Invasion of Privacy (24 page)

A child’s bedroom.

Morning. Sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains.

A girl sleeping in her bed. Blond hair fanned across the pillow. Pink cheeks. An angel.

A tattooed hand brings a razor-sharp blade near the child’s face.

The blade passes over the girl’s chin, her nose, her eyes.

As vipers writhe from the skull tattoo.

One mile away, in the parking lot of a minimall that housed a Papa John’s, a 7-Eleven, and a Green Mesquite BBQ, the Mole sat alone inside the command van, watching the Vine he’d made earlier that morning of Grace Grant.

His angel.

A movement on the primary monitor drew his attention and he put down his phone. It was a VW Beetle pulling into the Grants’ driveway. The Mole sat up straighter, watching the older girl run down the walk and jump into the car. Behind them, framed by the foyer’s light, a thin blond girl stood in the doorway.

The Mole zoomed in on the girl. He saw a rustle of blue nightgown, a sheaf of blond hair, and then the door closed.

He leaned back in the chair, his heart pounding, his eyes unable to leave the monitor.

His angel was alone in the house.

“Gentlemen, welcome. I congratulate you on the momentous step you’ve taken I’m grateful for the faith you’ve shown in me personally, and for your belief in my vision for the future. Thank you.”

Ian Prince allowed his words to sink in as he looked out over the executives from Israel sitting among his own lieutenants at dining tables running the width of the room. Graves Hall was a cavernous space with heavy wood paneling and stained glass windows set high on the walls. Candles burned from wrought iron chandeliers. Life-sized portraits of Cerf, Jobs, Berners-Lee, and, of course, himself, stared down from the walls. To Ian’s eye it was a cathedral, a sacred place for worshipping the great minds who had launched the digital revolution.

“We live in a bold new world,” Ian continued. “A world of opportunity. A world where a beggar in Mozambique has access to the same knowledge, the same expertise, the same compendium of information as a billionaire in Manhattan. We live in the era of the super-empowered individual, in which each of us is capable of unimaginable feats. A doctor in Atlanta can ‘print’ human tissue from a single cell. A scientist in São Paolo can alter DNA to eliminate faulty genes. A husband in Tokyo can speak to his wife in Quebec and not only hear her voice but see her picture…
on his watch
. It is the stuff of comic books and science fiction novels and old-time radio serials. Every day we reach into the future and harness it to the present. And none of it would be possible without the means to instantaneously access, respond to, and transmit information. All of which are the pylons on which ONE is built.”

Ian paused. The room was so quiet he could hear a microchip drop. Faces looked up at him, eyes lit with ambition.

“Twenty years ago,” he continued, “I had an idea about how to gather information from a nifty new creation called the World Wide Web. That idea turned into something called ONEscape.Back in that medieval time, we called it a web crawler. Today ONEscape is the world’s most popular search engine.”

He smiled, enjoying his colleagues’ laughter.

“I didn’t stop with ONEscape. I moved on to create a company that wrote software, and another that manufactured the hardware that made up the Internet’s backbone. I built a company that designed smartphones and tablets to use that backbone, and most recently I purchased a company that produces content that passes through our hardware to be enjoyed on those smartphones and tablets. Still, that isn’t enough. I have a greater responsibility, and that is to oversee this magnificent organism called the Internet—to guard it on behalf of the beggar in Mozambique and the billionaire in Manhattan. And then one day I discovered Clarus. And I knew at once that Clarus would give me this ability.

“I first took note of Clarus when I learned that it was your equipment that my friends at Fort Meade had chosen to collect all signals traffic coming into this country. I looked closer at Clarus when I was told that a certain country had used your equipment to shut down an enemy’s entire air defense system. But it wasn’t until I learned that a virus you engineered brought an unnamed country’s nuclear development program to an abrupt and nearly catastrophic halt that I decided we must work together. Can anyone remind me of the name of that virus?”

Heads shook. Fingers waved, indicating that this was not a suitable topic of conversation. Ian expected as much from men who made their living from trafficking secrets.

He left his place at the table and walked down the aisle. “As all of you know, my purchase of Clarus was not an ordinary transaction. I did not just buy assets, orders books, and technical know-how. I wanted more. I requested that you gentlemen present here tonight come to my side and act as my Praetorian Guard. It will be your task to protect everything we have built to date and to protect the rest of the world against those who seek to do us harm. Only by having access to every facet of this magnificent organism can we maintain its health. Only by seeing the entirety of information coursing through its veins can we identify the viruses and parasites that threaten our existence and ruthlessly eliminate them. It is truly all or nothing.”

