The Canton Connection (8 page)

A thin layer of rain still coated the road and a musky scent hung in the air.

Jake fell in behind Corporal Jones’s pickup truck as they headed across the base.

He had been surprised and disappointed to learn that the U.S. military was prevented from launching a counterattack against whoever was trying to access the A root server and that it would be up to someone else to identify the culprits and shut them down.

And from the way he was being shuttled around, from the cyber units of the FBI to DHS to DoD to NSA, he had a growing suspicion that the duty would fall to him.

They passed several trails that led into the woods until they reached a small sign that read, “NSA.”

Could
the eavesdropping experts help him track down who was behind the murder of Quantum’s president, and help expose any plot involving Stacy and the A root server?

The trees suddenly ended, and Jake faced a sea of cars parked before enormous buildings.

Up to that point, he had been impressed by the base’s isolation and secrecy. Suddenly there was a concentration of workers so extensive it was hard to believe the American people barely knew about it.

The austere and monolithic buildings surrounded by cars reminded him of some religious site on a holy day. What was everyone worshiping?

There was a sense of order in the neat rows of cars. He also noticed a change in vehicle types from sporty, off-road vehicles at the military parking lot to sedate little civilian cars, including a large number of gas-efficient, hybrid, and electric cars.

Clearly the brains at the National Security Agency had a different culture and lifestyle than their military neighbors.

Entering the computer facility at the NSA reminded him of returning to school. It had the same sharpened pencil smell of a math classroom.

From what he knew of the NSA, he was entering a sort of paradise for mathematicians. Here was where all the codes were broken. These were the people who crunched all the data they received through radio, telephone, cell phone, and computer sources on planet Earth. They operated so many supercomputers and analyzed so many signals, that he was sure he was entering an electromagnetic field
that would make his fillings hurt.

As with all top-secret government buildings, he had to leave his cell phone at the front desk.

Major Simpson had called ahead, and a team of NSA officials was waiting for Jake and Corporal Jones.

A
ring of men stood mutely watching him pass through security. They wore shirts and ties, civilian clothes chosen by people who rarely dealt with the public or business counterparts.

“Welcome to the NSA,” a tall man
with wire rimmed glasses said. His shoulders were stooped as if he had spent his whole life hunched over a computer keyboard.

“Agent Jake Maguire, FBI.”

“I hope we didn’t do anything wrong,” the leader said jokingly.

“Naw,” Jake assured
him. “This investigation is centered on a murder case.”

The ring of men looked at each other. The topic of murder seemed to force them to think of the world on a more human level.

“I’m Calvin Stickler,” the leader said. “Please follow me.”

Jake and Corporal Jones fell in behind the rapidly moving group.

Jones was a public relations guy, but seemed to take an interest in Jake’s mission. “I had no clue what you and Major Simpson were talking about,” he told Jake. “Sure hope these eggheads can help.”

Stickler pressed several keys on a cyber lock and opened up what turned out to me nothing more than a small conference room. If he stayed there much longer, Jake knew he’d catch the same paranoia.

When they sat down, there was absolute silence. Jake couldn’t even hear computers whirring.

The silence was even more unnerving because Stickler and the other men wore blank expressions as they waited for him to speak. It would take hard work to extract information from an agency devoted to listening and saying nothing. But Jake was on a special mission from the Director of the FBI, and he would kick down whatever doors he needed.

He began. “I’m here because of a murder that took place in Virginia last week. The man who was murdered ran a company called Quantum, Inc.”

He looked around at the faces, but saw no sign of recognition.

“The witness to the crime is a young woman named Stacy Stefansson, who runs the A root server.”

This time, he detected some concern.

“The FBI is in the process of determining the identity and motive of the murderer. We believe that there might have been some sort of relationship between the victim and the witness, Ms. Stefansson, and we’re trying to find out what that was.”

“Why don’t you ask Ms. Stefansson?” Stickler asked.

“I did question her,” Jake said. “But she was not particularly forthcoming, and we can’t force her to talk.”

“Do you suspect someone is trying to compromise the A root server?” another man asked.

“Yes, we do. And that’s where we need your help. It turns out that Quantum is a Chinese-American-owned and -run firm. They provide the encryption software to access the A root server.”

Stickler turned to a man at the end of the table, a slightly built nerd with a pocket protector. “Do we have historical records of access to the server?”

The man looked taciturn, and his words confirmed his mood. “Maybe.”

Stickler turned back to Jake. “So we may be able to fill in information for you as to when the server is accessed and possibly from where.”

“I want that done immediately, if not sooner,” Jake said. He made a note in his notebook to follow up with them. He had to pursue all lines of investigation. “I want past and present usage of the A root server, and I want to be alerted if it’s accessed from within China.”

Stickler frowned. “Not China.”

“This is the internet,” Jake said. “Can’t you point to a particular computer or company in China that is directing attacks?”

“China is a black box,” Stickler said. “From where we sit, once computer information disappears into the black box, we have no idea where it goes. We only have limited ability to monitor internet traffic internally within China. And all that has to be covert. There is no public information on where the traffic originates, or where it ends up.”

“Can’t you tell from the IP addresses?”

“China has obscured all the addresses in several ways. For one thing, they don’t rely on one computer. They have many different servers grinding away. Then they re-address IP addresses at the portals, so that we don’t really know the real origin of a piece of information.”

“So their hackers could be anywhere in the world.”

“…and probably are,” Stickler said. “Furthermore, we don’t know if their hackers are working for the army, their intelligence service, some company, or criminal
enterprises. Probably all of the above.”

“That should make my job easy,” Jake said with an ironic smile.

“Sorry we can’t be of more help.”

Jake appreciated that the NSA couldn’t look very far into China, but they could still review the historical record of hacks. “As we discussed, send me any information you can find on past A root server attacks. I’ll press Stacy Stefansson on what she knows.”

“Press?”

“I won’t go as far as torture, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jake said with a smile. “But if there’s more to learn, I’ll learn it.”

Michael Epstein was ultimately responsible for investigating Stacy, but if Jake were in that position, he’d threaten to revoke her security clearance and find out what she knew about Chu.

At any rate, it was up to Jake to take action on the national security front. This roomful of brainiacs might have lots of information at their fingertips, but they had as much initiative as a lump of clay.

He thanked the NSA folks, and walked out of the building knowing he had to continue the investigation. So much information flowed around the world, yet China managed to hide behind its Great Firewall.

The U.S. military couldn’t attack it. The NSA couldn’t spy through it.

Jake had never been to China, but it couldn’t be such a mystery. After all, the FBI had a legal attaché in Beijing.

As Epstein had told him that morning, many of the programmers at Quantum were Chinese citizens. Assuming that the Chinese government was behind the intrusion, why would they be trying to break into the A root server? What, exactly, did they have against America, or the rest of the world anyway? China’s economy relied on open and prosperous markets for their goods.

The more he thought about Chu’s connection to the A root server, the more he began to wonder if it wasn’t a case of coincidence after all. Jake didn’t have to connect all the dots if the dots weren’t related. Just because two dots were close to each other at the moment a crime was committed didn’t infer a relationship.

He passed through the reception area and stepped
outside.

“Your cell phone, sir,” Corporal Jones said, catching up with him.

Jake thanked him and took it. It felt cold and heavy. He had owned it for years, but suddenly it felt alien to him.

Maybe that was the impression all NSA employees felt when leaving their world of numbers and entering the world where they were the ones being monitored.

Jake returned to his car and followed Corporal Jones off the base. He returned his badge and the two said good-bye.

“Hope you find out who committed the murder,” Jones said.

Jake was struck by the simplicity of the
remark. Here Jake was looking for motives and international plots and coming up empty.

Maybe the FBI should return the murder case to the Arlington County police.

Before pulling out of Fort Meade, Jake drew to the curb to check his phone for messages.

There was a call from Bob Snow in Arlington. Jake called back immediately.

Bob was brief and to the point. “The FBI lab came back with fingerprint results.”

