Cafe Underground Presents
The first thing Andi did when she got home was call her mother’s. She didn't dare give herself time to think--the knot in her stomach was threatening to double back on itself. The phone rang twice before Nancy answered. "Wicksham's residence."
"Hi Nancy. It's Andi, how's Mom?"
"No change in status. Profound coma, depressed breathing...two per minute, extremely low blood pressure, heart rate under forty."
It was a clinical report. What she wanted was forgiveness and understanding. Andi left the cellphone's number and shut her eyes against a moment of dizziness, then grabbed her notebook and paged anxiously through the last few pages.
Five minutes later she got Janice Thompson at her home screening her calls. "Hi, it's Andi Wicksham. Any progress with witness protection?"
Thompson sounded overworked. "Two meeting with Sam, two with the cops and DA and a long phone conversation with somebody who tried to pass himself off as a bigwig at the District Attorney's office telling me there was not a chance in hell. That was window dressing...there aren't that many levels of authority and I can name them up to the mayor. They're being incredibly miserly...all caveats and conditions padding their eventual reneging. They're slime, but we’re not going for it. I edited a list of questions and had Sam answer them on tape to give them a preview. All that did is incite them to threats."
"Sounds normal." allowed Andi.
"I pointed out that they didn't know the witness's name and that the only way they'd get access is to commit themselves to protecting him. They got all huffy at that, "obstructing justice" and "dictating policy." Thompson took a breath and continued.
When I pointed out that justice was exactly the point I was defending--it pissed them off. I read the anger as outrage before knuckling under, so I walked. They phoned once last night and twice this morning, but it seems I'm out of contact. I figure it's a driver's-seat thing and they're on foot."
"Councilor, I like your style." Andi chortled. "It'll be a pleasure to write your check. How about the witness to A&C's basement?"
"I had an interview with her and informally discussed it with the man. She's on hold. I figure they're waiting to see if Sam's significant." It sounded like Thompson had her shoes off, her feet up and a mug of coffee in her hand. “Her case might go either way...but she says she’ll pass on a map of the site whatever comes down and she’s not that important a witness if they find your friend’s teeth.”
"How about advice on a hypothetical situation?"
"Hypothetical?" Thompson snorted.
"Just pulled from thin air." lied Andi. "If somebody had incriminating information, but they got the information illegally, could it be used as evidence?"
"The short answer's ‘no.’ But there are arguments on both sides and whoever showed up with it might be prosecuted. Of course if the crime’s big enough or his lawyer good enough, details mean nothing. The long answer's ‘no’ too, but in Latin. Any lawyer worth her Porche could beat it into a lump of poor intentions."
Andi let out her breath and chewed her lower lip. "Thanks. You’re meeting the DA again, aren't you?"
"Yeah. But I won't wear pantyhose. That’s fem attorney disrespect." She laughed a full belly-laugh. "Anything else? There's a pecan roll with my name on it waiting."
"No. Thanks. Let me know if anything breaks." Andi logged in the call, then paged back through her notes on Sam to make sure she wasn't missing anything obvious.
Francois was next, she used the cellphone. He picked up immediately and switched on the scrambler.
"How's Sam?" Andi tapped her fingers on her desk-top.
"I just talked with him. He's bored with cartoons and hates the Dallas Cowboys so he's rooting for Panthers to make his morning. I left him milk and cheerio's, I’ll bring hamburgers, fries and a milkshake at lunch. He's not a Thai food sort of guy." Francois was going at a mile a minute, she wondered if he'd slept at all or if he'd sought a pharmaceutical friend to stay awake.
"Should I call him?" Andi asked.
"Not from there." Francois replied in alarm. "Maybe from a pay phone. You gotta' promise." He shuffled through some papers and read off Sam's number.
"Moving on to Riparian's files." She copied the number, but doubted she’d call.
"Your gift selection is installed with our standard encryption. I've glanced through Mardell's stuff, found notes bad-mouthing the dead DEQ folk, oversight’s requisition for a boat the night the guy drowned and overtime requests for the day of the boating accident, the day the woman disappeared and when the administrator took off in his truck."
Andi tried to takes notes, but was making a mess of it and was distracted by the thought that she didn't know enough of the encryption program to decode Adolf so she'd have to wait for Lena. "Great." she mumbled, "But we're a long way from solid evidence."
"But no...no problemo, mi capitán." Francois seemed unnaturally cheerful for a Sunday mid-morning, but then he wasn't hung-over from too much partying. "Riparian's got a built-in security utility that logs accesses to confidential files, noting time, date and password. I'm pulling it up now. She was a regular subscriber."