Ian raised a glass. The assembled guests stood, crystal held high.

“And so tonight I formally welcome you to the ONE family, as together we transform ONE from a corporation into something more—something the world has yet to see.”

Mary knew him.

She knew Boots.

She stepped outside the café as Cal Miller wished her good night and locked the door behind her. It was past ten and the parking lot was deserted. The show had ended thirty minutes earlier, and the establishment had a strict policy of rapidly vacating the premises. It was dark, and the lot looked different with so few cars. Several times she stopped to orient herself before finally spotting her car at the far corner of the adjacent lot, a few hundred yards away.

She walked briskly, thrilled at her good luck. Cal Miller had gone back fifty-eight hours to Monday at 12:30 (with only ten minutes to spare before the DVR taped over the pictures), but he’d found them. The security cameras filming the parking lot and front entrance both showed Joe entering the café, followed a minute later by a stocky man with a ruddy complexion and a comb-over. “Boots,” according to Mindy’s colorful description. More accurately, “SSA FK,” according to the name on the receipt.

The security cameras were ten years old, their grainy images a far cry from HD. Still, Mary had no doubt that she’d met him. She just couldn’t recall where or when. She suspected he’d been to their house, because that was the only place she ever met any of Joe’s colleagues. But which house? And dammit, what was his name?

She placed her hand on her pocket, feeling the DVD that Miller had burned with the sequence showing Joe and Boots. She’d have plenty of time to review it at home. Meanwhile she dredged up memories of parties, searching for a glimpse of the pear-shaped man with the red face and wiry brown hair. Sooner or later it would come to her.

“Hey there.”

Mary looked up, startled. An imposing man stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, a garrison cap drawn over his eyes. “Hello,” she said, keeping her pace, steering a path around him.

The man stepped in front of her. “You have something for me?”

Mary stopped. “Excuse me?”

“The disk sticking out of your pocket. Please hand it to me.”

Mary took a step back, and the man advanced a step toward her. He was broad and muscular and bristling with aggression. Scream and he could be on her in a second. She looked around. There was no one nearby. The café was fifty yards behind her. A black truck was parked to her left, but the cab was empty. She checked over her shoulder. Cal Miller was nowhere to be seen. Her decision to park at the farthest point from the café suddenly seemed ill-considered.

“Who are you?”

“Never you mind. The disk. Now.”

“Why do you want it?”

“Same reason you do.”

Mary took another step back and the man took a longer step forward, narrowing the distance between them. She felt the Glock pressing against her waist.

“Stop right there,” he said, his voice quiet and authoritative. “Or I’ll have to quit being so polite.”

The man lifted his head, and she saw his eyes in the moonlight. Pale, determined, ruthless. A chill shook her spine, and she had the certainty that he was going to kill her.

“Fine. I’ll give you the disk.”

“Slowly, now. Don’t think I can’t tell you’re packing. Remember who you are, Miss Mary. You’re just a mom.”

He knew her name. Which meant he knew Joe.

Mary handed him the disk. “What was he investigating?”

“Something he shouldn’t have been.”

“I imagine someone always thinks that’s the case.”

“I imagine so.”

“Who do you work for?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Try me.”

“You know what they say—‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ ”

“So you’re not going to kill me?”

The man slipped the disk behind his belt. When his hand came back up, it was holding a pistol. “I didn’t say that.”

Mary ran. She made it two steps before he had her, an arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet, the other clapping a hand
over her mouth. He spun and carried her toward her car as if she were no heavier than a sack of groceries.

“Mary, Mary, Mary,” he whispered. “Always looking where you’re not supposed to. Didn’t they tell you to give it up?” A squeeze for emphasis. “
Didn’t they?
But no, you had to keep on digging. You had to be a snoop like your husband. Don’t you know we’re the ones who do the snooping?”

Mary squirmed and struggled. She felt like an infant in a giant’s arms. Every effort to free herself was countered by one twice as forceful. The man continued past her car, climbing a berm bordering the lot and carting her into the wide-open scrub beyond. In moments they were surrounded by clumps of mesquite and tangled brush, a wilderness of vegetation as tall as she. A hundred yards along, he set her down. When he stepped away, she saw that he had Joe’s Glock, too.

“They’ll know it was you,” she said. “I saw the security camera feeds. They’ll have your truck coming in, pictures of you leaving.”

“Put on a suit, stick a gun in your belt, and you think you’re a real Fibbie, eh? How’s this, Miss Mary? The images won’t even exist.”

