Cafe Underground Presents
PHACKER
Book 3 -- Chapter 4
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 4
4
The next morning Andi dallied over a half of a bowl of cold cereal before driving to Hawthorne, buying a pecan roll and coffee from Bower's and picking up a newspaper. She trudged upstairs, started coffee and stared blankly at Eugene's binder before opting for the newspaper, paging to the comics and nibbling her roll.
She brushed crumbs from her desk and dialed Eugene's number to listened to it ring. She put away the newspaper, licked the sugar from her fingers and reached for the binder, going through--subtracting six from each number and copying names from the page following--hoping for a common thread.
Lena came in whistling.
"What puts you in a good mood?" Andi demanded with as much suspicion as she could muster with a straight face.
"Clouds, telephone poles and the morning's first pale reflection off the dustless mirror of my mind." Lena raised her hands in the air and gave a pirouette.
"First there was a drunk singing on the sidewalk, now you’ve stuck your finger in a brownie."
"You, my friend, are a curmudgeon. You must free your spirit Dharrrlink."
Straight-faced, Andi answered. "Coffee's made, sorry we don't have a cold shower."
"Nectar of the gods. Deep rich and dark. Musky." Lena poured coffee and would have trailed a silken scarf if she'd had it.
Luckily the phone rang. Andi rolled her eyes and answered.
"Wicksham here."
"It's Francois."
"Yeah." Dry sarcasm seemed natural.
"The short version is that Eugene knew what he was doing. He hacked like a pro, used university and corporate systems to warehouse stuff used their mainframes. It must have been a chore working through cracks."
"Cracks?"
"Computer security? How much do you know about this?"
"Nothing."
"Well, telephone lines and computers make up cyberspace."
"I know that."
"Systems work because their interactive. But, if you can access your bank account, then once through the security, anybody experience can get in too. But any system can be broken. Any system."
"Hard to believe.”
Francois chuckled. "If you don’t connect to anything else you’re secure, but then you can't get in or out yourself. It's a paradox--access or security, the middle path is passwords and encryption. PIN numbers are weak security, like a door lock...a lock-picker or heavy boot gets in, but ninety-nine point nine, nine percent of us stay out. If you want more privacy there are algorithms and encoding, but that’s like putting a steel bar and six padlocks on your front door...it’s not convenient."
“Is this important?”
“Yes,” Francois said definitively, “it’s the Achilles heel of computer communication. It’s what makes hacking what it is.” He paused, then continued. "Every telephone call, bank transaction and e-mail goes through dozens of switching systems any of which may be monitored...so there’s a track like a garden snail’s, where it’s going and came from."
“I understand."
“OK?”
"Sure." Andi bounced the eraser of her pencil on the edge of her keyboard.
"OK, back to the snail tracks. The snail track goes from one lettuce to another, but under the leaves it’s invisible unless you're under them with him. You only see it between plants."
"OK."
"Well, it would be a pretty dumb snail to travel in a straight line if it wanted to throw somebody off its' track it would head for a lettuce with lots of other snail tracks then zigzag. Hackers route calls through switch points to change the numbers tagged on the calls...it’s like jogging from one leaf to another."
"Is this really the easiest way to explain?" interrupted Andi impatiently.
"Our boy Eugene is a phone phreak, cracker, and a wizard with system spoofing."
"Translation." prompted Andi irritably. She stared up to the ceiling, trying to curb her frustration.
Francois recited dryly, "Phone phreak means telephone system scammer, cracker’s are security specialists. Spoofing is getting in one computer and nosing around until you find access to another that gives access to the next."
"It can't be that easy." Andi snorted disparagingly.
"Sure it is,” Francois returned haughtily, “and gourmet cooking's just carrots and chicken--except for doing it. That’s why hacking and phreaking are such a natural match. And ultimately computers are all ones and zeros, so if you slip underneath the security, there’s no difference between anybody’s signals. You disguise yourself as part of a network, switching from one computer to another, pulling yourself through by the bootstraps."
"What's your point?" Andi stared at the ceiling again.
"This is a maze and it's going to take more time."
"I figured so. What do you need?"
