delicately. We're not pulling them in yet—especially considering that we're not going to drill healthy teeth to try to get information or set fires under their chairs. We're going to wait and watch them until they tell us some critical things. First: Who are they working for and what are they about? We can't find an association to any known terror cell. Second: What kind of poison is in Red Vinegar? Is it really infecting people, or is it a hoax? And finally: Who is Omar? Where is Omar? I think if we can find Omar, we'll find Colony One, we'll find the exact nature of Red Vinegar, and we'll find a sleeper cell that wants to kill lots of innocent people."
After my thoughtful silence, I return us to the point of the conversation. "It doesn't take a genius to capture their screens and script their chatter," I remind them. "I can continue doing that from here."
"The chatter won't script." Roger smiles knowingly. My story to him about disappearing chatter made more sense than he was letting on. "USIC had an agent in Trinitron last night, trying to script VaporStrike and a crony. He says they're using some homemade program that has a double whammy. First, it makes chatter disappear. He saw it himself. The chatter appears, and within thirty seconds the monitor blinks. Then the page reads like it was never there."
So he believes my story of VaporStrike and Omar0324.
Hodji continues, "Apparently, all the publicity of the 9/11 terrorists making their plans on the Internet has scared them.
The terror cell has this one way to continue communicating without detection."
I examine the concept of disappearing chatter, frantically searching my head for the programming sequences that could bring this to pass. It is like Internet disappearing ink. I think of a few possible lines of programming, but
is the command with the sender or the server or both?
Even virtual chat rooms create a temporary script that lasts until the speakers exit. I can capture much of that with my searches, which I run up to twenty minutes apart. To capture chatter that erases from the script as soon as the intended eyes behold it? I would have to be everywhere at once, constantly.
"All chatter about Colony One appeared to cease the second week in February," I mutter. "But it hasn't ceased at all, if this is true."
Hodji chuckles without smiling. "It's true. We're being outsmarted."
Roger continues, "That's only problem number one. I said they've got a program with a
double
whammy. The chatter that's posting and disappearing is not usually in either English or Arabic. The other v-spy said that sometimes what they post is in our alphabet, sometimes in ... god knows what alphabets. It looks like they're sharing a massive translation program."
"Of some lesser-known languages," I mutter in awe. "Probably translating to lesser-known alphabets ... which makes a keyword search of chat rooms impossible."
"That's what we think. Because we can't script it, we need somebody on-site who can look at any number of languages and get the gist of what these guys are saying on the spot."
I groan, thinking of people somewhere in this world drinking the water about which VaporStrike brags with such audacity. I ought to be willing to do anything.
Uncle Ahmer tries to pull me aside, but I shake loose from him in a panic. "Tell Trinitron to just send me the hard drive. I will find the stupid program! Even if they ran it off a disk, the evidence of its behavior will be in the activity. What have you over there? A smattering of idiots?"
This time Uncle Ahmer is not so gentle. He tosses me into the now-dim café, though he fans his hand in front of my face, as if this will help at all. He whispers in a gentle tone.
"Shahzad, listen to me. Get rid of your asthma before you give your aunt Hamera a heart attack and I suffer another loss. Get the American education that your father wanted you to have. You can live with your aunt Alika and cousin Inas, go to school with Inas, and work
After my thoughtful silence, I return us to the point of the conversation. "It doesn't take a genius to capture their screens and script their chatter," I remind them. "I can continue doing that from here."
"The chatter won't script." Roger smiles knowingly. My story to him about disappearing chatter made more sense than he was letting on. "USIC had an agent in Trinitron last night, trying to script VaporStrike and a crony. He says they're using some homemade program that has a double whammy. First, it makes chatter disappear. He saw it himself. The chatter appears, and within thirty seconds the monitor blinks. Then the page reads like it was never there."
So he believes my story of VaporStrike and Omar0324.
Hodji continues, "Apparently, all the publicity of the 9/11 terrorists making their plans on the Internet has scared them.
The terror cell has this one way to continue communicating without detection."
I examine the concept of disappearing chatter, frantically searching my head for the programming sequences that could bring this to pass. It is like Internet disappearing ink. I think of a few possible lines of programming, but
is the command with the sender or the server or both?
Even virtual chat rooms create a temporary script that lasts until the speakers exit. I can capture much of that with my searches, which I run up to twenty minutes apart. To capture chatter that erases from the script as soon as the intended eyes behold it? I would have to be everywhere at once, constantly.
"All chatter about Colony One appeared to cease the second week in February," I mutter. "But it hasn't ceased at all, if this is true."
Hodji chuckles without smiling. "It's true. We're being outsmarted."
Roger continues, "That's only problem number one. I said they've got a program with a
double
whammy. The chatter that's posting and disappearing is not usually in either English or Arabic. The other v-spy said that sometimes what they post is in our alphabet, sometimes in ... god knows what alphabets. It looks like they're sharing a massive translation program."
"Of some lesser-known languages," I mutter in awe. "Probably translating to lesser-known alphabets ... which makes a keyword search of chat rooms impossible."
"That's what we think. Because we can't script it, we need somebody on-site who can look at any number of languages and get the gist of what these guys are saying on the spot."
I groan, thinking of people somewhere in this world drinking the water about which VaporStrike brags with such audacity. I ought to be willing to do anything.
Uncle Ahmer tries to pull me aside, but I shake loose from him in a panic. "Tell Trinitron to just send me the hard drive. I will find the stupid program! Even if they ran it off a disk, the evidence of its behavior will be in the activity. What have you over there? A smattering of idiots?"
This time Uncle Ahmer is not so gentle. He tosses me into the now-dim café, though he fans his hand in front of my face, as if this will help at all. He whispers in a gentle tone.
"Shahzad, listen to me. Get rid of your asthma before you give your aunt Hamera a heart attack and I suffer another loss. Get the American education that your father wanted you to have. You can live with your aunt Alika and cousin Inas, go to school with Inas, and work
Similar Books
