Blood Money (2 page)

Thurston was a shrewd negotiator. You couldn't be as successful as he was without knowing when the scales were tipping in his favor.

“I hear what you're saying, Mister Thurston, but what my former employer considers ‘legal' and what civilian courts consider ‘legal' are often miles apart. The DD is not here to protect me now.”

Thurston had, however, hit a responsive nerve, and Mark was slowly coming around. He continued, “The NRBA built firewalls and uses some fancy encryptions. I don't mind admitting that we already tried to get this information. I set up a special team reporting directly to me that worked on it for two months. I have some of the top software specialists in the country, Mark, but they came up empty. I hear that you are one of the best, that you have ways to get around all that stuff, or at least you know who to go to if you need to.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “All I need is the raw data. My team will extract the details I need. I don't care how you do it, as long as you get it done. I'm counting on you.”

Mark still wasn't totally sold on the assignment. Thurston could surely see that in his eyes and expression.

“Do you really understand where I'm coming from?” He didn't wait for the answer. He cut right to the chase. “Mark, do you think you're up to handling this assignment?”

The moment of truth had arrived. There was a lot to consider. Mark had certainly worked on stranger projects than this. Still, there were so many variables. It was not unusual for his clients to have hidden agendas, but then again, working on a case for Peter Thurston would be good for his business. It could generate a lot of assignments. “Yes sir, I am, and I'm quite confident that I can get you what you need.” He pulled out his calendar to check for any openings. “In fact, I can move a few things around on my schedule so that I can start on it next Monday.” Thurston looked relieved. He sat back in his chair and waited for Mark to finish.

Now it was Mark's time to do his stuff. “First, I'd like to take a minute or two to go over my fees. My rate is one hundred twenty-five dollars an hour plus expenses. The minimum for the job is thirty thousand dollars with ten thousand as a retainer. Any sub-contracting costs will be billed at my hourly fee. I invoice on the first of each month, due upon receipt. Within ten days of the completion of the project I will issue a final report. At your request, I will not retain any record of my specific findings or of my direct dealings with you personally. I will invoice for consulting fees only.” He stopped for a moment to see if the fees made any noticeable impression. Thurston took it all in stride, not even taking notes. Mark continued, “As a practice, I do not require a written contract. A verbal agreement and a handshake works for me. Well, that's about it. Do we have a deal?”

Thurston rose from his chair and walked around the desk to hand Mark another file and to shake hands. “We do, Mark! Everything you need to know is in this file. You will also find an expense retainer for fifteen thousand dollars. I'm confident you won't let me down.” Suddenly his tone changed, “I prefer that this be our only face-to-face meeting. If you need any additional information, you will contact my secretary, Mrs. Barth. Her private number is in the file. I want you to direct all invoices and your reports to her as well at the address shown in the file.”

“If that's all,” Thurston concluded, “thanks for coming in. I look forward to receiving the information soon.”

With that, they shook hands again. Then he put his hand on Mark's shoulder and escorted him to the elevator. He stood quietly as the doors closed. Thurston smiled as he returned to his office. He picked up his phone and signaled for his secretary.

“Mrs. Barth, get me Prentiss at Defense.” Moments later, he was connected. “Matthews just left, he is on board.”

He listened for a few minutes and hung up the phone.

* * *

Dennis Peterson, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI office in Cleveland, received a call from Marlin Prentiss at the Department of Defense informing him that the investigation of the NRBA had advanced to phase two. He was not used to these end-around operations, preferring to control such investigations solely with his own agents, but Justice was the guiding hand in this, so he had had no choice but to cooperate to the fullest by assigning his top technician, Susan Harrigan to the case. Mark Matthews was just an added factor in the equation. He returned the handset to its cradle and said quietly to himself, “I sure hope to God this works.”

* * *

Susan Harrigan was in her early thirties. She graduated from the University of Missouri, Columbia with an MBA in Computer Science. Her thesis was titled “Contemporary Data Base Theory and Design.” Her unique talent for coding created quite a stir in the scientific community and attracted many job offers, including one from the Defense Department. She joined the “Hide & Seek” team at the Pentagon as a Computer Science Specialist. By the time she left the team, she had grown technically and had made major contributions to the team. Her development of “LEECH”, alone, would have been worth multi-millions in the private sector. For the Pentagon, it meant getting access to computer records that they needed to shut down scores of illegal operations here and abroad. Her software and technical know-how made her an extremely valuable commodity in the cyber world.

