Counting from Zero (13 page)

“Good evening, Mick,” Kateryna began, pronouncing Mick’s name in her signature way as her smiling face filled the screen.
 
She was still in her office, he guessed.
 
However, the room seemed to have good lighting: no overhead fluorescent lights that made some video calls look so awful.
 
She was wearing a light blue blazer and a white blouse with some jewelry a geologist would likely find fascinating.

“Hey Kat.
 
Thanks for doing this for me – it means a lot.
 
I'll definitely owe you one,” he replied, glancing at his own sent image to make sure he looked good.
 
He had put on a fresh black T-shirt for the call.

“No problems.
 
Actually, I think I've made some new friends in our anti-spam group.
 
They really enjoyed going through the code you sent.
 
You did have permission from your client to share, right?”

“Of course, but I can't say who they are or disclose it publicly.”

“Sure, I understand,” she said, the corner of her mouth moving as if to start a dazzling smile.
 
Sometimes he had a hard time concentrating when he was talking to her.
 
“So, here's what they have found: multiple layers of encryption and some clever tricks to avoid reverse engineering or monitoring of the code.
 
The guys say they haven't seen anything as good as this since they first looked at that peer-to-peer communication stuff a few years back.”

“Funny you should say that...” he began.

“Don't tell me, P2P communication patterns, too?” she asked, her eyes getting wide.

“Yes, definitely.
 
Or, at least I'm pretty sure.”

“Which is it?”

“Well, I'm pretty sure there is communication, but I haven't found the actual messages yet.
 
They are well hidden somehow.
 
I feel as if they are staring me in the face...
”
 
Mick paused and stared out into space as the answer came to him – steganography – the hiding of information in plain sight.
 
He got himself together and tried to concentrate on Kateryna who was looking on somewhat bemused.
 
Mick wasn’t sure how much time had passed.

“Did you just remember you left a motorcycle running back at your garage?” she asked.

“No, no, I just realized something.
 
Anyway, what else did they find?”

“Just that it is some of the most sophisticated spamware they've ever seen.
 
Also, another interesting thing: this code must do more than just send spam.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the size of the code is much too big to just be a spambot.
 
It must have other functions.
 
Any idea what those might be?”

“I'm beginning to...
 
yes.”

“Are all of your consulting jobs like this?” she asked, perhaps a tinge of envy in her voice.

“No, most just involve inventing cold fusion, finding Higgs-bosons, and solving world hunger.
 
This one is actually less difficult than most,” he replied, and was rewarded with a glare.

“So have you been enjoying the riding and the scenery?” she asked.

“For sure – it is so spectacular.
 
I'm told I need to come back in the early spring and also in the summer to see all the different moods of the desert.
 
Los Alamos is amazing, although it is pretty isolated.”

They chatted for a few more minutes until Kateryna appeared to be interrupted by a phone call.

“Oh, one last thing.
 
Buried in the code they found the name of this software:
Zed dot Kicker
.
 
You know these attack writers – they love to name their creations.
 
Gotta
run, Mick.
 
Take care.”

“OK, thanks a bunch, Kat.
 
Talk to you again soon,” he replied as she signed off.

The next few days, he made good progress at LeydenTech, giving regular updates to Vince.
 
Vince had agreed to ship him a hardware encryption device so he could do the rest of his work remotely.
  
As a result, he decided not the stay for the weekend, and had made arrangements to fly back to New York on the next morning, Saturday.
 
He also had a response published in
ISW
disavowing the email and setting the record straight.
 
After a terrible start to the week, things were looking up.

Walking out of the LeydenTech offices, Mick pulled on his helmet and gloves and started the Ducati.
 
Second kick, as always.
 
For some reason, Mick enjoyed kick starting his motorcycles.
 
When he had a choice of kick start or electric start, he always used the
kick starter
.

He pressed down with his left toe to select first gear, slipped the clutch and took off.
 
He waved with his left hand to the guard at the gate who pressed the button to open it and he turned right onto the road, shifting into second.
 
As he accelerated, he noted a car in his outside mirror; a glance to his inside mirror confirmed it.
 
He was sure there were no cars on the road when he pulled out – very strange.
 
Going up through the gears, he reached his cruising speed, feeling the engine revs rather than looking at the tiny gauges mounted in front of the handlebars on the bike.
 
As he approached the first intersection, he had his first decision: most direct route or most fun?

As if it were a choice...

There were few other cars to be seen on the road in the early evening light, so he didn't even have to slow down as he cornered to the right at the intersection by pushing on the right side of his handlebars.
 
A common misconception about high speed motorcycle cornering is that you turn the handlebars to initiate the turn.
 
Actually, the best technique is to counter steer – to push on the handlebars in the opposite direction of the turn.
 
The gyroscopic effect causes the bike to lean the other way, and hence initiates the turn.
 
The harder you push, the more the bike leans, and the harder you turn.
 
This was one of the hardest things that Mick had to learn when he first started riding motorcycles on the street after riding dirt bikes as a kid.

He completed the turn with plenty of road left, a slight smile forming on his face.
 
