Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

“And? Are you kidding me? The Department of Defense is going to have to give security codes to Synco Systems so Synco can install the software. And when they do, the Chinese guys can steal every frigging secret in the entire system.”

James stood up, walked to the case, and pulled three more warm beers. He distributed them to us, then straddled his chair again. “Every frigging secret?”

“Every secret. About nuclear weapons. About new technology. About battle plans, spy networks, and whatever else the Department of Defense deals with.”

“Jesus.” James put the bottle to his mouth, closed his eyes, and we were all silent for about twenty seconds as he drained the beer.

“You know this? For a fact?” I so didn’t want this to be the truth.

“No. No. Hey, settle down. I could be wrong.”

James’s eyes rolled, possibly because of J.J.’s accusation, possibly because the beer was overwhelming his brain. “Our government isn’t that dumb. Do you understand me? The Chi Mak thing, the guy who stole missile secrets, that was because a trusted engineer was able to steal stuff he was inventing. It’s not the same, J.J.”

Jim Jobs gave him a blank stare. He obviously had never heard of Chi Mak or the stolen documents case.

“Our government isn’t going to just give up all their secrets to some stranger. Or the enemy. We’re not going to make that mistake again. We learned our lesson. I’m convinced of it.”

“James, it happens.”

“But not like this. They don’t just open up their systems to somebody without a safety check. Do they?”

“It happens every day.” J.J. took a short swallow of beer. There was a tremor in his hands and I thought he might spill his drink. “There was a story the other day, Wall Street Journal, some hotshot from DOD was storing some of the department’s sensitive information on his home computer.”

“Home computer?”

“Yep. Let me tell you something else. I used to work for a subcontractor for the Rocky Flats plant outside Denver. They make nuclear weapons.”

“What does that have to do with computer codes?” James was obviously agitated.

“I’ll tell you what it has to do with security. One of the laptop computers with serious information went missing while I was there.”

“And?”

J.J. stood up, tugging on the boxer shorts. “I’m trying to tell you. I was accused of stealing the computer, and trying to steal government secrets.”

“You?” I couldn’t believe it. This strange neighbor whom I didn’t trust at all was telling us that he’d been implicated in a major government scandal.

“Me. They couldn’t find any evidence, and eventually I was cleared. Fired from the job, but cleared.” From a nuclear spy to neighborhood handyman. Someday I wanted to explore that journey.

“Do you know who stole the computer?” Still not certain this guy was giving me the truth, I wanted some closure to the story.

“Ended up being three computers. Eventually four. By the time the third one went missing, they decided not to prosecute anyone. It was too damned embarrassing. Our government can’t keep anything a secret. So don’t assume that the Department of Defense won’t open up their entire system to Synco Systems. And if they do, it could be the single biggest security breach in the history of the United States.”

There it was. A real possibility.

“Jim, this really happened to you?” James was staring at him, wide eyed.

“I could never make up a story like that. And do I know who stole the computers? Everyone knew. Even the guys investigating the crime. But it’s all political. And if we had called them in on it, they would call us in on our thefts. And we’re stealing information from countries all over the world. It’s a treacherous game we play, boys. Treacherous.”

“So you’re telling me that this happens all the time?”

J.J. took the last swallow of beer. Scratching himself again, he moved toward the door. “I’m a simple handyman. I never stole a thing in my life-except a pack of lifesavers when I was seven. That’s all I know for sure. But what’s happening at Synco Systems is damned suspicious.”

I watched as he turned the door handle and pushed the door open. “J.J., wait.”

“What’s that?” He turned.

“You saw the car? The one with the shooter who shot our windows out?”

“I did.”

“Well, what was it?”

“It was a Honda Accord, Skip. Same kind that Feng drives.”

I fell asleep sitting on the sofa with the beer in my hand. It had happened before, but usually because I’d had too many beers in my hand in the preceding hours. Now, it was because I was exhausted.

I woke up to Springsteen singing “Born in the U.S.A.” I flipped open my cell phone and I’m sure the word I answered with was something like ’lo.

“Is this Water Connection Plumbing?”

“Huh?” I checked out my watch, and in the dark, with fog covering my eyes I think it said 4:30.

“This isn’t Water Connection Plumbing?”

“No, this is… yes. Yes it is.” They’d seen us. It came back fast. Someone had seen the truck and was checking up on us. Now what was I going to say? Got a problem? We’ll be there in a jiffy. We’ll have that toilet clog cleaned out in no time. And then I wondered if it was someone who knew me. Conroy? Feng? And would they recognize my voice and know that I wasn’t a plumber? I had that sinking feeling that I might be caught. I knew the feeling well. It had been coming about every two or three hours for the last three days.

Once again. “This is Water Connection Plumbing?”

“Yeah. It sure is.” I spoke a little deeper. Growling. Maybe they wouldn’t know it was me.

There was a long silence on the other end, and I closed my eyes. This plumbing thing had been a bad idea from the beginning. Finally, “Well, your truck is about four doors down from our apartment and we’ve got a leaking faucet that’s kept me up most of the night. Is there any chance that you could-”

I closed the phone, unlocked the front door, walked outside, and stripped the vinyl magnetic banners from both sides of the truck. Rolling them up, I threw them in the driver’s side, and stomped back into our condo.

James was snoring peacefully as I shoved open his door. The catch had never worked on the cheap hollow piece of pressed wood and it crashed against the wall. He kept on snoring.

“James.” I shouted out his name as his snoring drowned me out.

Walking to his bed, a metal frame, mattress, and cheap box springs, I shook him.

“Um.” He sputtered.

“Wake up.”

“Mmm?”

“Wake up.”

“What? Are the cops here?”

“No. Someone just called and asked about Water Connection Plumbing.”

“Mmmm?”

“Get up. We need to talk.”

James struggled with the top sheet, twisting it, and finally freeing himself. He staggered to his feet, standing there in his boxer shorts, looking like a taller version of Jim Jobs. “What’s all this about, Skip?”

“First of all, people thinking we’re plumbers. Not a good idea.”

He just did an elaborate nod, not fully awake.

“Second of all,” I was wide awake and ready to take some action, “we need to review that smoke detector camera card.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. There were some things said that don’t match the conversation we heard tonight between Carol Conroy and Sandy.”

“So am I being paid overtime?”

“You’re the one who started this spy stuff, so don’t give me any crap about overtime. Okay?”

James staggered to the doorway, walking out into the living area. “Okay. Let’s view the movie, amigo.”