Susan's parents passed away when she was a teenager, so when the administration changed in Washington she joined an associate in San Diego doing software consulting. That ended abruptly after two years, She moved back east to Hudson, Ohio to open a software consulting business, serving mid-sized companies in the Cleveland area. She also did programming for several Ohio State departments, edited two technical journals and even occasionally taught undergraduate classes at Ohio University in Zanesville. She had everything going for her. Her plate was full, but her life was about to take a perilous twist.

* * *

Mark left the building and set off for his office. The feeling of dread reappeared.
What on earth is the problem? I have a very lucrative assignment with a client that could be a major revenue producer in the future.
What could possibly go wrong?

CHAPTER 3

Mark returned to his office around two. He occupied two thousand square feet at the Copperthwaite Square office complex on Main Street in downtown Centerville, Ohio. His office was at the end of a long hall adjacent to the emergency exit. “MARK MATTHEWS” was in gold letters on the smoked glass. He had deliberately left “Private Investigator” off the glass to deter any unwanted visitors. Anyone visiting Mark there was already well screened. His office was divided into two sections separated by a six-paneled door. The first section acted as a reception area and an office for his part-time secretary, Brenda. It uses about a third of the total space and holds a secretarial desk and chair, as well as three waiting chairs. His area was tastefully decorated by Office Depot, including an oversized desk, a high-backed executive chair and two side chairs. Part of the back wall has a large floor to ceiling window. On the left wall hangs a copy of his P.I. License, proudly displayed in a thick gold frame. On the opposite wall hangs his Masters in Criminology diploma from Indiana State University, with matching frame. Mark kept his undergraduate diploma from the University of Dayton at his home. He needed something to decorate his basement office. His dad was very proud of it, since he taught at the school, so Mark really kept it at home for him. A wooden credenza behind his desk held a fax machine, a Canon printer, a telephone console with a message machine and a photo of his parents.

He sat at his desk for a minute to reflect on the stark difference between his office and that of Peter Thurston. Not wanting to get too depressed, he turned to the stack of letters that Brenda had left for his signature, finishing them in five minutes. His desk surface held a Gateway Laptop that Brenda shared for correspondence and billing when he's away from the office. Mark also had a large desk blotter that belonged to his father, and an “IN” and an “OUT” box. That's all, nothing fancy. He didn't spend a lot of time there, preferring to use his home office whenever he was doing serious computer work; mostly for the privacy and more comfortable surroundings. It was also quieter there, so he can think better (over the sounds of a favorite CD). He could have a brew or two if so inclined, which invariably happened.

Mark didn't usually spend much time prepping Brenda to set up a client file. Normally it was so routine that he only had to note a few specifics on a pad and leave it for her. She always knew what to do from there. Peter Thurston's insistence on anonymity and special reporting procedures was already causing Mark to modify the way he did business. He left a message on Brenda's answering machine to set up Thurston's records in the computer program when she came in to do the monthly invoicing. He carefully laid out the specifics for her to follow. He checked the answering machine and was glad to find only three messages. They were all from telemarketers. Erasing them was always a pleasure. He was anxious to return home and make a pass at the NRBA system on his home computer. If it was as tough to crack as Thurston had led him to believe, it promised to be an exceptional challenge.

His “home computer” was a small collection of hardware in his father's basement. Mark's dad left him the house when he passed on, and although the study was larger and on the main floor, Mark decided to leave the books and personal things intact for the time being. He used some of the money left to him to purchase a new laptop, a printer, an updated encryption machine, a “Road Runner” connection and a few other gadgets. What Mark liked most about living in Centerville was the easy access to his office complex, stores and the residential areas. Everything that he needed was within a ten to fifteen minute drive. Within between twenty minutes and two hours he could be in Dayton, Cincinnati or Columbus. His house was located on a cul-de-sac, set on a one acre heavily treed plot. It was built in the early 70‘s. The location was ideal, especially to operate a business like his. It took a little bit of cajoling, mostly on his father's part, to get the city to allow Mark to operate a quasi-business in the house. The zoning was strictly for residential use. The selling point was that Mark would not, as a normal practice, have clients visiting there. As it turned out, he never had to. Since his business office was also in Centerville, there was no town Income Tax conflict.

Mark left the car in the driveway, got the mail from the box and scanned it for anything that might be important. He entered the house through the side door, stopping only to disarm the alarm, drop the mail on the kitchen table, grab two bottles of Miller Genuine Draft from the fridge and head on down the stairs to his office. He had no specific plan in mind. He was in the fact-finding mode. This was the way he usually approached a new assignment.

The computer/internet is vital to the work of a private investigator. Locating people, job candidates, tenant screening and competitive intelligence and prepping for legal cases are just a few of the many reasons a PI needs a good computer network. It's not just about having a lot of expensive hardware or software. There's an old saying that goes, “It isn't the size that counts, it's how you use it.” This certainly applies to computer configurations.

He keyed in “National Rare Blood Association” and got thirty-seven matches. He spent the next hour wading through their web site, which included a plethora of self-serving references to the organization and the contribution they made to the world, including speeches by Dr. Elliott Gorton, one of the original founders of the Association. Mark made several attempts with encryption equipment to enter their corporate computer system. The result was either a “NO MATCH” or “PASSWORD REQUIRED.” Normally he would spend more time and try more approaches, but realized that he would just be going down the same road that Thurston's system's guys must have taken, with the same inevitable results. What he needed to do was to get past the firewalls and into the systems that are an integral part of their day-to-day operations.

The NRBA was not using a basic “package,” as far as he could discern. Access to their computer files, other than from in-house, was logically limited to participating Blood Banks making a specific inquiry or reporting blood donation transactions. These entries would be strictly controlled, requiring the use of appropriate passwords. It was obviously a “members only” operation, and he wasn't welcome.

Mark's expertise was in finding things, mostly people and money. He used public records in his work. The key being the knowledge, acquired over time, of what was out there and how to access the information. When the situation required it, he used some of the software acquired during his stint in Washington. His new Marshall-Mason D-777 encryption machine gave him access to places where he was not always supposed to be. He was not an expert in this area at all. Those who are devote their lives almost exclusively to the science, either in building unbreakable codes or in penetrating someone else's, sometimes both. Mark spent another half hour trying different schemes to get into their system. He finally realized that he was just spinning his wheels. What he needed now was a level of expertise much greater than his, and he knew just where to turn to get it. He knew only one person who could navigate this slippery slope. A person who had created software that can penetrate the most elaborate firewalls ever designed. He did not have a “bat phone” to use at times like this, but he did have the closest thing to it; a cell phone that conveniently had Susan Harrigan's number stored as number one in its memory.

*

Susan was one of Mark's teammates at the Pentagon. She specialized in Computer Science and excelled in creating software that acted as an “open sesame” to otherwise inaccessible files. Sue and Mark had talked on the phone once or twice a year since she moved back east from San Diego. He pressed the button. It rang three times.

“Mark?”

“Irish!” It was his pet name for Susan.

“When was the last time I heard from you, about six months ago?”

“Has it been that long?”

“It certainly has. So what have you been up to, big guy?”

“The usual. I'm busy building up a pretty comfortable pre-employment screening business. Most companies are being extremely cautious about hiring nowadays, and from some of the things I've uncovered, they‘ve got good reasons to be. How are things up there in Hudson, or do you simply refer to it as “God's country?”

“Kind of slow right now. I just finished setting up a program for the Ohio State Police that speeds up checks for prior drug arrests. It scans the files of all 50 states in about fifty minutes. So far, drug arrests are up over 22%.” She stopped for a second. “Am I right in guessing that you called because you need my help with something?”

“Right you are, and it will probably be the greatest technological challenge you have ever faced in your life.”

“Boy, you sure do know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“I‘m serious. You will really love this one. I can't talk about it over the phone, Sue. What are the chances of meeting you somewhere between here and there? Do you remember when we attended that seminar in Mansfield, the one we attended at the Conference Center there?”

“That rings a bell. I'm sure I can find it.”

“Well there's a Denny's across from where the classes were held. I think we had lunch there one of the days. They have a dining area in the back of the restaurant where groups sometimes hold meetings. We can have complete privacy there. We could grab a bite to eat and I'll show you the problem. I think you'll be completely fascinated by it. What do you say?”

“I've got to admit you've got me curious. Am I right in thinking that you're looking at this weekend? That's the soonest I can make it.”

“That would be great. Say about eleven on Saturday morning. I'll meet you inside the restaurant.”

“You got a date,” she replied.

“You won't have any problem finding it. It's right there on North Lexington. I'll see you then.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing you again.”

Mark looked at the phone for a few seconds before hitting the “end” button, sorry that the call was over. It was great to hear her voice again.

Susan was only about a three to four hour drive away. She had been back in the area for almost four years now. He wondered how he let that much time slide by, especially with the history they once had as a couple back in their Washington days. Memories suddenly flooded into his consciousness. He gave way to them.