Buzzworm (A Technology Thriller): Computer virus or serial killer? (19 page)

Roger sat in Wishnowsky’s Crown Vic
for well over an hour, the smell of death overpowering.

Gunpowder, urine, and blood was a forbidding combination that rang primitive alarm bells in his brain. He tried to sit back, but his weight cut off the circulation in his hands, the nylon cuffs cutting into his wrists. All he could do now was wait, hoping someone would drive by and stop, curious about the broken glass and what was left of the detectives bloody head hanging half way out the driver’s side window.

Eventually, a black half-ton truck appeared in the distance, heading towards them from the industrial area to the south, throwing up an angry cloud of dust. The driver was clearly in a hurry. Roger watched as the truck approached at speed, and then roared past. Twisting his head around, Roger swore. He caught a glimpse of the man in the truck, a cell phone tucked under his ear, his eyes looking straight ahead. It was entirely possible that the driver never even saw them, his mind focused on a phone conversation with someone miles away.

Then, after a few seconds had passed, Roger saw the trucks brake lights flare and the vehicle slide sideways to an abrupt stop on the gravel about a quarter of a mile away.

The driver never came any closer to the police car or left his vehicle, but within minutes Roger heard the sirens in the distance. Two red and whites showed up coming from the north, their light bars flashing. The first officers to arrive used their vehicle to block the road from the north. Roger watched through the back window, twisting around in the seat, waiting for a rescue. He was surprised when he saw the two officers exit the police car on the driver’s side and hunch down behind the protection of the vehicle. Then the load hailer buzzed.

“Come out of the vehicle with your hands above your head.”

Roger tensed. Did they not know that he was trapped in the back seat of an unmarked police car? They repeated the command, more insistent this time.

“I repeat. Exit the vehicle with your hands above your head now or we will shoot.”

“Shit,” Roger cursed under his breath. He hunched down in the seat, waiting for the bullets to fly. When he looked up a few seconds later, he saw the face of a female officer, her dark hair tied back in a pony tail, her gun held tightly in both hands and aimed through the passenger window directly at his head. They looked at each other curiously for a few seconds. Then she peered quickly over at Wishnowsky’s ruined head.

“Unarmed passenger,” she yelled back at the other officers, never lowering her gun for a second. Then to Roger “Identify yourself,” which he did, yelling so she could hear, his voice cracking from exhaustion. They left him then for several minutes, once they had confirmed that he was tied and locked in, focusing their attention on the dead detective. At one point, Roger asked one of the officers if they would untie him.

“Get comfortable. You’re going to be there for a while,” was the only response he got.

The police officer who eventually opened the passenger door for him was a detective dressed in a gray suit coat and blue jeans. He was tall, built like a linebacker; a big square head covered in short blond hair that was going gray. He pulled Roger out of the back seat, asked him to turn around and clipped off the cuffs with a pair of pliers.

“Name’s Hyde. Homicide. How did you get in this vehicle?”

“You’re the detective working on the CIA cases,” gushed Roger, rubbing his wrists to get the circulation back.

“I get to ask the questions here. Or would you like me to put you back in the car with that body for a while.”

Roger frowned, his stomach doing a small flip at the thought of going back in with what was left of Wishnowsky. “I’m working for Jobime.” Roger had heard that Jo had given evidence to Hyde on the Scammel case. “I’m working on their computer virus. This morning Wishnowsky picked me up on a trumped up charge of having pornography on my laptop.”

“You’re the worm guy,” said Hyde, looking unhappy. “Do you have porn on your computer?”

“It was put there by the virus.”

Hyde didn’t look convinced. ”What happened then? Why were you parked here a few miles from the airport? It doesn’t look like you were headed to police headquarters.”

Roger shook his head. “I think he was going to offer me a deal. Take me to the airport and ship me back home.” Hyde seemed to smile slightly, but it was a look laced with cynicism. As if to say
you think I was born yesterday?
Roger just shrugged and pointed out the surroundings. The evidence was right there in front of them. A parked police car, two miles from Dulles.

