David baldacci, p.33
David Baldacci, page 33
Luckily, Fisher was too engrossed in the high-tech conundrum to question her further about the origin of the disk.
His fingers flew across the keyboard for several more minutes as he tried all the other files. The gibberish on the screen always reappeared. So did the message requesting a password. Finally he turned to her, a smile on his face.
“It’s encrypted,” he said simply.
Sidney stared at him. “Encrypted?”
Fisher continued to stare at the screen. “Encryption is a process whereby you take readable form text and put it into a nonreadable form before you send it out.”
“What good is it if the person you sent it to can’t read it?”
“Ah, but they can if they have the key that allows you to decrypt the message.”
“How do you get the key?”
“The sender has to forward it to you, or you have to already have it in your possession.”
Sidney slumped back in the chair. Jason would have had the damned key. “I don’t have it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Would someone send an encrypted message to himself?” she asked.
Fisher looked over at her. “He wouldn’t. I mean, ordinarily he wouldn’t. If you have the message already in hand, you wouldn’t encrypt it and then send it across the Internet to yourself at another location. It would just give someone the opportunity to intercept it and then maybe break it. But I thought you said a client sent you this?”
Sidney suddenly shivered. “Jeff, do you have any coffee? It seems chilly in here.”
“Actually, I’ve got a fresh pot made. I keep this room a little cooler than the rest of the house because of the heat thrown off by the equipment. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
When Fisher returned with two cups of coffee, Sidney was staring at the screen.
Fisher took a sip of the hot liquid while Sidney sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. Fisher hunched forward and studied the screen. He returned to his last train of thought. “Yeah, you wouldn’t encrypt a message you meant to send to yourself.” He took another sip of coffee. “You’d only do it if you were sending it to someone else.”
Sidney’s eyes flew open and she jolted upright. The image of the e-mail flashing across Jason’s computer screen like an electronic phantom swept through her memory. It was there and then gone. The key. Was it the key? Was he sending it to her?
She gripped Fisher’s arm. “Jeff, how is it possible for an e-mail to appear on your computer screen and then vanish? It’s not in your mailbox. It’s nowhere on the system. How can that happen?”
“Pretty easily. The sender has a window of opportunity to cancel the transmission. I mean, he couldn’t do it once the mail was opened and read. But on some systems, depending on their configuration, you can recall a message up until it’s opened by the receiver. In that regard it’s better than the U.S. mail.” Fisher grinned. “You know, you get pissed off at someone and you write them a letter and mail it, and then you regret having done it. Once it’s in the metal box, you cannot get it back. No way, nohow. With electronic mail, you can. Up to a point.”
“How about outside a network? Like across the Internet?”
Fisher rubbed his chin. “It’s more difficult to do because of the travel chain the message has to go through. Sort of like the monkey bars on the playground.” Sidney again stared at him with a blank face. “You know, you climb up one side, swing yourself across and then climb down the other side. That’s a rough analogy of how mail travels over the Internet. The parts are fluid per se, but they don’t necessarily form a single cohesive unit. The result is, sometimes information sent cannot be retrieved.”
“But it’s possible?”
“If the e-mail was sent using one on-line service through the whole route—like, for example, America Online—you can retrieve it.”
Sidney thought quickly. They had American Online at home. But why would Jason have sent her the key and then taken it back? She shuddered. Unless he wasn’t the one who had canceled the transmission.
“Jeff, if you’re sending the e-mail and you want it to go through, but someone else doesn’t, could they stop it? Cancel the transmission like you said, even if the sender wants it to go through?”
“That’s kind of a weird question. But the answer is yes. All you have to do is have access to the keyboard. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just thinking out loud.”
Fisher looked at her quizzically. “Is something wrong, Sidney?”
Sidney ignored the question. “Is it possible to read the message without the key?”
Fisher looked at the screen and then turned slowly back to Sidney. “There are some methods one can employ.” He sounded hesitant, his tone much more formal.
“Could you try to do it, Jeff?”
He looked down. “Look, Sidney, right after you called today, I phoned the office just to check on some ongoing projects. They told me . . .” He paused and looked at her with troubled eyes. “They told me about you.”
Sidney stood up, her eyes downcast.
“I also happened to read the paper before you came over. Is that what this is all about? I don’t want to get into trouble.”
Sidney sat back down and looked directly at Fisher, gripping his hand with one of hers. “Jeff, an e-mail came across my computer at home. I think it was from my husband. But then it vanished. I think it might have been the key for this message because Jason mailed that disk to himself. Whatever is on that disk I’ve got to be able to read. I haven’t done anything wrong, despite what my firm or the paper or anyone says. I have no way of proving that. Yet. All you have is my word.”
Fisher looked at her for a long moment and then finally nodded. “Okay, I believe you. You happen to be one of the few attorneys at the firm I like.” He turned back to the screen with a determined air. “You might want to get some more coffee. If you’re hungry, there’s some sandwich stuff in the fridge. This could take a while.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The dinner with Frank Hardy had been an early one and it was only about eight o’clock when Sawyer pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment. When he climbed out of the car, his stomach felt immensely comfortable. His brain, however, didn’t share that pleasant feeling. This case seemed to have so many angles, he wasn’t quite sure where to start grabbing.
