Coding Isis Page 4

  Chris’s mind drifted to last night and his conversation with Michelle and then he remembered he needed to call in at the gun club before returning home. He’d left his cell phone in his locker after his shooting session. He pulled the car into the right lane to make the turn. Chris thought about stopping at the club and firing off a few rounds. He was a trained marksman and used target shooting as a means of relaxation. Like taking a shower helped clear his mind and sharpen his creative thoughts, he’d had some of his best ideas while shooting targets. He never understood how it worked but he’d often get frustrated with a programming problem after hours of going around in circles, then after half an hour on the range, he had it sorted and needed only to return to work and write the code. The human mind is an amazing thing.

  The gun club was quiet, it didn’t usually get busy until after six when most members had finished work. He swiped his access card and went to his locker. The locker rooms were separate from the ranges and, from the quiet of the place, it seemed like he was alone. When he opened his locker he couldn’t help but take his gun out and hold it. It was a Mark XIX Desert Eagle that fired .50 caliber Action Express rounds. The AE was a powerful round and gave a significant kick, but he loved the feeling of firing the weapon, and you couldn’t get much further removed from sitting at a keyboard and typing all day. He’d bought the standard black finish as a hang-over from his army days, and when Michelle had seen it she’d had had a fit. She hated guns and made him promise to keep it at the club, and so he did. Reluctantly he replaced the gun on the shelf and grabbed his phone. He tried to switch it on but the battery was completely flat.

  He was in and out in less than fifteen minutes. He would have loved to have stayed, but he was too tired from his late night at work and the nervous energy from his meeting today. His shooting would have been pretty lousy. Besides, he wanted to get home and see Michelle.

  Chris nodded to the girl on reception as he left and returned to his car. He’d be home soon. He turned into Fifteenth Street and joined a line of traffic. Traffic queues were common in D.C., he wondered whether the delay was due to road works or some travelling dignitary stopping traffic with their escorted limousines. The delay was short and before long he pulled up outside his redbrick house. Michelle’s car was in the drive, she was probably getting things ready for dinner. He hoped she would be pleased he was home early and not annoyed that she wouldn’t have time to finish her preparations. He unlocked the white paneled door and dropped his briefcase in the hallway. He walked in and called to Michelle, but the expected reply didn’t come. He walked in to the kitchen and was surprised to see her sitting at the table with a glass of wine, the shopping bags were on the side but she hadn’t started cooking, something was wrong. It wasn’t like Michelle to be drinking so early in the day, and she looked as though she’d been crying.

  ‘Hi honey, is everything OK?’

  ‘Chris, I’ve just got off the phone with Frank Myers. I’m afraid it’s bad news.’

  Shit. Chris felt his stomach flip. Maybe the meeting hadn’t gone as well as he’d thought. He looked at Michelle, waiting for the bomb to drop. She looked upset.

  ‘Chris, there’s been an accident. One of the students has been killed. A girl named Jasmine Allan, did you know her?’

  Chris’s legs gave slightly and he reached out to the table for support, then he lowered himself into a chair. He knew Jasmine, she’d worked on the project, and they’d spent a lot of time together. She was a nice girl.

  ‘Yes I know her, I know her well. What happened to her?’

  ‘I don’t know all the details, Frank didn’t want to tell me. He says the police are going to talk to you and the other students tomorrow. He says she was shot.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I don’t know Chris. Do you want a drink?’

  Chris decided he would take a drink, but not wine, he needed something stronger. He went to the cupboard and grabbed the Kentucky Bourbon. His hand was shaking as he poured a large measure from the bottle that half-filled his tumbler. He drank the first drink straight back, then poured himself another.

  ‘I’m sorry babe,’ he said. ‘It’s been quite a long day. A lot of emotional stress, you know? And now this, it’s too much to take in.’

