Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

“Skip, you look like you belong.”

In jeans, sandals, and a Green Day T-shirt, I doubted that.

“Just think. You marry Em, take over her daddy’s company, and you become the next Sandy Conroy.”

Could happen. “Never happen, James. Remember, she’s way out of my league.” I pulled out the piece of paper where I’d written down the code. A series of numbers and letters that were probably some word or combination that meant something to Conroy. I knew for a fact that people still used birthdays, phone numbers, anniversaries, and other common threads in their life so that they could remember their codes and passwords. The problem was that other people knew those birthdays, phone numbers, and anniversaries too. And with that information, identity theft was rampant.

Pulling out Conroy’s keyboard I punched in 305-805-500-1 AC. The screen on his desk blinked and a box appeared.

Failure to complete password.

Checking the paper in front of me, I punched in the code again.

305-805-500-1AC.

Once again the box appeared.

Failure to complete password

“How you comin’?”

“I know I copied it down right, James. I watched Conroy punch it in. It was on my computer screen.” I’d watched the action ten times. I was sure I was right. “Maybe he changes it daily.”

“Do people do that?”

“If they do, we’re screwed.” I wouldn’t put it past him. Conroy seemed like the kind of guy who would guard his privacy with his life.

“Mmmm. Let me see that.”

I handed him the paper, thinking about how much trouble we could be in and hoping that Em was all right.

“Seven numbers in a phone number, right?”

Standing up, I nodded. I opened the office door and gazed at the dimly lit work area, down to the entrance hall where I hoped Em was still sitting.

“And the area code is three numbers. Well, if you got the numbers wrong, just one digit, we’re screwed. We’d be punching in numbers all night.”

“Let’s assume the numbers are right.”

“So let’s say it’s a phone number. Okay. Does it ring a bell?”

“If you dial it, maybe.”

He thought about that for a moment, never cracking a smile. “Skip, let’s go with the number. If you got that right, then that leaves two letters. AC.”

“What do those stand for?”

“Could be as simple as the first and third letter of the alphabet. A and C. That could be it.”

“But it’s not the first and third letter.” He wasn’t thinking. “Because it doesn’t work. It’s got to be something else. People use initials, James. Even when they install our security systems. We always suggest a random number because it’s much safer. But they end up putting in the kid’s birthday or their wedding date or-”

“Their initials?”

“Yeah. Like, Sandy Conroy. S.C.”

James glanced again at the keyboard. “One letter off. If you thought Conroy was punching in an A, it could have been an S. SC. The A is right next to the S. Could be his initials.”

“Could be.” I’d studied Sandy Conroy at his computer for ten minutes. Watched the video over and over. I was certain it was AC.

“You were trying to see his code from up there. That’s quite a ways.” He pointed toward the new smoke detector.

I sat back down behind the desk. “Some systems only let you try the code twice before they shut down. If I punch another code in that’s not right, this thing could freeze up.”

James leaned over, putting both his hands on the desk. “This isn’t one of those systems. I can feel it, amigo. Punch the code back in and substitute an S for the A.

I punched the code slowly, as if each number and the final two letters were precious cargo and I was scared of breaking them.

305-805-500-1SC

Nothing happened. I stared at the screen, concentrating with all my might. I thought that if I focused all my energy on that code it would complete the cycle, and we’d be inside Conroy’s information bank.

Then, as if hit by a sudden bolt of lightning, the screen went black. Dark, dark black, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. I could almost hear the power system drop away to nothing. “We’re screwed, James.” For a second I couldn’t breathe. “Really screwed. Honest to God. It’s gone. The entire computer just shut down.”

“No.” James took three big steps and came to the back of the desk, peering over my shoulder. “Oh, shit. This can’t be good.”

“It could get worse. Tomorrow morning he’ll know someone tried to hack the system.”

“Damn. What if it alerts him at home? I mean right now. Could this system alert the cops? Jeez, Skip, would that be possible?” His eyes were wide open and I could see his fear.

“We are so screwed.” I wanted to bolt from the office, run screaming down the hall, grab Em, and get out of the front door before anyone had a chance to react. The screen had shut down, gone black, and everything was deathly quiet. There was no hum of the computer, not even the sound of James breathing. I was shaking and my palms were moist as I watched a gradual gentle light spread across the computer’s flat screen, and a soft green background frame the emerging words.

Welcome Sandler. What program would you like to open?

“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.” James was taking deep breaths of relief as he spoke. I knew exactly how he felt.

“Donnie Darko, right?”

“Pard, I don’t even know what movie it’s from right now, but I am extremely excited to see that screen light back up.”

“Brings up another point, James. He still may have something on here that tells him a program was compromised.”

“We’re inside. That’s all that matters right now.”

I studied the screen. A list of prompts was lined up on the left side, and I read each one carefully.

“Codes.” James was ahead of me.

I hit Codes and watched the screen open up. There was a series of numbers, each one highlighted with a name. Number seven on the list was 305-805-500-1SC (computer code).

“And look at that. There’s the safe combination. Where the hell does he have a safe?”

“James, we could break into just about anything this guy has. How can someone just leave this stuff on his computer?”

We read through the list. There were codes for ATMs, savings accounts, checking accounts, market accounts, insurance accounts, and several coded accounts that I didn’t understand.

“You know, we don’t get it, because we’re not there yet.” James tapped his fingers on the desk, still over my shoulder and breathing down my neck.

“We’re not where?”

“If we had the kind of money this guy has, maybe we’d understand.”

“No. If I had the kind of money this guy has, I’d be protecting my codes. That’s what I’d be doing.”

“Dude, he is.”

“Is what?”

“Protecting his accounts, his codes, man.”

“James, we’re reading his private information. How is that protecting his accounts? I can see every one of them. If I can break in, then-”

“Skip, think about it. If we hadn’t had a camera on the ceiling, this stuff would be totally private.”

You can’t plan on everything. And you never planned on a ceiling camera. James had a point. “So you’re saying no matter how secure you are, you can never be as secure as you need to be?”

“I’m just saying, pardner.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Try DOD.”

It seemed as good as any other. I moved the arrow to DOD and pushed enter. A small box flashed in the lower left-hand corner.

Blocked

“Won’t open.”