles Farber?”
“Not clear yet. Possibly.”
“Well, you’d better get clear, Agent, because he’s banging the drum, damn hard and loud, to have you fired.”
“Am I fired?”
“Not clear yet. Possibly,” says Burke.
I do believe that was humor. A little black, but it’s something. I’ve always suspected Burke is happier when he’s mad.
“Listen, Farber says he wants this convention back on the road again but it’s not that simple. We’ve got a body here,” I explain.