more.’
‘Plato’s Cave - how very erudite,’ he commented. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the Philosophy Department?’ He slotted the card into the wall of electronics that faced them. ‘Let’s see what it’s hiding.’
She watched Huxley lean forward, his fingers nimbly tapping the keys, as moving holograms, geometric graphics and rivers of encrypted data flowed over the screens above him. Every now and then he glanced up, his eyes quickly scanning the test displays, before punching in more commands. Eventually he sat back, put his hands behind his head and gave a nod of admiration.
‘Your crime lab’s right,’ he said. ‘It’s a super-super-smartcard, certainly cutting edge, with heavily encrypted data.’
‘Can you decode it?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. But I can give you an educated guess about its use.’
‘That would be welcome. It’s more than I’ve got so far, Professor Huxley.’
‘Call me Byron. It makes me feel less like a boffin.’ He folded his arms. ‘What do you know about VPNs - virtual private networks?’
‘Aren’t they a sort of intranet, for use by a business organisation?’
‘You’re in the right neighbourhood. A VPN allows external access through intranet portals. It provides remote users with secure access to the internal network. That is, people can use the web to get into it, thanks to cryptographic tunnelling protocols. Are you following me?’
‘I think so,’ she answered.
‘Good. The most crucial aspect of a VPN is security and its authentication mechanisms. These can include a login, a card key, even biometric data like fingerprints or iris patterns.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘Are you telling me this card would let me log in to someone’s private network?’
‘Essentially, yes. But the card isn’t enough. You’d also need all the security components and a computer configured to connect to the VPN before you could get in. Even then, you’d be treading on thin ice.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The card’s got more than silicon in there. It’s also got a bit of nanotechnology and a micro wireless connection, so I’d guess the login is constantly changing.’ He hit the keyboard and the screens froze. ‘This Plato’s Cave is very private. No one wants you to get in.’
He handed the card back to her.
‘Any idea where it was made?’ she asked.
‘There are a few places around the world where it could’ve been produced, Melbourne being one. The software firms here are up with the best in the world.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
‘Not off the top of my head. But I’ll give you a call if something else occurs to me.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve got your mobile number.’
There was a glint in his eye as he said it.
Rita sat in the cafe at the Campus Centre drinking a strong black coffee and digesting the information Huxley had imparted. Along with his scientific analysis he’d given her a new lead to follow. It would mean knocking on the doors of the best software firms around the city; with any luck, one of them could identify the card’s provenance. Of course, there was one glaring flaw with that approach.
If Tony Kavella was indeed the customer, the firm would probably deny all knowledge of him, the card and its manufacture, so even if it had been made in Melbourne, there was a good chance it would be a fruitless quest.
She switched her thoughts to Huxley himself. He’d made a good impression on her, not just because he was attractive, but because he’d surprised her with his manner and personality. From a university professor she’d anticipated a dry, even condescending welcome.
Instead he was friendlier than she’d expected, more amenable, not pretentious at all.
Her mobile bleeped. She took it out of her shoulder bag. It was a text message from O’Keefe.
T-shirt bought in Bourke St mall. No luck with ID. Still looking for mask.
She smiled to herself. Detective Senior Constable
‘Plato’s Cave - how very erudite,’ he commented. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the Philosophy Department?’ He slotted the card into the wall of electronics that faced them. ‘Let’s see what it’s hiding.’
She watched Huxley lean forward, his fingers nimbly tapping the keys, as moving holograms, geometric graphics and rivers of encrypted data flowed over the screens above him. Every now and then he glanced up, his eyes quickly scanning the test displays, before punching in more commands. Eventually he sat back, put his hands behind his head and gave a nod of admiration.
‘Your crime lab’s right,’ he said. ‘It’s a super-super-smartcard, certainly cutting edge, with heavily encrypted data.’
‘Can you decode it?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. But I can give you an educated guess about its use.’
‘That would be welcome. It’s more than I’ve got so far, Professor Huxley.’
‘Call me Byron. It makes me feel less like a boffin.’ He folded his arms. ‘What do you know about VPNs - virtual private networks?’
‘Aren’t they a sort of intranet, for use by a business organisation?’
‘You’re in the right neighbourhood. A VPN allows external access through intranet portals. It provides remote users with secure access to the internal network. That is, people can use the web to get into it, thanks to cryptographic tunnelling protocols. Are you following me?’
‘I think so,’ she answered.
‘Good. The most crucial aspect of a VPN is security and its authentication mechanisms. These can include a login, a card key, even biometric data like fingerprints or iris patterns.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘Are you telling me this card would let me log in to someone’s private network?’
‘Essentially, yes. But the card isn’t enough. You’d also need all the security components and a computer configured to connect to the VPN before you could get in. Even then, you’d be treading on thin ice.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The card’s got more than silicon in there. It’s also got a bit of nanotechnology and a micro wireless connection, so I’d guess the login is constantly changing.’ He hit the keyboard and the screens froze. ‘This Plato’s Cave is very private. No one wants you to get in.’
He handed the card back to her.
‘Any idea where it was made?’ she asked.
‘There are a few places around the world where it could’ve been produced, Melbourne being one. The software firms here are up with the best in the world.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
‘Not off the top of my head. But I’ll give you a call if something else occurs to me.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve got your mobile number.’
There was a glint in his eye as he said it.
Rita sat in the cafe at the Campus Centre drinking a strong black coffee and digesting the information Huxley had imparted. Along with his scientific analysis he’d given her a new lead to follow. It would mean knocking on the doors of the best software firms around the city; with any luck, one of them could identify the card’s provenance. Of course, there was one glaring flaw with that approach.
If Tony Kavella was indeed the customer, the firm would probably deny all knowledge of him, the card and its manufacture, so even if it had been made in Melbourne, there was a good chance it would be a fruitless quest.
She switched her thoughts to Huxley himself. He’d made a good impression on her, not just because he was attractive, but because he’d surprised her with his manner and personality. From a university professor she’d anticipated a dry, even condescending welcome.
Instead he was friendlier than she’d expected, more amenable, not pretentious at all.
Her mobile bleeped. She took it out of her shoulder bag. It was a text message from O’Keefe.
T-shirt bought in Bourke St mall. No luck with ID. Still looking for mask.
She smiled to herself. Detective Senior Constable
Similar Books
