Soul Identity (21 page)

“And what happened?” Val asked.

“Same thing. The builds made a binary that was just as slow, and my changes were gone,” he said. “That’s when I called Sheela.”

Sheela nodded. “I dug into the build scripts, and found some clever code that modifies the match source program, builds the program binaries, and then covers up its tracks by replacing the source with a hard-coded fake.”

“The hard-coding threw away all my changes,” Bhanu said.

Hans Schmidt banged his fists on the table, making the metal cups bounce. “And why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Some of the other diners looked at us and whispered to each other.

Bhanu hung his head. “We were already running a very tight deadline on the current Internet rollout, and I wanted to get it all together before showing you what we had found.”

Hans Schmidt turned to us. “Obviously my staff knows more than I do about this.” He looked at Bhanu. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Bhanu shook his head.

Sheela shifted in her seat. “There is something else. In the build script, right where the clever code is, I found a very strange comment.”

“What does it say?” Hans Schmidt asked.

“That if anybody has any questions in the future about what this code is doing, please contact Tinless Tiksey.”

Hans Schmidt sighed. “That name is a blast from the past. Tinless Tiksey was an interesting man with an even more interesting story.” He paused as the waiters cleared our plates and cleaned up the spilled rice.

Val smiled. “Our bellies are full. Tell us the tale of Tinless Tiksey.”

He paused for a minute. “Very well,” he said. “Once upon a time, Tinless Tiksey was my most valuable employee.” He looked at Bhanu and Sheela. “How long have you two have been with SchmidtLabs?”

“Three point one years,” Sheela said.

“That’s longer than Tinless—he stayed just a bit over two,” he said. “Tinless was an amazing programmer. I had just moved to
Hyderabad
, and I needed a large enough contract to pay our bills.”

He laughed. “One day this tiny little man walked into my office and told me a company he knew needed a bunch of Y2K programming done. That man was Tinless. He said that if I hired him, he’d introduce me to the company.

“So I hired Tinless, and we flew to
Boston
and met with Mr. Morgan. And we ended up building some incredible software for you. Software that is still running today.” He smiled. “I even joined Soul Identity and got active in the local office. But that’s a bit off subject.”

“What happened to Tinless?” Val asked.

“On the day we made our final delivery, he quit.” Hans Schmidt sighed. “I tried my best to talk him out of it, but he told me that he had more important things to do with his life than just program.”

I smiled. “What could possibly be more important than programming?”

“That’s what I asked him,” he said. “It turned out Tinless was from northern
India
, right up in the Himalayas next to
Tibet
. He was the lama for a local
gompa
.”

“What’s a
gompa
?” I asked.

“It’s a Buddhist temple,” Bhanu said. “Sheela and I visited lots of them on our honeymoon.” He looked at Hans Schmidt. “Do you know which
gompa
?”

“Let me think.” Hans Schmidt scrunched up his forehead. “Lamayuru. Does that sound right?”

Bhanu nodded. “That’s in the Ladakh region of
Kashmir
, a few hours from Leh. We’ve been there. Nice
gompa
. You’re saying their lama is the same Tinless who worked for us?”

Hans Schmidt nodded. “Every year he sends me a post card, reminding me that I promised to visit him. But I’ve never made it up there.”

“Is that a lama as in the Dali Lama?” I asked.

Sheela nodded. “The Dali Lama is the spiritual leader for most Buddhists, but up in the
Himalayas
, each individual
gompa
has its own lama. He is in charge of the temple and the surrounding town.”

Val stared at Hans Schmidt. “Your key programmer on the Soul Identity work was a lama?”

He pursed his lips and nodded.

“And this lama is the same person who introduced you to Soul Identity?”

He nodded again and looked down at the table.

“Who quit the day he delivered this software?”

An almost imperceptible nod.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody about this before?” she asked.

He sighed. “What would I have said? That a lama had written our code and then quit? In any case, it all works, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it certainly works,” she said. “At least, we assumed it did, until we found this problem in the matching binaries.” Val looked at me. “We have to find this lama.”

“In
Kashmir
? This week?” I asked.

She nodded. “We can fly up in the morning and come back on Tuesday.”