He paused to take care of some electronic beeping in the background, then returned. "I balanced a blank account on top of Sauturne's with a loop in the code that adds a minus one to the cumulative count and duplicates the last the last entry each time I do anything...we’re invisible."
She got the general thrust of what he’d said and left it at that. "Does she do that out of her downtown office?"
"Yeah, but looks like most of her time in the confidential files is between nine and midnight from home. I picture her dreaming up environmental violence and capitalistic excess with a glass of white wine, sharpened, long, red nails, in a batiked-silk leisure suit, curled with a lap-top on a white leather couch in a room with lots of brass and glass furniture and expensive Chinese rugs. She lives north of pill hill among the seriously fat-cats, I bet she has great views out her picture windows."
"Quite an imagination." Andi conceded. "All I know is that she’s listed as owner with the board of corporations."
"Did you know that taking things literally is a symptom of personality disorder?"
"No I didn't and furthermore, I don't care. And those stolen files will be inadmissible evidence.”
"Stolen by anybody?" Francois asked.
"What?" Andi puzzled.
"You're saying if you or I stole them it's a no-no?"
"Right."
"What if Thomas Boyd or Jesse Clayton at Mardell grab files with all the nasty stuff we want. The cops could stumble on them."
"It’s a big if...keep working on it." She cut him off. It was a fantasy, she didn't need to waste time on. If talk was cheap, geek-dreams were among the most worthless on the planet.
She hung up and played with Lena's computer for three-quarters of an hour--more than enough time to realize she had as much hope of getting through to Adolf as a slime mold had in the Boston marathon. She put in a call to Lena.
"Pie central." Tanya answered bawdily. "Custard for throwing, punch one. Pie charts, press two. For blackbirds, push four and twenty."
"Tanya, it's Andi." she interrupted impatiently.
"'Andi, dear. We've got three in the oven and another four in the works..."
"Seven pies? Just who do you expect to eat them? You better not be fattening my girlfriend. Indulging your need to feed is co-dependence."
"Lena, she's nagging again." Tanya swung the phone over her head as she yelled, then down. "You got a favorite flavor?"
"My father made grape pies, but I'll eat most anything. Uuhhn, except rhubarb."
"Grape pie. Novel...I'm sending you an apple and a peach. Here's Lena."
"Hi babe. What's up?" Lena chirped.
"I can't remember how to access Adolf." Honesty was often the best policy.
"I'll be home in a hour or so."
"That’s too long." Andi whined--so much for honesty. "I need in now."
"Read a book. Go for a walk. Get out of the house. Sunday's supposed to be a day of rest."
"It's Saturday in our tradition." argued Andi.
"Like you observe it." Lena scoffed. "So, pretend it's Saturday. I'll be home in a few hours."
"You know what Watson? There's a cold, insensitive streak in you."
"I've learned to live with it, maybe you will too. Oh geeze. Aaaahhh. Nooooooo. Damn. Here comes that streak again. Oh God." She hung up and Andi was left feeling foolish, holding the receiver to her ear.
She called Francois again and asked if she could come over.
"I'm my usual boring self." he warned.
“I'll stop and get treats."
"Sticky buns from Bower's." he ordered, "I'll whip up lattes. Come by the apartment."
"Make mine a mocha. I'm on my way."
Even stopping at Bower's, it took only twelve minutes before she was knocking on the door over the refuse bins. Francois hadn't made it down yet. She stood under the porch’s low roof watching the drizzle drift leisurely in the south-westerly breeze. It was a dry day by Portland standards, one of those the Irish call soft.
"Come in." The door swung away from her and Francois ushered her in with a bow.
She stepped inside and continued to the bedroom closet, leaving him to lock up. She ducked into the passageway and the sugary smell of the fresh sticky buns filled the dusty air. He pulled the wall with the shoe rack closed and they continued to his lair in silence.
"Mocha?" He asked congenially, moving to the espresso machine and pulling out a carton of milk.
Andi nodded, dumped the buns on a plate and settled in her usual chair. The raucous boil of steaming milk filled the space with it’s friendly, urban sound. She sat quietly, consumed by her thoughts, running through the details of the case as the smell of coffee competed with the yeast of the rolls and ozone from electronic equipment.
"Tell me about Riparian's files." she murmured as he handed her the mocha.
Francois smiled and moved back to the espresso machine. "Each executive has a private account and there’s a series they access together. They’re protected by double passwords with assigned seven-digit codes." He glanced over after loading and starting the machine. "Sauturne doesn’t trust them. She has a master."