“Did Wishnowsky say anything?” asked Hyde. “Before he shot himself?”

Roger looked the detective in the eye. Hyde seemed so matter of fact about the whole thing, as if a cop killing himself was a common daily occurrence. “He said he couldn’t be arrested. That someone would go after his daughter.”

Hyde seemed to flinch. The smile was gone. “His daughter? Did he say why someone would go after her?”

Roger shrugged. “The guy was messed up. He was talking crazy. First he had a cigarette in the front seat like he had all the time in the world. Then he told me why he wasn’t taking chemo for his cancer. Then pulled a gun out of the glove box and …”

One of the several officers on the scene walked up and tapped Hyde on the shoulder. They stepped away a few paces and had a clipped conversation. Roger leaned against one of the black and whites, anxious to be away from the flashing lights and commotion. Now he had to pee as well, a problem since they were in the middle of nowhere. Hyde returned, looking angry.

“That your laptop in the car?”

“If it is?”

“Don’t mess with me, son. That’s pretty nasty stuff you have on your computer. I can see why Wishnowsky picked you up.”

“I told you. The virus put it there. Call Jobime. She’ll verify.”

Hyde took Strange by the arm and led him onto the gravel road. “You’ll get your day in court. Right now, I have to finish what Wishnowsky started. I’m taking you in.”

I made the call to Vienna
against my better judgment. I called her on my cell phone, standing by the side of the road, Strange locked up in the back seat of my car.

He was looking out at me, a defeated look on his face, but still curious.

“Jo. It’s Detective Hyde. Have you got a minute? Do you know anything about your worm expert being arrested this morning?”

She sounded upset. “Our security contractors, those idiots, called in the Vice squad without notifying anyone. Totally against procedure. And of course Dodge is not here, so they did this on their own. Where is he?”

“I’ve got him. But he does have some pretty nasty imagery on his personal laptop. I can see why they called this in.”

“Well, if the police arrest someone, isn’t there usually a record of that? When I called the Washington police this morning, they said they had no information about the arrest at Building 213. I was beginning to think I would never see Strange again. That he would disappear like Dodge.”

She was right about one thing. Dodge had disappeared off the face of the earth. We had issued a BOLO, a
be on the lookout for
bulletin two days earlier across the entire state. We had no clues so far. I could understand why she might think Strange would be next.

Vienna continued, sounding anxious. “I can vouch for one thing though, detective. The material you found on his laptop was from
Buzzworm
. The virus has since sent out that same garbage to hundreds of email addresses across the intelligence community this morning, including mine, all as attachments. I have staff crying in the hallways. The images are nauseating. If you are going to arrest him, you might as well haul me in too. They are now sitting on my personal computer as well.”

I looked over at Wishnowsky’s car, a police photographer with his camera up close to the dead detective’s head. I saw the burst of his flash reflect off the jagged bits of glass still lodged in the frame. Wish was an odd duck. But what would possess him to make an arrest and then drive the suspect to the airport? Then have a last cigarette and blow his brains out?

“Vienna, we need to meet.”

“Detective, we’ve gone over Frank’s case again and again, and I have a looming deadline...”

“You don’t understand. I have enough evidence now to bring you and your entire team in and lock you up for days. What would that do to your deadline? I have the accidental death of Melissa Coyne at Langley. Your hired contractor is a child pornographer. Your head of security is MIA. And now the detective that picked up Strange? He killed himself an hour ago.” Vienna didn’t respond. All I could hear was the buzz of staffer voices in the background. “So I can tie you up for days until someone gives me a straight answer.”

“Did you know him?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Not close. His name was Wishnowsky. But there’s a connection between him and Frank. Frank was arrested on a child molestation charge years ago and Wish was the arresting officer.”