Bhanu and Sheela whispered back and forth again. “Val, we were just there a few months ago. We will come as your guides,” Bhanu said.

“Good idea,” said Hans Schmidt. He turned to Val. “I am very sorry about all of this.”

Val nodded. “Let’s just get it fixed. I need you to deliver your Internet stuff too. Tell me there are no lamas on that project.”

He chuckled. “No, no lamas.”

“There is something you can help us with,” Val said. “We need to use the
Hyderabad
communications center.”

He nodded. “Would you like to go there now?”

“Yes, please.” She turned to Bhanu and Sheela. “We’ll ride over with Hans Schmidt. Can you book the flights to
Kashmir
?”

Sheela nodded. “We’ll do that at the office,” she said.

Val smiled. “Great. We’ll meet you there, and then dig into that build script and see what else we can find.”

As we all headed down the stairs, Val caught me grinning at her. “What’s up?” she asked.

“The way you took charge, questioned Hans Schmidt, and decided on our plan of action,” I said. “I like being with such a strong chick.”

“Thanks. Though I have my soft spots, too.”

I nodded. “The mix is great. I’m a lucky guy.” I gave her a quick kiss, and we followed Hans Schmidt out the door.

Val and I sat
in the communications center at the Hyderabad Soul Identity office. I entered the third encryption key from George and tuned the radio to the proper frequency. I picked up the microphone. “This is Val and Scott,” I said. “Is anybody out there?”

“Hello, Val and Scott. You must be in
Hyderabad
already,” Archie said. “I am sitting here with Bob.”

“Hi, Mr. Morgan,” Val said. “We made it. How are
Berry
and Madame Flora?”

We heard Archie chuckle. “They seem to be getting along just fine. Though I heard that Mr. Berringer has requested a full refund on his palm reading sessions.”

Val told them what we learned. “We’re flying into
Kashmir
in the morning,” she said. “Hopefully we’ll find Tinless so he can explain what he did and why.”

“I remember meeting with Tinless and Hans Schmidt,” Archie said. “It always struck me as peculiar that a Tibetan Buddhist would work with Soul Identity. And now that you say he is a lama, it is rather disturbing.”

“Why’s that?” I asked. “Your beliefs seem compatible.”

“Not really, Scott,” he said. “Iris image deltas get in the way of the Buddhists’ proofs of rebirth. They base theirs on retained memories and physical characteristics. Instead of science, they rely on a strong and localized faith.”

“So Soul Identity doesn’t have many Buddhists in its ranks?” I asked.

“We do, but not from the Tibetan region, and definitely no lamas,” he said. “They tend to keep themselves apart.”

George’s voice came over the radio. “This is George and Sue reporting in from
Venice
. We’ve made it, and we’re here to tell you that
Venice
is fine, fine, fine!”

“George, have you gotten a photo of Mr. Feret?” Archie asked.

“It’s Sunday afternoon here in
Venice
, Mr. Morgan. We’ll get that picture tomorrow, when—”

Sue interrupted. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the offices and guesthouse,” she said. “People are streaming in and out. We scheduled an appointment with Mr. Feret for eleven a.m. tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll have that photo ready by your morning.”

“Another thing,” George said. “We found some old buddies here—guests who stayed with us in
Sterling
. They told us that something big is about to happen, and they’re getting prepared.”

“Did they tell you what was going to happen?” I asked.

“They didn’t want to share many details,” he said.

“Did they say how they’re preparing?” I asked.

“No, but we’ll keep digging,” he said.

“Thank you, George,” Archie said. “I want to remind everybody about the urgency of your tasks. Last week we were surprised, but we were lucky. This week we must be prepared.”

“I’m assuming Bob passed on the license plates. Do you know who tried to blow us up and shoot us?” I asked.

“We hit a dead end on the plates, Mr. Scott,” Bob said.

“We will figure this out soon,” Achie said, “and when we do, we will stop them from hurting our organization ever again.”

We signed off the radio call.

I looked at Val. “What do you think is going down in
Venice
?”

She shrugged. “We can search the blogs from SchmidtLabs.”