"Right now, sleep. You owe me a hundred, you can give it to Lena. There's more, but I want to check something and don't want to discuss it on the phone. I'll call you later--it's important."
"Sure." said Andi uneasily, "Want my home number?"
"I got it."
"You what?"
"There are no secrets from a wizard, phone records are the simplest spells. I'll call you."
Andi slammed the phone down and glared at Lena. "Your friend has my home number."
"So what? So do I."
'But I didn't give it to him."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "You're getting paranoid."
"I'm OK." Andi swiveled back to her desk, set her jaw and returned to making lists.
"I know. It's not getting laid." Lena gave a knowing look.
Andi shot a dirty look and turned away. Mercifully, Lena went silent. Andi phoned Ramone Bodega, got his machine and left a message. Not knowing where the line was on hacker stuff bothered her. Surely fraud was illegal. And maliciously changing files. But just looking without malicious intent? In free countries people could wander almost everywhere. Then again, busting codes was like picking locks. Ramirez might know. She reached and dialed.
"Ramirez here." He answered in a voice that said I'm busy.
"It's Andi."
"There's nothing new on the hit and run." He was ready to hang up.
"No fingerprints?"
"Nothing I can talk about. So, if..."
"Wait a minute." Andi said. "I have a question."
"What?"
"Tell me about computer crime...uh, hacking."
"We don't have a computer fraud department, try the FBI." Ramirez wanted to get back to his paperwork.
"What about breaking into other people's computers?"
"Who have you been talking to?" Ramirez was suddenly interested.
"I have a case involving a computer intruder."
"Does it have anything to do with SE 50th.?"
"No. It's a missing person who’s job is computer work."
"Listen, Wicksham. If you stick your nose into Max's case you'll be in deeper than you've ever been in before. I'm warning you."
"Honest, Ramirez. I haven't heard, seen, or smelled anything related to that case except what was in the paper. I have a client whose computers were broken into. Now her nephew's missing."
"Is he reported?"
"Yes."
Ramirez seemed placated. “The problem with computer crimes is it's damn near impossible to catch anyone with convictable evidence unless they’re physically holding stolen files.”
"Thanks. Want to do lunch?"
"Yeah...Friday."
"Friday?”
"You're buying and committing to a date for dinner. Tanya insists."
"Dinner?" Andi pulled up her appointment book.
"Check your calendar, we'll talk at lunch. Got to go." He hung up. She circled Friday's noon-hour. If the local cops didn't follow computer crime using Francois was easier, at least the risk was less.
Back to Eugene's binder. She looked up cities for the decoded area codes, but they didn't show any trend; scattered through the US, Mexico City, Toronto, another in Montreal, three universities and a pharmaceutical company in Europe. Francois' explanation of mainframe computers and storage fit. She'd have to sic him on Eugene’s work computer.
She phoned Sandi Trafino hinting at legal concerns and unusual expenses. Trafino said "Fine." Andi looked at her watch. Six minutes to ten--close enough to try Janice Thompson.
Thompson answered with, "Janice."
"It’s Andi. You've got a witness?" Andi cut to business at hand.
"No, I don't. That's the problem. I want you to get her for me." Thompson giggled.
"Right," Andi begrudged.
"The name’s Brenda Svelt. Worked for Nike until April. Grew up in Tacoma, rumored to have moved to Bend, but she's not listed. Witnessed a auto accident--insurance carrier wants her bad. Complicated case, five lawyers."
"OK." Andi read back what she'd scribbled down, asked for Svelt's last address and phone number and said she'd send a contract. She handed the pages to Lena--it would be her project anyway. Then she sighed and dialed Bodega again.
"Northwest Bio." he answered.
"Andi, returning your call."
"Andi, I'm trying to find a woman doing eco-system biology and involved with Earth First!. I met her at a conference and now have a project she'd be a natural for, but I don't know how to get a hold of her."
"Make a zillion phone calls and take good notes."
"I've called Earth First!, but no-one called back. The conference was years ago."
"What's your time frame."
“Proposals are due this Fall, the project would begin in December."
"Have you put ads in periodicals or newsletters she might read?"
"Not yet."
"A short letter explaining that you're trying to contact her sent to everybody who might know her is a start. Saying she can contact you collect is a nice touch."
