Palm Sunday (13 page)

“Now what?” asked Justin.

“Now we get some maps up of what makes up trunk three, break it down into manageable segments, and place taps on each of those segments.” Sharon had it all worked out.

Justin knew there was one roadblock. “How are you going to get permission for the taps?”

“Someone is messing with the lines,” said Sharon. “And now we have a somewhat better idea of where it’s happening. Roberts will have to get us permission to tap into the fiber. After all, we’re not going to listen to any specific messages, just watch for the event.”

Justin knew that without an actual crime, or at least the threat of a crime, there was no way Sharon was getting tap authority. But he wasn’t going to rain on his boss’s parade. “When are you going to talk to Roberts?”

“Right now,” said Sharon. “In the meantime, let’s see if we can localize the event a bit more.”

“How am I going to do that without the taps?” asked Justin.

This, thought Sharon, was the crux of the matter. They were using a jury rig to perform a very complex function, a job that could be done with far greater effectiveness if they were simply allowed to use the tools that were readily available. It was the ugly frontier where technical possibility converged with public policy, and it was frustrating.

“Just keep watching. Look for patterns in timing, duration, signal strength–anything that stands out.”

“You got it, boss.” Justin went back to signal watching, while Sharon went to see Dave Roberts, whose secretary waved him into his office.

Roberts greeted him cordially. “Agent Sharon, what can I do for you?” Roberts was trim, just a shade less than six feet, and wore a goatee. His coat hung on a nearby rack, and his stylish red suspenders stood out against his light blue shirt.

“We have a problem that we need your help with,” said Sharon.

“As I said, what can I do for you?” He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“We’ve been monitoring the fiber outside of Philly, and some peculiar readings have popped up. We’ve isolated it to one main trunk line, but to nail it down further we’ll need to install some fiber taps.”

“Isn’t that what those bandwidth analyzers are for?”

“They tell us there’s a problem somewhere in the miles of fiber running in and out of Philadelphia, but not exactly where,” explained Sharon.

“And you think a tap will help narrow it down?”

“Actually, more like ten.”

“Ten taps?” Roberts leaned forward, concern clouding his face. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the policy regarding Internet taps. If you can’t show me evidence of criminal activity, I don’t see that they would be authorized.”

“These aren’t phone taps. We only want to determine where the signals are originating.”

“What are they, exactly? The signals.”

“Two or three-second bursts of some kind. During that time, it seems that the fiber is being disturbed, maybe monitored. We’re not quite sure yet.”

“Have there been complaints?” asked Roberts. “Maybe the telecomm companies should be checking this out.”

“No, none of the lines are going down. At this point all we know is that the flow of data across the fiber is being interfered with.”

“But not disrupted?”

Sharon was beginning to get irritated. “No, as I said…”

“Do you even know for sure that it’s artificial?” asked Roberts. “I mean, are there other possible explanations?”

“We don’t know; that’s why we have to investigate.” Sharon could see where this was headed.

“I’ll tell you, Jim, I don’t see Legal clearing ten taps. I know these aren’t voice lines, and you’re not looking to listen to anyone’s conversation, but policy concerning the information grid is still evolving. We have some latitude, but there’s still pressure to justify these things.” Roberts waited for Sharon to say something. He did not. “I’ll go to bat for you, but only for two taps.”

Sharon was appalled. “Two? That’s almost pointless. It would take us a month to narrow down this thing with just two.”

Roberts shrugged. “I’m sorry, but unless you can show me evidence of criminal activity, even the two are iffy.”

“We need the taps to locate the activity.” Sharon was clenching his teeth. The Bureau was becoming just that–a bureau. Full of bureaucrats, more concerned with covering their butts than with solving crimes.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Legal,” said Roberts.

“Great. Let me know when their policy has ‘evolved’.”  Sharon stormed out of the office, determined to find another way to trace the mysterious signals. 

It took her the better part of a day, but when all was said and done, Kayoko knew the numbers didn’t add up to what Tom Snelling had reported. Once she knew what to look for the pattern had been obvious, but Tom was a clever man; he had concealed his lie in a factual sea of truth.

The irony was that even if he hadn’t fudged the data concerning the profile, the results might have supported his theory. That was the difference between them; he would rather be right–now–and let the science catch up later. She demanded that the integrity of the process be strictly honored.

“Petty man.” She said the words out loud as she looked at her spreadsheet one last time and shook her head. Of course, she would rerun the figures, just to be certain, but the implication of what she had learned wasn’t simply startling. It frightened her. The entire premise of societal profiling depended on the numbers being right, on her department getting them right. And they had gotten them right, but Snelling had altered the equation, just slightly, enough to skew the data from a negative result to a positive one. The first part of her job, the easy part, was complete. Now came the hard part–what to do with the information.

Kayoko closed the spreadsheet and prepared to move on to other work. After all, there was plenty to be done in anticipation of phase two, the so-called alteration. She still passionately disagreed with the idea of manipulating societal patterns, but felt that her position might yet allow her to impact its direction. She had just started to work on creating the matrix for the next profile when Snelling walked into her office.

“Kayoko, how’s it going?”

She looked at him suspiciously. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just thought we should have a little chat.”

“I don’t have time for this,” she said.

He walked up to her desk and sat on the edge of it, leaning towards her. “Someone was messing with my computer.” He smiled at her.

“You should lock it up when you leave. That’s what I do.” She nervously glanced away.

“How’d you know it happened when I was away? Maybe someone hacked into it?”

“I thought you meant it was at night. That’s when I lock mine up. So what do you want from me? Go tell security about your computer problem.”

“Don’t you want to know what they were after?”

“Who?”

“Whoever broke into my computer,” said Snelling.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me.” She had to get rid of him.