This time there was an intake of breath on the other end of the line. “How could he hide that from us?” Hyde could hear her tapping her fingernails on the phone. She was probably wondering how, with all its technology and resources, the CIA couldn’t detect one simple pervert in its midst. “Let’s do this now then,” she said. “Before someone else has to die.”

“I’ll need to see Frank’s computers. The ones he used on the night of his death. No excuses.”

“I’ll have them moved to Frank’s lab right now. Can we meet there in an hour?”

“I’ll have Strange with me. What’s left of him.”

I transferred Strange to my car.
He was subdued and looking pale, hiding shaky hands. I guessed the events of the morning were just starting to sink in.

I told him we were meeting with Vienna at the Navy Yard complex and would get a chance to look at Frank’s computers. I didn’t tell him that the CIA had moved them off site, and we had been fighting with them for days to get possession.

On the way to Building 213, I took a call from Emile. They had found Dodge, the missing security manager. Emile was going out to the scene to make a case report. He gave me a quick rundown on what we knew so far.

Vienna met us at security, purple-black splotches under her eyes. I knew she was the type who didn’t wear makeup, but she could use some right now. I’d seen that look before. Sleep deprivation. She was on the edge of collapse.

She introduced me to a young woman, Mary Ellen Duke, who was holding up only marginally better.

“This is the team lead on our project. Frank was one of her developers. She also knew Melissa Coyne. I thought she might be helpful today.” I nodded. She had her eyes on Roger throughout the introduction. Obviously she knew the worm expert.

Or thought she did until she heard about his arrest this morning.

Vienna led us down to the subfloor where Scammel’s body had been found. We passed through the same hallways I had watched numerous times on the security tapes.

Mary Ellen swiped us into the video lab.

I could tell immediately the room had been scrubbed clean by the CIA techs. They had been meticulous. The smell of death had been replaced by the odor of antiseptics and floor polish.

The lab was not small, but still felt claustrophobic, windowless with a waist-high steel work counter that ran along two walls. In one corner was a wide desk with several large display monitors mounted in a row. Two shiny black computer boxes were sitting on the workbench courtesy of Vienna. The walls were completely bare now except for a large whiteboard that had been scrupulously wiped clean. There was a video projector mounted on the ceiling.

Along one work counter were piled dozens of books and binders with titles like
3D Animation
and
Creating Virtual Realities
. Roger picked one up as soon as we entered.

I had everyone cluster around the one section of the workbench where Scammel’s computers were sitting. I took out my notebook and flipped through several of the pages. I was taking my time, enjoying the nervous silence in the room.

I cleared my throat. “I need everyone to get comfortable. We’re not leaving here until I get some answers. You’re here on a police matter, so you need to know that at any time I want, I can move us all downtown.” Roger took a chair and slumped into it. No one else moved.

“Vienna, are these Frank Scammel’s computers? The ones he used on the night he died?” She nodded. I looked at Strange. “I’m going to need your help to look at them in a few minutes.” Mary Ellen turned to Roger, then to me. “I can help with that,” was all she said. Another computer geek.

“Fine. But before we do, there is something else you need to know. Dodge, who up until a few hours ago was missing, is now in the morgue.” Med let out a small gasp. “And as you all probably know, our third victim, Ms. Coyne, was accidentally shot and killed at Langley two days ago. That is still under investigation. And Mr. Strange here, a few hours ago, witnessed another suicide. This time a Washington Vice detective named Wishnowsky.”

Roger seemed to sink into himself at the announcement. Mary Ellen moved closer and touched his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice. “What happened to Dodge, detective?” asked the female programmer.

I wasn’t going to go into the details, but maybe the seriousness of the crime would motivate them to dig as deep as possible. “Hit and run. He was found in the parking lot of a bar he frequented. He was drunk. More than usual. The bartender says he received a phone call about one AM, then Dodge left the bar. An hour later another patron found him on the pavement, not breathing.”