"OK." He was taking notes.
"Ask everybody you contact who else to call. It's that one in a hundred contact that will be important."
"Yes." Bodega hummed tunelessly a moment, then, "Thanks. Can I repay you with a coffee?"
Andi shut her eyes a moment. She enjoyed Bodega despite Lena's teasing. "Not this week." she paged through her calendar distractedly. "Next Tuesday?"
"Good, good." Bodega muttered quietly.
Andi had this image of them in synch, bent over calendars, at their desks beside windows. "I'm looking forward to it."
She hung up the phone and Lena asked, "Did he make a date?"
"Why do you push me at this guy? He's a friend." Andi pursed her lips and tried to look disapproving.
"Have fun." Lena was bi and felt everybody was--it was disgusting. "Thompson's contract’s ready."
Andi signed and tossed it back to Lena's table. She thought back on her call with Ramirez; she’d asked about fingerprints and he’d said there was nothing he could talk about. It was as much as saying yes. The image of the girl careening to the curb like a rag doll hung in the back of her mind--blood pooling in the gutter while her friend screamed at the top of her lungs.
She was jolted back to the moment by a horn, traffic was jammed by a double parked delivery truck. Its driver waved cheerfully at the drivers whose morning he was ruining. She looked up to Lena, "Early lunch?"
"Bento?"
"I need to get out of here."
Lena finished a line of typing, pushed her save button, and spun around. "JC's coming back tomorrow."
"What’s going on with his singer?"
"Martha? I haven't asked." Lena looked glum, then gave a grim smile.
"Would he tell the truth if you did?" asked Andi rhetorically.
"Would any of us?" Lena turned away and opened the door.
Andi chewed he lip as she followed silently. It was a good question--sometimes we would, sometimes we wouldn't.
That afternoon Francois called. Andi answered. "Wicksham here."
"It's Lena's friend." he said cryptically. "We should meet."
"Where?" Andi asked.
"Third World Coffee on Division? Fifteen minutes?"
Andi said "Sure." and the line went dead. She slowly lowered the phone and collected her thoughts. She stood and picked up her notebook.
"Bye." Lena didn't look up. "Give my love."
"Right." Andi headed for the stairs.
The summer had warmed. Hot air smelling vaguely of newly ironed clothes blew through the gorge from eastern deserts, but the neighborhood’s yards hadn’t started browning and the overhanging trees lent shade. Francois waited primly at an sidewalk table in front of Third World's plate glass window. Only one other patron was visible--at an inside table. The counterman idly wiped at the espresso machine. Francois wore dark glasses, impeccable, rough woven slacks and a flower print silk shirt, turned up at the sleeves. Even his hair was perfect.
"Shalom." He greeted with a playfully formal bow.
"A salaam alecum." Andi responded.
"Alecum a Salaam." Francois grinned from ear to ear.
Andi rolled her eyes and pulled a chair from the table. "May the hunger set upon the land by the conservatives never touch your family."
"I and I, sister." He closed his eyes in a momentary prayer and gestured for her to be seated.
"What you got?" Andi pretended to examine the menu.
"Our boy has an impressive set of resources. Since he found the intruder, I figure there had to be something in the last weeks of entries."
Andi nodded.
Francois took a thoughtful sip of his cappuccino. "Just before I finished, I tried the four last sites he noted. Two were business computers on the east coast, digital minis, one a college mainframe and one a small PC network here in Portland."
"Here?" Andi asked, pointing to the sidewalk. "You know the address?" Andi opened her notebook and pulled out a pen.
Francois smiled, slipped a small paper from his pocket and pushed it toward her. Andi copied the 50th street address and number into her notebook and pushed the scrap of paper back.
"There was another place he contacted, a couple of pages before." a worried look flashed across his face.
"A place?" Andi asked guardedly.
"He marked the page with stars."
"Yeah." smiled Andi. "He wrote ‘What the hell. Holy mackerel’."
"That's the one." replied Francois. "It looks at first glance like a trucking business, but that's a cover."
"What?"
"You pop down a trapdoor from the straight stuff and it's got bookkeeping on a large scale. Hundreds of grand every week. More than most small banks. And protected by strong encryption."