Andi smiled and sipped, the coffee was hot.
He chuckled. "Sauturne’s suspicious. Her sys-op doesn’t keep the executive passwords and is locked out of top-level code...she’s a consultant that comes five half-days a week unless there’s a deeper problem, responsible to Sauturne alone, works out of an cubby next to her executive secretary and interacts with the peons via e-mail."
Andi toasted him. "But can we prove Sauturne had intimate knowledge of the dirty work?"
"Oh yeah. She's a memo writer and micro-manager. Documents everything, discusses everything with her execs...even buying off Senator Robert Hyde. How much it will cost, structuring donations to avoid reporting. She personally worked out the details."
"The DEQ murders?" Andi sipped cautiously at her mocha.
He nodded, straight-faced.
"Show me?" Andi scooted her chair closer to his bank of monitors. Four of them were showing computer work being cranked as they talked.
"This one." Francois tilted a screen close to her. He tapped a flurry of keystrokes and sat back as the computer beeped and two other screens scrolled faster than anyone could read. He leaned forward and typed, paused and typed again, tapping a finger on the table between commands.
The screen before her blinked and showed a crowded menu of numbers. "It's the confidential files log." Francois said without looking up. He typed another line.
The screen flashed to two paragraphs,
"FROM: SAUTURNE.
TO: BOYD."
We need to resolve the problem of Delgatto and his colleagues. Question: do we assign oversight to elimination or simply continue pressuring? It seems to me, current policy has been fruitless. Tuft in particular has increased video surveillance of our facilities.
If the decision is removal of the problem, we should use it as persuasion to frightening off the others. We need to get as much bang for our buck with oversight...they're costing us more than outside contractors.
"She concerned with getting a ‘bang for her buck?'" Andi raged. "Murder isn't enough, she needs to make it cost effective? Who is she?"
"Scary 'eh? It goes on like that. Another lonely woman-executive hooked on daiquiris and ruthlessness." He straightened his back and assumed a dignified pose. "I only play a lawyer on TV but it looks like there's enough for indictment."
"Not unless it's admissible evidence." Andi chewed her lip and rubbed her chin, debating how desperate an act she could live with. "Ramirez says the police plant tainted evidence on somebody else, then set up a bust on different crime."
Francois let long minutes pass before answering. "You fee OK about that?" he asked uneasily.
"No."
"How about the guy with his fingerprints on the duct tape?"
Andi shook her head and gave a wistful smile. "I could do him, but we want to get Sauturne on conspiracy and murder for hire and he’d be too close. Anyway, who'd believe he was a geek?"
"We could import the stuff into Mardell's system and encourage Max to search for it."
Andi looked up, but shook her head again. "Not sure enough. Why would Max search Mardell's files? And he'd need a warrant and budget...you really think his geeks could do it?"
"I got an idea." Francois spun back to his keyboard. Two or three minutes later he came up with a name. "Shirley Patagorski."
"Who's she?" Andi puzzled.
"Sauturne's sys-op..." He tapped again and Andi’s screen was filled with Patagorski’s official biography.
Francois typed in fits and starts, peering at his screens oblivious to Andi, bouncing between three screens and half a dozen tasks as downloading slowed him down.
Andi read the bio in silence. Shirley was employed by WorkDigital with a long-term contract to Sauturne personally; not Riparian. Work-Digital seemed a legitimate concern and Shirley had a Master's in computer science and math from University of Washington, was married with two kids, went camping and wrote Romance novels."
Andi smiled uneasily and glanced over to Francois. "She doesn't sound like a criminal type."
"Probably isn't."
"But as sys-op she'd have access to the secret file like you did. And she hasn't blown whistles."
Francois leaned back in his chair and swiveled to face her. "She might have the skills to break in, but she’s not privy to the confidential files. Unless she could stomach out-right deceit, she'd need a password. She's only around a few hours and kept busy with the mundane. A decent hacker needs a devious, anti-authoritarian mind and lots of unstructured time. It's not a hobby for your typical geek." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "She was probably hired because she wouldn't be sneaky."
"So what are you suggesting?" Andi with some concern. "She's still part of Riparian."
Francois sat back in his chair and puzzled on the problem. "First we need to backup everything they have so they can't simply wipe out the evidence."
Andi stared blankly. She’d finished her coffee and wished she had something to do. "Want another latte?" she asked, getting up from her chair and walking to the espresso machine.