“Of course they’ll exist. The cameras record everything.”

“They could have infrared cameras filming me picking you up, carrying you out here, and shooting you dead, and it wouldn’t matter. We’ll just erase it. Cedar Valley’s our territory.”

“What do you mean, your territory?”

“The security system’s hooked up to the Net. That means it all goes through our pipes. We own it.” He tucked the Glock into his belt while his own pistol hung loosely in his hand. “Besides, no one asks any questions about suicides.”

Mary held her ground. “I’d never kill myself.”

“What about the note you left?”

“I didn’t leave any note.”

“But we will,” he said. “Mommy’s goodbye, sent from her own e-mail.”

“You can’t do that. You don’t even know my e-mail.”

“Really? Then how did we know you’d be out here tonight, or that you were rushing to the morgue this afternoon, or that you had a visit from that reporter who got himself a DUI two nights back?”

“Who are you?”

“We’re the future.” Carefully he affixed a fat cylindrical tube to the pistol’s snout. A noise suppressor. She’d seen Joe toy with one at home.

“Please,” Mary pleaded. “I’ll stop looking. You have the disk. What else do you want?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I am. Now come on over here. I’ll make it fast. You won’t feel a thing.”

“This isn’t necessary. Like you said, I’m a mother. I know that now. I’ll stop looking. I’ll stop snooping.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes. I promise.”

“No,
I promise
.” The man stepped toward her, his arm rising, the pistol aimed at her face. Mary stood tall, defiant, eyes wide.

Out in the darkness was a rustle in the bushes, a footfall, a grunt. She saw a shadow behind him. The man angled his head toward the noise. There was a splash of color in the moonlight, a mountainous figure crashing through the brush. The man spun and fired his pistol—once, twice—and then there was a mighty roar, a blinding flash of light, and the man was not standing beside Mary anymore.

Mary stumbled backward, tripping over her feet, landing on her behind. The gunshots rang in her ears. The man lay a few feet away, arms sprawled, eyes open, unblinking.

“You all right?” asked a familiar voice.

She propped herself on an elbow and gazed up as the shadow took form. “You?”

The Crown & Anchor Pub was located on San Jacinto Boulevard across from the university. It was long and narrow and dark and smelled of stale beer and burned hamburgers. A wooden bar ran the length of the room. Taps for a dozen beers protruded from fake barrels in the wall behind it.

Jessie made her way down the row of tables, searching for Linus Jankowski. If the smell was bad, the music nearly made her puke. Old English sea shanties blared from the sound system. She was six all over again, seated on the admiral’s knees as he sang “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” to her.

She found Linus seated at a round table in the back, just past the dartboards. Six or seven men were with him. Jessie recognized two propeller-heads from class. The others were TAs she’d seen around school, PhD candidates, or postdocs like Linus.

“You made it,” said Linus. “Take a seat.”

Jessie scooted around the table to the last open chair.

“Um, I’ll just stand here,” said Garrett, hands dug into his pockets.

Jessie nodded, wishing he weren’t there. It had been an awkward ride downtown. Garrett had talked the entire time as if they were on some kind of date, asking what they should do after meeting up with Linus. All the while Jess was growing more and more concerned about Grace. What if she was right about the people who’d hacked into their mom’s phone and they really were watching? Jessie had never been given responsibility for someone before. Not real responsibility concerning their safety and all that. The thoughts weighed heavily on her, and Garrett’s incessant yapping made it worse. Finally she’d had to tell him to “just shut up and drive.” Things were better after that. She’d come to the conclusion that boys liked being told what to do.

“Am I even allowed in here?” she asked, taking her seat.

“Technically, no,” said Linus. “But who’s checking?” He smiled, but she could tell from the way he made no effort to introduce her around that he wasn’t too excited to see her.

“I found something on my phone,” she said nervously. “Actually it was on my mom’s phone. But I copied it, so now it’s on mine. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Slow down, Miss Grant,” said Linus. “Start over.”

Jessie scooted her chair closer, aware of the stares coming her way. She stared right back, reminding herself that none of these guys had solved the Capture the Flag hack in thirteen minutes.

“Okay,” she said, looking Linus in the eye. “It’s about my dad.”

“Your dad? FBI, right?”

“Yeah,” said Jessie. “Before he died, he called my mom and left her a voice message. I don’t know what he said. I think it was important, but she didn’t tell me, because she thought I’d get all depressed and upset. Anyway, what matters is that someone deleted the message from my mom’s phone.”

“Someone who wasn’t your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” asked Linus, with the same dismissive tone she’d used with her mom.