"How do you know this?" asked Andi suspiciously.
"Eugene left his notes...I looked myself. I looked for myself, what do you think?" said Francois a bit defensively--he glared as if it were obvious.
"Explain please." Andi shot the look back at him.
"Eugene installed a trapdoor into the hidden stuff. He took extremely good notes. This is not a trucking firm."
Andi didn't see any obvious connection. She sighed and held her hands up in surrender. "OK. I give up. What does it mean?"
Francois shook his head. "I don't know. Buried beneath their regular trucking books was that other set. My guess is that General Motors doesn't move cash like that."
Andi stared. "So, the hackers or Eugene were hacking somebody laundering money. It's not our problem. Are they Trafino's intruders? If it doesn't get us to Eugene, it's not something to waste time on. Is there more of a connection than just being one of the numbers?"
"Don't know." Francois smirked. "I'm just getting into it."
Andi forced a patient smile. "OK. Keep me posted." She turned her head to work a kink from her neck, but kept her eyes across the table.
"And, a funny thing happened." Francois' face was set as sternly as stone. The look froze Andi, mid-stretch. "I'd just left the motel room and was waiting for a cab when two undercover cars pulled up. A moment later three patrol cars blocked the driveway and they busted in."
"Why?"
Francois's lip curled into a sneer. "Why indeed? My first thought was that it was some kind of sting--I suspected you of setting me up." He held her eyes and watched her calmly. "Funny thing. I didn't get into files or do mischief. And there wasn't time for them to have traced me from most of the sites we checked." He gave her a chastened, sad-eyed look. "But around five in the morning I was getting tired and on that single Portland number we had I got sloppy and dialed without intermediates. My guess is that the police were watching that number and traced the call back to the room."
"This place?" Andi pointed to the paper still laying between them.
Francois nodded, silently. "I was lucky to be outside."
"Oh." Andi thought with alarm of the fingerprints they'd left. "Damn. They send a forensics team in the room."
"Yes. Don't give my name or involve me."
"But they'll get your prints as well as ours."
"Still, give a phoney name, make something up."
"What?" Andi leaned her back and narrowed her eyes.
Francois took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before responding. "I'm on probation. I'll get in hot water if they get more than suspicions." He touched her wrist with his fingers. "We went to the motel to watch soccer and party. All they know for sure is that we were there. They didn't catch us in the act. That number could have been patched into from somewhere else. They can't prove anything."
"I'll have to tell them something."
"DON'T tell them I did any hacking." Francois' eyes were pleading, but his lips were set in a tight line. “I was doing you a favor."
Andi met his eyes. "I'll try."
"Do your best. It's important." Francois held her eyes and nodded stiffly. He rose and adjusted an errant cuff and disappeared inside.
Andi returned to her car and drove to SE 50th with a sinking feeling in her stomach. After a wait on 50th the traffic cleared and she turned left. "Oh damn." she whispered, pulling to the curb. Francois’ address was the office that had held the tortured body. "Damn, damn, damn."
She drove off in a roar, screeching to a stop in the parking lot and running up the stairs to Lena.
"The cops traced the call to the motel, they're liable to come here to question and search. Francois doesn't want us to finger him." Andi talked fast. Lena nodded, wide-eyed, but calm.
"Don't they need warrants?" Lena objected.
Andi searched Lena's eyes. "Not to talk."
"But searching?" asked Lena incredulously.
Andi shook her head in disgust. "All that takes is a judge who trusts cops and distrusts the public. What sort of judges did you think get appointed? What about Francois?"
Lena held up a finger. "They'll know he was there, so how about this; the person doing the hacking's was named Frank...about seventeen, brown hair, brown eyes, maybe Italian or Middle Eastern or Hispanic. You met him outside Coffee People's purely on a fluke while Francois and I were inside. He said he'd trace numbers if we bought him a room for the night. He went with the three of us, sat on the bed and used his computer. Francois was uncomfortable so he left after a minute. Everything else is just as it was."
"OK." Andi answered without thinking.
"You better call Ramirez. I’ll look up who one the soccer game."
Andi grabbed the phone.
"Ramirez." He answered on the second ring.