“Hit and run in a parking lot?” asked Roger.

“Someone drove over him repeatedly. Dozens of broken bones. His skull was crushed. And his designated driver never showed up.” Vienna had her head down, her hand over her eyes. She was taking it hard.

Roger was standing now. “Or showed up for the wrong reasons. What about his cell phone? Can’t you track who called him?”

It was a good question. “We already checked. The call came from a cloned phone. Totally anonymous.”

Vienna looked up. “Cloned phone?”

Roger answered. “It’s a cell phone with a stolen serial and phone number. Hackers use cell phone scanners to steal user’s IDs without them knowing, then burn a new SIM card. It makes the phone untraceable.”

I nodded. “He’s right. The phone ID was stolen from a tourist who visited Washington two weeks ago. A librarian from Vermont.”

Vienna. “Do we have any idea why someone would want to kill Dodge?”

I looked at her. It seemed obvious to me that someone was using murder to cover their tracks. “He knew Scammel. Wishnowsky was connected somehow, and felt so threatened he took his own life. My guess is whoever put pressure on Wishnowsky also wanted Scammel dead and may have killed Dodge. These are all connected. That’s why we’re here right now.”

Mary Ellen’s phone bleeped. She pulled it out of her coat pocked and viewed the display. She looked at Vienna, concern on her face. “I have to go, Detective.”

“Like I said. We can do this here, or you can spend the night in a holding cell. And no phone calls. Turn off your cells, or I’ll confiscate them as evidence. You might get yours back in a year.” She reluctantly closed the phone and slid it back into her jacket pocket.

I continued. “First, we have the computers that Scammel used the night he died. We need to go through them. I’m looking first for a suicide note. Or any communication from Scammel in his last few days that might help us.”

Roger and Med looked at each other. They both headed towards the workbench. Roger took the first black box and proceeded to plug cables into the monitor mounted just above the shelf. Med did the same.

Both machines whined and clicked into life, the monitors displaying operating systems I wasn’t familiar with. Roger pointed to the screen above him. “The lab uses Linux, detective, not Windows. Same basic operations, but a different look. I’m going to do a quick search through the directories first just to see if anything stands out. Like a file or program that doesn’t seem to fit.”

Strange used the keyboard to move through different icons on the display. “Here’s a folder of work files. If Scammel added or changed anything, it would most likely be in here.”

Both Mary Ellen and Roger tapped away for several minutes, clearly knowing their way around the systems. Mary Ellen spoke first. “This system was a backup. There are no written documents, spreadsheets or email. It contains classified work product from our project though.” This caused her to look to Vienna, who had perked up.

Roger hit the keyboard hard with his short fingers. “Looks like I have email on this system. Jo? Do you have override on his password?” Jo quickly called someone on her cell. She gave Roger and Med the codes.

Roger opened up the email account. He looked at me. “What?” I asked.

“I don’t know about your email inbox at work, Detective Hyde, but most people have hundreds to thousands of messages. Frank has a dozen total. And nothing in the deleted files. That’s pretty odd. The emails are all work related. Most of them have the subject line
Problems
.”

Med interjected. “He was in the final stages of finishing a project for us. He was working on the beta details. That’s what those messages would be about.”

It was disappointing to hear that someone had cleaned out Scammel’s system. I was hoping our hacker duo could work their magic. “Could he have — could someone have removed anything?” I looked at Vienna who was standing behind us.

“Detective. It wasn’t us. I found out before you showed up today that my team didn’t even get a chance to look at these computers. The problems we have been having with our systems lately conveniently erased the trouble ticket log. So these computers just sat in storage for a few days, untouched.”

“Did you say trouble ticket?” I asked, writing the term down in my notebook.

“It’s like a repair record when you take your car in for service. Someone creates a ticket in our help deck system with all of the details of the problem. In this case, clean and re-image the desktop. Take everything off that might be security related. But both systems fell through the cracks. Nothing was done.”