“From the crime scene?”

“From one of the weapons. The baseball bat.”

Jake remembered that the Arlington County police had sent all evidence to the FBI lab for analysis. At last they had a breakthrough. “Did the prints match files of any known criminal?”

“No. But get this. The fingerprints on the baseball bat and partial prints on the hunting knife matched the prints we have on file for an employee at the Department of Justice.”

Several cars whizzed past before
Jake could reply. “The fingerprints were one of us? The police must have allowed the weapons to be contaminated.”

“Not possible.”

“Someone at the lab, then?”

“No, Jake.”

“So whose fingerprints are on the bat and knife?”

“He works in the Witness Protection Program.”

Jake was confused. The Witness Protection Program was run by the U.S. Marshals Service in the Department of Justice. How could a U.S. marshal have committed the crime? “You mean a witness or someone protecting a witness?”

“A deputy U.S. marshal working for the Witness Protection Program.”

That was odd. Why would a deputy marshal kill Chu? “Got a name?”

“The prints match those of a Simon Wu.”

“Wu? As in a Chinese name?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

A truck rushed past with a loud rumble. “Has anybody called Wu in for questioning?”

“Nobody knows about this but you, me and the lab.”

Jake stared at the long, straight road. Assuming that was Wu using the bat and knife at the crime scene, there were two Chinese men involved, one killing the other in the presence of Stacy Stefansson. Why? To protect her? To prevent the other from passing secrets to her? In competition with each other for her?

He thought back to Stacy at their interview. She had described the assailant in great detail, but why did she say that he was “American-looking” and not mention that he was Asian?

Finally Jake had a name. Once he interrogated Simon Wu, he might have the killer and learn if he was behind hacking the A root server.

After fifteen years at the FBI, Jake knew many special agents, but only met a handful of deputy U.S. marshals.

“Who is this Simon Wu, anyway?” Jake said over the phone. “What was he doing with the Witness Protection Program?”

“Tread carefully,” Bob said. “You will need to go to the DOJ’s Inspector General if you turn this into an internal investigation.”

Jake knew the procedure if the Department of Justice needed to investigate their own. The only fallback for the nation’s premier investigating bureau was the IG office within the Justice Department that could look into illegal activities of DOJ employees.

“I hear you,” Jake said.

“Good luck, and keep Hoffkeit in the loop.”

Jake disconnected, and tried to imagine the perpetrator’s
motive.

Was he part of a larger plot to take down the members of Quantum? If Wu did it, on whose orders was he acting?

Jake headed to his office to find out more about Simon Wu.

The Witness Protection Program was an important branch of the U.S. Marshals Service, the oldest law enforcement arm of the federal government. The program had various methods at their disposal to change people’s identities and set them up with new lives. Why would a deputy marshal kill someone? Who would he be protecting?

After arriving at his office, he nodded at Maria at the front desk.

“Don’t see you much these days,” she said.

“On the road, mostly. Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Stacy’s business card. He needed Stacy to identify the suspect. “Please call this person and tell her to be here for another interview this afternoon at five o’clock.”

“Sure thing.”

A quick computer search of the DOJ’s personnel files got Jake straight to an ID photo and bio of Simon Wu. Just as he suspected, he was looking at an Asian fellow.

Then he looked at the vital statistics. Simon Wu was lean and dark haired as Stacy described, but she had said
that the assailant was tall, and Wu was not.

Wu was five feet five inches.

Jake switched programs to review the autopsy from the crime lab. The baseball bat had struck the victim’s forehead in a downward motion. Since Chu wasn’t a tall man, the assailant had to be short or on his knees to only reach the front of the victim’s skull with a bat. Simon Wu’s short stature fit the facts.

“Simon, Simon,” he muttered at the picture of the suspect. “Why did you do it?”

He clicked the Print button and printed out Wu’s photo. Then he went to a computer program that printed out nine random shots of males in the same age range with dark hair.

Jake would ask Stacy
if she saw the suspect in the stack of photos.

Would she pick Wu?