to move into a new position, but decided against it. He was safe enough for the moment, and he needed some time and access to the Internet. He propped the woman’s picture next to the screen, typed in Google’s webpage and got to work.
For the next hour he stared at the display, tapping in the word “Dattar” with a list of others and reading the first few pages in the search result. He looked into the woman’s eyes in the photo. Her serious expression appeared intelligent and powerful. Her clothes—a navy suit, white shirt open at the throat, the hint of a chain around her neck, and diamond studs—gave the impression of understated wealth. Smith worked with medical professionals, biologists, and PhDs every day of the week, and this woman looked nothing like them. The female scientists that he knew had massive brain power matched with a scientific bent. Most donned lab coats for their daily uniform, and as a result they often wore simple shirts and slacks underneath. The woman in the photo was a part of the corporate world, Smith would put money on it, and while her brain power looked as massive, it appeared powerful as opposed to academic.
He picked up the phone, ordered room service, and kept typing, switching it up to Google images every time a woman’s name was highlighted next to Dattar’s. Another forty-five minutes passed with no success. His conviction that Dattar was somehow involved in the attack at the Grand Royal was faltering. Perhaps the timing of the attack and Dattar’s escape was a coincidence.
Frustrated, he started searching for software that could apply face recognition to the Internet. He found a commercial website claiming that it was testing a program that could read an image and then search the Internet for every place in which that image appeared. The software was in the beta testing stage and available only by invitation. Smith clicked the link, asked to be included, and then called the company. When a woman’s friendly voice answered the phone, he asked her to speed his inclusion.
“May I ask why you need this information?” The woman’s voice now carried a slight hint of suspicion.
“I’m a member of the United States Army looking for a business contact given me by a friend of a friend. I have the photo of her, but not her name, and my friend can’t remember her name either.”
Smith waited, hoping his white lie would be swallowed. It wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, we do have to be careful about who we allow to use the software. We have already had an incident in which a stalker contacted us and was attempting to locate a woman he was under orders to avoid. We never granted him access, thank goodness, but you can see the problem.”
“I can, but why bother to have a trailer on the Internet and invite users if you don’t intend to allow them access?”
“We’re building our subscription list to make the company attractive for a possible stock offering. We’re unable to grant access at this moment, but hope to in the next year; those on the list will get priority.”
“Would it help if I had a member of the military police contact you? I assume your company could trust them to use the information in a positive manner.”
“I’m sorry, but no. We’re in negotiations with the Department of Homeland Security to allow them to access the software, but those negotiations are ongoing. The fee has yet to be determined, and until then we are not granting access to any law enforcement authority.”
“All right, well thank you for your time.” Smith hung up and called Martin Zellerbach, the one man he knew who could hack into any computer, anywhere, any time.
“Hello, Jon, how nice to hear from you.” Marty’s voice sounded formal, and the sentence was delivered in a stilted voice lacking any real warmth, but Smith was pleasantly surprised. Marty suffered from Asperger’s, a high-functioning form of autism. He’d never really learned the social cues that most people took
For the next hour he stared at the display, tapping in the word “Dattar” with a list of others and reading the first few pages in the search result. He looked into the woman’s eyes in the photo. Her serious expression appeared intelligent and powerful. Her clothes—a navy suit, white shirt open at the throat, the hint of a chain around her neck, and diamond studs—gave the impression of understated wealth. Smith worked with medical professionals, biologists, and PhDs every day of the week, and this woman looked nothing like them. The female scientists that he knew had massive brain power matched with a scientific bent. Most donned lab coats for their daily uniform, and as a result they often wore simple shirts and slacks underneath. The woman in the photo was a part of the corporate world, Smith would put money on it, and while her brain power looked as massive, it appeared powerful as opposed to academic.
He picked up the phone, ordered room service, and kept typing, switching it up to Google images every time a woman’s name was highlighted next to Dattar’s. Another forty-five minutes passed with no success. His conviction that Dattar was somehow involved in the attack at the Grand Royal was faltering. Perhaps the timing of the attack and Dattar’s escape was a coincidence.
Frustrated, he started searching for software that could apply face recognition to the Internet. He found a commercial website claiming that it was testing a program that could read an image and then search the Internet for every place in which that image appeared. The software was in the beta testing stage and available only by invitation. Smith clicked the link, asked to be included, and then called the company. When a woman’s friendly voice answered the phone, he asked her to speed his inclusion.
“May I ask why you need this information?” The woman’s voice now carried a slight hint of suspicion.
“I’m a member of the United States Army looking for a business contact given me by a friend of a friend. I have the photo of her, but not her name, and my friend can’t remember her name either.”
Smith waited, hoping his white lie would be swallowed. It wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, we do have to be careful about who we allow to use the software. We have already had an incident in which a stalker contacted us and was attempting to locate a woman he was under orders to avoid. We never granted him access, thank goodness, but you can see the problem.”
“I can, but why bother to have a trailer on the Internet and invite users if you don’t intend to allow them access?”
“We’re building our subscription list to make the company attractive for a possible stock offering. We’re unable to grant access at this moment, but hope to in the next year; those on the list will get priority.”
“Would it help if I had a member of the military police contact you? I assume your company could trust them to use the information in a positive manner.”
“I’m sorry, but no. We’re in negotiations with the Department of Homeland Security to allow them to access the software, but those negotiations are ongoing. The fee has yet to be determined, and until then we are not granting access to any law enforcement authority.”
“All right, well thank you for your time.” Smith hung up and called Martin Zellerbach, the one man he knew who could hack into any computer, anywhere, any time.
“Hello, Jon, how nice to hear from you.” Marty’s voice sounded formal, and the sentence was delivered in a stilted voice lacking any real warmth, but Smith was pleasantly surprised. Marty suffered from Asperger’s, a high-functioning form of autism. He’d never really learned the social cues that most people took
Similar Books