“That’s what I said. My mom’s nice, but she’s a prole. I thought for sure she’d deleted it. But she didn’t. Someone hacked into her phone and wiped the message. Only that message. Everything else was still there.”

“And you want me to find it?”

“No,” said Jessie. “I mean,
yes, for sure
, if you could…if that’s even possible. Right now I just want you to look at the tracks I found.”

“And figure out who hacked into your mom’s phone?”

Jessie nodded. “Whoever did it killed my dad,” she said. “I mean, right?”

By now conversation at the table had all but died. Linus’s friends were paying close attention.

“Show me,” said Linus. “Not here. Outside. Away from these propeller-heads.”

Jessie pushed back her chair and stood. For some reason she grabbed Garrett’s hand and led him outside. The pub was on the main drag that ran adjacent to UT, a neighborhood of bars, bookstores, and clothing boutiques. At ten-fifteen, it was packed with pedestrians.

Linus directed them around a corner to a quieter spot. Jessie brought up the screenshot of the code she’d found on her mom’s phone. “Here it is. Tell me what you think.”

Linus took the phone and studied the snippet of code. “See this?” he said immediately, pointing to a section near the end. “This comes from way up the food chain. You and me, we’re minnows. This shit’s from a great white shark. Someone who gained access to your mom’s wireless carrier. And I mean deep access.”

“So it’s not from the carrier?”

“Not a chance. They don’t need a skeleton key. That’s what we’re looking at. Whoever broke in was from outside the loop.”

“So the message might still be somewhere?”

“Possibly. Carriers keep voice messages for a couple weeks on their main servers.”

“Can you trace it?”

“Trace what? I mean,
look
. There’s nothing here. All he left behind was a single line of code. Whoever did this is a pro. We’re talking rocket scientist. I kid you not.”

“Smarter than you?”

“Much.”

“Maybe your friends can have a look,” suggested Garrett.

Linus frowned. “I don’t think they’d be too keen on getting into the middle of an FBI investigation.”

“At least you can show them,” said Garrett.

“Please,” said Jessie.

“Look, Jessie. I’ll be honest. I have a bad feeling about this. Those fingerprints have me spooked. Why don’t you just let it go? What’s done is done.” Linus checked his watch. “I’m sorry about your dad, but I can’t help you. It’s late. Garrett, you should take Jessie home.”

With that, Linus started up the block. Garrett put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “He’s right. We should go. But it’s not that late. How ’bout we grab a Coney Island dog and a limeade slush at Sonic?”

Jessie knocked Garrett’s hand away and ran. She caught up to Linus as he turned the corner. “Stop,” she said, grabbing his sleeve, yanking him to a halt.

“Hey,” protested Linus. “What the—?”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “He was telling my mom something important and I screwed it up. It’s on me.”

Linus stopped. “How did you screw up?”

Jessie dropped her eyes to the ground, then forced herself to look up, to look at Linus and own up to what she’d done. “I was unlocking
my mom’s phone when my dad called. It was because of me she missed his message.”

“So?”

“Don’t you get it? I killed him. My dad was calling to ask for help, and my mom missed the call because I was trying to show off how smart I am. I killed my father.”

Linus stepped closer, his face knotted with indecision. “Give it to me,” he said, grabbing the phone out of Jessie’s hand before she could answer. “Wait here. This may take a while.”

Jessie watched him stalk up the street and turn the corner. She lowered her head, embarrassed at her outburst. Garrett took her hand. “You okay?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Actually, I’m not okay. In fact, I’m pretty much the opposite. Is that all right?”

“Sure. That’s all right.”

She looked at Garrett—tall, blond, way too handsome. He’d changed the Mumford & Sons T-shirt for a vintage Aerosmith jersey. At least that was a step in the right direction. She saw his blue eyes staring at her in a way she knew her mom would call “adoringly,” and she wondered for about the hundred thousandth time what he could possibly see in her. “You can hug me if you want,” she said, pulling him closer. “But don’t even think of kissing me.”

Twenty minutes later, Linus Jankowski came around the corner. One look at his face and Jessie knew he’d failed.

“You’re in trouble,” said Linus.

“You couldn’t do it,” said Jessie. “None of you?”

Linus shook his head. “There’s only one person who can do this…and that’s still a maybe.”

“Who is it?” said Jessie. “Where is he? Do you know him?”

“Not personally, but I know where he is.”

“Where?”

“DEF CON. This is the week of the conference.”

Jessie shook her head. “Him?”

“Rudeboy.”