Hired

I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
Are hired to bear their staves:
—Macbeth V. vii

I sat in a food court a block away from the office drinking black coffee and setting up my plan of attack. Someone with access to the company security cameras had set me up by editing footage from security cameras to show me making a midnight raid on the manufacturing facility. That someone had made the mistake of capturing footage from my incident in front of the building and posting it on a video sharing site. It was as if I was being taunted. If I could triangulate on the two events and the missing ten seconds of network logs, I was pretty sure I would find my antagonist inside CCS. I set up my laptop with a 4G connection and logged onto the company network.

***

The path led me through a dusty attic in the CCS archives. The camera system was an early model that came out nearly 20 years ago. The company had made minor additions and modifications to the system over the years, improving their archiving system and transferring data to the cloud. Occasionally they replaced or added cameras but it was essentially the same system they started with. In fact, I discovered many of the company’s systems were dated. The network technology, managed by Don Abrams and Allen Yarborough, was state of the art. On the other hand, accounting systems that were set up when the company was founded were essentially unchanged, the biggest advances being updates to current software versions.

My usual method is to scan through huge amounts of data very quickly, looking for anomalies and inconsistencies as much in the form of the data as in the actual numbers and names. But as I strolled through this dusty archive with neatly labeled boxes stacked in rows that no one would ever touch, I was struck by a uniform feature rather than an anomaly. One name kept appearing on the records of every significant development and installation in the company for decades. An employee number that was mostly zeroes.

In a row of file boxes that had not been touched in years, I saw one box that had no dust on it. It slid smoothly out of the storage cabinet as though it had been used every day. Inside were automated transactions that hadn’t changed since the company was founded. But the account numbers changed on a regular basis.

Whenever a person gets a new credit card, the first thing they need to do is to activate it. The process works differently for nearly every company issuing a card. It can be as simple as flipping a switch that makes the account active and able to accept transactions. CCS was using an antiquated system of processing a micro transaction on the account. When the customer called the activation line, a randomly generated transaction of between ten and twenty cents was charged to the account, verified, and then reversed. The charge never appeared on a statement to the customer, so it was invisible to questioning eyes.

I verified that the accounts were being charged and saw a string of merchant accounts that accepted the transactions, immediately depositing the money at one of a dozen different banks. Over the years, the depositories had changed, many due to banks that merged or that went under during the economic collapse. But the company kept depositing funds to the merchant accounts.

The reversals, however, did not charge those merchant accounts. The funds were deducted from an expense line under the activation system that was so small it would never undergo scrutiny. That meant someone was collecting the money from the micro transactions—a few cents at a time.

After I placed a tracer on the files so I would be informed whenever someone touched them, I did some quick calculations. The company activated over 100,000 cards a month. At a fifteen cents per transaction, that came out to $15,000. Over 20 years, the yield would be nearly four million dollars. Someone with great patience had put together a nice little retirement fund. I had to admire the long-term planning involved. It wasn’t overly greedy. In fact, I was pretty sure the executives of the company took more in bonuses and stock than this each year.

Bonuses and stock that a lower level employee would never see.

***

“Jen, this is Dag.”

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, but it doesn’t look like there’ll be any long-term damage.”

“That’s good to hear. When can we expect to see you in the office.”

“Jen, how long have you been with the company?” As far as I was concerned I wasn’t planning to come into the office again, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

“Eighteen months. Why?”

“When did you put together the team?”

“That was my assignment when I was hired.”

“Always the same team members?”

“We’ve had a little change in the past year, but pretty stable—only the best and brightest.”

“What is the most significant project the team had executed before I came on board?” There was silence at the other end. For a minute, I thought Jen had just disconnected instead of answering me, but I waited.

“You know, don’t you, Dag?” There was another pause as she tried to outwait me. I’d figured it out, but I needed to hear it. So far I was just making assumptions. I heard a door close and then Jen spoke lowly and rapidly. “The team was put together to assess and expand the company’s ability to respond to a cyber attack. It was to focus on rapidly identifying and neutralizing a new threat. You were invited onto the team to provide a target. You’d be let loose inside the firewall and the team would track and neutralize any attempt you made to access data. Whatever Arnie hired you to do undercover was just a ploy to get you to search through every possible sensitive point in the system. You were to be the threat and we were to stop your investigation. It turned out you were slipperier than we anticipated and the teams efficiency has risen 30% since you arrived. I’m sorry, Dag. It wasn’t personal. No one knew who you were. It was just a lucky draw that Arnie hired you instead of some other hacker.”