  Michelle stood and walked round to Chris. She leaned over and put her arms around him. It felt good to have her close to him and he needed her support. Suddenly the meeting and the project didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘I don’t know Chris. Frank didn’t tell me any more than I’ve told you. He said that you should stay at home, get some rest. The cops will be interviewing people tomorrow.’

  Chris poured himself another drink, and then ran his hands over his tired face and through his hair.

  ‘I think I’m going to take a bath.’

  He looked at Michelle and saw the worried look on her face. He’d seen that look before. She wasn’t worried about what had happened to Jasmine, she was worried about him. The look told him she wanted him to slow down, work some normal hours and spend more time with her. She was right, he had been pushing things too hard, maybe this was the wakeup call he needed to live his life a bit more. He rinsed his glass in the sink and went upstairs.

  Chris went into the ensuite from the master bedroom and started to fill the bath. He added some bath salts and stood in front of the mirror—he looked tired. He thought about Jasmine. They’d worked closely together. She’d been a masters student, considering a PhD in applied computing. She had certainly been bright enough and, if he was honest, he’d looked forward to being her tutor. She’d done a lot of work on the Isis project and had written most of the facial recognition code. She was brilliant, she’d had a good sense of humor and they’d gotten on well. He wondered what kind of crazy screwed up world would take a brilliant girl like that and just wipe her from existence. He turned off the faucet and lowered himself into the hot water as plumes of steam rose up from the bath. He lay still for a few minutes, just resting and staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a week, he started to relax and he let out a long sigh, and then used a sponge to pour the hot water over his head and neck. Chris found it hard to stop thinking about Jasmine. Maybe he should have brought the bottle to the bath instead of leaving it. He could have drunk himself into oblivion. At times like this he envied computers with their off switch.

  Michelle came into the bathroom with two tumblers and his whiskey bottle. ‘I thought maybe you could use this,’ she said. Chris smiled and watched her pour two very generous drinks. She raised her glass in a toast, ‘To being alive and feeling like shit.’

  ‘To being alive.’

  They tapped their glasses together and drank. Michelle sat on a wicker chair beside the bath. She stared at the tumbler and turned it slowly in her hand. ‘Do you ever think there’s more to life than this?’ she asked.

  ‘What, more to life than whiskey and hot baths?’

  Michelle ignored Chris’s attempt to lighten the mood and kept staring at the whiskey in the glass. ‘It kind of makes you think, you know, when someone dies. Someone you know.’

  ‘Are you asking do I believe in a higher power? In God?’

  ‘Hell no,’ she said as she looked up from her glass. ‘I’ve given up trying to stop your heathen ways. I’m talking about what we leave behind when we die. Is there really any point to any of this?’

  Chris feigned a serious expression, ‘I’m pleased you came to talk to me,’ he said. ‘I was starting to feel a little depressed, and here you are to cheer me up. Do carry on, and would you pass me the razor blades so I can cut my wrists?’

  Michelle shook her head. ‘I’ll never understand your stupid English sarcasm. I’m talking about kids, you dumb ass. Don’t you think your legacy on this rock should be your DNA and not some damned computer system?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Michelle stood and finished her drink, then placed the tumbler by the side of the sink
. She slipped out of her dress and let it fall to the floor. ‘Well I’m going to bed and the way I see it, you’ve got two choices, you can either sit here in the bath feeling sorry for yourself… ’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Or you come to bed with me and we see if we can start a little project of our own.’

  * * *

  Breaking in to a university building is a federal offence and carries a risk of five to ten years in a state penitentiary. The chances of getting caught are high, federal buildings have security staff, not to mention the high number of cleaning staff, researchers and students that are going about their daily, or nightly, business.

  Hacking into a computer system is also a federal crime, but it’s considerably less risky, and if you’re smart no one will ever know you’ve been there. The man who was currently hacking the George Washington University network was smart, in fact he was one of the best in the world and he was certain he would not be detected. When he was done, there would be no trace.