Then, he noticed the same car from LeydenTech also making the turn.
 
Mick noted the suspension roll, or lean, on the sedan as it exited the corner, suggesting that it had taken the corner without slowing down.
 
This wiped the smile off his face as he started to ponder the possibilities.
 

His route took him around the outskirts of Los Alamos.
 
Off the beaten track, but still roads that people drove.
 
He decided to add a few more kilometers to his ride and answer the question building in his mind.
 
A small dirt road approached on the left, and he took it, braking slightly on the pavement, and leaning less on the turn until he knew how loose the gravel was on the road.
 
He straightened up and accelerated with the setting sun behind him.
 
A moment later, the sedan made the same turn.
 
Mick's pulse increased and he felt adrenaline surge through him.

That car is following me…

He decided to turn the tables on his pursuers.

At the next slight rise in the road, Mick waited until he was over the crest and hit the brakes hard with his right foot, locking the rear wheel while modulating the front break with his right hand, keeping on the edge of adhesion.
 
He pulled behind some strategically placed scrub that hid him from view.
 
He down shifted to first gear but didn't have long to wait for the car to come over the crest of the hill.

As the car roared past, he had a good look at the two occupants, men in
their
twenties or thirties, dark haired with sharp features.
 
The passenger turned and spotted him as they roared by, but it was too late.
 
Mick slipped the clutch at the same instant and gave the Scrambler full throttle.
 
His rear wheel moved around but he kept it under him as he rapidly caught up.
 
He saw the driver touch the brakes in surprise, but then take his foot off, and instead stepped on the other pedal.
 
Mick was eating a lot of dust, and from the sound of it losing some paint on his bike, but he twisted his wrist and accelerated, keeping up with the car.

As the road started getting a little bumpier, he rose up off his seat, making his legs part of the suspension of his bike, and keeping his weight on his foot pegs, providing better control.
 
He bent his elbows slightly, pointing them outwards, making his body a fulcrum as the bike pounded over the bumps, motocross style.
 
The car in front of him was having a harder time, almost getting airborne on some bumps.
 
The passenger kept turning around to glare at him.
 
Mick's tinted full-face helmet prevented them from seeing the concentration on his face.
 
With the cloud of dust kicked up by the car, he wasn't getting a very good view of the road.

Mick had only a fraction of a second to react to the glowing red brake lights and the resulting shower of dust and stones.
 
He jumped on his brakes hard, locking his rear and applying his front brake as hard as he dared without washing out.
 
The car was coming to a complete halt, and with its four wide tires, it was stopping faster than Mick's two wheels.
 
The car slid sideways, nearly blocking the road, forcing Mick to choose between running into it
or
heading off the road.
 
He chose the latter, nearly laying the bike over on its right side as he released his brakes to gain traction.
 
The edge of the road made a jump and Mick went airborne.
 
He would have stuck the landing if it weren't for the erosion rut that claimed his front wheel.
 
He couldn't steer or do anything except go over on his side.
 
Mick parted company with his bike, rolling to a stop a few meters away.

As his head cleared, he sat up and pulled off his helmet.
 
The engine of the Scrambler was still running, the back wheel spinning in the air.
 
He crawled over and hit the kill switch to stop the engine.
 
He then realized he was not alone, as the two men stood over him.

“O'Malley!
 
You should mind your own business,” one of them said, kicking the dirt with his boot.
 
This guy was not from New Mexico, or even from North America, judging from his accent.
 
Mick said nothing, glaring at them.
 
“If I were you, I'd forget about
Zed dot Kicker
if you know what's good for you...” The man paused and then both turned around and began walking back to the car.
 
“Oh, and O'Malley, you should be more careful with your things, like your private keys.”

Mick tried to stand up but a sharp pain in his leg made him hesitate.
 
He tried to shout but his throat was bone dry.
 
He watched as they climbed back in the car.
 
Mick unzipped a sleeve pouch on his jacket, retrieved something small, and flung it towards the car.

Mick watched helplessly as the car left him behind in a gradually receding cloud of dust.
 
He caught his breath, his heart rate returning to normal.
 
He took a drink of water,
then
pulled out his mobile, firing up an application.

Bull's eye!

He smiled looking at the map of the New Mexico desert with two dots: one was his
location,
the other was the location of the car speeding away.
 
His uncle’s invention, a magnetic GPS tracker, had attached to the car body and was working perfectly.

He dusted himself off, righted his bike and set off following them.
 
Fortunately nothing mechanically was broken on the bike, although the forks were slightly skewed from the handlebars.
 
As darkness fell, he left the corrugated road and was back on the pavement again, heading south.
 
He adjusted his speed so he stayed about five minutes behind.
 
Mick did a quick fuel economy calculation in his head and determined that he could make it to Albuquerque, but not much further.
 
Fortunately, they took the turnoff towards the airport and he closed on them.
 
He could not follow them into the car rental return area, but instead parked near the terminal and waited.
 
He positioned himself in the middle of the terminal so he could see the check-in counters.
 
In the meantime, he made note of the rental car company, based on where the car was parked.