Arlington, 4:36 a.m.
The drive back to his apartment seemed much shorter than the drive into Washington had been. Traffic on I-395 was still fairly light, but the even now at this early hour it was growing noticeably heavier as the early-morning morning commuters began yet another weekday. Fortunately, most of the traffic was heading into the city instead of out, so Coke had a fairly easy time getting back to his apartment.
Coke pulled into his parking spot just in time to see Mrs. Padgett (his next door neighbor) walking out the lobby's front door with a decidedly sleepy-looking Martin in tow. Mrs. Padgett was a sweet grandmother who, rain or shine, could be counted on to haul her Pekinese out for an early-morning walk every day at 4:30 prompt. Coke liked her well enough, but didn't much care for the way she tended to prattle on and on about her grandchildren if given the slightest opportunity. Still, she was kind enough to hold the door for him.
"Good morning Mr. Coke," she crooned sweetly, gently tugging on Martin's leash. The dog gave a decidedly glum sounding moan.
"Morning Mrs. Padgett," Coke mumbled, sliding past her as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid having to actually talk to the old woman.
"Say, Mr. Coke, did I tell you about Timmy's science test the other day?" she continued, oblivious to the fact that Coke was obviously trying very much to avoid her without being overly rude. "He got a B+ on his science test last week," she beamed. "Isn't that wonderful? Turns out he wants to be a scientist, just like you someday!" She gave Coke a coquettish little glance. "I've told him all about you. You and your big job at the Department of Geology." Coke felt as though he was about to vomit. How many times had he told her he worked for the Department of Energy? He never forgot any of the facts about Timmy she rained on him at every opportunity. Still, he maintained his composure.
"That's very nice Mrs. Padgett," he said, emphasizing the word nice. "You have a great day now, you hear?" And with that, Coke let the door slide shut. Mrs. Padgett was already beginning to follow him and was opening her mouth to say more, but before she had the chance Coke was already up the flight of stairs and had disappeared around the corner.
People like Mrs. Padgett irked him. Still, she was a sweet old thing and she made great pie. Although Coke didn't really dislike her per se, he was an intensely private person and didn't like to be bothered when he was on a job. She of course had no way of knowing that. To her he was just another pencil-necked number-cruncher at the Department of Geology (whatever the hell that was). If she actually had any inkling of what he actually did for a living, she'd probably die from a heart attack right there on the spot. If he managed to get a word in at all that was, between Timmy's latest school project, her trip down to Cancun and Martin's latest slipper-chewing incident. Oh well, there was no more time to waste. The chief had made it very clear that this assignment was time-sensitive. Fumbling for his keys, he unlocked the door to his apartment and slipped in, sliding home the deadbolt as soon as he closed the door.
The first thing to come off was the tie. Coke pulled the knot loose and threw it onto the sofa before he turned on the light. The sun would be up before long, but he had to get to work immediately. Almost unconsciously he reached for the bottle laying on the coffee table from a few hours earlier. However, before his baser instincts took hold, Coke reminded himself that he was now officially on the job and instead of raising the bottle to his lips, he walked into the kitchenette and placed it in the sink. He was already starting to develop a headache from the booze and the lack of sleep, but he would have to get some rest later. He loaded up the coffee maker instead and began to brew himself a pot before heading into the dining room. A little caffeine was just what the doctor ordered.
Coke sat down at the dining room table and took off his blazer, loosening the top button of his shirt at the same time. There. Now he was fully comfortable and finally ready to get to work. The place was a mess, but it had seen worse and would survive a little longer, which was more than he could say for his target. Snapping open his briefcase, Coke slipped out the envelope it contained. It was a standard government envelope, manila in color with the words "CLASSIFIED" stamped across it in red ink. It was extremely thick and fairly heavy for its size. Coke ran his finger under the tab and, as neatly as he could, ripped open the top of the envelope. Reaching deep into the envelope, he pulled out its contents and spread them out across the table.
