Liberty (15 page)

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Authors: Stephen Coonts

BOOK: Liberty
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Carmellini shrugged. “I was on that videotape, walking across the campus.”
“I see.”
Suddenly Tommy Carmellini's mouth was very dry. He swallowed several times, reached for the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, and poured himself a cup. He drank it.
“I told Arch and Norv they didn't have a case. They knew that, of course. They want something from me.”
“Is there any more evidence for them to find?”
“I don't think so. Of course, the existence of that tape was a big surprise too, so”—he shrugged again—“maybe the best answer is, I don't know.”
“If they want something from you badly enough they might manufacture some evidence.”
“There is that possibility. That's why I thought we should have this conversation.”
“What do you think they want?”
“Anything I said would be pure guesswork.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Carmellini poured another cup of water and sipped it. “I just want you to know where it stands, what's happening. I don't know what in hell these clowns are up to, but whatever it is, it's bad. When the deal goes down, I want you on my side.”
A shadow of a smile crossed Grafton's face. “I appreciate that.”
“That's it,” Carmellini said, and stood. “That's my little tale. If you don't want me working for you, I understand.”
The admiral nodded slowly, looked at his hands. Then
he raised his eyes again to Carmellini's. “A bunch of people died in Cuba.”
“Yes.”
“One of them was a colleague of yours, as I recall. A fellow named Chance.”
“William Henry Chance,” Carmellini said. “A genuinely good man.”
“This day and age they're hard to find,” Jake said. He stood and picked up his papers. As he and Tommy walked toward the door, he said, “Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir,” Carmellini replied. The “sir” just slipped out.
Zelda Hudson and Zip Vance arrived on Thursday afternoon. The federal marshals had a paper they wanted signed, a receipt for two prisoners. Toad Tarkington scanned it and was about to put his John Hancock on the dotted line when Jake Grafton loomed beside him. “Uh-uh,” he said. “I'll sign. They jackrabbit, it'll be my ass, not yours.”
The marshal looked at Jake's signature and his uniform—he was in whites today—then said, “They're all yours.” His female colleague took the handcuffs off Hudson while he removed the cuffs from Zip Vance.
“Be seeing you,” the marshal told Vance, then disappeared through the door after the female officer.
Jake surveyed his prizes. They were wearing clothes that looked as if they had been slept in. “My office,” he said, and led the way. “Carmellini,” he called, and gestured for him to follow.
When the door was closed and his three guests were seated, Jake said, “It took an order from the president of the United States to spring you two, but with one telephone call I can pop you back in.”
“I can't wait to thank him,” Zelda said. Her hair was a mess, but in civilian clothes she looked more like her old self, Carmellini thought. Zipper Vance looked slightly
overwhelmed. He chewed pensively on his lip and gazed fixedly at the corner of Jake's desk.
“Ms. Hudson,” Jake Grafton said, “over six hundred people died as a result of your crimes, which were apparently committed for money. About two hundred of those people were American servicemen and -women. I know you two didn't personally murder anyone, but they would still be alive if you had obeyed the law.”
Carmellini noticed that the scar on Jake's temple was an ugly red splotch.
The admiral's voice developed a hard edge. “Out of necessity, I have pulled every string and jerked every lever to get you out of prison. The American people desperately need your skills. Don't think for a minute that I have forgotten what you did or the debt you owe. I'll never forget. The families of those who died will never forget. As it happens, the fortunes of war have given you a chance to redeem yourselves. You may not believe in redemption, but I do. If you wish to stay out of prison you will obey Mr. Carmellini and throw yourselves into our work, giving it your best efforts. This can be the first day of the rest of your lives—it's up to you. I will not threaten you, but I will make you this promise: If you give less than your best, violate the security regulations, or cut and run, I will be delighted to hold the cell doors open while the federal marshals throw you through them.”
Grafton's finger made a tiny circle on the desk as he continued in a voice Carmellini had never heard him use before. “If you betray the trust that I am placing in you and people die because of it, you won't go back to prison—I'll personally send you to hell. Do you understand?”
Zip Vance couldn't meet Jake's eyes. Zelda wet her lips, swallowed once, then nodded affirmatively.
The edge went out of Jake's voice as he continued: “As of today you are on the federal payroll as probationary GS-5s. Your supervisor is Mr. Carmellini. Whatever he says goes. He'll give you a detailed brief; give you the
documents that prove your new identities, and show you your workstations in the SCIF. That's all.”
Out in the hall Carmellini loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
“Do you think he really would?” Zip muttered. “Do what he said?”
Tommy Carmellini glanced at him, decided he didn't deserve the courtesy of an answer, and led the way toward security. The paperwork, photographs, and fingerprints took an hour. When they were accoutered in their new security badges, he led the way to the ad hoc computer center in the SCIF.
Once there he watched as Hudson and Vance inspected the equipment. They didn't have much to say to each other, he noticed. He had no idea of how long the marshals had had them together. Perhaps they were waiting until they were really alone.
“Here's the deal,” Carmellini said after they sat down. He planted his bottom on the table and sat facing them. “The admiral wants you two to put together the world's finest surveillance network. He wants into every computer database in the Western world and access to every video camera in every hotel, business, airport, and intersection in the country. We want to be able to research airline reservations, drivers' licenses, passports, credit card balances, hotel reservations, rental car receipts, video game rentals—in short, every database in the nation,