That hurt. He hadn’t even chosen me because I was the best hacker to test his team. It had been random. Just someone he hired and gave the keys to the kingdom to in order to test his response team’s power and flexibility. Only it had backfired. Someone on the inside really was robbing the company.

“You’ve been had, Jen,” I said. “Tell the team you don’t think I’m out of the game yet. In fact, I’m sending you a file that suggests that I’m still in the system even though I’m not in the office. They should stay alert for what I do next.” I sent her the login information for six smartcards that I’d received from my bug on the manufacturing facility. That would expand their target awareness and give them more to look out for, even though I had no intention of using any of them again.

There is a longstanding principle regarding the control of mass behavior, explored in social studies, politics, and philosophy. The best way to hide a real internal threat is to focus on or create an imaginary external threat. Hitler managed it brilliantly. Bush managed it somewhat less successfully, but well enough to send the country to war for more than a decade. Countless other politicians and business leaders had managed it. Launch the rumor of a takeover bid from a rival company and watch the deflated stock value rise long enough to cover a cash shortfall that can’t be explained. Fabricate an external threat to rally the troupes around and you will get them to ignore a very real internal danger. It’s what Lars was teaching us in our Navy intelligence drill. You could even avoid—or start—a revolution. CCS was focusing its top talent in the company on stopping an imaginary external threat as a ruse to keep them from discovering a very real problem inside. I needed just a few more bits of data to tie it all together, and I began writing a routine that would help me tag and identify the controller. I would need to lure the team back into an engagement, but I already knew who the target was.

***

I packed up my computer and headed back to Capitol Hill just before noon. I’d transferred my virus into the system where it would lie dormant until one of several key phrases was appeared in the network. I’d do it tonight and tomorrow this little game would be over.

I arrived at Andi’s house right at noon and was greeted like the long-lost. I could smell a delicious aroma as I went into the house.

“What is that wonderful smell?” I said.

“Homemade bread,” Andi responded. She placed a long sensuous kiss on my lips, then whispered in my ear. “Before we go in, please take this.” She handed me a thick brown envelope. “It’s all the material I’m going to give to Cali. I’d like you to look it over and help me make sure it… Well, that it won’t hurt her. Now that I’ve decided to tell her, I’m nervous. I don’t want her to think any of this was her fault.” I took the envelope and slid it into my backpack. I kissed her again.

“I’m so in love with you, Andi. I’ll look at the stuff, but when it comes down to it, it’s because Cali loves you and you love her that it will all work out. Don’t worry darling.”

We walked into the kitchen in time to see Cali stuff a piece of bread that was mostly butter into her mouth.

“Mmmgh!” she choked out as she drank a huge glass of milk. “It’s so good!”

“Don’t eat it all before the soup is on the table,” Andi laughed.

“You guys were out there snogging so long that I couldn’t help myself,” Cali teased, licking her fingers.

Andi handed me a slice of the still-warm bread and I smeared it with butter. I took a big bite.

“Oh, this is good! Why do we need soup?”

“You’ll like this, I promise.” We sat at the kitchen table and Andi put a big bowl of incredible chicken soup on the table in front of each of us. I took a taste of the soup and realized this was not the kind of soup that comes from a can. I also realized how long it had been since I last ate. “Wow! The soup is great. I haven’t had homemade food this good in as long as I can remember.”

“Oh, it’s just leftovers.”

“Leftovers? You eat like this all the time?”

“No. I cooked a big batch of soup and fresh bread a few nights ago when I thought I was going to have company. When he didn’t show, I just put the soup in the refrigerator.” She looked at me and smiled sweetly. It dawned on me what she was saying. This was the meal I missed while I was locked in the manufacturing room. I hung my head sheepishly.

“Mea culpa,” I moaned.

“Going out for a week and he stands her up the first opportunity he has,” Cali smirked.

“It was unavoidable,” I tried to explain.

“Yeah, you were all tied up. How are you going to make it up?” I thought for a minute then came up with an idea.

“How about some entertainment?” I asked, grabbing my backpack.

“You sing, dance, or act?” Cali asked.

“No. You’re the triple threat. I’m just superman,” I laughed. “This is all over the Internet. You’ve got to see it, but don’t tell anyone you know who it is. Secret identity and all that.” I opened my laptop and loaded the video clip I’d saved. Then I turned it toward Andi and Cali. “Just watch this.” The video played.

