Three Weeks Last Spring (24 page)

"Christ!
And you're telling me that I wouldn't be aware that they had this power over my system?"

"That's right.
Most companies only become aware they have a problem when money go
es
missing from a bank account
, or
as in your case, documents are destroyed.
Most hacking is relatively innocent and is carried out by bored teenagers, but even that can prove annoying, not to mention costly.
Hackers tend to start off writing viruses, and progress on to more destructive software such as worms and Trojan horses.
When that ceases to give them a satisfactory high they turn their t
alents to criminal activities."

Walker held up his hands in defeat.
"You obviously know your subject.
Why and how do you think my system was attacked?
I'm only a marine biologist."

"Y
ou head the investigation, and therefore are of paramount interest to them.
A
s to how they gained access, that's the ten thousand dollar question.
John, what do you think?
Internal access or back door?"

"Back door, almost certainly
.
Didn't you say this syste
m was protected by a firewall?"

"Yes it was—it is
,
" Walker replied.

"It's not very effective," John replied.
"Take a look at this, Skye.
Does this string of code look as if it's part of this program?
What do you think?
Could
it
be the culprit?"

Skye crossed the room, leaned on John's shoulder, and studied the screen.
She gave all
her attention to the lines of
code.
"I don’t think
its
part of the program
.
Well spotted."

"Yeah, well if you hadn't been so busy talking you might have noticed it yourself."

The tension in the room was almost palpable.
Skye placed a hand on John's shoulde
r and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Does it really matter which of us found it?
At least we now know how they gained access.
And once we find our hacker we can prevent him returning."
She smiled at Walker.
"Can
you
ask your friend in the State Department to send out the press release
now
?
It should be more than enough to draw the snakes out of the grass."

Walker did as Skye requested and gave up asking questions.
He turned his attention instead to the piles of paperwork on his desk.
He sifted papers from one stack to another, pausing now and then to glance at the odd letter.
He noticed that Ridge had given up surreptitiously watching him and now sat at a secretary's desk monitoring two laptops and the secretary's computer for signs of anything untoward.

Skye took advantage of the temporary truce between Walker and John, and stood by the window, apparently lost in thought.
She leaned
her head against the cool glass and gazed down on the lights of the city far below.
Despite the memories it held for her, she never tired of Seattle's skyline.
Odd how life had a way of turning in circles
, she thought
.
Barely a year ago she'd run away from Seattle and the memory of Michael.
And this was all over, she'd be leaving again, only this time, she
realize
d
as she glanced at Walker, it would b
e from the man she
loved.

One of the laptops pinged, p
ulling Skye out of her reverie.

"We've got a hit," John shouted over his shoulder as he studied the screen.
"Let's just hope the guy hasn't spoofed his IP address."

C
ompletely baffled
,
Walker
tur
ned to Skye for an explanation.

"Spoofing, is when a hacker hides his Internet Protocol address.
If he hasn't spoofed it then he might intentionally bounce his communications through many intermediate computers scattered around the world to throw us off the scent.
If he's done that then we have to find all the bounce points before we can
locate him
."

Walker
pushed his chair away from his desk and crossed the room to stand beside her.
"And how long will that take?" he
asked.

Skye looked thoughtful.
"It depends.
It's not as straightforward as it sounds.
If he isn't bouncing his coms—his communications through too many other computers, not long. But, if he’s using computers in third world countries to hide his location, as many hackers do, then it might take a while."

Walker glanced over his shoulder at Ridge, who was too intent on watching the three computer screens to take any notice of his proximity to Skye.
At last he had an opportunity to talk to her with
out Ridge running interference.

"Th
e view is fantastic, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is.
Even better than the view from the Space Needle, but then I've never been up there at night.
How far can you see
in daylight
?"

"
As far as
Bainbridge Island and Bremerton,
and occasionally
the Olympic Mountains.
It’s the reason I chose to have my offices here.
I never tire of looking of the view.
Sometimes
,
when the clouds are low with only the tops of the other buildings visible, it's like
looking down on cotton candy."

When Skye didn't respond Walker stepped closer to her.
He glanced over his shoulder once more before taking her hand in his.
"
I really am sorry for what happened.
When this is over would you have dinner with me?
I’d like
us to
spend some time together before you return to London."

"I don't know.
I've spent so much—"

Before Skye had chance to
finish
, Ridge shouted.

"Got him!
The bastard’s right here in Seattle!
A few more minutes and I should have narrowed it down to the service provider and then I'll be able to give you a more precise location."

Walker stared silently in disbelief at Skye's back as she
ran across
the room and hugged Ridge.

"It works!
We’ve done it!
We've done what everyone said was impossible and written a program that will be the curse of every hacker!"

