The work hadn’t been easy, and the pressure was on.
Because the distributed program had mixed and matched various features of U.S. military bases around the globe to create the alien bases, the question was: How many more bases had been incorporated into the alien designs? How many more potential targets were there?
He would be passing on what he already had to the Army’s computer people pretty soon, but another run wouldn’t hurt.
If Jay could deconstruct the game and identify features of the bases that hadn’t been attacked, the good guys might be able to get ahead of the bad guys.
Unfortunately, as with every solution, there were problems.
First was finding copies of the game software. The program hadn’t been released all at once—new bases had been constructed and sent out to the game players in installments. To complicate things, the game server that had sent the files out had shut itself down when the first base was attacked. In addition, the game files were coded to stop working after a certain date.
So not only did he have to find copies of the software, he had to keep them from shutting down as well.
Big problems are our specialty.
His grin grew wider, and the desert wind blew pieces of sand into his teeth.
Several servers on I2’s West Coast backbone had been taken off-line for maintenance a week or so before. He’d managed to snag the game variants by copying their hard drives and sifting them for the program. He’d changed the computer’s date before starting them up again.
He’d also gotten several copies from a VR site that billed itself as a multiplayer on-line game museum. The site had used similar tactics to freeze the alien games.
After all of his efforts he figured he had about thirty percent or so of the games that had been released. He’d popped them onto a closed network loop and then had gone after problem number two.
Jay looked over toward the main encampment. White tents fluttered in the desert wind. One was larger than the rest, and in front of it stood dozens of glass tables, each one covered with models. Scores of heavily armed guards patrolled the areas around the models.
In order to figure out which military bases made up the alien bases, he needed their specifications, security, entrances, and exits.
And no one had wanted to give him the information. He turned and spit the grit out of his mouth.
It was a classic military move, closing the barn door after the horse had gotten out. Here he was, trying to track down terrorists who had attacked their bases, but no one would give him information to do it.
He’d been tempted to hack their database, but had decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble. So he’d e-mailed General Ellis instead, taking him up on his offer of more resources. In the meantime, he had gone after the information through conventional means, compiling lists of military bases from FBI archives and gathering site plans filed with land-use and planning commissions.
After all, one could take many paths to the same destination.
He’d started a team of techs transferring the data to VR, and then he’d adapted the desert scene to actively deconstruct each of the bases in the game.
And then, wonder of wonders, Ellis had come through. True to his word, the old man had freed up stats on every Army base in the country: buildings, security orders-of-the-day, and even electronic passwords—all as of the date of the first attacks, of course—nothing current. Still, it wasn’t a bad compromise, all things considered. Jay had his data, and the military kept its secrets.
Right now his VR scenario was running on the first or second iteration of the game. The sun beat down and white-robed workers measured features of the temple—which was actually the alien base—and scurried to carry those measurements to others who were near the models. The measurements would be adjusted to scale, and then compared to each model, one piece at a time.
It was a huge amount of information to process, exactly what VR was best at.
“Dr. Jay, Dr. Jay!” One of the natives by the model waved.
Jay headed over, feeling sweat bead on his back in the hot sun.
The man pointed at one of the models, a squared-off base set against a hillside. There was a main entrance, well guarded, and along the side was another entrance, which looked like it was used for vehicles.
The native gestured at the entrance and handed Jay the piece of paper.
Jay read the measurements on the scrap of paper and looked over at the entrance. He pulled a set of calipers from his pocket and measured the doorway.
It was a match.
The VR jock looked down at the base designation. It was in Germany.
Then, as he watched, it flickered slightly, the doorway shifting size, shrinking. It held for a few moments, and then shifted back to being larger.
He frowned. The models weren’t supposed to shift—unless—
Jay paused the VR scenario, and everything froze while he focused on the model. He triggered some code and abruptly the model on the table grew larger, until he was standing at the entrance, scaled to appropriate size.
He walked forward and tapped the left side of the entrance. A tiny window appeared midair, spelling out the gate’s dimensions. Underneath the black figures were blue ones.
Let’s see. . . . Aha—
The blue figures were the ones he’d pulled from public sources, and the black ones were from the files that General Ellis had arranged for him to receive. He’d kept the public records in the few instances where they differed.
And they were different. The black figures read sixteen feet, eight inches. The blue ones read eighteen feet six inches. A simple transposition.
Could it be the wrong base?
He checked the other parameters—distance to the rock wall, thickness of the door, composition of the wall. No. The match was good.
Which was very interesting indeed.
Whether it was the military’s measurements that were correct, or whether the public records were right, wasn’t what was important—the difference of twenty-two inches didn’t matter. What was important was that the figures from the game matched the military numbers.
Whoever had coded the game had used the military’s files.
Nothing like finding a clue to brighten your morning. The devil was in the details, and today Old Scratch was on Jay’s side. He’d take it. But the general was sure gonna be pissed off about this.
5
Nighthawk Cafe
Alexandria, Virginia
Carruth frowned. “I was lookin’ forward to collecting that nuke. What happened?”
Rachel Lewis, dressed down in civilian clothes, smiled. Collecting the nuke had never been in the cards, though she hadn’t bothered to let Carruth in on that. They were in a booth in a small cafe on a dead-end street behind a new strip mall. Lewis liked to find places where the service was terrible and business was slow, but hadn’t found anything like that here in Alexandria. She’d chosen this place instead because it was frequented by locals, not tourists, and was quiet during this time of the day. You could dawdle here for an hour and nobody would bother you, or likely sit close enough to overhear you.
She said, “The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs pulled on Net Force’s leash sooner than I expected. Jay Gridley, their best guy, is on it, and by now he will have figured out how I set the game up, and he will have run with it. The brass are peeing all over themselves, they’ll give him whatever he asks for, and he’s quick. He’ll track the DCP—he’s bound to be able to pick up early copies of it—and he’ll know which bases we used.”