“That’s unbelievable,” Andi said. “Play it again. It goes so fast!” I ran the clip again. “Again,” Andi said. I glanced up as the video played my 30 seconds of glory for a third time. Cali was staring, open-mouthed at the screen and was scooting her chair back away from the table. Tears were springing to her eyes. She started gasping and I thought at first she was choking on something. I backed my chair away from the table.

“Cali!” Her chair toppled back behind her as her hands came to her face and a long mournful wail escaped from her lips. Andi turned to her daughter and reached for her but I caught her as she fainted away at the table. Andi grabbed a glass of water as I carried the child to Andi’s bedroom and laid her on the bed. In a moment, Cali had her eyes open and was spluttering on the water. Her eyes were still filled with tears and she was hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m so sorry! Oh my God! I’m so sorry. What have I done? I didn’t mean to.” Andi wrapped her arms around her daughter and rocked her back and forth as she sobbed and repeated over and over again how sorry she was. This couldn’t have been about knocking the chair over. Cali was sweating and her hair was hanging in clumps, stuck to her face by the sweat and tears. Heart-rending sobs broke from her lungs.

“It’s okay, Cali,” Andi soothed. “It’s okay Sweety. Tell Mommy what it’s all about.” I stood next to the bed with my hand resting lightly on Andi’s shoulder, unable to understand anything that was going on. Was life with a teenaged daughter always like this?

“Mel! I’m sorry! Mel! Mel!” Cali wailed.

“What is it, Cali?” Andi asked in exasperation.

Cali started to thrash around on the bed and we soon realized she was trying to get up. She couldn’t express herself verbally through the continuing sobs. In seconds she had led us back to the kitchen table and started the video playing again. She pointed at the video but instead of the action that had captivated me when I’d first seen the movie and that Andi had asked to have replayed repeatedly, Cali was pointing to action happening in the background, nearly half a block away from the accident. It went by too quickly for me to see the first time and I replayed it at a slower speed while Cali continued to point and moaned “Mel!”

Andi and I saw what she was pointing at simultaneously and both of us gasped. There, half a block from where I was being a superhero, Cali and Mel were walking up the street. Like everyone else, when the action happened in the foreground, Cali and Mel started to run forward, but just before the clip ended, we could see Mel peel off away into the entrance to the bus tunnel. She was not alone.

A man had wrapped an arm around Mel’s shoulders and was guiding her away.

“He took her!” Cali screamed.

***

While Andi calmed and comforted Cali, I went back to the computer. I’d already forwarded the link to the police as part of the bus accident investigation, but then I’d broken into security at CCS and downloaded the full length of the video including several minutes before and after the thirty seconds that were posted. I opened the file and began examining it frame-by-frame. When I looked at the full video earlier, I was focused entirely on the foreground, following my own progress up the street. I’d seen the man step out from behind a pillar directly behind his victim and just when the couple turned their heads away from each other, push the young woman into the street. I was sure the police would be able to subpoena the full clip and have legal evidence to find and convict the man. But I hadn’t paid attention to what was happening in the background.

I saw Cali and Mel emerge from a shop up the street. The camera’s focal length is not the greatest for items in the distance, but after Cali had identified herself and Mel, I could pick them out on the grainy film. The timing was incredible. Just as the man in the foreground stepped out from behind a pillar, a man also stepped out of a doorway behind Cali and Mel. While the video was silent, I could tell exactly when the bus breaks squealed. The attention of everyone on the street shifted to the accident. People started to run toward the bus, including Cali and Mel. But Mel only moved one step when the man behind her swung his hand across her mouth, moved her into the bus tunnel entrance and disappeared.

Before the scene had played out, I was on the phone to Jordan.

“You’re keeping me busy, Dag. What is it?” he answered the phone.

“We’ve got a kidnapping that was reported as a runaway and I have strong evidence that it involves Patterson.” I sent the full video to Jordan as we talked. He had another phone at his ear calling in the Seattle kidnapping task force. They would have video experts on it in no time to enhance the images. There was no question in my mind. The man behind Mel had clapped his hand over her mouth and maneuvered her out of the street while the accident was being staged. It was a coordinated effort. But what caught my attention, now as I was focused on the background, was where Mel’s kidnapper had emerged.

All along Third there are a mix of old and new structures. Many of the old ones have businesses at street level—a deli, a brokerage, a travel agent—and offices above. The door from which the kidnapper emerged was the building that housed Patterson Foundation.