The first thing which caught his eye was the thick stack of money held together by two rubber bands. Coke realized that was what had been making the envelope so heavy. Coke had been on dozens of missions for the chief before, but this was the first time he had been given that much money to handle. It made sense of course. Paying for everything in cash would attract less attention and not leave a paper trail of any kind that could be followed. True, paying for a plane ticket or a hotel bill in cash might attract some attention, but he had government identification and a badge. Coke was satisfied there wouldn't be too many questions. Coke would count the money later. First things first.
Coke glanced at the first of three printed pages which had been stapled together. It was a standard government coversheet, placed on top of all classified documents to prevent casual observers from reading the memo. On it were once again stamped the words "CLASSIFIED- NOT FOR PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION" in bright red ink. Underneath that was the eagle and key seal of the NSA.
Coke turned to the next page. It appeared to be a standard government memorandum. The date was printed in the top right hand corner with the time. Coke was impressed. If the timestamp was to be believed, the memo had been written within a half hour of the incident taking place. Coke sat back and began to digest the information.
It was clear, concise, and to-the-point. At approximately midnight, techs on duty at Fort Meade detected a break-in attempt on servers 698, 699, and 701, all level-five systems. The techs responded and attempted to lock the hacker out. Within two minutes they had contained the leak and had consolidated the systems. However, before they were able to regain control of the system, there was a period of about thirty seconds during which the system was vulnerable. The techs were able to run a system diagnostic and determined that approximately eight files had been taken from the database. At this point Agent Maxey was alerted and brought into the office. After further consultation with his superiors he had contacted the DOE for assistance.
Somehow Coke felt that the consultation had been just a formality. He was willing to bet money the chief had been the first person the head of the NSA had called when the break-in was detected. A mere three hours later, they were bringing him in to solve the problem. That alone indicated the severity of the situation. Coke was pleased. Apparently he was more important to the chief than he had thought. Coke stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen before returning to the dining room and continuing the memo.
Generally it appeared that the hacker had been very careful, masking her identity at a level completely out of the ordinary for a mere teen hacker. However, the NSA techs had been on the ball for once and had managed to track her signal down before it had gone dead. It was established that the hacker in question was named Christine Kiviat, a 22 year-old, currently unemployed sometime student known online in hacker communities as "Redux." Coke took a sip of coffee as he turned to the final page in the memo. On it was a grainy black and white photo of a fairly pretty, bespectacled girl. Under it was listed her vital information. She had no previous criminal convictions, but she had been questioned on two previous occasions by the FBI in connection with the defacing of a Republican party website and bank fraud. Charges were never brought in both cases. Her last known address was listed as an apartment in Baltimore.
Coke refilled his cup and sat back, slowly digesting this information. On the surface it wouldn't be too tricky. She lived in an apartment and thus was probably living either alone or with a roommate. Baltimore was about an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic. Time was of the essence of course, so he had to get moving. The fact that the attack had been clearly planned long in advance and well-executed suggested that Kiviat herself had been at the helm and that she was paying attention, not just sleeping while running a program. Thus she would know that they knew about her and would send somebody. Of course, there was no telling what her reaction might be. If she thought she had gotten away clean, she might just stay at home and try to figure out what the exactly the files were by running a program or two on them. Despite her obvious dislike of the government and the generally paranoid disposition of most hackers, Coke felt that it was unlikely she would just pack out and leave immediately. She was, after all, a civilian and bound to be sloppy. Most hackers tended to have a generally low opinion of law enforcement capacities and bureaucracies. As far as she knew, the guys at the NSA were still trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on, much less that they were already sending someone for her. Coke chuckled. For all their self-absorbed paranoia that never amounted to anything, just this once they had reason to be afraid. In any case, the worst the girl was probably expecting was a slap on the wrist after a long, drawn-out legal battle ending in a plea bargain. Little did she know Coke was now on her case. Coke emptied his cup and checked his watch. It was a quarter past five. Time to get the kit together and check in with the chief. In twenty-four hours Christine Kiviat would be lucky if she was still breathing.
* * *
Thanks for the feedback folks! I've changed the settings at the suggestion of gothicspook so that now everyone can comment. Let me know how you like it!
