Part 19 (2/2)
Then his eye caught a newspaper article that Shawn had sent to him about a month ago. It concerned a family who lived in an affluent part of Palo Alto.
High Security in a High-Tech World Donald W. is a man who's been to the edge. And he didn't like it.
Donald, 47, who agreed to be interviewed only if we didn't use his last name, is chief executive officer of one of Silicon Valley's most successful venture capital firms. While another man might brag about this accom-plishment, Donald tries desperately to keep his success, and all the other facts about his life, completely hidden.
There's a very good reason for this: six years ago, while in Argentina to close a deal with investors, he was kidnapped at gunpoint and held for two weeks. His company paid an undisclosed amount of ransom for his release.
Donald was subsequently found unharmed by Buenos Aires police, but he says he hasn't been the same since.
”You look death right in the face and you think, I've taken so much for granted. We think we live in a civilized world, but that's not the case at all.”
Donald is among a growing number of wealthy executives in Silicon Valley who are starting to take security seriously.
He and his wife even picked a private school for their only child, Samantha, 8, on the basis of its high-security facilities.
Perfect, Phate thought and went online.
The anonymity of these characters was, of course, merely a slight inconvenience and in ten minutes he'd hacked into the newspaper's editorial computer system and was browsing through the notes of the reporter who'd written the article. He soon had all the details he needed on Donald Wingate, 32983 Hesperia Way, Palo Alto, married to Joyce, forty-two, nee Shearer, who were the parents of a third grader at Junipero Serra School, 2346 Rio Del Vista, also in Palo Alto. He learned too about Wingate's brother, Irving, and Irv's wife, Kathy, and about the two bodyguards in Wingate's employ.
There were some MUDhead game players who'd consider it bad strategy to hit the same type of target - a private school, in this case - twice in a row. Phate, on the contrary, thought it made perfect sense and that the cops would be caught completely off guard.
He scrolled through the files again slowly.
Who do you want to be?
Patricia Nolan said, ”You're not going to hurt him, are you? It's not like he's dangerous. You know that.”
Frank Bishop snapped that they weren't going to shoot Gillette in the back but, beyond that, there were no guarantees. His response wasn't very civil but his goal at the moment was to find the fugitive, not to comfort consultants who had a crush on him.
The main CCU phone line rang.
Tony Mott took the call, listened, nodding his head broadly, eyes slightly wider than they normally were. Bishop frowned, wondering who was on the other end of the line. In a respectful voice Mott said, ”Please hold a minute.” The young cop then handed the receiver to the detective as if it were a bomb.
”It's for you,” the cop whispered uncertainly. ”Sorry.”
Sorry? Bishop lifted an eyebrow.
”It's Was.h.i.+ngton, Frank. The Pentagon.”
The Pentagon. It was after 1:00 A.M. East Coast time.
This is trouble...
He took the receiver. ”h.e.l.lo?”
”Detective Bishop?”
”Yessir.”
”This's David Chambers. I run the Department of Defense's Criminal Investigation Division.”
Bishop s.h.i.+fted the phone, as if the news he was about to hear would hurt less in his left ear.
”I've heard from various sources that a John Doe release order was issued in the Northern District of California. And that that order might concern an individual we have some interest in.” Chambers added quickly, ”Don't mention that person's name over the phone line.”
”That's right,” Bishop responded.
”Where is he now?”
Brazil, Cleveland, Paris, hacking into the New York Stock Exchange to bring the world economy to a halt.
”In my custody,” Bishop said.
”You're a California state trooper, is that right?”
”I am, yessir.”
”How the h.e.l.l d'you get a federal prisoner released? And more important, how the h.e.l.l d'you get him out on a John Doe? Even the warden at San Jose doesn't know anything... or claims he doesn't.”
”The U.S. attorney and I're friends. We closed the Gonzalez killings a couple of years ago and we've been working together ever since.”
”This is a murder case you're running?”
”Yessir. A hacker's been breaking into people's computers and using the information inside to get close to his victims.”
Bishop looked at Bob Shelton's concerned face and drew his finger across his own throat. Shelton rolled his eyes.
Sorry...
”You know why we're after this individual, don't you?” Chambers asked.
”Something about him writing some software that cracks your software.” Trying to be as vague as he could. He guessed that in Was.h.i.+ngton two conversations often went on simultaneously: the one you meant and the one you said out loud.
”Which, if he did, is illegal to start with and if a copy of what this person wrote gets out of the country it's treason.”
”I understand that.” Bishop filled the ensuing silence with: ”And you want him back in prison, is that it?”
”That's right.”
”We've got three days on the order,” Bishop said firmly.
A laugh from the other end of the phone. ”I make one phone call and that order becomes toilet paper.”
”I imagine you could do that. Yessir.”
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