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Authors: Stephen J. Cannell
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now and would be trying to
run a back-finger search program to trace Roland to this computer site. He had
to get out of the system pretty soon. He downloaded the fifty-two-page
encrypted file, wondering what could be so important that the file would be in
code inside an already secure system. . . secure that is, to anybody but Roland
Minton.
Once the file was downloaded Roland logged off the Gen-A-Tec system. He
knew he hadn't been back-fingered, because the alarm in his hard drive, set to
detect such nastiness, hadn't gone off. He shut down his laptop and lay back
again, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Chew me, dickhead," he
said to his opposite number in the control room back at Gen-A-Tec. But he had developed some respect for the guy. Whoever it was, he was pretty good. He
just wasn't the best. He wasn't the "master of the game."
Lincoln Fellows knew he had been
breached and knew he was about to get toasted for it. He launched a back-finger
program to try and trace the cracker, but, as he feared, the guy was already a
ghost.
Lincoln knew he couldn't call Vincent Valdez at DARPA with a bag full of
apologies. His only chance of saving his job was to come up with some
counterintelligence to give to Mr. Valdez, some critical piece of the puzzle.
He turned to the Gen-A-Tec exterior security cameras and accessed the video
tape decks, starting with the late-afternoon shift change. He ran the four
camera platforms high-speed, fast-forward, scanning all four screens. There
were three cameras on each platform: one regular, one light-enhanced, one
infrared. There were also two front gate camera positions. Lincoln figured that
in order to phreak the system so effectively the cracker must have, at some
time, been working from the telephone company junction box up the street. He
watched as cars and trucks zipped past the gate in fast-forward. After twenty
minutes he saw him—a figure moving past the front gate, a telephone repairman
with a white hat and tool belt. Lincoln froze the tape with the man in
midstride.
"Is that you, Clarence?" he said to the dark image of the man
whom he had frozen, left heel down, right toe pointed up.
In the shot the sun had just disappeared behind the hills, throwing the
street into shadow. The picture was too dark to get a good look. He switched to
the infrared camera. It didn't improve the shot much, so he went for the light-enhanced.
Instantly, the shadowy shot lightened. Lincoln could now see what the guy
looked like—rail-thin, with wisps of hair escaping from under the brim of the
white hard hat. A geek-a-thon. Lincoln released the tape and
fast-forwarded. He saw the guy driving away in a white Camry, hat off, purple
hair blazing. Lincoln froze the shot with the car still in frame. He looked
hard at the rear license plate, couldn't quite read it, but he figured this was
all he was going to get. His security command sheet said any breach on DARPA
projects had to be communicated first to the DARPA A.D. in Washington.
With a shaking hand he called the emergency number. It was 2:45 a.m. here, which meant 5:45 a.m. in Washington, D.C., but he had
been told that Mr. Valdez always got in before sunup.
"Agency," a voice said after two rings.
"I need to speak with the
assistant director. This is Lincoln Fellows," he said.
"Is this an emergency?" the secure operator replied. Line
could hear a beeping sound indicating that his call was being taped.
"I'm afraid so. Tell him it's the Night SA at Gen-A-Tec in San
Francisco and that the secure computer has been breached. We have
downloads."
While he waited for Valdez, Line made a digital transfer of the
cracker's image and drive-away, copying from the security tape to a backup,
then loaded it on the sat-link to send to DARPA in D.C. He knew it was the
first thing Mr. Valdez would ask for.
The assistant director came on the
run a back-finger search program to trace Roland to this computer site. He had
to get out of the system pretty soon. He downloaded the fifty-two-page
encrypted file, wondering what could be so important that the file would be in
code inside an already secure system. . . secure that is, to anybody but Roland
Minton.
Once the file was downloaded Roland logged off the Gen-A-Tec system. He
knew he hadn't been back-fingered, because the alarm in his hard drive, set to
detect such nastiness, hadn't gone off. He shut down his laptop and lay back
again, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Chew me, dickhead," he
said to his opposite number in the control room back at Gen-A-Tec. But he had developed some respect for the guy. Whoever it was, he was pretty good. He
just wasn't the best. He wasn't the "master of the game."
Lincoln Fellows knew he had been
breached and knew he was about to get toasted for it. He launched a back-finger
program to try and trace the cracker, but, as he feared, the guy was already a
ghost.
Lincoln knew he couldn't call Vincent Valdez at DARPA with a bag full of
apologies. His only chance of saving his job was to come up with some
counterintelligence to give to Mr. Valdez, some critical piece of the puzzle.
He turned to the Gen-A-Tec exterior security cameras and accessed the video
tape decks, starting with the late-afternoon shift change. He ran the four
camera platforms high-speed, fast-forward, scanning all four screens. There
were three cameras on each platform: one regular, one light-enhanced, one
infrared. There were also two front gate camera positions. Lincoln figured that
in order to phreak the system so effectively the cracker must have, at some
time, been working from the telephone company junction box up the street. He
watched as cars and trucks zipped past the gate in fast-forward. After twenty
minutes he saw him—a figure moving past the front gate, a telephone repairman
with a white hat and tool belt. Lincoln froze the tape with the man in
midstride.
"Is that you, Clarence?" he said to the dark image of the man
whom he had frozen, left heel down, right toe pointed up.
In the shot the sun had just disappeared behind the hills, throwing the
street into shadow. The picture was too dark to get a good look. He switched to
the infrared camera. It didn't improve the shot much, so he went for the light-enhanced.
Instantly, the shadowy shot lightened. Lincoln could now see what the guy
looked like—rail-thin, with wisps of hair escaping from under the brim of the
white hard hat. A geek-a-thon. Lincoln released the tape and
fast-forwarded. He saw the guy driving away in a white Camry, hat off, purple
hair blazing. Lincoln froze the shot with the car still in frame. He looked
hard at the rear license plate, couldn't quite read it, but he figured this was
all he was going to get. His security command sheet said any breach on DARPA
projects had to be communicated first to the DARPA A.D. in Washington.
With a shaking hand he called the emergency number. It was 2:45 a.m. here, which meant 5:45 a.m. in Washington, D.C., but he had
been told that Mr. Valdez always got in before sunup.
"Agency," a voice said after two rings.
"I need to speak with the
assistant director. This is Lincoln Fellows," he said.
"Is this an emergency?" the secure operator replied. Line
could hear a beeping sound indicating that his call was being taped.
"I'm afraid so. Tell him it's the Night SA at Gen-A-Tec in San
Francisco and that the secure computer has been breached. We have
downloads."
While he waited for Valdez, Line made a digital transfer of the
cracker's image and drive-away, copying from the security tape to a backup,
then loaded it on the sat-link to send to DARPA in D.C. He knew it was the
first thing Mr. Valdez would ask for.
The assistant director came on the
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