“Just some SP files, specifically some outcome simulations I was working on. Fortunately they missed the actual results files.”

She stared at him, knowing he was lying. “That’s good, Tom. But you should still probably notify security.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. Whoever was in my computer has a bunch of data that looks real, but it’s really bogus, so they can spin their wheels interpreting it. It’s kind of funny, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, a real hoot. Was there something else you wanted?”

“Just to see how you’re making out with the preparations for the alteration. How’s the new matrix looking?”

“It’s a bear. The input is going to be far more complex than we’re used to. I don’t know for sure that we can handle that much data without significantly expanding the upper array bound.”

“It can be arranged,” said Snelling. “Send me the particulars and I’ll see to it.”

His voice reminded her of a gooey marshmallow. She hated marshmallows. “It’ll take a couple days to finish the calculations.”

“Fine. Just don’t go spinning your wheels.”

“Don’t worry.”

He stood up from the desk, gave her a final look of appraisal, and left. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to her display, suddenly not so sure of her own conclusions. Could it be that she had taken the wrong file?

Norbert was deeply immersed in a series of optical loss calculations when Mason entered the computer center. He didn’t hear the first time Mason called his name.

“Hey,” said Mason. “Are you getting uppity on me?”

Norbert looked up from his workstation. “Sorry. I guess I was preoccupied.”

“What are you working on?” Mason had moved closer, trying to see what was on Norbert’s computer screen.

Norbert reveled in the opportunity to share his world. “I’m estimating how much signal loss to expect when Pampas’s people install the phase two equipment. We want to be within acceptable limits.”

“Acceptable to whom?” asked Mason.

Norbert shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the characteristics of the cable itself–the fiber optic lines that carry the data. Even under normal operating conditions there can be some loss of signal.” Mason was silent, which Norbert interpreted as a lack of comprehension. “The cable carries light through its core, which…”

“Come on now, Norbert, give me some credit. I know what a fiber optic cable is. But why would there be signal loss?”

“Lots of reasons. Impurities in the fiber, flaws in the cladding...”

“What’s that?” asked Mason.

“Cladding? It’s a mirrored liner that surrounds the core. It reflects light back into the core and prevents it from escaping.”

“What do your calculations have to do with that?”

“I want to be sure that we don’t degrade the signal when we place our equipment.”

“What if we do?” asked Mason.

Norbert leaned back, his chair creaking. “Hard to say. An interruption at the very least, and at the worst we broadcast the location of one of our insertion points.”

“I don’t have to tell you that secrecy is paramount,” said Mason.

“I know,” said Norbert. “And we still have an agency palmtop out there in the hands of a hostile party.”

Mason waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “That situation will be addressed. But there is another concern. Closer to home.”

“Oh?”

“Tom Snelling reported some irregularities with his computer. I’d like you to run a sweep for any security violations.”

Norbert shook his head. “There haven’t been any violations. Especially not from the outside, and certainly not that Snelling would have detected.”

“Just run the sweep,” said Mason. “I believe you, and in all probability it was something that Snelling did himself and forgot about. Just humor me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. As soon as I’m done with these calculations.”

Mason walked away, but turned back as he opened the door. “Keep up the good work, son.”

Norbert, his mind already back on his numbers, waved over his shoulder as Mason left. 

After several painstaking hours trying to decipher the last file, Stanley had precious little to show. But there were two tantalizing exceptions. He had been able to uncover another reference to ‘pascua’, and more important, had isolated what seemed to be a partial IP address. He looked excitedly at Slocum, who sat dozing in an overstuffed chair.

“Slocum.”

He awoke instantly. “What is it?”

“What does pascua mean to you?”

He slumped back into the chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Pascua? That was from the first file you downloaded, wasn’t it?”

“You have a good memory,” said Stanley. “But does it have some significance for the agency? It appeared again in this file.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing to me, but of course the agency has its fingers in a lot of pies, and they don’t consult me about everything. Not by a long shot. Is that all you found?”

“I also got a partial Internet address.”

Slocum looked confused. “I thought you said earlier that what impressed you about the file was the lack of an IP address.”

Stanley nodded. “That’s true. But what I found isn’t part of the routing instructions. It’s in the body of the message itself.”

“Maybe it was just information being passed along about someone’s location.”

“Could be,” said Stanley. “Unfortunately, without the full address I don’t know who that might be.”

“Are we stuck, then?” asked Slocum.

Stanley had an idea of how he might coax more information from the file, but he was reluctant to try it. “There might be another approach.”

“Which is?”

Stanley had taken his glasses off, and cleaned them as he spoke. “I’d have to use my company’s resources, and I’m not sure if that’s appropriate.”

Slocum leaned forward. “What are you thinking, man? If you have a way to see what’s in that file, you’d better use it. The folks who own that palm unit make their own rules, and they have their own definition of what’s ‘appropriate’.”

Stanley was torn between his loyalty to his company and his desperation to solve the mystery of the palmtop. “Maybe you’re right.” He put his glasses on. “I can’t go into details, but a project that I’m involved in at work may help with these downloads.”

“How so?” asked Slocum.

“We have some equipment that might be able to analyze the file more thoroughly.” Stanley knew that if anyone at ScanDat knew what he was considering, they would go ballistic.

“Will it have to wait until tomorrow?”

Stanley nodded. “I can upload the file from here, but the system at work won’t process it until morning.” He turned back to his monitor. “The transfer should only take a few minutes.”

With the decision made, Stanley wasted no time. He dialed into his company’s server, entered his account information and password, and then transferred the file. He renamed it so that ScanDat’s system would recognize it as test input. It went off without a hitch.

“Now what?” asked Slocum.

“Tomorrow morning the file will automatically be processed. It won’t be recognized, so it will be rejected, but as part of that process it will be analyzed and a log file generated.”