"Sure, a light single." he murmured distractedly. "We need to separate the two of them." He turned back to his computer. "Sauturne's got a six day weekend blocked out two weeks from now."
"Too far away." Andi complained over her shoulder.
Francois seemed not to have heard. "We'll have to slip Shirley stuff in a way she won't think obvious, then hope she’ll call Ramirez."
"How?" Andi demanded. She finished the coffees and carried them back.
It took a minute of pondering for his response. "A glitch in an obscure command could move her into the files," He looked up excitedly, "No, no, a similar addresses just a keystroke off. We can slip the change in and hope she assumes an entering error." He'd started making notes on a wipe-off board. "It'll take another glitch to lure her into making the command." That said, he slipped back into inner space and shut his eyes.
Andi sat back trying to piece together what he'd said. It sounded too complicated, but what did she know about computers? The worst of the idea was the risk that Shirley had Riparian loyalties--they’d only have one chance at getting Sauturne.
Francois caught Andi's eye. "The first pages will have to be so outrageous that she's shocked into keeping quiet."
"We can choose the worst files, but how do we pass them and can we trust Shirley?”
Francois swung back to his commuter. "I'll see what I can come up with. Do you really want to sit around watching?"
Andi shook her head and made a face. "No, I read the book. It's boring." Her coffee was still three-quarters full, but she dumped it into the sink.
When she got back home Lena was working away. "I thought you were antsy for the files?" she teased.
"You told me to get out of the house so I went to Francois' for a glimpse."
"I brought back pies." Lena smirked.
"Apple and peach?" Andi plopped onto the couch.
"Oh, she told you." Lena sounded hurt.
"You did them with your own hands?"
Lena shrugged, "It was a joint effort." she shot across a defensive glance, "Not the way you're thinking."
"Want some now?" Andi asked cheerfully.
"Go ahead. I ate. You going to band practice?" Lena broad-mindedly called Andi's weekly music jones “practice” but really only a jam session; a chance to beat out rhythm with friends and make noise.
"Of course." Andi swung her feet up on the low, living room table. "Want to hear Francois’ ideas?" She could feel her smile creasing her cheeks.
"Give it to Ramirez?" Lena asked without looking up.
"Indirectly."
Lena leaned over to snag a scrap of paper from the floor. "And?" she asked from that awkward position.
"Francois’ zeroed in on Sauturne's sys-op, he wants to help her stumble into the files."
"Lena tossed the scrap into the wastepaper basket. "Maybe you're too idealistic."
"Yeah. "That's a problem."
"I got no answers." Lena smiled. "Want lunch?"
Andi frowned. "Got other ideas?" she countered aggressively. "Split pea soup?"
"Out of a can?" Lena complained, but rose and headed for the kitchen. "Toast or crackers?"
"Lena?" Andi trailed behind into the kitchen and looked up expectantly.
Lena rose on her tip-toes to reach the middle shelf. "This sys-op’s not one of the bad guys?" She pulled out a can opener and got four pieces of bread from the loaf of dark rye.
Andi shook her head. "Not that we know of."
"Then do it for her." Lena said without cracking a hint of a smile. "Make her look like a reluctant heroine."
The phone rang. It was Janice Thompson. "Witness protection is set up. They caved and are giving everything on our list. I wanted to talk before turning him over."
"Be careful."
"Anything else?" Thompson asked, as businesslike as always. She was probably taking notes.
Andi smiled uneasily at the thought of Sam's next few months, "Tell him I said good luck."
"That it?"
"Yeah. Be careful Janice, this phone is probably bugged." Andi heard a quick intake of breath on the other end of the line and added. "Bring the cops when you pick him up and thanks."
Andi brought her cellphone when she returned to the kitchen, settling in her chair and punching Francois' number as Lena stirred the soup and set out bowls. "Yo, Snowden. It's Wicksham."
"Professor Snowden is at the university." Francois answered formally.
"So who are you?" Andi demanded.
"This is Professor Snowden's gentleman's gentleman, Jeeves." Francois affected a stuffy faux-British accent. "If you utilize the appropriate security, your call will be transferred." the line clicked and buzzed into scrambled mode.
Andi ground her teeth, glanced at her watch and punched in three, three, one. "Francois. I hate this stuff."
"Techno-phobic? It's intended to keep you and your's safe from nasties."
"Still..." Andi grumbled.
"Do you use potholders in your kitchen and seat belts in your car?" He clucked argumentively.
"Yeah, but..."
"So, get used to it." Francois said a bit to patly. "What's on your mind?"
Andi ground her teeth. "Any dirt on Shirley?"