  Even though hacking accounts for 95% of all computer crime committed, most attacks are made by the curious and inexperienced and are easily fended off or detected, but the man didn’t worry about that. He was invisible, a ghost on the net, able to travel anywhere he wanted, taking anything he wanted. The hacker didn’t make his money by stealing it. He considered stealing from bank accounts beneath him, the cyber-crime equivalent of picking pockets. Not too dangerous, but not too rewarding either.

  The hacker wasn’t stealing anything tonight.

  But he did leave something behind.

  SEVEN

  The alarm sounded at 7:00AM and both Chris and Michelle were still asleep. The cat came into the room, walked around the bed and then jumped up on Michelle’s side; she was normally the one that fed it, and so the cat liked her best. She didn’t wake immediately, so it stood on her chest and leaned forwards until its nose touched hers. It purred.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m awake already,’ she said. She pushed the cat to one side and slid from under the covers, trying to let Chris sleep.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked. So much for the plan, she thought.

  Michelle walked around to Chris’s side, switched off the alarm, and then bent over to kiss him.

  ‘You stay in bed honey, I’ll make some tea.’

  Ten years in the US and Chris still preferred tea in the mornings, unless he was really hung-over. Chris would say ‘You can take the boy out of Britain, but you can’t make me drink coffee before ten.’ His sense of humor took some getting used to, but she loved him now just as much as when he had proposed. She threw a light robe over her shorts and tank top and tied her hair in a quick pony tail. The cat ran between her legs as she left the room and she nearly tripped. It must be hungry, she thought as she watched it trot ahead of her with its tail straight up in the air with a slight kink at the end. The “hello tail”, she thought. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove, then grabbed a half tin of cat food from the fridge. The cat purred and rubbed its side against her calf.

  Michelle waited for the kettle to boil and used her phone to check her emails. There was one from an unknown address. That was weird. She opened it and read the single line of text:

  How well do you know him?

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? She deleted it. Spammers. Or something like that. Chris would know.

  She threw three tea bags in a pot and added the boiling water, and then flicked her phone app over to a news reader and the headline brought things back into sharp focus. “University student murdered in Rock Creek Park.” That was quick, she thought. There was no mention of the girl’s name. She wondered how well Chris had known her. She trusted Chris. He was such a straight-up guy, her friends called him Prince Charming. She thought back to how they’d met in London, smiling at the memory. She’d been studying at Imperial College after winning a scholarship. She’d felt honored to be able to study in one of the world’s premier medical institutions and her dad was so proud. Chris had been working nearby, and at the time she had little idea what he was doing, just something with computers, satellites, and networks. She had later found out he’d been working for British military intelligence as a civilian contractor to MI6. That was so typical of Chris, she thought, to play down a vocation that would have been sure to get him laid. She gave the teapot a swirl and set it on a tray with some cups and a carton of milk.

  On the night they had met, Michelle had gone out with her two closest friends to celebrate finishing the last of the term’s exams. It had been a tough year but she felt she’d done well and it was time to let her hair down and enjoy the capital’s night life. They’d decided to go to a bar in Belgravia that was made to look like a library. In Washington, the bar would have looked kitsch, but there, the green leather bench seats and dark oak tables had an elegant charm. She wasn’t sure how authentic the place was, but like most of London, it smelled of old age.

  They’d drunk cocktails, which were expensive even for London, and they had probably been louder than the ambience deserved, but they were young and out to have fun. Chris had approached their table with two other guys and Michelle was immediately struck by his good looks and confidence. He was charming and she’d found his accent a delight. He’d offered to buy drinks for Michelle and her friends and she’d said she’d help him to fetch them from the bar, an excuse to get to know this cute guy, of course. The good thing about a bar that was made to look like a library was you could actually hear people talk. They’d chatted and she’d found he was funny as well as handsome. His tight shirt had shown he kept himself in good shape and, even after a few minutes, she’d been mentally undressing him. It didn’t take long before they’d decided to leave together.