The drive back to his apartment seemed much shorter than the drive into Washington had been. Traffic on I-395 was still fairly light, but the even now at this early hour it was growing noticeably heavier as the early-morning morning commuters began yet another weekday. Fortunately, most of the traffic was heading into the city instead of out, so Coke had a fairly easy time getting back to his apartment.
Coke pulled into his parking spot just in time to see Mrs. Padgett (his next door neighbor) walking out the lobby's front door with a decidedly sleepy-looking Martin in tow. Mrs. Padgett was a sweet grandmother who, rain or shine, could be counted on to haul her Pekinese out for an early-morning walk every day at 4:30 prompt. Coke liked her well enough, but didn't much care for the way she tended to prattle on and on about her grandchildren if given the slightest opportunity. Still, she was kind enough to hold the door for him.
"Good morning Mr. Coke," she crooned sweetly, gently tugging on Martin's leash. The dog gave a decidedly glum sounding moan.
"Morning Mrs. Padgett," Coke mumbled, sliding past her as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid having to actually talk to the old woman.
"Say, Mr. Coke, did I tell you about Timmy's science test the other day?" she continued, oblivious to the fact that Coke was obviously trying very much to avoid her without being overly rude. "He got a B+ on his science test last week," she beamed. "Isn't that wonderful? Turns out he wants to be a scientist, just like you someday!" She gave Coke a coquettish little glance. "I've told him all about you. You and your big job at the Department of Geology." Coke felt as though he was about to vomit. How many times had he told her he worked for the Department of Energy? He never forgot any of the facts about Timmy she rained on him at every opportunity. Still, he maintained his composure.
"That's very nice Mrs. Padgett," he said, emphasizing the word nice. "You have a great day now, you hear?" And with that, Coke let the door slide shut. Mrs. Padgett was already beginning to follow him and was opening her mouth to say more, but before she had the chance Coke was already up the flight of stairs and had disappeared around the corner.
People like Mrs. Padgett irked him. Still, she was a sweet old thing and she made great pie. Although Coke didn't really dislike her per se, he was an intensely private person and didn't like to be bothered when he was on a job. She of course had no way of knowing that. To her he was just another pencil-necked number-cruncher at the Department of Geology (whatever the hell that was). If she actually had any inkling of what he actually did for a living, she'd probably die from a heart attack right there on the spot. If he managed to get a word in at all that was, between Timmy's latest school project, her trip down to Cancun and Martin's latest slipper-chewing incident. Oh well, there was no more time to waste. The chief had made it very clear that this assignment was time-sensitive. Fumbling for his keys, he unlocked the door to his apartment and slipped in, sliding home the deadbolt as soon as he closed the door.
The first thing to come off was the tie. Coke pulled the knot loose and threw it onto the sofa before he turned on the light. The sun would be up before long, but he had to get to work immediately. Almost unconsciously he reached for the bottle laying on the coffee table from a few hours earlier. However, before his baser instincts took hold, Coke reminded himself that he was now officially on the job and instead of raising the bottle to his lips, he walked into the kitchenette and placed it in the sink. He was already starting to develop a headache from the booze and the lack of sleep, but he would have to get some rest later. He loaded up the coffee maker instead and began to brew himself a pot before heading into the dining room. A little caffeine was just what the doctor ordered.
Coke sat down at the dining room table and took off his blazer, loosening the top button of his shirt at the same time. There. Now he was fully comfortable and finally ready to get to work. The place was a mess, but it had seen worse and would survive a little longer, which was more than he could say for his target. Snapping open his briefcase, Coke slipped out the envelope it contained. It was a standard government envelope, manila in color with the words "CLASSIFIED" stamped across it in red ink. It was extremely thick and fairly heavy for its size. Coke ran his finger under the tab and, as neatly as he could, ripped open the top of the envelope. Reaching deep into the envelope, he pulled out its contents and spread them out across the table.
