Palm Sunday (15 page)

Norbert shook his head and turned back to his work. He knew that the first thing Snelling would do was trash his report. That was his style. Mason would realize at once what had happened, and would let him go on and on, perhaps even encouraging him with an occasional nod. Only when Snelling had finished castigating the report, denying his own culpability for the security lapse, would Mason softly tell him that he had received no report. How Snelling would extricate himself from that corner, Norbert did not know. He leaned back and laughed out loud at the thought of it. Shaking his head, he resumed work on the myriad of technical details yet to be ironed out for phase two. There was much to be done.

Training for the implementers would start in a couple days, modifications to hardware had to be completed, and the optical input-output devices had to be installed and tested. And of course there was the other side of the coin–receiving data back to verify the new profile. Things were moving quickly, more so then ever before. Norbert didn’t get that. The agency had never been driven by artificial timelines. Things followed a natural sequence, to be sure, but in the present situation Mason seemed to have chosen a totally arbitrary timetable. Norbert shook his head, but never stopped keying instructions into his computer. He sent an encoded test signal to a dummy transceiver located in the agency’s research lab. It received his instruction, performed the desired action, and sent back confirmation. Perfect. Now if it would work in the real world. 

Once his uploaded file had mucked up the firewall, Stanley’s plan to spend time analyzing it came unraveled. It turned into one of those days when everyone needs something from you, and any spare time quickly evaporates. The project he was working on was taking on a life of its own, consuming the lives of those around it.

The project, called by ScanDat personnel simply that–‘The Project’–was a combination of hardware and software used to identify and manage harmful Internet traffic before it could enter a computer network. The system interfaced directly with incoming fiber lines, quickly interpreted data flowing through those lines, and either rejected or passed the data based on a threat analysis. For the analysis to be effective, the interface had to ‘learn’ as much as possible about the system it was connected to. It would be the first truly intelligent, in-line, online, data filtration system. By matching incoming data against what it knew about its host system, the interface determined whether the arriving data was potentially harmful. So far it had worked on a small scale, and in limited tests. But the full-blown system, required for the upcoming demonstration, still had a long way to go.

Stanley and Katherine had just finished testing one of the primary modules, when Klugman approached them with Boyd at his side. He seemed to have something on his mind.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” said Klugman. “Your job is to get the interface and its associated software up and running in time for the demonstration. That will consist of operations conducted in a threat environment designed by Boyd, in accordance with specifications provided by the consortium that is funding this venture.”

“Of course,” said Stanley. He was uncertain what Klugman was getting at.

“Without that funding, the project won’t make it to final development. There will be no deviations, no time spent chasing down rogue files, or any other wasted activity. This is the last meeting of this type I want to have. Are we all clear?”

Boyd was the first to respond. “Absolutely.”

Katherine was puzzled by the unanticipated lecture. “Mr. Klugman, is something wrong?”

“Boyd brought me up to speed on the firewall issue. I don’t know what you were thinking, Stanley.”

Stanley glanced at Boyd. He seemed to be enjoying the dressing down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Klugman.”

Klugman nodded, apparently satisfied. “Let’s just keep on track, shall we?” He and Boyd walked away, chatting quietly.

The rest of the afternoon passed without further incident. Near the end of the day, Katherine timidly entered Stanley’s cubicle and knocked softly on the plastic runner that held his walls together. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He continued working, moving his mouse around and occasionally clicking.

“That was brutal this morning.”

“Yeah.” He stopped working, but still stared at his screen. “You know what’s really brutal?”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Working for an outfit that doesn’t care about its people.”

“You have to admit, Klugman has a point about the funding. If it doesn’t continue, there won’t be a project. Period.”

“I know that,” said Stanley. “I just think it would be nice to be appreciated.”

“I appreciate you.” Katherine smiled at him.

“Thanks.” Stanley suddenly had a thought. He stood up and looked over the top of his cubicle wall. No one was around. “Katherine, would you do me a big favor?”