"No, she's an Episcopalian, husband’s a social worker. Kids do well in school, she has two sisters and a mother in a small town in Iowa."
"Lena thinks we should pretend we're her."
"Oh?"
"Do it for her. Use her work line to dump the files into storage, then have her blow the whistle."
"Yeah." Francois replied excitedly. "The cop’s geek’s a natural contact. We’d have her nervously follow instructions and give enough to get them interested." He whistled gleefully. "I like it...oblique and Machiavellian. You're my kind of woman. It's a pleasure working with you."
"Is that a compliment?" Andi demanded irately.
"What?" Lena asked from the stove.
"He's called us Machiavellian, oblique and deceitful..."
"I've told you it's sexy." Lena smirked.
"So is it a go?" cut in Francois.
It took Andi thirty seconds. "Set it up, but don't give it the push. I'll call this evening to go over details."
"Banzai..." Francois screamed fanatically. "Samurai geeks for truth, justice and the American Way. Iiieeeeehhh." Then the line went dead.
Monday, about an hour before lunch, the plan was set in motion. Lena and Andi crowded with Francois into his office.
Francois dedicated one computer screen to monitoring Shirley's activity, took over her outgoing ISDN line and rerouted their leg through four exchange switchboards, then into her line there in Riparian.
Shirley’s usual phone line was being used to download files to rental storage, first the really bad stuff, then the partially sensitive, then everything Francois could force through the wires.
It was nearly two thirty when Francois rechecked his connections and looked to see what Shirley was doing. "She logged in at ten, but hasn't been active. Her schedule says ‘meeting with RS--new equipment.’ The phone logs are recording that she made our calls.”
Andi looked over his shoulder.
“Show time." he announced, tapping in the number of the Portland Police Bureau's computer section.
HELLO, POLICE?
It took almost two minutes to get a reply.
HELLO. WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO REACH?
Francois replied,
I'VE BECOME AWARE OF SOME VERY SERIOUS CRIMES. I FIGURED YOU'RE BE SOMEONE I CAN TRUST...SOMEONE I COULD COMMUNICATE WITH. I NEED TO FIND OUT HOW TO HANDLE THIS DILEMMA.....S.
It took a longer moment to get a reply.
DEAR S:
WHY NOT JUST PHONE OVER THE REGULAR LINE? HOW SERIOUS ARE WE TALKING? .....HENRY.
Francois smiled over his shoulder, "Henry's a nice guy, we should put him in for a commendation." He typed,
I HAVE TO STAY ANONYMOUS. I'M SCARED. THIS IS VERY SERIOUS--MURDER.....S.
DEAR S:
MURDER IS SERIOUS. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THERE'S BEEN a MURDER?.....HENRY.
I'M A SYS-OP FOR A LOCAL CORPORATION...I STUMBLED ACROSS DOCUMENTS DETAILING THE MURDER’S PLANNING AND TALKING ABOUT THEM AFTERWARDS...MEMOS AND E-MAILS. THEY DISCUSS THE MURDER OF THOSE DEQ AGENTS A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO AND THE RECENT MURDER OF THREE MEN.....S.
It took Henry another two minutes to get back to them. He probably called his supervisor to discuss the chances of it being a crank. Francois sat back grinning, Lena chewed her nails and Andi wished she'd brought something to nibble.
DEAR S:
I'VE TALKED WITH ANOTHER OFFICER AND WILL HAVE SOMEBODY DOWN HERE FROM HOMICIDE IN A FEW MINUTES. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE LEARNED.....HENRY.
WHO ARE YOU TALKING WITH? YOU HAVE TO PROTECT ME. MY BOSS CAN'T FIND OUT I'M DOING THIS!!!!
IF SHE FINDS THAT I’M TALKING MY LIFE WOULD BE IN JEOPARDY...IF THEY LEARN I'VE CALLED YOU I KNOW I'LL BE KILLED. I'M SCARED, I HAVE A FAMILY....S.
DEAR S:
I'LL DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO KEEP YOU SAFE, BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO COOPERATE. I'M TALKING WITH LIEUTENANT IRWIN MAX FROM THE HOMICIDE DIVISION. WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND THAT MAKES YOU THINK THERE'S BEEN A MURDER? IT WOULD REALLY HELP YOUR CREDIBILITY IF YOU WOULD TELL ME YOUR NAME.....HENRY.
Andi howled with laughter. "He’s talking to Max? If Ramirez ever finds out we're dead meat." She and Lena all but rolled in the aisles.
Francois looked over his shoulder. "They've probably getting a team ready to nab her if she's a crank. They've confirmed it's a Riparian phone line." He turned back to his keyboard.
I'LL SEND YOU SOME OF WHAT I’VE FOUND. BUT I CAN'T STAY ON LINE, IT'S TOO DANGEROUS. I'M TOO AFRAID TO TELL WHO I AM, WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO MY HUSBAND AND CHILDREN? WHAT HAPPENS IF THEY FIND OUT?.....S.
Francois keyed in a change of screen and sent Henry the bundle of memos.
There was a long delay on the other end as Max and Henry raced to read through them.
HI, S:
....I'M BACK. YOU’VE CALLED THE POLICE DEPARTMENT...
WE'RE AS SAFE A PLACE TO TALK AS THERE IS. LIEUTENANT MAX IS IMPRESSED AND WANTS TO HELP, BUT NEEDS TO CONFIRM YOU'RE NOT A PRANKSTER.
I'M ON YOUR SIDE, BELIEVE ME...HOW CAN I CONVINCE HIM? WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?.....HENRY.
HENRY........A PRANKSTER? I DON'T KNOW HOW TO CONVINCE HIM. I'M AT MY TERMINAL, DOWNTOWN AT THE RIPARIAN CORPORATION. PLEASE DON'T LET ANYONE FIND OUT. THIS IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN YOU REALIZE. I'M BEGGING YOU.
MAYBE I CAN SEND YOU SOMETHING TO SHOW WHO I AM.
HOW ABOUT MY PASSWORDS OR THE PASSWORDS OF THOSE I’M TALKING ABOUT.....S.
DEAR S:
WHERE DID THE MEMOS YOU SENT ORIGINATE? WHO SENT THEM? COULD SOMEONE BE PULLING YOUR LEG?
LIEUTENANT MAX SAYS TO SEND PASSWORDS, BUT HE’S STILL A BIT SKEPTICAL.....HENRY.
MEMOS ARE COMMUNICATIONS BETWEEN MY BOSS, REBECCA SAUTURNE AND HER EXECUTIVES, THOMAS BOYD, JESSE CLAYTON AND TOD COMPTON. ORIGINATING AT VARIOUS LOCATIONS; HERE AT RIPARIAN, AT MS. SAUTURNE'S HOME, MARDELL SPECIAL FORCES, ETC.
I DON'T THINK THIS IS A HOAX BECAUSE AS SYS-OP I'M ABOUT THE ONLY ONE WITH ACCESS TO ALL LOGS DETAILING THIS MATERIAL. WHAT I’VE READ IS CONSISTENT AND TO BIG A BODY OF WORK TO BE A PRANK. NO ONE BUT ME HERE IS KNOWLEDGEABLE ENOUGH TO ACCESS THAT CONFIDENTIAL STORAGE.
MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT IS HOW CAN YOU GUARANTEE MY SAFETY?
WHOOPS...HAVE TO GO...I'M BEING PAGED. DON'T CALL ME!! I'LL CALL BACK TOMORROW MORNING IF I CAN. THE PASSWORDS WILL BE IN AN ATTACHMENT.
THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.....S.
Francois logged off with a victorious flourish and spun around to exchange high-fives.
Lena was dancing around the room, her hands in the air.
Andi stood thinking. "Max must be chomping at the bit. He'll want to push past her and take the place with a swat team."
Tuesday morning at ten there was a sense of expectation in the air. Andi had stopped at Noah's Bagels for bagels, lox and tomato and pickles and onion. Francois made lattes and they hovered around the computer screen; leaning over Shirley Patagorski's virtual shoulder. She'd logged on at 9:52 and plugged along for an hour and a half. They were waiting until she took lunch.
"She's OK," Francois admitted begrudgingly. "Probably the right kind of sys-op for a business. I'd be poking into everything...she keeps on task. She’s got forty-three requests for diddly-bop in her que already."
Lena perched on one of the swivel chairs, cross-legged, assembling Francois' clutter into one sculptural arrangement after another. Shirley connected and disconnected e-mail and service accounts, assigned passwords and answered questions. She scrolled through the daily accounts and logs. They could almost imagine her, coffee in hand watching the entries the way a mechanic might stop to listen to an engine, monitoring with half her attention. Then the activity ended abruptly.
"What if she notices yesterday's logs?" Lena retrieved her latte and swung into a squat, both feet on the seat and an arm wrapped across its back.
Francois gave a nervous smile. "Most of us don’t question what we read, maybe she's looking for technical errors."
"She's back." cried Andi.