"Ramirez, it's Andi. I got a problem you'll want to hear about. You know that computer intruder client?"
"Yes." he offered tentatively.
"Well, the missing nephew left a binder with notes from his searching and we met this kid who helped us track down the numbers in exchange for a motel room. He helped us and we left in an hour or so, maybe ten or eleven."
"Cut to the chase Wicksham."
Andi glanced up to Lena nervously. “I just ran into him on Hawthorne and he said the cops came after he called one of the numbers in that notebook."
"Wicksham. Get on with it." Ramirez was getting exasperated.
"It was the number of that place with the body on 50th."
"Holy SHIT, Wicksham. How the hell do you do it? Of all the place to stick your nose into. Didn't I tell you not to get involved in this?"
"How was I to know one of the phone numbers in my client’s book would go there? Cut me some slack. Within minutes of finding out I'm phoning to tell you. What else can I do? This is strictly by the book.”
Ramirez seemed genuinely distraught. "Oh God. You don't know. It's out of my hands, Wicksham. Give me a minute. You at your office?"
"Yeah, of course." Andi answered.
"Stay there." he instructed firmly. "I'll call back."
Andi hung up and looked across at Lena. The leaden feeling in her stomach grew heavier.
"Better check to see if you have Francois' name in your notes...and add Frank’s" Lena advised. "I'll go to a pay phone and give him the story."
Andi nodded and paged through her notebook and added a comment about meeting Frank and having him help them. She shuddered at the memory of that body on the floor.
The phone rang. It was Ramirez.
"OK, Wicksham. I want you and your friends to come on down here to talk to Lieutenant Max." His voice had a breathy rasp. "You understand? Be here in fifteen minutes."
"There's only me and Lena, Ramirez."
"Who else was there?" His voice thundered in her ear.
"We were with a friend and that kid I told you about."
"God, Wicksham. This would go so much easier if you kept to tracing dogs. I can't get you out of this one. Max's got his hand in a vice."
"Jesus, Ramirez. Get a grip. I'm coming. I'm bringing Lena soon as she comes out of the bathroom. I'm not responsible for the rest of the world."
"Fifteen minutes, Wicksham." He waited for an answer.
"I'll be there." Andi responded and put down the phone. It was a dismal ending to a stupid day.
Lieutenant Max was as oily and insinuating as he could be, playing out an interrogation technique evidently picked up from spy novels. Lena and Andi were separated immediately to make statements. Andi responded with short straightforward answers, ignoring his constant push for elaboration. He wanted Frank's description, wanted the score of the soccer game, wanted Francois' address which she didn't know. He called her a liar.
She was left in the interview room for an hour and a half while Max compared their stories and drank coffee. Then he returned, “Your friend, Lena told a different tale, Ms Wicksham...it’s time to go with the truth.”
“You lose credibility when you lie.” She advised sweetly.
That sent him into another tirade. Andi played a wide-eyed innocent, repeating the bare-bones story three times without embellishment. Max growled he knew she was lying, claimed she was now accessory to murder. He wanted the names of the people who ran that office, their contacts and friends.
When that didn't pan out he taunted her with Lena's alias as Watson and her own tag as Sherlock. Andi rolled her eyes and called him Colombo. He threw the morgue-photo of the man in apartment before her--the tape was gone from his mouth, the blood washed off, the hair had been pull back down over the skull. He evidently didn't know she'd seen the body at the scene and she wasn’t about to tell him--the situation was complicated enough. Max told her to look carefully and be sure. Andi pushed the photo away and shook her head.
He left her again; another hour and twenty minutes. Andi did meditation practice, observing breaths and letting thoughts go. It was supposed to soften her up. They hadn't booked her and despite Max's hard line he hadn't read the Miranda warning--how big a deal could it be?
Max finally returned and told her she shouldn't leave town--he'd talk to her again and wanted the truth when he did. He tried to look menacing, but came across tired and frustrated. He was not a happy camper; he'd probably missed dinner and was at the end of a fourteen hour day.
Andi nodded as Max showed her out to the lobby. Lena appeared a moment later. She winked and they ducked out to the car without risking a public word.
"If you gave back a fraction of their attitude they'd throw you against a wall and beat you for resisting arrest." Lena spit.