When he slammed the car door shut, he noticed the vintage Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce high-stepping down the street toward him. His neighborhood was seldom, if ever, witness to that sort of spectacular wealth. Through the windshield Sawyer could see a black-capped chauffeur at the wheel. Sawyer had to look twice and then it hit him what was odd. The driver was on the right side—it was a British-built car. It slowed down and came to a quiet stop next to him. Sawyer couldn’t see in the back of the car because the glass was tinted. He wondered if that was an original production item or had been added later. He didn’t have time to wonder past that. The rear window came down and Sawyer was staring into the countenance of Nathan Gamble. In the meantime the chauffeur had exited the car and stood ready by the passenger door.
Sawyer’s eyes swept the length of the massive vehicle before coming to rest on the Triton chairman again. “Nice set of wheels. How’s the gas mileage?”
“Like I care. You into basketball?” Gamble used a cutter to snip off the back end of his cigar and took a moment to light up.
“Excuse me?”
“NBA. Tall black guys running around in little shorts in return for shitloads of money.”
“I catch it on the tube when I get a chance.”
“Well, hop in, then.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see. I promise you won’t be bored.”
Sawyer looked up and down the street and shrugged. He jostled his car keys in his pocket and then looked at the chauffeur. “I got it, buddy.” Sawyer pulled open the door and climbed in. When he settled back against the leather he noted Richard Lucas in the rear-facing seat. Sawyer inclined his head slightly. Triton’s security chief returned the bare gesture. The Rolls pulled swiftly away.
“You want one?” Gamble held out a cigar. “Cuban. It’s against the law to import them into this country. I think that’s why I like them so much.”
Sawyer took the offered cigar and snipped off the end with the cutter Gamble handed him. He looked surprised when Lucas held out a butane lighter, but accepted the service.
He took a few quick puffs and then a long one as he got it going. “Not bad. Guess I’ll have to give you a break on the illegal smokes.”
“Thanks tons.”
“By the way, how’d you know where I lived? I hoped you weren’t following me. I get real jumpy when people do that.”
“I got better things to do than follow you, believe me.”
“So?”
“So what?” Gamble eyed him.
“So how’d you know where I live?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Actually, it’s a lot to me. In my line of work you don’t broadcast the place you call home.”
“Okay, let me see, then. What did we do? Look you up in the phone book?” Gamble abruptly shook his head and his eyes flickered amusement at Sawyer. “No, that wasn’t it.”
“Good thing, since I don’t happen to be listed.”
“Right. Well, I guess we just knew.” Gamble blew a pair of perfect smoke rings to the ceiling. “You know, all our computer technology. We’re Big Brother, we know everything.” Gamble chuckled while he puffed on his cigar and looked over at Lucas.
Lucas caught Sawyer’s eye. “Actually, Frank Hardy told us. In confidence, of course. We don’t intend to spread that information around. I understand your concern.” Richard Lucas paused. “Just between us,” he added, “I was with the CIA for ten years.”
“Ah, Rich, I just had him going too.” The smell of liquor on Gamble’s breath permeated the car. He reached across and opened a small door built into the wood paneling of the Rolls. A well-stocked bar was revealed. “You look like a scotch and soda man.”
“I had my fill at dinner.”
Gamble filled up an etched china glass with the contents of a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Sawyer glanced over at Lucas, who looked on calmly enough. Apparently this was fairly routine.
“Actually, I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you after our little chat the other day,” said Sawyer.
“The simple answer to that is you took me down a peg and I probably deserved it. Actually, I was testing you with my big-shot asshole routine and you passed with flying colors. As you can imagine, I don’t meet that many people with the balls big enough to do that. When I do, I like to get better acquainted. Plus in light of recent developments I want to talk to you about the case.”
“Recent developments?”
Gamble took a sip of his drink. “You know what I’m talking about. Sidney Archer? New Orleans? RTG? I just got off the horn with Hardy.”
“You work pretty fast. I just left him not more than twenty minutes ago.”
Gamble pulled a tiny portable phone from a receptacle on the Rolls’s rear console. “Remember, Sawyer, I operate in the private sector. You don’t move fast, you don’t move at all, get it?”
Sawyer pulled on his cigar before answering. “I’m beginning to. By the way, you never did say where we’re going.”
“Didn’t I? Well, sit tight. We’ll be there shortly. And then we can have ourselves a nice little talk.”
USAir Arena was home to the NBA Washington Bullets and the NHL Washington Capitals, at least until the new downtown stadium was completed. The arena was packed for the Bullets-Knicks game. Nathan Gamble, Lucas and Sawyer rode the private elevator to the second floor of the arena, where the corporate luxury boxes were located. When Sawyer stepped down the hallway and through the door marked TRITON GLOBAL, he felt as if he had boarded a luxury liner. These weren’t merely seats to a ball game; the place was about the size of his apartment.
