Authors: Michael Parks
“Dunno, not a peep.”
He set the chips aside. “The German connection flopped but I’m sure the admin
knows who’s using his router. I’m tempted to try hacking it just to see what
permissions are there. Might lead back to him.”
“Hmm. Breakin’ the law
to catch a law breaker?”
She was right, it
wasn’t smart. “We’ll see. I’m pretty sure I’ll get another whack at him.”
Over pizza by
candlelight, Kaiya talked about how three classmates in Economics had been
caught cheating with the help of a teacher’s aide.
“It’s just amazing
what people will do. Makes you wonder how they arrive at those kinds of
choices.”
He washed down a bite
with cold beer. “Makes you wonder, yep. Like that hacker. Probably started as a
kid. Hooked up with the wrong crowd. Found the cracks and slipped through. Now
he’s hacking people’s junk.”
“Sounds like a young
you,” she said. At his glance, she asked, “Well doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, okay, but this
is serious. There’s a market for this data. He can mess things up bad for
people. Starting with me.”
“Maybe it’s the
easiest way to make good money where he’s from.”
“Might be, yeah. He’s
still a prick though. Just like I was.”
He reflected on his
own start into computers. Loving parents, though really into their careers. By
age thirteen he’d become convinced work was their first passion. For dad, it
was everything and their only real connection. As a computer analyst for the
CIA, being tied up with work was the absolute norm. Mom’s time in local
politics kept her busy and provided visibility and success that she seemed to
crave. The older he got, the more disconnected he felt from them.
By his fourteenth
birthday he’d begun to explore the internet. Game forums first, then to private
forums, then to chat channels. New friends led him to the darker, unadvertised
side of the net. In the new warrens things surfaced that he’d never seen –
topics and images that he’d never considered, never imagined. Had his parents
known they would have pulled the computer in a heartbeat. Instead, he saw with
greater clarity exactly how to behave to keep them from catching on.
His fifteenth birthday
brought a new computer and a faster connection. Real deviation began when he
learned how to break into computer systems. What used to be important became
less significant – like the idea of right and wrong. He learned a lot about
people, too, like how they were not always what they appeared on the surface.
It applied to everyone he knew, including his folks.
A few months before
his sixteenth birthday, the cruelest of fates shifted his outlook forever.
Driving back from a fundraiser, his mother was struck and killed. The other
driver, drunk and high, lived.
In the weeks that
followed, his dad helped him understand how his mother’s passion for her work
had diminished nothing of her love for him; he’d just been too selfish and
immature to see it. He dropped off the hack sites and the secret rebelliousness
fell away. He grew closer to his dad and focused on technology in a
constructive way. It lit his imagination and eventually provided a career path.
Kaiya shrugged. “Well,
even if you never catch him, at least you found a big time exploit. That’s
worth something.”
“True. Got some more
visibility at Rocom, too.”
“You’d love to work
there.”
He looked up at her.
“I’d
like
to work there. I’d
love
to see Sam on the shelves at Best
Buy and Home Depot and on Amazon. Not to mention in new home builds.”
She nodded. “In time,
you will. Meanwhile, use your momentum at InterGen. Make it worth your while.
You’ve earned it.”
They finished dinner
and after clearing the dishes decided to make up for the previous morning’s
preemption. As they climbed the stairs, she poked him in the chest. “If you get
called tonight, we’ll go down there and get busy in the server room.”
He laughed and slapped
her butt. “Really? I might have to arrange a call then.”
“Perv.”
“Hey, it was your
idea.”
• • •
Johan slept in on
Sunday, finally rising to shower while rain gathered in the lanes of the
adjoining fields. Instead of feeling better about the incident at the
apartment, he felt it more of a threat than before. Despite intense curiosity
about the file, things were too hot; absolute downtime from Alcazar felt
safest. Bringing trouble of any kind to George and Faiga was out of the
question.
There were always
things George needed help with and as expected he had to weave a few tales to
entertain him throughout the day. Such small repayment for his hospitality.
After dinner he spent the evening with George over a chess board. Conversation
revealed the progression of the memory issue that Faiga had mentioned during
his last visit. George circled around twice to the same topic as if they had
not talked about it twenty minutes earlier. At his age it wasn’t unexpected but
Faiga worried it might grow into something worse. He hoped not.
Before bed he checked
email via a proxied aggregator. One message from Andreas carried the name and
contact information for the InterGen admin who’d tried to track him.
Sorry Mr. Bakken, not good enough.
Monday morning it
rained steadily and at times in. He surprised Faiga by joining her in the
kitchen with eggs gathered from the coop. They made breakfast and afterwards
the three played games. Faiga won handily in back to back rounds of Bohnanza,
George’s favorite card game.
The couple were the
closest thing to family he had. By the time the early loss of his own parents
finally emerged as a heartfelt and soulful problem, George and Faiga Bergmann
were the universe’s answer. He’d returned to them again and again over the
years. Worries were always set aside, if only for a time.
In the afternoon the
rains broke and the sun emerged from behind clouds. Sunlight warmed the sodden
earth and made it fragrant and colorful. Puddles had joined to make small lakes
that he navigated around. Under the trees at the edge of a neighboring farm,
the absence of technology felt liberating. Just the earth, tools to work it,
and a home to live in. It seemed simple and damn appealing.
What really happened
at the apartment was unclear but with luck he’d soon know more. Worst case he’d
relocate and start over. Maybe a nose job and an eye lift. A chin tuck and a
tan wouldn’t hurt, either.
By nightfall Johan
hadn’t gone to the house for supper so George and Faiga appeared in the
apartment with food and drink. They called him downstairs.
“Ach! You shouldn’t
have. Thank you, Faiga.”
They sat with him as
he ate. Faiga couldn’t resist her instincts.
“You look so lean,
Peter. You need to eat better. When are you going to settle down and find a
wife, hmm? Someone to take better care of you?”
George harrumphed.
“Peter’s got good sense. He’ll know when it’s time. When he does, he’ll fatten
up soon enough.”
“Don’t worry Faiga,
I’m healthy and strong. And when the woman of my dreams finds me I will not
turn and run, I promise.”
They drank steins of
George’s own brewed stout. Conversation ranged from provincial to global.
George was still keen on knowing what was going on in the world and did a good
job of staying informed via the internet. Faiga approved because it seemed to
keep his mind sharp and agile, though the news was often depressing.
George finished a draw
from his brew. “You know, we were just talking about you before you showed up.”
“Yes? Good talk, I
hope.”
“Well, have you heard
anything about the killing in Rotterdam?”
“Depends. What
killing?”
His furry gray brows
knitted in disgust. “They’re calling him the Butcher of Rotterdam. There’s a
sketch out.”
“How many dead?”
“Just one but it was
brutal. Sick bastard.”
“Sounds like a local
homicide. What made you think of me? Someone in politics?”
“Heh,” George nodded
and stood. “I’ll show you. It may be of interest to you.” He left for the house
on a mission.
Faiga shook her head.
“So damned depressing, that. Violence. Moral decay. The world is sliding deeper
and deeper. Not just in the slums, not just in the big cities. It’s become so
commonplace. Why? What’s inside people that drives them to such evil?”
“Some say it’s always
been this way. We just hear more of it thanks to technology.”
“Maybe. I can’t help
remembering that we are just animals after all. Some more evolved than others.
And you know politicians and the elite are just as bad as the murderers.
Letting good people fight wars and starve while they lounge in safety and reap
the profits. As if privilege makes them immune to guilt and responsibility. All
the world over! Corruption and inequity. Cruelty and murder. Seems to me rooted
in the same evil. Honestly, I think somewhere in the last hundred years we had
a chance to rise above it but failed to.” She sighed and studied him. “You see
many bad things first hand. How do you manage?”
He could only shrug.
“My work brings justice to those that might not otherwise meet it. If things
get too much, like most people, I retreat. Not for long, though. Never for
long.”
He stared at his empty
plate, peripherally aware of Faiga’s gaze. Paranoia tugged, creating fear about
what George would bring. “I know what you mean about missing our chance. I’ve
felt that, too. Like we’ve skidded off the runway and can’t set things right. So
many people want to live in peace and know how to treat their fellow man but
they never seem to rise to real power. Regardless of their number. I don’t know
why, either.”
“We’re cowards, is
why. Afraid to lose what peace we have.” She grew thoughtful in the lingering
quiet. “Peter, you know you’re an old soul. A good, old soul.”
He nodded and gave her
a smile. “You’ve said as much. It takes one to know one.”
She wiped the table
with a napkin. “I do hope you get to settle down. From what I see, I wonder if
you ever will.”
He met her gaze. “And
what is it you see?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
She shook her head. “A long run? Yes. A hectic, long run through danger. And
change. I see much change.” Her eyes averted. “Hard to settle down with
that
.” The screen door rattled as George
returned. She wiped the table again. “But that’s just my old mind musing, of
course. It does so tirelessly.”
Her wan smile sealed
the memory.
George returned with a
sheaf of papers in hand. As if at a briefing, he offered a sheet. “Here’s the
sketch of the bastard. If you see him, he’s dangerous.”
Johan tensed as he
reached for it.
Paranoia.
The sketch looked nothing like him. George handed him a second sheet.
“Here’s the article.”
(Rotterdam, Netherlands
– AP) – A woman who police said appeared to have been stabbed multiple times
was found dead in a downtown apartment Saturday afternoon.
Police spokesperson
Arlene Leigher said a neighbor on the third floor heard loud noises around 11am
coming from below but dismissed them. At
11:30am another neighbor noticed the woman’s door off its hinges and found her
body.
The identity of the
victim, a woman in her late fifties, was not released pending notification of
next of kin, Leigher said. “The degree of brutality exhibited was uncommon.”
The murder weapon, a meat cleaver, was recovered at the scene.
“Some crime scenes are
hard to process due to the sheer inhumanity inflicted upon the victim.
Unfortunately, this is one of them.”
Police are considering
the woman’s neighbor the prime suspect based on physical evidence. Details of
that evidence were not disclosed but were described as ‘substantial’.
Leigher reports that
preliminary investigations revealed the suspect was living under a false identity.
At least two aliases have been uncovered. One is “Arnie”, the other “Peter
Brusse”. There is no word on possible motivation for the killing.
Police have released a
sketch of the suspect (
view here
) and are asking anyone with information
about the suspect’s identity or whereabouts to contact the Rotterdam Police
Department or Interpol (
link
).
The article contained
a small black and white image of his apartment complex and Café Trevi on the
first floor.
“Gah!” He could barely
control himself. Feeling their eyes upon him, he covered. “Who butchers
an old woman?
For what possible reason?
Terrible. Brings shame to my name.”
George’s imagination
revealed itself when he asked if Peter’s previous cases might be involved,
maybe an enemy sending him a warning.
“It’s possible, I
suppose. Most likely it’s just coincidence. At least I hope it is.”
He finished his beer
and changed the topic to a lighter one. A short time later he begged off to
bed. He locked up the barn, rejoined the laptop upstairs, and considered the
fifteen chunks stored on its drive. He scowled at the screen and resisted
punching it. “You can’t
possibly
be
worth this!”