The first thing which caught his eye was the thick stack of money held together by two rubber bands. Coke realized that was what had been making the envelope so heavy. Coke had been on dozens of missions for the chief before, but this was the first time he had been given that much money to handle. It made sense of course. Paying for everything in cash would attract less attention and not leave a paper trail of any kind that could be followed. True, paying for a plane ticket or a hotel bill in cash might attract some attention, but he had government identification and a badge. Coke was satisfied there wouldn't be too many questions. Coke would count the money later. First things first.
Coke glanced at the first of three printed pages which had been stapled together. It was a standard government coversheet, placed on top of all classified documents to prevent casual observers from reading the memo. On it were once again stamped the words "CLASSIFIED- NOT FOR PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION" in bright red ink. Underneath that was the eagle and key seal of the NSA.
Coke turned to the next page. It appeared to be a standard government memorandum. The date was printed in the top right hand corner with the time. Coke was impressed. If the timestamp was to be believed, the memo had been written within a half hour of the incident taking place. Coke sat back and began to digest the information.
It was clear, concise, and to-the-point. At approximately midnight, techs on duty at Fort Meade detected a break-in attempt on servers 698, 699, and 701, all level-five systems. The techs responded and attempted to lock the hacker out. Within two minutes they had contained the leak and had consolidated the systems. However, before they were able to regain control of the system, there was a period of about thirty seconds during which the system was vulnerable. The techs were able to run a system diagnostic and determined that approximately eight files had been taken from the database. At this point Agent Maxey was alerted and brought into the office. After further consultation with his superiors he had contacted the DOE for assistance.
Somehow Coke felt that the consultation had been just a formality. He was willing to bet money the chief had been the first person the head of the NSA had called when the break-in was detected. A mere three hours later, they were bringing him in to solve the problem. That alone indicated the severity of the situation. Coke was pleased. Apparently he was more important to the chief than he had thought. Coke stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen before returning to the dining room and continuing the memo.
Generally it appeared that the hacker had been very careful, masking her identity at a level completely out of the ordinary for a mere teen hacker. However, the NSA techs had been on the ball for once and had managed to track her signal down before it had gone dead. It was established that the hacker in question was named Christine Kiviat, a 22 year-old, currently unemployed sometime student known online in hacker communities as "Redux." Coke took a sip of coffee as he turned to the final page in the memo. On it was a grainy black and white photo of a fairly pretty, bespectacled girl. Under it was listed her vital information. She had no previous criminal convictions, but she had been questioned on two previous occasions by the FBI in connection with the defacing of a Republican party website and bank fraud. Charges were never brought in both cases. Her last known address was listed as an apartment in Baltimore.
Coke refilled his cup and sat back, slowly digesting this information. On the surface it wouldn't be too tricky. She lived in an apartment and thus was probably living either alone or with a roommate. Baltimore was about an hour to an hour and a half away, depending on traffic. Time was of the essence of course, so he had to get moving. The fact that the attack had been clearly planned long in advance and well-executed suggested that Kiviat herself had been at the helm and that she was paying attention, not just sleeping while running a program. Thus she would know that they knew about her and would send somebody. Of course, there was no telling what her reaction might be. If she thought she had gotten away clean, she might just stay at home and try to figure out what the exactly the files were by running a program or two on them. Despite her obvious dislike of the government and the generally paranoid disposition of most hackers, Coke felt that it was unlikely she would just pack out and leave immediately. She was, after all, a civilian and bound to be sloppy. Most hackers tended to have a generally low opinion of law enforcement capacities and bureaucracies. As far as she knew, the guys at the NSA were still trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on, much less that they were already sending someone for her. Coke chuckled. For all their self-absorbed paranoia that never amounted to anything, just this once they had reason to be afraid. In any case, the worst the girl was probably expecting was a slap on the wrist after a long, drawn-out legal battle ending in a plea bargain. Little did she know Coke was now on her case. Coke emptied his cup and checked his watch. It was a quarter past five. Time to get the kit together and check in with the chief. In twenty-four hours Christine Kiviat would be lucky if she was still breathing.
* * *
Thanks for the feedback folks! I've changed the settings at the suggestion of gothicspook so that now everyone can comment. Let me know how you like it!