“Great idea,” I said. Web logs, known as blogs, had become fascinating, shareable, online diaries for millions of Internet users. They were also treasure troves of information—somebody must have blogged or micro-blogged about the event.

Hans Schmidt joined us as we headed out. “Anything new?” he asked.

Val looked at me and then said, “Not really. We told Mr. Morgan that we’re heading north, so he’ll know where we are.”

Hans Schmidt nodded. “I guess we’ll all know more in a couple of days then.”

We walked next door to SchmidtLabs. Hans Schmidt flashed his badge, and we went upstairs and over to where Bhanu and Sheela were working.

“We have the tickets,” Bhanu said. “Our flight is at three forty tomorrow morning. We have to reach
Delhi
in time for the six thirty flight to Leh.”

“I guess we’ll sleep on the plane,” I said. “Where can we plug in?”

Sheela led us to a training room. “You can set up here. Our wireless is wide open, so use your VPN to be safe.”

VPN, or Virtual Private Network, software would encrypt all network traffic going in and out of our laptops. “SchmidtLabs practices safe computing?” I asked.

Sheela nodded. “And we practice lots of snooping. We’re building a network sniffer for one of our clients. If you don’t encrypt, you can assume that half of SchmidtLabs will be watching what you’re doing.”

Sheela left, we got our secure connections up, and I started on my emails. My parents were having a blast in
Iceland
. They went on horseback to a camp in the interior. I wrote back and told them we arrived safely.

“Look at this blog I found.” Val turned her laptop my way.

The blog was titled “Finally in
Venice
,” which sounded like something George would write. The short entry said, “We made it to
Venice
, and I can’t believe that we have only five days left to prepare for the new order. After all the waiting we’re finally here!”

I looked up at Val. “New order? Is that a Soul Identity term?”

She shook her head. “It sounds spooky.”

I continued reading. “We went to the depositary yesterday and emptied our accounts. We are so lucky to be part of this. Only five more days!”

We searched other blogs, but all we found were links to the same entry.

“We should check out the WorldWideSouls site.” I said.

“Let me try,” Val said. After a few minutes of typing she looked up and smiled. “I had to hack into the members-only section, but look at this.” She pointed at her screen. “They have a major event coming up Saturday afternoon in
Venice
.”

So WorldWideSouls was also heading to
Venice
.

“Main speaker, Fred Antere,” I read on Val’s screen. “Paving the way for the launch of the new order. Mandatory attendance for all level 3 and up members.”

Bhanu popped his head into the room. “We have to be at the airport in three hours, but Sheela and I need to get to our flat and bring some warmer clothes. Do you want a ride to your hotel?”

“I need to get the build scripts printed out before we go,” I said.

Bhanu held up a stack of papers. “I’ve got them right here.”

We decided to stay checked in at the
Hyderabad
hotel. That way if any of the gray guys had latched onto our trail, they could waste their time staking us out. We left our laptops locked in the in-room safe and packed an overnight bag.

When Bhanu and Sheela drove up, we saw they were dressed in ski jackets, hats, and gloves.

I looked at Val. “Our khakis and polos may not be enough for the
Himalayas
.”

Val nodded. “We’ll have to buy stuff there.”

The plane landed in Leh, and we climbed down the stairs and walked over to the bus. The air was dry and crisp at eleven thousand feet, and the snow-covered mountains surrounding us were jagged and forbidding.

Bhanu and Sheela pulled on their gloves and hats and gave each other a kiss.

“Are you two remembering your honeymoon?” I asked.

“It’s nice to be back here already.” Sheela pointed. “Lamayuru is way up high in those mountains.”

The bus creaked to a stop at the terminal. Val and I filled out the Foreign Visitor Registration forms that the military guards handed us, and Sheela bought a road map from the tourist bureau.

“Let’s get a car,” Bhanu said. We walked outside, and he headed over to the taxi dispatcher. After a few minutes they shook hands, and Bhanu led us to a white Toyota Qualis.

The driver got out and smiled. “
Julay
,” he said.

“
Julay
,” Bhanu said. He looked at us. “That one word means hello, goodbye, and you’re welcome. It probably means some other things too. When in doubt, just say
julay
.”

