Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

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“The other night when they were in the building, she sure made it sound like it was going to be just the two of them. She was good at manipulating people, Skip. There’s a talent there.”

“Was good.”

“And Sandy thought he was the chosen one.”

“He did.”

“But it was Chen.”

“And once the codes were passed down and Chen had the money, once all the groundwork had been laid by Carol Conroy, she was expendable.”

“So why did Feng kill her in the parking lot?”

He still didn’t get it. “Feng and Chen both had gray Honda Accords.”

“Yeah.”

“It had to be Chen that hit Carol Conroy with his car. He probably assumed no one was around to witness the hit-and-run, and even if someone saw it he could blame it on Feng. Same car.”

“Clean the car, fix up the dents, and go on his merry way.”

“Seventy-five million dollars richer.”

“And what about Sandy Conroy?”

I’d considered that. Carol Conroy would have planted some deep evidence that he was guilty of stealing secrets. And he was. If she didn’t kill him, the evidence would.

He hit a pothole and the truck veered to the right.

“By now, Sandy’s probably figured out that he’s one of the scapegoats.”

“What about us?”

I didn’t want to tell him what I thought about us, but I figured he needed to know. “I believe that Sandy Conroy knows we were the ones who hacked his computer. He admitted to Carol that he thought we were spying on him.”

“So he’s after us?”

“By now, I’d bet on it. He’s going to do everything in his power to cover his tracks.”

“What about Chen?”

“Chen’s already tried to kill us. I think he’ll continue to try.”

“Oh, my God. So Chen is the one who shot at us. Not Feng?”

“He is. It was his gray Honda that J.J. saw. I’ll stake my entire pay on it.” I was quickly realizing that was a hollow stake.

“So what do we do now?”

“Call Jason Riley.”

James pulled into our apartment complex, slamming the tires against the sidewalk as he came to a stop. I know that one day he’s going to go up over the walk and right into the building.

“Who, pray tell, is Jason Riley?”

“Department of Defense contact. Remember? His name was on Sandy’s list when we broke into his computer.”

We stepped from the truck and walked up to the door. Someone had left a note in an envelope, shoved inside the screen door.

“Skip, we can’t trust anybody at this point. You just made that case. And how can you be so certain that the codes have been passed?”

“Carol Conroy was run down by Chen’s Honda. He doesn’t need her anymore. Which means-”

“He’s going to take out as many of us as he can.”

That was my thought.

“And what are you going to tell this Riley? Assuming he’s straight and not on the take.”

I unlocked the door and walked in, tossing the sealed envelope on the small kitchen table. “I’m going to make the case as fast as possible and tell him to either stop any access to their computers or change the codes immediately.”

“Jesus, Skip. If you’re right, the fate of our entire country’s defense is in your hands.”

That’s something you just never expect to hear. I mean ever. But I suppose he was right.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I ’ll admit it. I didn’t have a shred of evidence to present. I’d heard conversations, we’d found a GPS on the truck, and attached it to a UPS surrogate. We had the smoke detector video of Conroy’s conversation, and it disappeared. I’d had two face-to-face conversations with a dead woman, but no actual proof that we’d ever met. I’d attached a GPS unit to a gray Honda, and now I wasn’t even sure whose Honda it was. But I still had to make a call to Jason Riley. Without a shred of evidence, without any idea of how codes work at the U.S. government level, I had to explain to this guy that someone was trying to steal all the information stored in the Department of Defense computer system.

“As I pointed out, pard, this guy may be part of the problem. He may hear you spout your suppositions, your hypothesis, and he might be the next guy in line to take you out. Us out.

I pointed at my laptop. “Can you get online and find a phone number for the Department of Defense?”

“I’m sure they have a main number where people like us can just give them a jingle anytime we feel like it.”

“James. Try it.” There were times when I wanted to choke him.

He clacked away at the keyboard, occasionally giving me a dirty look. I walked to the refrigerator and grabbed two cold beers. Popping the top on both, I took him one and got a half smile.

“Son of a bitch.” He obviously wasn’t happy that I’d been right. “Here’s the number.” I looked at the screen. 1 (703) 428-0711 +1.

Sometimes a free beer does the trick. I dialed the number, glancing at the time digitally displayed on my cell phone. If they ran the department like a business, they should still be open. Their phone rang three times and then an automated attendant answered. I waited, two minutes, and finally the robotic voice gave me directions. Three minutes later-a lifetime when national security is at risk-I was connected to a live operator.

“How can I help you?”

“It’s a matter of national security that I speak to Jason Riley.”

“National security?” I heard a snicker in her voice. Obviously this was not the line that terror threats came in on.

“Lady, this could be the most important call you’ll ever take in your life. Please tell me how I can reach Jason Riley.”

It was obvious that she had no idea who Riley was. Neither did I.

“Let me check that name, sir.” Very brusque.

Quiet. There was nothing on the line. After thirty seconds, I thought there had been a disconnect. Finally, she answered. “He happens to be in his office and will take your call.” She sounded surprised. My guess was that no one was ever in their office. Every employee at the Department of Defense had voice mail and every employee used it. I waited about thirty seconds.

“Hello. This is Jason Riley. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Riley,” sounded like a young guy. If he was part of the problem, I was just digging us in deeper. If he was a good guy, then we were still in a lot of trouble. “This is Skip Moore and I need to tell you a story you are not going to believe.”

“I’ve heard stories like that before. Someday I’ll write a book. Go ahead, Mr. Moore. Tell me your story.”

I did. Passionately laying out a half-brained plan that had only been hatched in the last two or three hours. But it flowed. Better than when I talked to James. And I saw my best friend, my roommate, nodding enthusiastically as he picked up the unopened envelope on the table.

“Mr. Riley, stop any access to your computer system. Don’t let anyone from Synco Systems have access to your system.” James tore open the side of the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.

There was a dead silence on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Riley?”

“Mr. Moore, do you seriously think that we pass out computer codes to every vendor that we do business with?”

“I hope not.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can tell you, there’s no one who has access to any codes. I’m not sure where you got your information, but whatever you’ve heard regarding that is nonsense.”

“Mr. Riley, have you ever heard of Chi Mak? Stole missile secrets from the government? How about the DOD employee that kept defense secrets on his home computer?”

“That was something that-”

“Oh, and finally, do you remember how many laptop computers went missing at the Rocky Flats project outside of Denver? The place where they make the bombs? I think it was four or five computers. So, