Coding Isis (27 page)

‘And what do the autopsies show?’

‘It varies and we haven’t figured out what causes the differences, but every victim was determined by the coroner to have suffered either an aneurysm or a hemorrhagic stroke. By all accounts Joshua, when this is fully operational we will have a fully-automated killing machine that can take out any target, anywhere on the planet and make it look like the victim died of natural causes.’

‘You’ve done well Maynard. The whole team has. Concerns?’

‘Well, there is a worry that an increase in brain hemorrhages could cause unwanted investigations. Because of the precise nature in which we’re able to target our victims, we’ve been coming up with scenarios that help disguise the cause of death.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as vehicle accidents where the driver is incapacitated at a critical point in time. By varying the strength of the signal we’ve found we can cause black outs. A black out on a country road could cause a fatal accident that would, by all accounts, appear as though the driver had simply fallen asleep at the wheel.’

‘Marvelous,’ said Joshua. ‘It makes me pleased I’m on the side of the good guys.’

‘Is there anything else?’ asked Maynard.

‘Just make sure that Chris has access to the facial recognition routines and nothing else. I’m not sure if he can be fully trusted.’

‘Don’t worry boss. By the time I’ve finished locking him down, he won’t even be able to post to Facebook.’

Ben didn’t get back to his apartment until gone 2:00 AM. Margot had suggested he stay the night but he wanted to be able to put fresh clothes on before work; it was just easier to go home for the time being. He really liked Margot and they were having a lot of fun together, maybe it would get more serious, but he was in no hurry.

He walked into his apartment that was still warm from the heat of the day and flicked the light on. He ran a cold glass of water from the faucet and wondered whether he should simply go in to work or try and grab a few hours of sleep.

As he walked through from the kitchen to the bedroom, he noticed he had new messages on his answer machine. He set the messages playing and listened to twenty seconds of silence before the first message stopped. Whoever had called clearly didn’t have anything urgent, or they just didn’t like leaving messages. He pressed the delete key and the second message played.

‘This is Special Agent Eric Salter from the FBI, I’m calling about the email you sent. Please call me as soon as you get this, I don’t care what time that is, just call.’

Damn
, thought Ben,
what had gotten his panties in a wad?
He checked his watch.
Did he really mean call at any time?
He phoned the number and it was answered on the second ring.

‘Special Agent Salter speaking.’

‘Yes, hi, this is Detective Ben Naylor from Metro PD. Listen, I’m sorry about the time, I just got your message and it sounded pretty urgent.’

‘It is. We need to see you right away. I’m sending a car. Don’t open the door to anyone without seeing an FBI badge.’

‘What the hell is this about?’

‘I’ll explain later.’

The phone went dead and Ben took a few seconds before hanging up. This had to be about the shootings, but why the urgency? Some of these cases had been cold for a long time.

There was something about the urgency of the message, the tone of voice, and the warning that made Ben think he was in danger. He thought about Margot and wondered whether he should call her and warn her. But warn her about what? He didn’t know what the hell was going on himself, and he was pretty sure she’d be trying to get some sleep. He decided to find out what he was dealing with first.

Ben grabbed a quick shower and changed into his work clothes, it looked like this was shaping up to be a long day. He looked in the fridge for something to eat and found a slice of cold pizza. He only managed two bites before he heard a knock at the door. A voice called out.

‘Detective Naylor, your car’s here.’

Ben didn’t reply. Instead he walked quietly to the door and looked through the spy hole. He saw one agent holding his credentials up and another with his back to the door watching the hallway. The badge looked real enough and the photo on the ID seemed to match the guy holding it up.

Ben unlatched the door and opened it; he still had his pizza slice in his hand.

‘What’s this about?’ he asked.

The agent with the badge said, ‘Detective Naylor, my instructions are to collect you from this address and deliver you to Salter’s office at the Hoover Building. No detours and no delays. Will you come with me now please sir?’

Damn, that was the first time he’d been called sir by an FBI agent. He held the pizza slice in his mouth as he pulled the door closed and locked it. He followed the agent to the waiting SUV. The other agent brought up the rear.

The drive to Pennsylvania Avenue was easy at this time of night, he saw only one other car, an unmarked police sedan Ben recognized from the precinct.

‘I don’t suppose we can stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee?’ asked Ben.

‘No detours,’ came the reply.

They sped up Pennsylvania Avenue and turned into an entrance to an underground garage. Ben figured they must have called ahead as the doors were open and the guard seemed to be expecting them. The Chevy Suburban pulled up in a clear spot and the agents opened the door and escorted Ben to the elevators. The ride up to the sixth floor was quiet. Ben tried to make eye contact with the agents but neither of them spoke. They walked the corridor and Ben was surprised to see lights on in most of the offices.

‘I guess I’m not the only guy in this city that can’t sleep at night,’ he said.

No answer. They slowed and opened a door. Ben stepped inside. There was a smell of coffee in the room and a man stood in front of a desk and held out his hand in greeting.

‘Detective Naylor, thank you for coming so promptly. I’m Eric Salter, from the anti-terrorist and monetary crimes division. Tell me, what do you know about terrorists?’