She sarcastically mimicked his cautious behavior, peering around corners and under the desk. “Okay, mystery man. What is it?”

“Come home with me tonight.” He looked at her expectantly.

The look on her face was a hilarious combination of shock and confusion. Her mouth opened once or twice, but all she could manage were two indistinct sounds.

“Oh my gosh,” he said. “You misunderstood. I don’t want you to–I mean, I wasn’t saying that…”

She decided to have some fun with him. “Stanley Whipple, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Katherine, please, this is important.”

“I’m sorry. What exactly is it you had in mind?” She sat on his desk and leaned towards him, batting her eyes.

“Katherine, now stop it.” He looked around again, and lowered his voice. “I want you to help me with something; a project that I’m working on.”

“You know how they feel about moonlighting.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, but it is a long story. I’m staying with a friend, me and my son, while we work some things out.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“That’s part of the story, but the first thing I need is for you to trust me, and to not mention this to anyone.”

She hesitated for only a moment. She had worked with Stanley for several years, and knew him to be a kind, trustworthy, and decent person. She also had a bit of a crush on him. Her voice softened and she became serious. “Okay, Stanley. I’ll do what I can.”

“Great. I need you to bring all your tools–testers, splicing tools–whatever you have, bring it all.”

“Some of it’s in the crib. I’ll have to sign it out.”

“No, this has to be low profile. We take stuff out every day without signing. No one ever checks.”

She thought about it. It was true. Access to the tool crib was not closely monitored. She would just walk in and get what she needed. It was mostly her equipment, anyway. “You said you’re staying with a friend. Where does he live?”

“You can follow me. It’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Okay, Mr. Whipple. I’ll get my stuff, and you can lead the way.”

Agent Sharon didn’t often leave his beloved computer lab on recruiting forays, but this was an unusual situation. He found Professor Harold Walthrop, retired, sitting near a boardwalk café on the southern Florida seashore, sipping a cool drink and watching the scantily clad young ladies strut their stuff. His attire screamed out ‘tourist’, and he knew it but didn’t care. That’s exactly how he planned to live out his retirement.

Sharon lifted up his sunglasses to make sure. “Professor Walthrop?”

The overweight figure leaned forward. His varicose veins revealed both age and poor conditioning, and the lack of a companion indicated a nonexistent social life. Sharon knew that the man’s financial situation was deteriorating, too. Lazing around on the seashore by day, he probably frequented the bars by night. Sharon wondered how long it had been going on.

“And who might you be?” asked Walthrop. He had to strain to turn far enough to his left to take in Sharon’s face.

“My name’s Jim Sharon. I work with Justin Yankovich, a former student of yours.”

“Ah, yes. How is young Justin? So much promise there.”

“He’s doing well,” said Sharon. “In fact, it was his idea that I come talk to you.”

“Talk to me? About what? Is Justin in some sort of trouble?” Concern clouded Walthrop’s face.

“No, nothing like that. He thought you might be able to help us with something. A special project we’re working on.” Sharon looked around at the surroundings. The beautiful view, the ocean waves crashing on the nearby shore, the people strolling by. It was idyllic.

Walthrop shook his head. “I’m retired, and I don’t do consulting work. Justin probably didn’t know that when he sent you. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

“I’m not a recruiter. I’m Justin’s supervisor at the FBI data center where he works. Do you mind if I sit down?” The former professor indicated for him to take a seat, so Sharon pulled out one of the molded plastic chairs and sat facing Walthrop. “You see, Professor, we’ve run into a bit of a snag, a technical roadblock, if you will, that you might be able to help us with.”

Walthrop shook his head. “Technology changes so rapidly these days, Mr. Sharon. I doubt I could be of any help to you.” The tone was that of a man who felt that he could no longer contribute, that perhaps his skills were not up to snuff.

“You couldn’t do any worse than we are,” said Sharon. “All we’re looking for at this point are ideas, theories, even.” He saved his trump card for last. “You could probably use the money, and it would be an opportunity to serve your country in a meaningful way.”