  Michelle thought about that email. How well did she know him? The night they’d met, they’d left their friends and, after another two bars, she’d eventually smuggled him into her dorm, which was strictly against the rules, and they’d giggled like naughty school kids. They’d made love and afterwards he’d said that they should get engaged. Just like that. She’d said that he couldn’t propose to her in bed after just having had sex, and that it didn’t really count as a proper proposal, but from that moment, she’d known that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  She poured the tea and her mind turned back to the email once again.

  How well do you know him?

  It was probably one of Chris’s geeky friends jerking him around. Still, it made her curious. She walked to the door and looked up toward the bedroom. No sign of him. She went back into the kitchen and picked up Chris’s briefcase. She took his phone from inside the case. She’d heard stories of women that had discovered their husband’s infidelities by reading through his text messages. Her heart was racing. This was wrong. She loved him. She trusted him. She looked at the phone in her hand. What the hell. She pressed the power button and it came to life, then it bleeped a loud two-toned warning and shut down again. No battery. Damn.

  She dropped the phone back in his bag and then felt silly. What was she doing? She didn’t need to check his text messages. She trusted him.

  Michelle carried the tray of tea into the bedroom and placed it on the table on Chris’s side, then she took off her robe and snuggled up to him.

  ‘Hey you,’ he said. His voice had a rough edge. Sleepy with maybe a little trace of hangover.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. She turned and looked at him. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I guess,’ he said.

  ‘I mean about Jasmine.’

  ‘I know. I’m OK.’

  She looked at him, her eyes darting from side to side as she tried to read his expression. If anything, he just looked tired. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk about it, she thought. Change the subject. She asked him about the project and how his meeting had gone and Chris seemed to brighten a little. He always loved to talk about his work. She tried hard not to do what Chris called “the vacant stare” when he got technical. It sounded like things were going wel
l and it was good to see him enjoy talking about something other than the girl, something normal.

  ‘I enjoyed last night,’ she said, trying to get the subject off work.

  ‘Me too.’

  Chris finished his tea and started to climb over her to get out of bed, then he stopped, turned and pinned her down instead. She giggled. He kissed her neck and she squirmed. His strong arms held her down—his hands around her wrists. He continued kissing her neck and then shifted his weight so he could move down her body, when he got to the bottom of her tank top he bit the material between his teeth and, with her wrists still pinned, slowly lifted the front until her midriff was exposed. He continued nibbling her tummy and snuffled her like a dog. She laughed. A shiver ran her up spine. He pulled the top up further and now he started to kiss her breasts. She let out a moan, he knew just what she liked.

  ‘I thought you were going to work today,’ she said. ‘Don’t you need to get ready?’ Damn that felt good.

  ‘Work can wait,’ he said.

  ‘What about the cops? Don’t they want to talk to you?’

  ‘They can wait,’ he said.

  They made love and she didn’t think about the stupid email. Well, at least not until they had finished, and she was laying with her head on his chest. She knew her husband pretty well.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ he said. He smiled.

  She hit him with a pillow.

  When Chris got into work he found Frank Myers and a stranger sitting in his office. They seemed to be discussing his research project as Frank was explaining to the man about Joshua Tully and how his company paid for a lot of the computer equipment that Chris used in his work. The stranger looked like a cop, he wasn’t sure what it was that did it, he just had that look. He was tall, maybe six-three, although it was hard to be sure with him sitting down. He was wearing a white shirt and sports coat which hung loose, probably to hide the bulk of a shoulder holster and firearm. He looked to be in his early fifties, but in good shape. His complexion was that of an outdoorsman and matched his roughly-hewn features. Chris figured if he was a cop, this guy had spent more than his fair share on the streets. The cop fixed his gaze on Chris as though he was trying to measure him—a few seconds of calculation and then a smile. Chris thought he may have passed the first test at least. The man stood and extended his hand in greeting.