“It sounds like aloha,” I said. I smiled at the driver. “Do you speak English?”

“A little.” He gave a little bow. “I am Tenzin.”

“We need to get to Lamayuru as soon as possible,” I said.

“We first need some warmer clothes,” Val said. “Where’s the closest store?”

Tenzin thought for a minute. “Now is getting to be eight o’clock. Leh stores opening at eleven.”

“How far is Lamayuru?” I asked.

“Four hours. By twelve we reach if leaving now.”

“Do you have heat in your Qualis?” Val asked.

Tenzin nodded.

I pointed at our sandals and short sleeves. “Will we survive in these?”

Tenzin shook his head. “You will be too cold. Maybe we find blankets at a village along the way.”

I nodded. “Let’s go to Lamayuru.”

Bhanu and Sheela climbed in the back, Val and I got in the middle, and Tenzin hopped up front and started the engine.

Bhanu and Sheela fell asleep. Tenzin drove east out of town, and Val and I fought motion sickness as we read through the build scripts.

I showed her one of the pages. “Here’s the comment from Tinless that Sheela told us about,” I said.

“What’s it doing?” She traced her finger down the page. “Okay. If the file is the match program, they overwrite it here.”

“Where’s the overwrite file?” I asked.

Val examined the code. “It uses some compressed source contained in this file here.” She waved one of the pages from the stack I gave her.

I tapped my finger on the page. “That one comment Sheela showed us is the only comment in all the scripts.”

“Maybe Tinless was hoping somebody would see it,” she said.

“We’ll know soon enough.” I folded the page and put it in my pocket. Then I looked out the window. I had to crane my head to see the tops of the snow covered mountains. Underneath the snowline was a lot of dirt and sand. There were very few trees.

I looked down. The road clung to the side of a mountain, about one third the way up. A river flowed in the valley below us. I could see a small cluster of houses a mile or so ahead. “Tenzin, can we stop at that town?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. You will be eating breakfast there.”

I shook Bhanu and Sheela awake.

Bhanu looked out the window. “We’re more than halfway there,” he said. “I remember this place. It’s called Khaltse. We cross the river here and head up into the mountains.”

Tenzin stopped in the center of town. I pointed to a six foot wooden cylinder mounted vertically inside a gazebo. “What’s that?” I asked.

Sheela answered, “That’s a prayer wheel. Somebody will come by and spin it pretty soon.”

A man walked by our car. “
Julay
,” he said to Tenzin.

Tenzin smiled at him and they conversed for a moment in Ladakhi. Then the man entered the gazebo, grabbed a handle on the prayer wheel, and walked clockwise around the tiny room. When he finished his loop he gave the wheel a spin and headed off.

“All day long that wheel gets spun.” Sheela nodded at an old lady sitting in the sun. “She has her own personal prayer wheel in her hand.”

I watched her spin her wheel with one hand, finger her rosary with the other, and move her lips in prayer. “She’s pretty coordinated,” I said.

“She should be,” Bhanu said. “She does it all day long.”

“What’s the prayer she’s saying?”
I asked Tenzin.

”
Om, manni padmi ho
. One time, one bead. One hundred eight beads in rosary. She saying one hundred eight rosaries every day.”

I gestured at the gazebo. “Every town has a prayer wheel?” I asked him.

“Every neighborhood,” Tenzin said. “Our way of life in Ladakh.” He pointed to a shack next to the gazebo. “We getting food here.”

“What do they serve?” I asked.

“Only two Ladakhi dishes.
Momo
, which are dumplings. You get them steamed, fried, or half fried. Fried is best. Also
thukpa
, which is noodle vegetable soup.” He motioned us toward the door. “You please eat. I finding something warm for you to wear.”

The four of us sat at a small table and drank the
thukpa
right out of our bowls. I picked up a
momo
with my fingers. “All the food has the same bland taste,” I said.

Bhanu snorted. “The guide books rave about Ladakhi food, but it’s got no spice at all.”

Tenzin came in carrying two shawls.
“Yak wool. Very warm. After you eat, talk to store owner.” He pointed out the door at a building across the street.

Val and I put on the shawls, and they did take the edge off the bitter cold.