The Hunted

35

Hector DeSantos sat down beside Brian Archer, who was jawing on his chewing gum and tapping away at the computer keyboard. Archer had worked his way through a myriad of computer networks using the new set of passwords and protocols Knox had provided. It had taken him three days to navigate the databases of the National Security Agency, CIA, Defense Intelligence Agency, and Department of Defense. But despite his diligence, he had nothing to show for it.

“Maybe this is all just a fucking waste of time,” DeSantos said.

“I doubt Knox—”

Just then, a beep sounded on a laptop Archer had set up across the room on the conference room table.

“What the hell is that?” DeSantos asked.

Archer quickly moved over to the computer and opened it up. He pressed a few keys, studied the screen, and smiled. “Beautiful.”

“What are you doing?”

“While you were off on that Krackhaeur surveillance, I brought my laptop in from home, the one I play around with—”

“What is it you call it, the hacker-cracker?”

“The one and only.” Archer had written a program that was capable of breaking into certain securely encrypted sites. Though he only did it as a hobby, he had hacked into some sensitive corporate servers over the past two years. As a testament to his ingenuity, he had never been caught — which was a good thing considering the discomfort it would have created as he tried to dance around the issue of exactly what his position was in the intelligence community. He figured he would let his boss fight it out with law enforcement, and when the dust settled, they would all laugh about it. After all, he had to stay sharp, and the best exercise for his hacking and cracking muscles was active combat testing. In this case, the war was security, and the battlefield was encrypted networks.

“So what have we got going here?” DeSantos asked.

“I ran my worm program.”

“Is that an earthworm or wiggle worm?”

Archer sat back from the keyboard. “I would’ve thought that after listening to me all these years, you would have picked up some of this stuff by now.”

“You’re assuming I was listening. What you took for nodding my head in agreement while you were talking to the screen was really the bob of my head while I was napping.”

Archer made a face. “Are you listening to me?”

“If I nod off, just kick me.”

“I’ll do more than that.” He swiveled his chair to face DeSantos. “Worm programs are like viruses, except that they don’t attach themselves to files. They’re used by hackers who are trying to get into someone’s computer network to destroy data. A good worm, like mine, moves quickly from server to server undetected, searching for information that matches the parameters you set for it.”

“Don’t worms destroy data?”

“Good, a semi-intelligent question. At least you’re listening. I’m not destroying anything. I’ve modified the program. I’m using it to look for specific information on those mainframes, kind of like a search engine does on the Internet. In this case, I’m looking for anything having to do with Anthony Scarponi. When it gets a match, it compiles a list and sends it back to me.”

DeSantos tilted his chin back and looked at Archer through discerning eyes. “You’re a lot smarter than I thought you were.”

“Thanks.” Archer leaned forward and struck a few keys, then pulled a USB cable from a receptacle in the adjacent tech wall and attached it to the back of his computer. He pressed another key and sat back. “We’ll have an answer in a minute.”

“I’m glad I have you around, you know?”

“How glad?” Archer asked. “Very glad or just somewhat glad?”

“Right now? Very, very glad.”

Archer moved over to the far wall and lifted a few pieces of paper from the printer. “I’m never gonna let you forget you said that.”

“Hey, we’re a team, you know? We each do our thing. That’s all I’m saying.”

Archer was flipping through the pages, scanning the printout. “And what ‘things’ do you do as a member of our ‘team,’ Hector?”

“I’m the breadwinner, my man. You play the keyboard, I play the politicos. Without me, you wouldn’t have all this computer shit to do all your… shit on.”

“We complete each other, is that what you mean?”

“‘Complete each other?’” DeSantos held up a hand. “Now you sound like Maggie. Don’t be getting philosophical on me, Brian. Get enough of that crap at home.”

Archer picked up the other pages that had emerged from the printer. He rifled through them, and then pointed to one of the entries. “Hmm. Looks like we’ve gotten some interesting hits here.” He moved back to the laptop, entered an entry code, and navigated through a series of security screens. “NSA and DOD documents. Shall we call them up and read them?”

“Yes,” DeSantos said in a formal British accent, “we shall.”

A moment later, the screen was filled with a memo that corresponded to the documents they were looking for.

“Hit the print button. Let’s get a hard copy of this stuff before we’re kicked off the system again.”

“It’s all in code,” Archer said.

DeSantos turned to his partner. “Does that surprise you? It’s the fucking NSA. They live in code. I bet they talk to each other in code.” He looked back at the screen. “Except I don’t know how they’d pronounce these words…”

Archer ignored him and moved over to the printer again. He removed the new document, took it to his scanner, and placed it face down on the glass. “I don’t know how long this will take. Could be hours.”

DeSantos put his feet up on the conference table, closed his eyes, and folded his hands across his stomach. “In the meantime, I guess I’d better earn my salary.”