every
thing. Can you do it?”
“Jesus Christ!” Zip muttered. “We get out of prison on a pass and you got fifty new felonies lined up for us to commit. This is fucking unbelievable!”
-“The reason I ask, the D.C. police are trying to put together a setup like this—well, maybe not quite so ambitious—but they are going to spend beaucoup bucks and wait years to get the right software.”
“Thanks, Carmellini, you asshole,” Zelda hissed. “We
needed this. Another fifty felonies and they'll crucify us on the steps of the Capitol building.”
“By the time the prosecutors get to you,” Carmellini replied, “the newspapers will have run out of ink. The president and Jake Grafton are going to be first.”
“What's the rush?” Zip Vance asked.
“I know you've been in prison, but didn't you hear about nine-eleven?”
“So?”
“There are a lot of bad guys out there in those mud huts.”
Vance looked pensive. Even Zelda seemed subdued. She caressed one of the keyboards with her fingers. After a bit, she said, “We're going to need to be hardwired into some of the databases that you want us to access, with or without permission. Others we can get into on-line. Can you or Grafton do anything about that?”
“Little problems like that are my specialty,” Carmellini admitted. “Breaking and entering is my life.”
“Another straight arrow.”
“Hey, lady, let's forgo the personal remarks. I'm just a civil servant doing my job.”
“Serving the civils by breaking and entering—that's a new twist on an old gig.”
“Well, yeah. I do what I'm told. I'm no knight in shining armor, but I guarantee you, Jake Grafton is one of the real good guys.”
She took a deep breath, scratched her head, then said, “We're going to need bandwidth, and a lot of it. I'm talking fiber, not copper.”
“Got you covered. You are in the second-most-wired place on the planet. The first being NSA, the National Security Agency.” Tommy tossed Zelda a pad. “Write down what you want, hardware and software.”
“You're not really going to do this, are you?” Vance asked her.
“You want to go back to the joint?” she asked him.
“No, goddamn it, I don't. That's precisely the point. I
want to do something legal and respectable. I want to earn a commuted sentence. Grafton doesn't want to give us an honest-to-God legal job, for all I care he can stick it up his ass. You and I got troubles enough to last a lifetime!”
Tommy Carmellini hopped off the table and hotfooted it toward the door.
He stood in the hallway listening for a moment. “You're a computer junkie,” Vance shouted at Zelda. “You're hooked on this cyber-crap. What about
us
? You and me? Have you forgotten those letters you wrote me?”
“It's this or prison,” she replied coldly. “You think Grafton is going to make you his press spokesperson?”
Carmellini decided it was time to go to the men's room. When he returned he heard only silence. He opened the door, saw Hudson and Vance sitting silently glowering at each other. He went in and closed the door behind him.
“So what's the verdict?” he said brightly.
“We'll do it,” Zelda said.
“What about software? We can't wait years for this. We need this up and running like yesterday.”
“Multiple Oracle databases with some heavily modified off-the-shelf software for data mining should do the trick.”
Carmellini sat again on the desk. “I'm a techno-turkey, but I have to explain stuff to Admiral Grafton from time to time. How are you going to do it?”
Zelda eyed him. “What do you know about networks?”
“Very little.”
“Networks are ubiquitous in modern nations, private networks, the Internet, wireless—even Starbucks is using WiFi, which is wireless fidelity, to create a continuous on-line wireless network for store managers in an urban area. Universities have WiFi networks, businesses, law firms, banks, the Senate and House of Representatives. Most are not encrypted, easy to gain access to, and you get to look at anything on the network.”
“Okay,” Carmellini said, nodding.
“The commercial networks that you mentioned, like credit card databases, bank, telephone, medical records,
what have you, can be exploited—in fact they're exploited all the time; the companies just never tell the public because they don't want the bad publicity. They lose business and their stock price sinks when people find out how stupid they are. They have enough security to keep out the ‘script kiddies'—the teenagers who use attack scripts they get off hacker Web sites—but every commercial network has holes. What we want to do is quietly gain access while coming in under their radar.”
“How do we do that?”
“All networks have security patches they forgot to install, or former users with dumb passwords that haven't been deleted from the system, or have gear attached to the network that came with factory-set passwords they forgot to reset. We go after these because it's so easy. Once we get into their networks, we're an authorized user and we get whatever we want because we have library cards.”
Carmellini grinned warmly. “I knew you two were the right folks for this job.”
“Can it, creep,” Zelda said bitterly. “I'm not in the mood.”
“Let's make that list,” Tommy said, and handed her a pen.
“Zip and I are hackers,” Zelda explained. “We are going to need a small team of specialists that can build a data center with huge amounts of horsepower to process data. And we're going to need a team to write the software to mine the data as it comes in. Without a data mining team, we'll be looking for needles in a three-thousand-acre hayfield.”
Carmellini was taking notes.
“And we're going to need some serious hardware. NSA uses hundreds of RISC-based Sun and IBM machines to process data.”
“We'll get you the people and equipment,” Carmellini promised, “but you are in charge. Grafton wants you to make it happen.”
Before Hudson and Vance left the building, Carmellini
visited with Jake Grafton, who perused Zelda's list. “I'll bet various government agencies own darn near everything on this list. Tomorrow you jump on it. Get the White House involved. I want that equipment in here Monday. You have all weekend.”

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