DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) (4 page)

Beloski stepped into the briefing room shortly after 11:45 AM Eastern. At the podium his boss, Robert Odehl, was well in the thick of his briefing. On the large screen, Beloski could see chart number 54 on display. Beloski had personally drafted it and many more charts in this briefing. He could have easily presented the information as well or better than Odehl.

This was, however, a senior level briefing to members of Congress, part of what Odehl liked to classify as “keeping the project sold,” a task he rarely entrusted to anyone but himself. That was the case now, with Odehl evangelizing three congressmen and one senator on the virtues of the project.

Odehl’s remarks prompted a discussion about the value of information in the 21st century.

“We used to fight over natural resources, tangible stuff like oil and gold,” one congressman was saying. “But now the struggle is about the control of information.”

“Maybe, but information about what?” another congressman asked. “Information about those very hard resources. Without them, information is quite beside the point.”

“Both of the above,” Robert Odehl interjected with a smile. “Tangible resources, as you call them, are still important. But we also manage these resources with information technologies. These resources flow more freely and are interchanged more efficiently than ever just because we control them and share them through information networks that enable transactions at the speed of light. Cut off that information, and it might as well be as if the resources didn’t exist at all.”

“Maybe we should have a backup,” the more senior senator put in. “A mode where we can operate, however less efficiently, with less of the automation and interconnectivity that makes us vulnerable.”

“While our enemies run circles around us?” the youngest congressman objected. “Seems to me the real solution is to develop the very failsafe technologies this agency has been deploying.”

“Another arms race, then,” the senator replied. “Nukes, then space, now Cyber.”

Beloski looked down at his watch. 11:52. He then glanced at the legal pad where he had written in large capital letters “TIME FOR THE LUNCH BREAK?” as a suggestion for his boss. He considered briefly whether he should flash it now. Looking up he briefly caught Odehl's attention. Odehl continued with his remarks, which at the moment were seeking to mediate the disagreement.

Congressmen liked to pontificate about anything, and in these types of briefings Odehl allowed the exchange as a way to keep everyone engaged and feeling like they had ownership and perhaps even some mastery over the topic at hand. Odehl was also very adept at playing every argument or discussion into yet another point bolstering the tale he wanted to spin.

Beloski and Odehl exchanged another look before Odehl said, “Great discussion which we can perhaps continue after lunch. See you all back here at 1:30?”

All agreed on the time to resume the brief, but Beloski knew there would be no 1:30 briefing. Not with Odehl, anyway.

“What's up?” Odehl asked as he approached Beloski.

“We best go chat in the vault.”

“You can’t give me a general, unclassified elevator pitch summary?” Odehl asked.

“It must be in the vault.”

“I need to be back here by 1:30,” Odehl said with a scowl. Between the lines Beloski knew Odehl was also saying that few things were more important than securing the last bit of congressional support he needed to garner with his briefing.

“Let's chat,” Beloski said. “Then you can decide how best to postpone the rest of the brief.”

Inside the vault they walked by the fishbowl conference room, which had earned its moniker thanks to its three floor to ceiling glass walls. Several computer terminals equipped with large flat monitors displayed various bits of the ongoing investigation. On one of the screens, Martin Spencer's most recent passport photo stared back at them.

“We're in the executive conference room,” Beloski noted.

Odehl quickened his step and pushed through the conference room door with more force than required. Beloski found the room in full crisis investigation mode. He noted the addition of two more computers on the conference room table. The walls had also become more crowded with printouts and photographs. Beloski closed the door behind him and stepped away from Odehl's shadow.

“What do we have?” Odehl asked.

“What we have here is a tsunami spill in the making,” said Henry Brixten, who for obvious reasons went by the nickname of “Bricks.” Judging by his demeanor and opening salvo, Beloski could tell he intended to live up to his nickname by throwing a few bricks, preferably the kind that come laced with fire.

“It seems your protégé has gone for a stroll,” Brixten added, eyeing Odehl with unveiled contempt.

Brixten was yet another addition to the war room since Beloski left to bring Odehl. In his role as head of security, Brixten would eventually get involved, Beloski knew. He would have just preferred to brief the boss without Brixten bricking the discussion.

“I warned you about this guy, what, ten years ago?” Brixten pushed on. “He was unstable, and everyone that he brought on the project was unstable, like that Julian character, and before him, his lady love, Sasha. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

Odehl took a seat at the head of the table and said nothing. Beloski stepped up and raised his hand in what he hoped was a conciliatory gesture. “Facts before opinions, team, and opinions based on fact,” he said in as even and soft a voice as he could manage, repeating the ITAA’s trouble-shooting motto. “We brought in the boss to walk him through what we know and how we’re proceeding, and to get a vector check on what to do next.”

“Have we called Collections yet?” Odehl asked. At the moment he seemed fixated on twisting his wedding ring into the most optimal position.

“Not until we complete our assessment,” Beloski added.

“We better assess quick,” Brixten interjected.

