"We got a specialist for just about everything," Dublowski explained as they went down a long corridor. "Locksmiths, weapons, surveillance, aircraft, vehicles, you name it. Our computer guy is supposed to be real good." He kicked his foot against a door and pushed into the room beyond.
"Hey, Simpkins!" Dublowski called out.
A mountain of a man looked up from a table where he was peering through a large magnifying glass. His shaved scalp reflected the powerful light he had angled just in front of him. White teeth shone as his ebony face split in a wide smile.
"Dublowski, my man. How they hanging?" Simpkins spotted Parker and the rank on her collar and he straightened slightly, nodding toward her. "Ma'am."
"Colonel Parker, meet Chief Warrant Officer Simpkins, our local computer nerd."
"Chief." Parker's hand disappeared inside Simpkin's massive paw. "You don't look like any nerd I've ever seen."
"Most of the guys here think if you can add two plus two, you're a math genius," Simpkins said. He picked up what he had been working on. A small black box, about four inches long by two inches wide and an inch high. On each corner, tiny metal spikes poked out "Cute, heh? This is Freddie One." Simpkins put the box down on the table, then he went to a computer at another table.
Dublowski held up the CPU and started to say something, but Simpkins hushed him with a large finger. "Watch this."
He entered something into the keyboard. The box began "walking" on the metal spikes, each one rotating slightly forward, planting, then pulling the box forward. "Look here." Simpkins pointed at the screen.
An image of the tabletop Freddie was on was displayed— from Freddie's low-level point of view.
"I can also get audio," Simpkins said. "Range about a half a mile."
"It's not moving very fast," Dublowski noted.
Simpkins laughed. "You rather that goes into a hostage situation to take a look or you poke your head in?"
"Won't the terrorists see it and stomp it?" Dublowski asked.
"Not if it's nighttime. Or we send Freddie in an air duct. Or we keep him under cover. Freddie can even carry a very small payload."
" 'Small' being the operative," Dublowski said.
"I'm working on one a little bigger, Freddie Two." Simpkins sounded hurt.
"Okay, okay." Dublowski tapped the side of the CPU.
Simpkins reluctantly turned from the computer screen. "What you got there?"
"We need to get something out of this," Dublowski said.
Simpkins grabbed the unit and walked across the room. With one arm he cleared a spot on a table. He looked at the back of the CPU, then across at Dublowski, holding up the severed cables. "You're supposed to unscrew these."
"I was in a hurry."
"This has a government ID below the serial number," Simpkins said as he began removing the connections. "Am I going to get in trouble for working on this?"
"Not if no one finds out," Dublowski said.
Simpkins laughed as he tossed the cut cables into the trash and began connecting new ones. He plugged the CPU in and turned it on, pulling a seventeen-inch monitor close and laying a keyboard across his large thighs.
The screen came alive as the CPU booted. "Whose is this?" Simpkins asked as he typed in a few commands.
"A guy who works in SOCOM G-l," Dublowski said.
"He's done some modifications." Simpkins put his chin in his hand as he stared at the screen for several moments, then he began typing. "Anything in particular I'm looking for?"
"An E-mail was sent to this machine last night about two in the morning," Parker said. "It was transmitted from a laptop via a cell phone to the modem. We need to know what that E-mail was."
After a few moments, Simpkins sat back in the chair. "I can find the message. But I can't open it. It was sent to a locked file. I need the code word to open that file."
"Can't you break in?" Dublowski asked. "I thought that was what you were here for."
"I can break in," Simpkins said, "but whoever devised the lock booby-trapped it. You're lucky you brought this to me. Someone of inferior intelligence and expertise would have tried cracking the lock and the file would have been wiped clean."
"Well, with your superior intelligence, is there a way you can get us in?"
"Get me the code word and I'll get you in," Simpkins said. "I don't suppose you can ask whoever set this up what the password is?"
"He's dead," Dublowski said.
"That rules that out." Simpkins drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, staring at the jumble of code on the screen.
"Takamura had to have known we would try to get this information," Parker said. "There has to be a way in."
"Takamura?" Simpkins asked.
"The man who sent the message and whose computer this is," Parker said.
"He was army?" Simpkins said. When Parker nodded, he spun on his chair and shoved himself away from the desk toward another computer. He quickly went to work. "I'm accessing his personnel records."
"Won't you get in trouble for that?" Parker asked. "I was told you could get traced back. We don't want anyone to know what we're doing."
Simpkins jabbed a thumb at Dublowski. "Contrary to what my friend there thinks, I am pretty good with a computer. Not only that, but here in the Ranch we have the highest access available on the Department of Defense system. We can also access State Department, NSA, CIA, just about everybody. There's some places they don't want us peeking at, but overall we have pretty good access. No questions asked."
He tapped the screen. "Here we go. James Takamura. He's still alive according to this record."
"He was killed in a car crash early this morning," Dublowski said.
"Right after he sent an E-mail to this computer via a cell phone from his laptop?" Simpkins didn't wait for the answer. He scooted back over to Takamura's CPU. "Read me his date of birth."
Parker sat down and read out the data.
"Not it," Simpkins said. "Mother's maiden name."
Parker read that and Simpkins entered it in the password block.
"Nope." Together they went through every piece of information that Simpkins could think might be used as a password. While he was doing that, Dublowski made coffee and stood by the pot until it was full. Then he poured mugs for everyone. Finally Simpkins had exhausted all possibilities.
The warrant officer leaned back in his chair. Then he cocked his head, looking at the stickers on the side of the computer. "This guy one of those Star Trek nuts?"
"I don't know," Parker said. "I guess so from those. He had a little figure of the Enterprise on his desk."
Simpkins began chuckling, a low rumble from deep inside his chest. "I don't believe it." He typed in a word. The screen changed. "I'm in!"
"What was the password?" Parker asked.
" 'Computer,' " Simpkins said.
"What?" Dublowski asked.
"He used the word 'computer' as his password. In Star Trek, when they want to access the computer, they just call out, 'Computer,' " Simpkins explained. "It's so obvious no one would think of it unless they watched Star Trek."
"Sort of the purloined letter technique," Parker said.
"What's that?" Dublowski asked.
"Hiding a stolen letter in a mailbox," Parker explained as she looked over Simpkins's shoulder.
"This is the E-mail," Simpkins said. "It's a file this guy Takamura lifted from personnel records, but the personnel code is funny. Not active. Not family members. I've seen this before." He paused in his typing. "Oh, yeah. Foreign students."
"What?" Dublowski and Parker said at the same time.
Simpkins tapped the screen. "These are foreign student files. You know. Guys from other countries who come here to go through the Q-Course or the School of the Americas at Benning. Any kind of training. We even get some guys here once in a while. We have an exchange program with the Brits — send one of our guys over to go through their selection course every year and then serve a year with an SAS troop and they send one of their guys over.