Shirley started working again. Then the screen paused, her curser drifted up toward the entry to the outside phone number. Then it paused, dropped two lines."
Francois glanced to the screen. "She got a phone call. Sauturne's line."
The screen suddenly flashed and Shirley brought up financial data, flipping through a half-dozen screens before settling on one related to packaging costs.
A minute later Francois reported, "The call's over."
Shirley's screen, blanked.
Andi's hands were sweating.
The screen recorded a log-off.
A cheer broke out in Francois' office.
"OK crew, to work." Francois set up his circuitous telephone routing, checked Shirley again, switched her line, logged on and dialed Henry.
HELLO? HENRY...IT'S “S”. ARE YOU THERE?
It took Henry a minute and a half to log on.
DEAR S:
HENRY HERE. ARE YOU OK? I GOT WORRIED WHEN YOU LOGGED OFF YESTERDAY, ARE YOU SAFE?.....HENRY.
Francois glanced at Andi, then continued.
I'M OK. I'M MONITORED EVERY NOW AND THEN THOUGH. WE HAVE TO BE QUICK. I'M GOING TO SEND YOU A BIG BATCH OF MEMOS--ENOUGH THAT WE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO RISK COMMUNICATING AGAIN. I'M SCARED FOR MYSELF AND MY FAMILY. I HOPE THIS WILL BE ENOUGH TO BRING THESE KILLERS TO JUSTICE.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PROTECT ME. DON'T EVER LET ANYONE KNOW I'VE HELPED YOU.....S.
DEAR S:
I'M HERE ON YOUR SIDE, S. WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN LATER IS OUT OF MY HANDS, BUT I'M IN YOUR CORNER. I LOOKED UP THE NAME OF RIPARIAN'S SYS-OP--ISN’T YOUR NAME SHIRLEY?.....HENRY
OH GOD, HENRY!...I HOPE I'M NOT BEING MONITORED. GOOD GUESS. I TALKED IT OVER WITH MY HUSBAND AND WE'VE DECIDED I SHOULD DENY ANYTHING YOU SAY REGARDING ME HELPING YOU. HE SAYS I MIGHT HAVE TO APPEAR BEFORE A GRAND JURY--IF SO, PLEASE ONLY ASK ME IF THESE TRANSMISSIONS MIGHT HAVE COME FROM MY TELEPHONE LINE...NOT IF I MADE THEM. THIS IS IMPERATIVE!!!
THE LOGS WILL SHOW THAT, SO PLEASE DON'T ASK ME ANY OTHER QUESTIONS.
I WILL DENY CONTACTING YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE TO PROTECT MY CHILDREN AND HUSBAND. PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT I HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER. I'M HELPING YOU ALL I CAN.
I'M GOING TO SEND OVER A LARGE BATCH OF MATERIAL (APPROXIMATELY 1350K), SO SET ASIDE ENOUGH STORAGE. I'LL NOT COMMUNICATE WITH YOU AGAIN.
GOOD LUCK.....SHIRLEY.
Francois triumphantly punched a key to end the transmission and punched another to start Riparian's computer sending out the information. "This will be a dicey window. If she discovers this going out she could stop it. It's obviously not standard procedure."
"Why don't we distract her?" asked Lena.
"She's already logged-off." Francois reported.
"I'll phone anyway." Lena grabbed a phone and punched in Riparian's number. "Shirley Patagorski, please." She used her official corporate business voice.
The number rang without being answered. At last the receptionist came back on, "I'm sorry Ms. Patagorski doesn't seem to be answering, would you like her voice mail?"
"No thank you." Lena responded. "Can you connect me with Ms. Sauturne's secretary?"
"Certainly."
"Rebecca Sauturne's office." the secretary was a man, with a polite, office-nebbish sort of voice.
"Yes, this is Sandi Wonder at Work-Digital. I just tried Shirley Patagorski's number and she didn't answer. Did she come in today?"
"Yes, certainly. She's in with Ms. Sauturne now. I'm afraid they'll be involved another hour, then probably go for lunch. Would you like to leave a message?"
Lena gave Francois a thumb's up. "No. Thank you. It's nothing urgent. I'll try again tomorrow." She hung up and spun around with pleasure. "If she's with Sauturne, Sauturne will realize she couldn't have sent the messages."
A sudden worried look seized Francois' face. “Maybe I should make it look like somebody broke in."
"Won't she be suspicious..." asked Lena with concern.
"She'll know she didn't do all this stuff, but unless we make it obvious nobody else will figure it out." Francois mumbled as he frantically worked at his keyboard.