Walthrop leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps if his investments had performed better, he would have refused out of hand. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. At any rate, the numbers told him that life in the sunshine couldn’t last forever. “Let’s talk, Mr. Sharon.” 

Robert Slocum’s apartment was beginning to get crowded. Katherine was an awkward addition to the room full of men, but if anything it was they who were ill at ease, not her. She walked about the living room and kitchen areas, taking in every detail. To Slocum her actions seemed casual, nonchalant. Stanley knew better. She would be cataloging every detail with her stunningly complex mind. Not that the details of the apartment were important; it was simply the way her mind worked.

She finished her inspection and turned to Slocum. “You haven’t been here long, have you?”

“I’ve had the apartment for a while, but no, I just recently started living here. Why?”

“Small things,” she said. “No plants, no pictures. Not many kitchen knick-knacks, either. It’s pretty sparse, to tell the truth.”

“Come back in three or four months and it will look the same. I’m not what you’d call a collector.”

She studied his bland expression, the chiseled features, and decided not to press him further. This was not a man to trifle with. She looked at Stanley, who had been taking in the exchange from a position near the couch. “Shall we get to it?” she asked.

Stanley nodded. “Let me give you some background information.” He brought Katherine up to date on all that had transpired so far. A good listener, she was nonetheless baffled by some of the details.

“What is this agency,” she said, turning to Slocum. “And who are you?”

Slocum stared at her for a full five seconds before answering. “The answer to both questions is elusive. The agency, National Communications, is so secretive that even the people that work for it don’t know who they are.” Everyone laughed, even though Slocum wasn’t trying to be funny. “No, I’m serious. There are cases of individuals doing work for the agency who don’t know it. I’ve managed a few. It’s amazing what some people will do for money, no questions asked.”

“How long have you been with the agency?” asked Katherine.

“Over ten years.”

“And what exactly do they do?”

Slocum hesitated, and at first Katherine thought he was holding something back. But when he did answer, his response surprised her.

“I’m not sure. I know some of the activities they’re involved in, because I’m, well, involved. But the big picture, their mission, if you will–I really don’t know.”

Katherine was incredulous. “How could you work for a company for ten years and not know what they do?”

“They’re very compartmentalized,” said Slocum. “And secretive to the point of paranoia. They’re very high tech, but of course you already knew that.” The explanation raised more questions than it answered.

Stanley broke in. “Then why do they need someone like you? No offense, but your computer skills aren’t what got you hired.”

“I do have other skills, you know. But you are correct. They have requirements beyond the purely technical. They need operatives to go into the world and implement their decisions. That’s what they call us. Implementers.”

“Us?” said Katherine.

“I’m not sure exactly how many there are. Maybe a hundred.”

Stanley was surprised at this. “You mean there’s ninety-nine other guys like you trying to track us down?”

Slocum shrugged. “I’m only guessing at the number, but my designation is one-four-one. Allowing for retirements and so forth, I’m guessing around a hundred, and some of them are highly specialized, so it’s unlikely that they would all be looking for us.”

“What’s your specialty?” asked Katherine.

“I’m more of a generalist.”

“You didn’t answer the other part of my question.” As Katherine said this she pushed a strand of auburn hair away from her face. “Who are you, Mr. Slocum?”

A small smile formed on one side of his mouth, and for just a moment his eyes seemed to light up. Then it was gone. “I’m a nowhere man, Katherine. Leave it at that.”

This did not satisfy her, but she suppressed the urge to probe further, turning instead to Stanley. “Show me the palm unit.”

They walked to the desk where the handheld unit sat tethered to Stanley’s PC. He went through the motions of initiating a download, uncertain whether anything would happen.

“I’ve been able to download several files, but they’ve been heavily encrypted. I could only extract a few words. Our real goal is to reverse the link, so we can tap into the agency’s database.”