A young woman was tending bar and a hot and cold buffet was laid out on a long side table. There was a private bath, closet, overstuffed sofas and chairs and a giant-screen TV in one corner with the basketball game on. From up a flight of stairs leading to the viewing section, Sawyer could hear the crowd cheering. He looked at the TV. The home-team Bullets were up by seven over the heavily favored Knicks.
Sawyer took off his hat and coat and followed Gamble over to the bar area.
“You’ve gotta have something now. Can’t watch a ball game without a drink in your hand.”
Sawyer nodded toward the bartender. “Bud, if you’ve got it.”
The young woman reached in the refrigerator, popped open a can of Budweiser and started to pour it in a glass.
“Can’s good enough. Thanks.”
Sawyer looked around the spacious room again. No one else was there. He strayed over to the buffet. He was still full from dinner, but some chips and salsa were calling to him.
“Place usually this empty?” he asked Gamble while he grabbed up a handful. Lucas assumed a hovering presence against the wall.
“Usually it’s packed,” Gamble replied. “Damn good perk for the employees. Keeps ’em happy and hardworking.” The bartender handed Gamble his drink. In response, Gamble flushed a wad of hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket, pulled a glass off the counter and stuffed the bills in the glass. “Here, bartender’s got to have a tip jar. Go buy some growth stocks.” The young woman almost fainted with joy as Gamble walked over to join Sawyer.
Sawyer pointed his beer toward the TV. “Looks like a great game. I’m surprised there aren’t Triton people packed in here.”
“I’d be real surprised if they were, since I instructed that no tickets be given out for tonight’s game.”
“Why’d you do that?” Sawyer took a sip of his beer.
Gamble hooked Sawyer’s arm with his free hand. “Because I wanted to talk to you in private.”
Sawyer was led up the stairs to the viewing area. From up here the view was pretty much straight down onto the playing floor. Sawyer watched with a twinge of envy as two groups of tall, muscular and very rich young men ran up and down the court. The seating area he was in was closed in on three sides by Plexiglas. On either side were the occupants of other luxury boxes. However, with the glass shield, one could conduct a very private conversation amid a crowd of fifteen thousand.
The two men settled in. Sawyer jerked his head toward where they had just come from. “Rich doesn’t like basketball?”
“Lucas is on duty.”
“Is he ever off duty?”
“When he’s sleeping. I occasionally let him do that.” Gamble sat back in the comfortable chair and gulped his drink.
Sawyer looked around curiously. He had never been in one of these things before, and after the fancy dinner with Hardy he was feeling a little out of his depth. At least he’d have some stories to tell Ray. When he glanced over at Gamble, he stopped smiling. Nada in life was free. Everything had its cost. He decided it was time to check the price tag.
“So, what’d you want to talk about?”
Gamble stared down at the sports contest without really seeing any of it. “The fact is we need CyberCom. We need it badly.”
“Look, Gamble, I’m not your business consultant, I’m a cop. I don’t give a damn if you get CyberCom or not.”
Gamble sucked on an ice cube. He seemed not to have heard. “You work hard building something and it’s never enough, you know? Always somebody trying to take it away from you. Always somebody trying to screw you.”
“If you’re looking for sympathy, look someplace else. You can’t spend all the money you’ve already got. What the hell do you care?”
Gamble exploded. “Because you damn well get used to it, that’s why.” He calmed down quickly. “You get used to being on top. Having everybody measure themselves against you. But a lot of it is about the money.” He looked over at Sawyer. “You want to know what my total income is per year?”
Despite himself Sawyer was curious. “If I say no, why do I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway?”
“One billion dollars.” Gamble unceremoniously dropped the ice cube from his mouth into his glass.
Sawyer swallowed a mouthful of beer as he absorbed this stunning information.
“My federal income tax bill alone this year will come to about four hundred million dollars. With that you’d think I’d qualify for a little TLC from you Feds.”
Sawyer glared at him. “If you’re looking for TLC, try the hookers down on Fourteenth Street. They’re a lot cheaper.”
Gamble stared over at him. “Shit, you guys just don’t get the big picture, do you?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me as to what exactly that is.”
Gamble put down his glass. “You treat everybody the same.” His tone was one of disbelief.
“Excuse me—are you saying that’s wrong?”
“It’s not only wrong, it’s stupid.”
“I guess you never bothered to read the Declaration of Independence—you know, that warm, fuzzy part about all men being created equal.”
“I’m talking reality. I’m talking about business.”
“I don’t make distinctions.”
“Like I’m gonna treat the chairman of Citicorp the same as I would the janitor in the building. One guy can loan me billions of dollars and the other can scrub out my toilet.”
“My job is to hunt down criminals, rich, poor, in-between. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a criminal. I’m a taxpayer, probably the biggest damned taxpayer in this whole country, and all I’m asking for is a little favor that I’d get in the private sector without even asking for it.”
“Hooray for the public sector.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Not for one second was it supposed to be.” Sawyer stared him down. When Gamble finally looked away, Sawyer glanced down at his hands and then took another swallow of beer. Every time he was around this guy his heartbeat seemed to double.