Andi leaned over his shoulder. "The cops already figure they know her...don’t compromise the material."
"I'll make it seem like an internal hacker." He worked furiously at his keyboard for thirty minutes. "I'm tossing in the footprints and mistakes somebody tromping around on a lark might leave. With their security intact, they'll figure it’s somebody inside. We gotta give Shirley deniablity."
Andi fidgeted nervously
"OK." Francois brushed his hands together and turned off his computer.
A feeling of disappointment settled around them, concerns about what they'd set in motion swirled. Had they doomed Shirley and her family to Mardell's retribution?
They went out for a Thai lunch, then split up--Francois about his business and Andi and Lena back to their apartment where they closed out Armando's project, packing things up as best they could and locking the box of sub-rosa files in a back corner of the basement.
Andi slipped off to her Mom's, sitting beside her still form for almost an hour--awash with memories and the things she hadn’t had time to say.
That evening they were told Max decided to let them back into their office. Armando’s blood still marked the floor. Bobby Soxx got a carpenter to fix the door, but after turning chairs upright and tossing out the flowers, they left clean-up for daylight hours.
Wednesday morning at quarter to seven, Nancy phoned. Andi's Mom had breathed her last--that wait was over.
It was a muted blow, Andi felt more numb than agonized or tormented, a response she felt guilty about. Where was her anguish, her heart-rending sobbing, some traditional need to shear her hair? It was more damming evidence that she was a cold, insensitive daughter. She told Lena she wanted to be alone and walked through the rain by herself.
Andi was subdued and silent when she returned. Putting on dry, warm clothes was as much of a concession to consolation she'd allow. Work would be the only balm that would distract her. After phoning Cinny, Andi and Lena went over to pay respects, but there was no privacy, a team of policemen and the coroner's crew were on site.
With her mothers's body taken away, they return to their office. It took the full day to sort out files and straighten up. Andi talked with Cinny again--her sister would fly out that evening.
Sorting their mother’s belongings with Cinny went better than Andi would have guessed considering the sisterly competition and tension they always had. Their Mother had her affairs in remarkable order. They agreed on a cremation on Friday and a memorial at Mount Tabor Saturday morning for family and friends.
Thursday, Ramirez called. "Sorry about your Mother, Wicksham."
"Thanks, Ramirez. You coming Saturday?"
"Of course. You’re back at work...seen a morning paper?"
"No to the paper and yes to work." Andi grumbled.
"Want the latest on your friend Armando?"
Andi took a deep breath and let it out. "Sure. We gave up the investigation when he died."
Ramirez cleared his throat as if he didn't believe her. "A few days ago we got a surprise phone call from an employee at Riparian." He paused politely, then continued. "Actually it was a computer conversation." He left another moment of silence.
Andi allowed his pauses to wither unused.
"An employee blew the whistle on them. Not only talked, sent Max memos and notes all in neat packages. Seems to have even figured who pulled the trigger on Tuft, Rasheed and Delgatto. Even connected the DEQ deaths with documentation."
Andi took an uneasy breath and bit her lip. “So you didn't need me after all, did you?"
"Naw. It was enough for open-ended warrants on all the Riparian companies. We went in with the fed's last night to seal their files. The Feds are going to foot the bill for digging through it. All the key players were arrested and were denied immediate bail. Since we got their computers under lock and key, the DA'll be able to use the original files. The whistle blower might not even appear."
"That so?" Andi asked carefully--gratefully releasing her breath.
"Yeah. But the strangest part of it is that this person denies ever blowing the whistle. Says somebody must have done it in her name. Isn't that strange?"
"Amazing." granted Andi dryly.
"Not only that," continued Ramirez with feigned astonishment, "the very same attorney that negotiated for your friend Sam and the A&C Machine witness, showed up demanding this employee and her family gets Cadillac witness protection if her name's even whispered by anybody. And even stranger...the attorney claims her fee's already been picked up, just like Sam and the other witness. Isn't that a coincidence? It is a coincidence, isn't it Wicksham?"
"What else could it be, Ramirez?"
He gave an expansive sigh. "Gee, I don't know. I'm just glad it's done with. By the way what you doing weekend after next? Tanya's talking about another dinner."
"Unless you’re coming up to Victoria, BC, it ain't going to happen." Andi grumbled. "Lena's booked us out of town for a week and a half. She won't let me bring anything work related...she's called all our clients and demanded they not talk to me. It's a conspiracy."
"Life is tough, Wicksham...sometimes you just got to roll with the punches."
THE END
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