"Life in the big city." observed Andi as she pulled out from the lot. "He took his time in letting us go. Did they explain anything to you?"
"No." Lena examined her nails, "Cops got no respect for the truth. They didn't say squat, but they wouldn't anyway--would they?"
"Sometimes they do, sometime they don't." Andi admitted with a smile. "I'll drop you off at home."
At home there was a message from Ramirez on her machine--hoping she was OK, saying it would be OK to phone if she wanted. He didn't rub it in, didn't even say she'd stuck her nose where it didn't belong. Andi aimed an curse at the phone, took a shower and went to bed. It took another shower and washing her hair in the morning before she felt clean enough for breakfast. Back at the office, she started coffee and churned mentally.
Lena was late. Andi stared at her empty chair and sipped coffee. Ramirez called as she stared moodily out the window. She barely gave him time to say good morning before snapping, "What does your boss do when he's off duty? Fantasize about concentration camps?"
"Hey, low blow, Wicksham. You show up as the only connection to a grizzly murder and he jumps on you. It's his job, whether you like it or not. If Max was a mind reader he'd know what the truth was--as it is, he relies on other things."
"Do you have something meaningful to say?”
Ramirez tried again. "The finger prints are consistent with your story, except that your friend Francois' real name is James Johnson and he has a record of computer crimes and except for that kid named Frank you made up. For somebody spending the night he left absolutely nothing, no prints on the faucets or toilet or door knob or phone."
"What are you trying to say, Ramirez?"
"Well, I for one don't believe you sliced up that body on 50th. I even believe that you were just following the leads on a completely different case, even if it doesn't seem credible. But I know you're not leveling on this motel thing. I want to know what and why."
"You need more fiber, Ramirez. What is it, you and Tanya not getting along? Hemorrhoids? Why do you do this? I always thought your style hit a little bit closer to the ethical."
"My style needs to believe what you tell me, Wicksham." He tried a fatherly-supportive approach.
"You're getting a real hard edge. It doesn't do your credibility any good."
"Torture victims and kids hit by trucks ruin my day and conflicts with Max upset me. I'm here, with no cheer--get used to it."
Andi looked out the window again. "We still on for lunch?"
"You're buying right? Sure why not, but I'm not going to pretend I'm having a good day."
"You never pretend, Ramirez. Hawthorn Cafe--noon o'clock?"
"You better straighten up." he grumbled, knowing he'd lost his edge.
Andi hung up with out a goodbye. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to nine and still no Lena, she was pondering calling when she heard footsteps in the hall.
Lena came in, jaw set, eyes steely, head forward as if walking into a wind.
"Sucks, huh?"
Lena shot her a glare and flopped into her chair. "JC was waiting in the living room when I got home. They got back a day early." She sat inert, her face blank and slightly lost.
"Oh."
Silence settled like ash at Pompeii. Andi waited quietly, but Lena sat, hands in her lap looking blankly at the wall.
"OK, we're out of here. Coffee's on me. Up, up, up." Andi grabbed Lena by the shoulder, dragging her to her feet and pushing her out the door. They walked five blocks up Hawthorne to a cafe set with academic types and classical music. Andi bought coffees and cheesecake and they settled into opposite ends of the old green couch.
Lena’d met JC at a picnic a year and a half ago. There was an ardor-filled camping trip, then he went out on a two month tour with his band and moved in within days of getting back. It had been a rebound relationship--for him. She’d had misgivings and should have known better.
Last night, he was watching TV when Lena came in. He didn't turn it off or get up. Andi could picture it--Lena huddled in a chair too exhausted to complain while he talked of European tour plans and spun off comments about clubs and motels he could hardly remember.
Lena hadn't told him where she'd been--and he didn't ask. She’d wished he wasn't there or that she wasn't there, but didn't have the strength to fight. They barely talked. He left the TV up loud. Finally she retreated to the bedroom and went to sleep muffling the TV with a pillow over her head.
Andi consoled, shared cheesecake, then a fudge brownie. Lena perched on the weary green couch with her feet tucked close and her arms around knees, her eyes expressionless with shock. Therapeutic dose of caffeine, sugar and chocolate revived her and they walked the back streets, wandering aimlessly for an hour.