Chris woke and his first conscious thought was that his head hurt like hell. His next thought was whether he had managed to wake early enough to make it into work on time. He could hear Michelle in the shower, which was probably what had woken him. She was singing.

Chris sat up slowly trying to stop the world from swishing. He squinted at the alarm clock—it was 6:40—time to get ready.

The cat jumped on the bed and meowed noisily. He figured it wanted feeding.

He shuffled his way to the kitchen, the cat trying to trip him the entire way. A large drink of water and a couple of paracetamol would help. The cat could wait for Michelle; he didn’t think he could face the smell of cat food at the moment.

The glass of water made him feel better almost immediately and he rinsed and filled the coffee pot, then set it going. He’d need at least two cups of strong coffee before he could face the day.

He opened the fridge door in the hopes he would find something greasy, but all he found was fresh fruit and yoghurt.
Damn
.

Michelle came in wearing her bath robe with a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

‘What time did you get to bed last night?’ she asked with a teasing grin.

‘Not sure, but I feel like crap. Have we got anything unhealthy I could eat?’

Michelle somehow managed to look sympathetic with overtones of I-told-you-so. ‘I think the soda contains artificial sweeteners that will probably kill you over time,’ she said. ‘Just how unhealthy do you want?’

‘Never mind,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll grab something on the way in.’

He put two cups on the kitchen side next to the coffee pot and poured one for himself and one for Michelle.

‘I was wondering if you would do me a favor. Could you look after Wyn today? Maybe take him on a tour of the sites of D.C.?’

‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘It could be fun. I was going to pop and see dad today, he’s out of hospital now. I’ll leave a note for Wyn.’ She picked up the empty port bottle and examined it, ‘I’m guessing he’s not going to surface for a while yet.’

Chris took a sip of coffee and then went to get showered and shaved.

The shower felt good and the headache tablets were starting to kick in, thank God. He got dressed, grabbed his keys and wallet and then walked through to his study. He opened a couple of drawers and rifled through the contents looking for his USB key logger. He’d bought it to help with his user interaction studies over a year ago. It was less than two hundred dollars and he’d bought it mail order from a web site that sold all manner of spy gadgets. The device looked like a regular extension cable that added about twenty inches to the wire that ran from a keyboard to a computer. He pulled out numerous cables and phone chargers until he finally found it in the third drawer and put it in his inside jacket pocket. The key logger did what the name suggested. From the moment it was connected, it started recording key presses to an internal memory chip before passing the signal on to the computer. To access the results he had only to open some kind of text editor and press his password key combination. The device would then write a list of options in the form of menu, similar to the old-style computer terminals. He figured that his first job today would be to get himself some elevated security privileges and, in order to do that, he would need to steal some passwords. As long as he didn’t get caught swapping the cable in and out, it would be a piece of cake.

Chris went back to the kitchen and finished his coffee.

‘Where do you think I should take Wyn?’ asked Michelle.

Chris was amazed at the question, Michelle had grown up in D.C. but to her it was just home, not a place of interest. Chris had spent his first year here dragging Michelle to the National Mall, the Smithsonian, the Lincoln memorial, and of course, the White House. D.C. was a goldmine of tourist attractions, how could she possibly not know where to take a visitor?

‘I’m sure you’ll find something good, just don’t let Wyn pick where to go or you’ll end up in a strip bar.’

Chris gave Michelle a kiss and headed to the door, then turned. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said, ‘the place I’m working has lousy cell phone coverage so you might not be able to get through. Give my love to your folks.’

Chris wanted to take the Metro but the nearest stop to his destination was over five miles walk. He took the car instead, which had the extra advantage of heading him past a McDonalds drive-thru which would provide the sausage and egg McMuffin he desperately needed. The traffic was good heading across the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge and he turned up at around 7:30. Maybe there’d be no one here. He walked in to the reception area and was greeted by Maynard who appeared to have been expecting him. Chris suddenly felt uneasy. Had they been watching him? Were they watching Michelle?

‘Good morning Chris,’ said Maynard. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so but you look a little rough. Are you feeling OK?’

‘I’ve felt better, but I’ll live.’
At least I hope I will
, he added to himself.

‘I was waiting for you to show up so I could help you get oriented. If you’ll follow me.’

Maynard headed to a different door to the one they’d used yesterday. He swiped a card that let him step through into a corridor.

‘You’ll be given an access card that will get you through to your workspace. You can work the hours that suit you, we’re more focused on results here than watching the clock. From what I understand, you’re a bit of a workaholic.’

‘I can be,’ said Chris, ‘given the right motivation.’

Maynard handed a card to Chris and gestured to the door at the end of the corridor.

‘We may as well test everything’s working.’

Chris walked up to the door and swiped his card, but the light on the top of the card reader flashed red and he heard a buzzer sound.

‘Don’t worry Chris, we have some strict security procedures here. We have an automated full-body scan built in to the staff entrance. You understand, given the nature of our business, that employees are not allowed access inside if they’re carrying memory sticks, cell phones, or, heaven forbid, a weapon of any kind. You’ll see a drop box on your right, you can place your belongings in there and collect them when you leave the building. They’re stored in an automated retrieval system that is keyed off your ID card. It’s pretty clever really. I wish I had something like that at home, I’d never need to look for things again.’