Walker couldn't hear Ridge's response, but the sight of him returning Skye's hug and kissing her was enough to blacken his mood.
Anger and jealousy tore into him.
Damn it!
His first opportunity to talk to Skye and Ridge had managed to butt in and ruin the moment.
The man was a positive menace
.
Walker knew time was against him.
Ridge would make sure that Skye didn't give him so much as the time of day, let alone have a conversation with him.
Somehow he had to find a way to keep
her
in the States before Ridge
took her back to London
.
But how?

Once the trace had been made things moved quickly.
The hacker's IP address turned out to belong to the waste management company on the south side of Seattle and by
ten
thirty the following morning Walker and McCabe were s
at
in the plant manager's office.
During the drive over they
worked out a strategy.
Walker would ask most of the questions and McCabe would lend the weight of the State Department should the mana
ger be reluctant to co-operate.

From the moment they ha
d driven though the security gates
they could tell that
the plant was run down and shoddy
,
and poorly maintained
.
The offices were situated away from the main processing area and as they
drove in
to the visitors' parking lot, what Walker saw was suf
ficient to make his skin crawl.

Little or no attempt
was
made to hide leaking pipes and steaming vents, nor the oily puddles covering almost every conceivable inch of tarmac.
The air was heavy with an obnoxious smell, which Walker couldn't identify, but which he was sure would be covered by a piece of State legislature preventing whatever it was from bein
g released into the atmosphere.

More worrying perhaps was the fact that none of employees wore protective clothing.
Not even simple
facemasks
or specialist gloves.
Walker wondered what the staff sick leave rate was and how many of their illnesses could be directly attributed to the chemicals a
nd products they
handled
.

Walker spent ten minutes outlining the investigation
, after which
the manager categorically denied his employees were invo
lved.

But then he would.

Walker didn't believe a word the slimy toad was saying
,
and judging by the look on McCabe's face
,
neither did he.
No amount of persuasion on Walker's part succeeded in obtaining the manager's agreement to making the company records available for inspection on a voluntary basis
.

McCabe had heard enough and interrupted, wasting no time in threatening to come back with the necessary paperwork to close the plant down for months, if not years, until he and the State Department were satisfied that everything was above board.
But still the manager refused to co-operate.

Walker stared out of the grubby window half listening to the conversation, his thoughts drifting back to the events of the previous night.
After locating the hacker, Ridge had made sure that he
ha
d no chance to speak to Skye,
whisking her off to
a down
town hotel as soon as he could.

He listened to the heavy rumble of a plane’s engine as it passed overhead and in a blind moment of panic wondered whether Ridge had carried out his threat to take Skye back to England at the first opportunity.
For the first time in his life Walker wished he had the strength to walk away from an investigation.

He pushed
his
personal problems aside, and turned his attention to the truck parked next to the tanker he'd seen earlier.
L
ike the tanker, it was parked a
way from the main plant next to a pipeline.
From his vantage point on the second floor of the administration building, he could see that it was being loaded with oil
barrels
.
He estimated that at least twenty-five
barrel
s where al
ready on the back of the truck.

He dragged his attention back to the conversation
and
realize
d
that McCabe's threats weren't cutting any ice with
Mr.
Toad.
He gave McCabe their pre-arranged signal. They concluded the meeting
and promised
to return later that day with a court order to enable them to examine the plant’s records.

They left the building and
hurried over
to where McCabe's four-wheel drive
was parked
.
Walker brought McCabe up to speed on what he'd seen as they crossed the parking lot.
They drove out of the plant, and turned on to the highway.
After half a mile McCabe pull
ed into a service area.
They didn't have long to wait before they heard the whine of an engine as a vehicle struggled to pull away
from the gates of the plant.

A few moments later the
fully laden
truck passed
them.
"Quick," Walker said.
"Follow it and see where it
goe
s."

McCabe lost no time.
He slammed the four-wheel drive into gear and
pressed
down hard on the accelerator.
A quarter of a mile later he pulled in behind the heavily laden truck just as it reached the slip road to the freeway.
He settled in behind to follow it.
From the plant just south of Seattle, the truck laboriously made its way along Interstate 5 and
continued
steadily north.

An hour or so later, as
it
turned off the freeway on the outskirts of Anacortes, McCabe broke the silence.

"Don't you think we ought
call
the cops and have this guy stopped?"

Walker shook his head decisively.
"I want to see where he's headed, and then I want to find out what's in those
barrel
s.
I don't see much point in
contacting
the cops just yet.
Look what happened last time—it got us nowhere.
Let's just wait and see.
If he's going to dump that load, then he's not going to do it in the open or from the deck of a State ferry.
If he's headed for the San Juan Islands, then he'll need to stop and load
them
onto a small vessel."

"Then what?"

