“The investigation is seriously off-track. I need you. We need to partner together, just like before, and finish this assignment. Gideon, you’re a foxy son of a bitch, and I don’t know if I trust you any farther than I could throw you, but I swear to God we’re the only ones who can prevent that nuke from going off.”
This was becoming more convincing. “How did you find me?” he asked.
“I put out a routine ‘Attempt to Locate’ on the Jeep’s plate, got a report you were headed east on I-40, drove like hell, and found you here.” There was a pause. “Look, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. Like everyone else, I was fooled. I thought you were guilty. But now I know different. I don’t know where you’re headed, what lead you’re following up, but I damn well know you’re going to need help.”
Gideon looked at him in the rearview mirror. “How’d you get the plate number?”
“I—I figured, since you were on the run with Alida Blaine, that you might be using one of her family cars.”
Gideon said nothing. So the vehicle wasn’tunknown to law enforcement, after all.
“Here’s your Python.” Fordyce handed it back to him. Gideon could see it was still loaded. “To show my good faith.”
Gideon glanced into the rearview mirror again, looked into Fordyce’s eyes, and saw sincerity. The man was telling the truth.
“Let’s go. We’re racing against the clock.” Gideon started the Jeep.
“Wait. We can take my pool car. I’ve got a siren, the works.”
“You’re AWOL from the investigation—?”
“They put me on leave.”
“This car’s marginally safer. They might come looking for you first.”
Fordyce paused. “Makes sense.”
Gideon pulled out of the Stuckey’s, back onto the interstate. “While we drive,” he said, “I’m going to tell you what I’ve learned. And you tell me what you know. And then I’ve got a laptop in the back that needs to be broken into. You once said you worked in the FBI’s decryption section. Think you can help?”
“I can try.”
Gideon set the cruise control at seventy-nine. Then, with the car humming along the interstate, he began to tell Fordyce everything.
61
After crossing the Texas Panhandle, they stopped near the Oklahoma border so Fordyce could pick up a cigarette-lighter converter for the laptop’s AC adapter. On the long trip across Texas, Gideon had explained to the agent how he’d deduced that Blaine was the one behind the terrorist plot, and in turn Fordyce told him how he’d figured out that Gideon was innocent and the security director, Novak, was involved.
“What I don’t know,” Fordyce said, “is whether Novak was part of the plot from the beginning, or if he was paid for just the frame job.”
“From your description of his house, it seems like he’s had more money than he should for some time now,” Gideon replied. “My bet is that he’s one of the original players.” He paused. “No wonder Blaine was willing to help me, a fugitive on the lam. He probably wasn’t too happy that Alida became involved, but he must have figured that if I stayed on the loose, I’d prove just another distraction for the authorities.”
He paused again. “What I can’tfigure out is Blaine himself. Why the hell would he, of all people, want to set off a nuke in Washington? I just don’t see the motivation. He’s a patriot, an ex-spy.”
“You’d be surprised how people can change. Or what their motivations might be.”
“Alida told me Blaine was denied a Nobel Prize because of his past. Perhaps that embittered him.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps we’ll find the answer on this laptop.” Fordyce plugged in the computer and pressed the POWER button.
From the driver’s seat, Gideon looked over as the hard disk trundled, various start-up messages flashed by, then the login screen appeared.
Gideon muttered, “Like I said. Password-protected.”
“O ye of little faith,” Fordyce retorted.
“Can you crack it?”
“That remains to be seen. Look at the splash screen, it’s running the NewBSD variant of UNIX—an odd choice for a novelist.”
“Don’t forget, he’s ex-MI6. Who the hell knows what software they run?”
“True. But I doubt this is Blaine’s working machine.” He pointed at the laptop’s screen. “Check out that version number: NewBSD 2.1.1. This OS is at least six years old.”
“Is that bad?”
“It might be good—the security won’t be as strong. Didn’t you see any other computers in his office?”
“I didn’t hang around casing the joint. I just grabbed the first one I saw.”
Fordyce nodded. Then he pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and began pressing buttons.
“Who are you calling?” Gideon asked.
“I’m accessing the mainframe at FBI Crypt. I’m going to need a few tools to do this job properly.”
Gideon waited while Fordyce typed a laborious series of commands. Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, the agent attached a flash memory stick to the BlackBerry’s USB port. “I can boot into half a dozen operating systems with this gizmo,” he said, tapping the memory stick. “Thank God this laptop’s got USB.”
“What next?” Gideon asked.
“I’m going to run a dictionary attack on Blaine’s login password.”
“Right.”
“If it isn’t too long or obscure, and if the total exhaust time on the OS password monitor is within reason, maybe we’ll catch a break.”
Gideon glanced over dubiously. “Blaine’s no dummy.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean he’s technically savvy.” Fordyce snugged the flash drive into one of the laptop’s USB ports and rebooted the machine. “This little honey can try two hundred and fifty thousand passwords a second. Let’s see just how paranoid Simon Blaine really is.”
For the next ninety minutes, Gideon drove the Jeep at precisely seventy-nine miles per hour, passing Elk City, then Clinton, then Weatherford. The sun would soon be setting, and a starry sky would fill the night dome of the prairie. As they neared Oklahoma City, without progress, Gideon began to feel increasingly restless. Fordyce, too, was growing impatient, peering at the screen and muttering under his breath. Finally, with a curse, he yanked the flash drive from the laptop’s slot and powered down the machine. “Okay,” he growled. “Score one for Blaine.”
“So we’re screwed?” Gideon asked.
“Not yet we’re not.” When the laptop rebooted and the login prompt appeared, Fordyce rattled off a quick blast of keystrokes:
LOGIN: root
PASSWORD: ****
Immediately a storm of text scrolled up the screen.
“Bingo!” Fordyce said.
Gideon looked at him. “Did you get into his account?”
“No.”
“Then what good is it?”
“I got into the system account. Just type rootfor both the login name and password and, presto, you’re super-user. You’d be amazed at how many people either don’t know enough or are too lazy to change the default system account passwords on these older UNIX systems.”
“Can you get into his account or his files from there?”
Fordyce shook his head. “No, I can’t. But maybe I don’t need to.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because as super-user, I can access the standard UNIX password file.” He plugged the flash drive back in, typed a long string of commands, then sat back in his seat, beaming. He pointed at the screen. “Check it out.”
Gideon looked over.
BlaineS:Heqw3EZU5k4Nd:413:adgfirkg
m~:/home/subdir/BlaineS:/bin/bash
“That’s his account name and password, the latter scrambled with DES.”
“Data encryption standard? I thought that couldn’t be cracked.”
Fordyce smiled.
Gideon frowned. “Uh-oh. Let me guess. The government built a back door into the encryption standard.”
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
For about ten minutes, Gideon drove while Fordyce typed, sometimes pausing to peer at the screen, now and then muttering under his breath. Finally, with a withering curse, he punched the back of the seat.