"You want the day off?" Andi asked. The sky was blue, the air warm.
Lena gave a scrunch-faced smile. "What would I do? Go home and watch him call the rest of the band?" She pantomimed sticking a finger down her throat. "Let's go back to work."
There were three calls on the machine when they returned and they'd hardly settled in their chairs when the phone rang again. Lena answered. Andi started sorting through the folders on her desk.
"Investigatory services.”
"It's your friend."
Lena silently mouthed Francois to Andi. "Glad you called."
"Meet?" Lena glanced to meet Andi's eyes, Andi nodded. “The phone across from Coffee People's? Ten minutes?" Andi nodded again.
"Sure." Lena offered. "Ten minutes."
When Francois hung up, Lena spun her chair around. "He's going to call the pay phone in ten minutes."
"Drama queen." snorted Andi. "This his spy fantasy?"
Lena shrugged and asked, "Want me to go?"
Andi waved that she didn't care. "Go, I've got work to do."
Lena waited by the phone booth. Fifteen feet away, the usual assortment of guitar players and jugglers disrupted pedestrian traffic. The phone rang. "Francois? It’s Lena. You OK?" she asked concerned.
"You were hosted by Portland's finest?"
"Need anything?"
"I called to tell Andi there was something else about some of the sites we visited."
"There's only me here."
"No sweat, pass it on. Most of the files stashed by our subject are encrypted with a PGP encoder."
Lena scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. "PGP encoder?"
"Yeah, stands for Pretty Good Privacy."
"I thought you had the passwords."
"Only for Eugene’s targets. Maybe he didn’t have time to bust the code."
"So you can't break in?"
"I'm working on it. It’ll take a little time."
Lena walked back slowly. Andi was digging through her pending file when she walked in. "He wanted to tell you most of the files are coded." Lena passed over the paper with her note.
"The cops are trying to find him. Why is he doing this?"
"No guts, no story. I think he likes the challenge. You should reassure him that he should finish."
"You want to get pulled in by Max again? Maybe waste another evening in their little rooms?"
"He's doing work benefiting our client. He should be paid. Don't muzzle the ox that threshes your grain."
"What are you talking? He's a loose cannon. You got to call him off."
"I won't call him off. Anyway, he doesn't work like that, you'll have to keep paying."
"Keep paying? You think I'm stupid? It'll get us in trouble with Ramirez."
"He won't be named in reports and the money’ll come in cash from Trafino. Who's to know?"
"I know, you know, he knows. Information has to come from somewhere. Look--he was supposed to be careful and look where it got us, four hours harassment and a promise for more."
Lena stared back and shook her head slowly, side to side. "He's going to keep working. If you want the fruits of his labor and my approval, you'll pay like you promised." She set her jaw and glared.
"How much trouble do you want?" Andi cried in desperation. She was playing a losing hand so she shut her mouth and glared.
"What time are you meeting Ramirez?" Lena asked finally.
"Noon." Andi replied curtly.
"Almost eleven thirty." Lena pointed at her watch. "What do we want to get done? We killed the morning doing therapy."
"How's billing?" Andi switched back to business.
"Up to date. Files are in your pending box."
"The search for Thompson's witness?"
"Slow. I've calls out. No sense doing the long distance until we get a decent bio."
"Eugene Trafino?"
Lena reached for a file. "Job history, newspaper accounts, legal problems, his aunt's statement--last two apartments, partial take on his finances. No acute problems or chronic addictions beyond hacking." Lena looked up. Andi nodded and Lena continued. "Eileen's e-mail is cutesy, but it isn't a window into his life. I checked out a couple of Eugene’s floppies...they were video games."
"Checking the rest will kill the afternoon." Andi quipped.
"And tomorrow." Lena pouted.
"It's your baby. I'm out of here. What you doing for lunch?"
"Feeling sorry for myself." Lena said matter of factly. "Practicing martyrdom." She turned stoically back to her computer and gave a sigh.
"Poor baby. Whatever makes you happy." quipped Andi. She restrained an urge to give Lena a reassuring little kiss on the neck. "Bye." She grabbed her notebook and ducked out the door.
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