Walker laughed.
"You know, McCabe, sometimes you can be real slow on the uptake.
Then we wait some more.
If my hunch is correct, he'll wait for either nightfall or high tide or both.
That’ll give me
a chance to take a closer look at those
barrels
.
If I'm right about what they contain, you can call in as many cops as you like."

"I'll hold you to that.
Just remember I'm purely a pen pusher not some action hero.
My days of back street brawls are long over.
My wife will beat me to death with the microwave if I get caught up in the middle of something that turns nasty."

"I wouldn't worry about your wife killing you.
If my suspicions about the contents
is correct
, it will
do the job before she's even had chance to pick up her rolling pin."

On the outskirts of Anacortes the truck followed the road signs for the port.
Just as Walker had predicted, the driver ignored the queue that had formed for the late afternoon ferry to Friday Harbor and Victoria, and continued on for a short distance before taking the turning for the entrance to Curtis Wharf
.

McCabe brought his car to a halt across from the shipping office.

"Looks like you were right."
The truck was parked alongside one of the vessels moored at the far end of the wharf.
"I'll contact the local gendarmes now, a
nd they can take it from here."

Walker placed a restraining hand on his friend’s arm.
"Not yet.
I want to see what's inside those
barrels
first."

"And just how are you planning on doing th
at?"

"Like this," Wa
lker said, and opened his door.

"Hey, now wait a minute.
You didn't say anything about taking a look in broad daylight."
But it was too late.
Walker was already out of the car and walki
ng towards the shipping office.

Walker hadn't lied when he said he wanted to inspect the
barrels
, but he also wanted to check the vessel's sailing schedule.
He
pushed open the
door to the office.
It looked as if lady luck was on his
side;
the only person present was a blonde woman in her mid twenties.
Walker walked up to the desk, turned up his smile a few notches and thought fast.

"Hi, there… Cindy," he said, reading the name badge she wore.

Cindy looked up from the paperwork on her desk
and promptly melted.
"Hello."

"I wonder if you could help me," Walker asked, and offered her another dazzling smile.

"Sure, sugar," Cindy drawled in a Texan accent.
"I'd be more than happy to."
She looked at Walker as if he was prime steak on her plate.

Cindy's sexy looks did nothing for him.
He'd met her type before—a fashion victim looking for a brain.

"The small inter-island transport moored at the Quay, is she due to sail tonight?”

"You mean the
Rosario Queen
?
I
'm not sure I'm supposed to say.
Why do you want to know anyway?" Cindy pouted her lips.

"I'm expecting some crates to be delivered and I need to make sure I have a truck waiting when she docks," Walker lied.
He took a long look at Cindy’s ample cleavage,
and
t
hen held her gaze with a smile.

Cindy's ego went into overdrive.
For the first time since she'd taken this lousy job a halfway decent looking guy had walked into the office and noticed her.
This was a welcome relief from the married union slobs who pined after her all day.

"Well, now, sugar.
How about you take me for a drink when I finish here and I'll tell you then?"

Walker had other plans and they didn't include Cindy or any of her ilk, but he sure wasn't about to tell her that.
"You tell me now, and I'll take you to dinner."
He reached out and trailed a finger along the V of her tight sweater t
o her cleavage.

Deciding she was definitely on for a hot date, Cindy leant forward encouraging Walker's finger to brush
her breast
.
She stared blatantly at his zipper, leaving him in no doubt as to what she expected w
ould be on the menu for desert.

"Okay
,
sugar.
Seeing as you're offerin' to be so generous an' all, I'll tell you.
She sails at nine tonight.
What time are we gonna meet then?"

Walker suppressed a shudder.
He disliked wom
en who openly came on to a man.

"How about eight at the Ship Inn,
we'll have a few drinks first."

"
Sure, sugar, anything you say."

Walker reclaimed his finger and resisted the temptation to wipe it on the back of his pants.
He strode to the door, turned, and grinned.
He had no intention of turning up for dinner, and while Cindy would be mad, he somehow doubted that she would be left si
tting on her own for very long.

He got back into the car just as quietly as he'd left and filled
McCabe in on what he'd learned.

"There's no point us both hanging around.
Why don't you go and get some coffee.
You can bring me back a cup and a sandwich too.
Until someone makes a move to unload the truck or it gets dark there's not much we can do but watch and wait."

McCabe looked
sc
eptical
.
He knew Walker too well.
Chances were once he was out of sight Walker would be sniffing around those
barrels
like a hound after a rabbit.
From the corner of his eye McCabe watched as Walker appeared to settle down for what could be a long wait.
He walked back towards the coffee shop he'd seen at the entrance to the wharf, and decided
to
contact the local cops and advise them of the situation
, even though
Walker wouldn't like it