"If Bobby did a simple software patch, one that tells the muther computer to ignore calls from this number, the feds might find the patch and read the number right off it," I told LuEllen.
"So what's he going to do?"
"He'll rig a cutout. Every time we dial out, the call will be assigned to a random number. That's what muther will record."
"He can do that from wherever he is?"
"I don't know. He might hire a tech out here, but for the price, I doubt it. I think he does it from wherever he is."
MURs out w/ random bypass.
Thanx.
We ready for backup.
I'll get back.
We would attack Whitemark in two ways. We would enter the company's computer system and alter it. Some of the changes would be subtle, some crude. The damage would be extensive. As the computer breakdown got Whitemark into deeper and deeper trouble, we'd open the second front: Dace would leak word of the company's problems through the Pentagon rumor mills and the defense press. If it was done right, Whitemark's credibility would crumble, and with it, Hellwolf's. But first we had to get into the Whitemark computers.
Defense industries like Whitemark have physical security ranging from adequate to pretty tight. Fortunately for the craft of industrial espionage, they do have weak points. One of them is greed. They like the idea of their engineers and key managers working at home. Those people inevitably have home terminals with phone links to the main computer center.
The existence of those outside terminals creates a paradoxical problem for the computer centers. On the one hand, if nonexperts, like engineers or accountants, are going to use the computers, the computers have to be friendly-easy to enter and easy to use. On the other hand, if they're too friendly, a bunch of hackers-or spies, if paranoia's your style-could get in and trash the system.
The usual answer is a tough, but thin, security screen. There are a number of different techniques for building the screens, but most are based on coded access. The home users of the system would have entry codes. To get into the Whitemark computers, we had to have the codes. We had to steal them.
The only way to do that was to get into the users' homes. We could copy the code-carrying software and leave behind a concealed bug that would relay computer traffic. If the whole business looked like an ordinary burglary, no one would suspect that computer security had been penetrated.
Once we had the codes, though, we had to start using them, because the damn things expire. And once we attacked the Whitemark computer, we had to keep the attack rolling. When Whitemark figured out what was happening, they would isolate the computer system and shut us out.
It was a matter of doing everything at once. It wasn't good, but there was no choice.
Bobby's research turned up a long list of potential burglary targets. Dace knew Washington like only a local newsman can, and LuEllen cross-examined him on street layouts, crime rates, and landscaping styles. As we narrowed the list of prospects to a dozen, Bobby went into the credit companies and pulled out full reports on the primary targets.
Late in the afternoon, with the list down to a handful of solid possibilities and their files in hand, we broke for dinner.
I drove, LuEllen in the front seat beside me, Dace in the back. As we stopped at the curb cut before entering the street, LuEllen reached over and touched my hand on the steering wheel, while turning to look at Dace.
"Okay, guys," she said, smiling, "I don't want anybody to look. But when we came out the door, there was a guy sitting in the driver's seat of that green van up the street. I think he was looking for us in his outside mirror, and when we came out he looked back at us. Now he's not in the driver's seat anymore. He's not around. I think he's in the back of the van."
"Watching us?" asked Dace, not looking at the van. It was thirty feet up the street, on the opposite side.
"I'm paranoid," said LuEllen. "I got a funny vibe when he looked at us. It was like our eyes met."
"We can't just sit here," I said. I looked both ways and turned down the street toward the van.
"Dace, you look," LuEllen said. "Like you're talking to me, but look past my head and see if there's anybody in the front seat."
We passed the van and Dace grunted, "Nobody."
"Shit," said LuEllen.
"Maybe the guy was just getting out when you saw him and he left while we were walking to the car," Dace suggested.
"Nope," I said, looking in the rearview mirror. "The van just pulled out. He's coming after us." The van driver waited until there was another car between us, then fell in behind. LuEllen casually turned her head and watched for a few seconds and then turned back to me.
"What the fuck is this, Kidd?" she demanded.
"I don't know. We haven't made a move yet."
"You've been doing the computer stuff. Could the cops be monitoring already?"
"No. That's too paranoid," I said. "There are probably a half million data transmissions every day in this town."
She watched the van for another minute. "Well, then what?" she asked impatiently.
"I don't know, but he's breaking off, whoever he is," I said. The van had followed a few blocks, but as we approached a traffic light at a major intersection, it slowed, waited for two additional cars to get between us, then did a U-turn, and headed back toward the apartment.
I took a left, drove a block, took another left, and headed back after it.
"Go past the apartments and come back from the other side. They won't be looking in that direction," LuEllen said.
When we got back, the van was parked on the street directly in front of the building. A tall man in green maintenance coveralls was just getting out of the back and when he slammed the door, the van pulled another half block up the street and stopped.
"So there are two of them," LuEllen said. "The outside guy is a lookout. The inside man has a radio or maybe a beeper."
"So now what?" asked Dace.
LuEllen looked at me. "Our security must be fucked," she said.
"It's not right," I repeated. "For somebody to be onto us, it'd have to be the biggest coincidence in the world."
"So what are we doing?" Dace asked.
"A million bucks," I said. I thought about it. "We don't even know if we're the targets. If we are, and we can take the guy inside, we might find out what's going on. We haven't broken any serious laws yet. If we catch a guy in the place, and talk to him, we might find out exactly where we stand. And he might not be in there at all."
"We better move if we're gonna do it," LuEllen said. "I'd be surprised if he's in there for more than five minutes."
I shook my head. "That's if he's burglarizing the place. If he's tossing it, looking for something specific about us, or if he's putting in bugs, he'll be a little longer. Any ideas about that lookout?"
"Sure. I need a phone," LuEllen said.
There was a phone box on the side of a recreation center two blocks away. LuEllen called the cops and then came running back.
"I told them that the guy in the green van picked up a little girl outside the rec center and took her down the street," she said when she climbed back in the car. "They'll have a car here in a minute. That'd be a top priority call."
The squad car actually arrived less than a minute later. We waited on a side street. When the squad went by, I pulled around the block and went up an alley into the back entrance of the apartment parking lot. The cops had the van driver in the street.
"Dace, you wait here," I said over my shoulder. "If LuEllen doesn't come down in five minutes exactly, you get the cops up there."
"Why don't I come up?" he asked anxiously.
"I don't have time to argue," I said. LuEllen followed me into the building, and we took the steps to the second floor. At the door to the apartment, LuEllen put her finger to her lips, listened for a few seconds, then checked the door lock.