acknowledgement, then, on his computer, he flips through Susan’s employment file. “It says here that she lives by herself.” He pulls up the image of a tidily kept quadplex row house, over in the Adams-Morgan area of town.
“There’s an NSA special response team waiting for her there, but something tells me she’s long gone,” Arnie counters. “I hacked into the street security cams in and around the Liberty Crossing campus.” He positions his iPad so that we can see his download—an aerial view of the surrounding area. “When she left, she turned left, in the opposite direction on Lewinsville Road. She then went south, to get on the Dulles Access Road, going west.”
“Does this download follow her car all the way? Did she end up at the airport?” I ask.
“Yes. There are two multistory garages, as well as a short-term outdoor lot, and several outdoor economy lots too. By its license plate, I found the car on Level Three of this garage.” He switches to another download, which shows the same car, coming into the garage closest to the international terminal. He switches to a security feed within the garage. We watch as she opens the driver door, then goes to the trunk and pulls out a small carry-on bag.
“Unfortunately, here’s where we lose her. You see, there isn’t a security camera in the bridge between the garage and the terminal. And when I scan the security cams closest to the bridge entrance, she’s nowhere to be found.”
A thought comes to me. “She didn’t disappear. She changed in a stairwell off the bridge. And she has another ID, so in essence, Susan—or whatever her real name is—has escaped.” I point to the feed. “Can you pull up timed footage from every egress and ingress to the garage, from the time she entered it?”
Arnie nods. “The garage has four levels, all accessed by a stairwell and an elevator. Depending on whether you want to go to Departures and Ticketing or Arrivals, you’ll either get off at Level Two or Level Three, respectively.”
The flow to and from the elevators from the garage is constant, what with families, groups of adults, and those walking alone and as couples.
None of the women look like Susan. Many that are her height, build and age wear hats or sunglasses, or are accompanied by others.
After staring at the feed for fifteen minutes, Dominic sighs. “She’s a smart cookie. She could have attached herself to some group, a family or a single guy, or even one of her co-conspirators. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
I’ve been staring at the screen for so long that I have to rub my eyes. “At least we have a face on the person who released the worm. But we don’t know her name, or whether she’s the Mad Hacker, or who she’s working with, if anyone, or what they’re trying to do.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dominic asks. “They’re looking to sell state secrets.”
“I’m not so sure,” Arnie counters. “With all the hacking that goes on these days, intel files are deliberately bugged by our own programmers, so that those who take our files are infected with trackers, not to mention our own little ghastly surprises.” He hesitates, then adds, “Frankly, I’m still not convinced the Mad Hacker is the culprit. But if the goal is a covert sale of intel, why leave clues that the break-in occurred in the first place? And why even hint at a Doomsday scenario if he isn’t carrying through with one?”
I throw up my hands in frustration. As much as I’d like to believe Carl was the source of the virus, I’m beginning to think the Mad Hacker may just be our man—or woman.
But if the Hacker isn’t the culprit, we better prove it, and quickly.
My own Doomsday is less than forty-eight hours away.
While they run off down the hall in opposite directions to gather up their teams, I head toward the elevator. I’ve got to get on the next flight out.
I’ve got to confront the past with the children, and
“There’s an NSA special response team waiting for her there, but something tells me she’s long gone,” Arnie counters. “I hacked into the street security cams in and around the Liberty Crossing campus.” He positions his iPad so that we can see his download—an aerial view of the surrounding area. “When she left, she turned left, in the opposite direction on Lewinsville Road. She then went south, to get on the Dulles Access Road, going west.”
“Does this download follow her car all the way? Did she end up at the airport?” I ask.
“Yes. There are two multistory garages, as well as a short-term outdoor lot, and several outdoor economy lots too. By its license plate, I found the car on Level Three of this garage.” He switches to another download, which shows the same car, coming into the garage closest to the international terminal. He switches to a security feed within the garage. We watch as she opens the driver door, then goes to the trunk and pulls out a small carry-on bag.
“Unfortunately, here’s where we lose her. You see, there isn’t a security camera in the bridge between the garage and the terminal. And when I scan the security cams closest to the bridge entrance, she’s nowhere to be found.”
A thought comes to me. “She didn’t disappear. She changed in a stairwell off the bridge. And she has another ID, so in essence, Susan—or whatever her real name is—has escaped.” I point to the feed. “Can you pull up timed footage from every egress and ingress to the garage, from the time she entered it?”
Arnie nods. “The garage has four levels, all accessed by a stairwell and an elevator. Depending on whether you want to go to Departures and Ticketing or Arrivals, you’ll either get off at Level Two or Level Three, respectively.”
The flow to and from the elevators from the garage is constant, what with families, groups of adults, and those walking alone and as couples.
None of the women look like Susan. Many that are her height, build and age wear hats or sunglasses, or are accompanied by others.
After staring at the feed for fifteen minutes, Dominic sighs. “She’s a smart cookie. She could have attached herself to some group, a family or a single guy, or even one of her co-conspirators. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
I’ve been staring at the screen for so long that I have to rub my eyes. “At least we have a face on the person who released the worm. But we don’t know her name, or whether she’s the Mad Hacker, or who she’s working with, if anyone, or what they’re trying to do.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dominic asks. “They’re looking to sell state secrets.”
“I’m not so sure,” Arnie counters. “With all the hacking that goes on these days, intel files are deliberately bugged by our own programmers, so that those who take our files are infected with trackers, not to mention our own little ghastly surprises.” He hesitates, then adds, “Frankly, I’m still not convinced the Mad Hacker is the culprit. But if the goal is a covert sale of intel, why leave clues that the break-in occurred in the first place? And why even hint at a Doomsday scenario if he isn’t carrying through with one?”
I throw up my hands in frustration. As much as I’d like to believe Carl was the source of the virus, I’m beginning to think the Mad Hacker may just be our man—or woman.
But if the Hacker isn’t the culprit, we better prove it, and quickly.
My own Doomsday is less than forty-eight hours away.
While they run off down the hall in opposite directions to gather up their teams, I head toward the elevator. I’ve got to get on the next flight out.
I’ve got to confront the past with the children, and
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