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Authors: Stephen J. Cannell
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line. Line had only met him once, a
swarthy, dark-haired spook with black eyes and the cold disposition of a desert
reptile.
"This is Valdez."
"Sir, our secure computer has been compromised. A cracker
penetrated our shadow system and completed some downloads."
"What did he get?" Valdez's voice was calm. That was the thing about
Mr. Valdez, he never seemed to be alarmed, as if he always had a tight rein on
himself and the situation. It was his one overriding personality trait; that,
and a reputation for utter ruthlessness.
"He got the program on engineered food. Corn mostly, some test results,
some e-mail. . ." Lincoln's heart was beating harder against his chest,
"and the entire encryption for the Ten-Eyck Chimera project."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "You're
joking," was all Valdez said.
"I think I have him on a security camera," the trembling SA
inserted quickly. "A shot of him and his car pulling past the gate. I'm
going to sat-link it to you right now."
"While I'm dealing with that, I want you to look through the entire
hack and see if he left any electronic clutter behind."
"I will, but I don't think so, sir. He was pretty damned
sharp."
"Right. Of course he was. But I thought you were sharp.
That's what you said when we hired you. Obviously, we were both wrong."
Before Line could present his alibi, Valdez hung up. Line hurried across
the room and hit the satellite send button.
A secure channel on a scrambled frequency shot the digital image into space,
where it bounced off a platform a mile up, then streaked down to the windowless
DARPA headquarters inside the Beltway in Washington, D.C. Elapsed time: fifteen
seconds.
Vincent Valdez quickly scanned the tape when it arrived, then sent it
down to Video Enhancement with instructions to digitally enhance the license
plate.
Fifteen minutes later he had a hard copy printout in his hand. It was a
blowup of the back bumper on a white Camry, with California plate igi 378.
"And?" Valdez said softly to his assistant, Paul Talbot, who
had just handed him the photo.
"The car came from the
concierge at the new Fairview Hotel in San Francisco," Talbot said.
"It was rented to a guest there. A Mr. Roland Minton, Room 3015." Talbot survived
in close proximity to Valdez because, like the male black widow spider, he had
learned to interact with his poisonous mate by appearing innocuous, moving
fast, and staying out of range. Talbot's bland personality masked a shrewd mind
that was always scheming.
Vincent Valdez stared at the photo. He hated screwups. But, he reasoned,
at least the ball was still in play. He looked at his watch. It was currently
3:07 a.m. in San Francisco.
"How fast can we put a response-retrieval team in play?" he
asked Talbot.
"We can scramble a team from Ten-Eyck and have them ready in less
than an hour."
"That puts 'em there before five a.m. Daylight Savings out there gives us an extra hour of dark. So do
it." Victor leaned back. A second thought crossed his mind. . . dangerous,
ironic, but maybe exactly right. They were ready for a field test on one of the
D-units, so why not now? He spun around and stopped Paul Talbot before he left
the office. "Tell Captain Silver
to send a DU along with the team."
"You sure you want to do that?" his assistant asked, turning
and wrinkling his pale brow.
"Let's see if what we've been building is really worth all this
trouble," Victor Valdez said, thinking that at least this would add some
excitement to a monumental cluster-fuck. "Tell Silver to put a chip vest
on the unit with full abort-destroy capabilities. I don't want to leave any DNA
behind if it goes bad."
Talbot nodded and left the room.
Twenty minutes later, a helicopter was
touching down in
swarthy, dark-haired spook with black eyes and the cold disposition of a desert
reptile.
"This is Valdez."
"Sir, our secure computer has been compromised. A cracker
penetrated our shadow system and completed some downloads."
"What did he get?" Valdez's voice was calm. That was the thing about
Mr. Valdez, he never seemed to be alarmed, as if he always had a tight rein on
himself and the situation. It was his one overriding personality trait; that,
and a reputation for utter ruthlessness.
"He got the program on engineered food. Corn mostly, some test results,
some e-mail. . ." Lincoln's heart was beating harder against his chest,
"and the entire encryption for the Ten-Eyck Chimera project."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "You're
joking," was all Valdez said.
"I think I have him on a security camera," the trembling SA
inserted quickly. "A shot of him and his car pulling past the gate. I'm
going to sat-link it to you right now."
"While I'm dealing with that, I want you to look through the entire
hack and see if he left any electronic clutter behind."
"I will, but I don't think so, sir. He was pretty damned
sharp."
"Right. Of course he was. But I thought you were sharp.
That's what you said when we hired you. Obviously, we were both wrong."
Before Line could present his alibi, Valdez hung up. Line hurried across
the room and hit the satellite send button.
A secure channel on a scrambled frequency shot the digital image into space,
where it bounced off a platform a mile up, then streaked down to the windowless
DARPA headquarters inside the Beltway in Washington, D.C. Elapsed time: fifteen
seconds.
Vincent Valdez quickly scanned the tape when it arrived, then sent it
down to Video Enhancement with instructions to digitally enhance the license
plate.
Fifteen minutes later he had a hard copy printout in his hand. It was a
blowup of the back bumper on a white Camry, with California plate igi 378.
"And?" Valdez said softly to his assistant, Paul Talbot, who
had just handed him the photo.
"The car came from the
concierge at the new Fairview Hotel in San Francisco," Talbot said.
"It was rented to a guest there. A Mr. Roland Minton, Room 3015." Talbot survived
in close proximity to Valdez because, like the male black widow spider, he had
learned to interact with his poisonous mate by appearing innocuous, moving
fast, and staying out of range. Talbot's bland personality masked a shrewd mind
that was always scheming.
Vincent Valdez stared at the photo. He hated screwups. But, he reasoned,
at least the ball was still in play. He looked at his watch. It was currently
3:07 a.m. in San Francisco.
"How fast can we put a response-retrieval team in play?" he
asked Talbot.
"We can scramble a team from Ten-Eyck and have them ready in less
than an hour."
"That puts 'em there before five a.m. Daylight Savings out there gives us an extra hour of dark. So do
it." Victor leaned back. A second thought crossed his mind. . . dangerous,
ironic, but maybe exactly right. They were ready for a field test on one of the
D-units, so why not now? He spun around and stopped Paul Talbot before he left
the office. "Tell Captain Silver
to send a DU along with the team."
"You sure you want to do that?" his assistant asked, turning
and wrinkling his pale brow.
"Let's see if what we've been building is really worth all this
trouble," Victor Valdez said, thinking that at least this would add some
excitement to a monumental cluster-fuck. "Tell Silver to put a chip vest
on the unit with full abort-destroy capabilities. I don't want to leave any DNA
behind if it goes bad."
Talbot nodded and left the room.
Twenty minutes later, a helicopter was
touching down in
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