“He’s right,” Beloski said, electing at least for this one exchange to mediate on behalf of the other side. “Protocol says no more than 6 hours before we call Collections. It’s been roughly 3 before we learned about it, and—”

“And over 24 hours since Martin Spencer took off to God knows where,” Brixten interrupted. “By that count we’re way over the protocol.”

“By that count, we never had a chance to fulfill protocol,” Beloski replied. “By the time we knew, more than 6 hours had already passed.”

“Which means we have to notify immediately,” Brixten bit back. “As in now, as in notify right this instant, assess later.”

Odehl slammed the table with both hands. Everyone around the room sat or stood a little straighter. Odehl's face was red, but his words came out evenly and deliberately. “We will not engage in blame games, and we will not wrap ourselves around the axle with protocol interpretations that waste valuable time. Instead, we will focus on the facts, and we will make a reasoned assessment which we will compile into our report for Collections.” He looked around the table before adding, “Anyone not tuned to the right frequency can walk out of the room, as in now, right this instant.” Odehl let his glare rest on Brixten. “Are we all clear?”

Beloski allowed the tense silence to linger for a few seconds before saying, “Marti, would you mind being our scribe? We’ll write our report on the fly.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” Marti replied with the look of someone who was enjoying the dressing down of her immediate supervisor.

“Good,” Beloski said. “Steve,” he added, pointing at a senior analyst at the end of the table, “Walk us through the timeline.”

“OK, let’s see,” Steve replied, turning his attention to his computer screen. “Sometime between 9 and 10 AM Pacific, Martin Spencer was informed by his employer, InfoStream, that his employment had come to an end. On or about that time, Spencer was out-briefed and signed paperwork to that effect, a copy of which we have here.” Steve pointed at the wall. “At the end of the business day, 5 PM Pacific, InfoStream security filed a notification of clearance termination.”

“Which we didn’t receive until 9 AM this morning,” Beloski put in. “It came straight to me.”

“Let the report show,” Brixten offered, pointing at Marti, “that notification came earlier but was not noticed until 9 AM this morning.”

Beloski thought about pointing out that he didn’t have a classified computer system at home, and that these types of notifications didn’t exactly come in via text to your cell phone. But that would have been a waste of valuable breath.

“Aren’t they supposed to pre-notify us, at least 24 hours in advance of this type of termination?” Odehl asked.

“They are,” Marti said, looking up from her keyboard where her furious typing had stopped. “That’s the protocol, anyway,” she added, then returned to her task.

Beloski nodded. “Spencer’s supervisor isn’t cleared, so he got a little confused about the protocol.”

“You called him?” Odehl asked.

“Yes,” Beloski replied. “Couldn’t have much of a discussion over an open line.”

“We’ll see about that,” Odehl said. “He and I will have a free flowing discussion when I call him later today.” He waved at the analyst. “What else?”

Steve started reading from his screen again. “Spencer drove straight home. We know that based on the times his wife gave us, confirmed with security footage from their home, and the nominal driving time between InfoStream and his home.”

“Good,” Odehl said.

Steve pressed on. “From what we can tell, he talked to his wife, let her know he was leaving her everything, packed a few things — very few things, actually — and left in his Toyota FJ shortly before noon Pacific.” Steve looked up. “It’s an old, classic Landcruiser FJ-40, model year 1983.”

Odehl nodded. “No electronics.”

“No electronics,” Beloski said.

Brixten frowned. “No electronics? What does that—?”

“And we don’t know where he went or where he is.” Odehl cut in. He was fidgeting with his ring again. “No stops at a bank. No financial transactions at ATMs or stores. No cell phone calls.”

“Nothing,” Steve confirmed. “Which makes for a short timeline.”

Odehl checked his watch. “Driving, at an average of 50 miles per hour, for roughly 21 hours, totaling 1,050 miles.”

“He could be anywhere,” Brixten noted.

“He’s not anywhere,” Odehl replied. “He’s somewhere, a specific place, the only one that makes sense to him.”

“Well, sure,” Brixten snorted back. “At least we know he didn’t go west into the middle of the ocean.”

Odehl and Beloski exchanged a look. “Julian,” Beloski said.

Odehl let out a sigh. “Someone tell me we already have the latest known residential address for one Julian Rogers.”

“We do,” another eager young analyst replied. “Marina del Rey. He has a condo and a sailboat at the marina.”

Odehl spoke directly to Beloski. “Send them in. Give them whatever Marti’s cobbled up together, plus the timeline, and send them in. Tell them to go for the boat first.”

Beloski’s guess that the Collections team would find nothing proved true. An hour later a report came back of an empty slip at Marina del Rey and an equally abandoned condominium, including a wide open and empty safe in Julian’s bedroom.

Two hours later, another report came in. Martin Spencer’s hunter green Toyota Landcruiser FJ-40, model year 1983, had been located in a one hour parking at Los Angeles International Airport. An hour after that, initial confirmation arrived that if Martin Spencer had departed Los Angeles by air, his passport had not been scanned for any international flights, and his name did not appear on any flight manifests. A large team started scouring Gigabytes of airport surveillance video.