She sounded frustrated, like this was an ongoing problem. “Could
Buzzworm
have gotten to them?” I asked.

“They weren’t linked into the network. They were just sitting in a storage room under a pile of old software boxes. But anything is possible lately.”

Roger stepped back, frowning. “There’s an archive file on here that the email program keeps. It’s a big text file full of anything that’s been deleted for the past year. So whoever cleared out all of the emails didn’t delete the archive. That’s odd.” He tapped away for several seconds. “Anyone smart enough to clean out their email should know better, but it’s worth looking at. There it is.” The screen filled with text. “It’s too big to read through, but I can search for names or words. Anything you want to look for?”

Med offered first “
Buzzworm”.
Roger typed in the search word and waited. Nothing.

“He wasn’t the victim of
Buzzworm
anyway. That’s interesting in its own right. From what I hear there isn’t an employee in the CIA who hasn’t had at least one run in with the so-called virus. Anyone else?”

I offered
Dodge
. Roger typed in the name and punched the return key. In the corner of the screen I could see a small blue box that read
searching
. Then the screen of text began highlighted words in yellow.
Dodge
. I leaned in, hoping for a break. Roger scanned through the text.

“One email from Dodge. They were betting on the Super Bowl. Dodge won.” Roger looked around for more ideas. They tried a few more terms. Nothing. Med asked to try
Avion
. Roger’s eyebrows went up like he was surprised. Another techy term I wasn’t familiar with. He did the search. Again, nothing. We both looked at Med. She immediately understood that I had never heard the term before.

“It’s the name of one of our systems. Just curious to know if they discussed it at all.” She turned back to Roger. “Try
GIPETTO
.” Roger asked to confirm the spelling. Vienna moved in closer, her eyes squinting at the screen.

Roger looked at Med. “How about your system?”

She held her hands up. “You’ve got the interesting one. My system was just used for graphics.”

Roger stood up straight, immediately interested. “Could there be any videos on that system? Anything that would connect it with the
Buzzworm
nonsense?”

Med had her arms crossed. She looked unhappy and distracted. “No. I looked. Just tests he created for our program. Nothing of interest.” Then she added as a final thought. “And highly classified.” Roger looked like he wanted to take over the keyboard and see for himself, but he hesitated.

“How do you know without viewing them?” he asked her.

I jumped in. “Strange. What do you know that you’re not telling us here?”

Roger looked from me to Duke and back. “I was hoping we would find some evidence of one of those nasty videos he sent to people. Just getting my hopes up, that’s all.”

“So no evidence of a suicide note anywhere?” My last shot. Both Roger and Med shook their heads. “Nothing else?”

Roger stepped back away from the system he was working on and rubbed his wrists. “If I were leaving a suicide note, I wouldn’t make it an Easter egg hunt. I’d just leave it in plain sight.” That made sense to me too.

Vienna was pacing in the center of the room now, her nervous energy back. “What else detective? What more do you need from us? Just ask. I have so much work backing up right now.”

I leaned against the work counter, unsure of the next steps. Then Med spoke. “There’s a third computer in this room,” was all she said. We all looked at her. She pointed at the LCD projector mounted in the ceiling. “It looks like a projector, it’s really a computer.” I didn’t understand. How do you use a computer that is bolted to the ceiling? She could see the confusion in my face.

“Let me boot it up,” she offered.

Mary Ellen found a small remote sitting with the stack of books on the workbench and pointed it at the projector. A small blue light glowed on the machine and we could all hear the fan start up. The whiteboard on the far wall began to glow.

“This is an interactive whiteboard system, detective. A computer is built into the projector. The projector paints an image of a desktop onto the whiteboard on the wall, which is a large touch screen. Anything I write on the board with a marker is entered into the computer. That’s how I enter data without a keyboard. Or I can control the computer by moving items around on the white board with my hand. Or with the remote.”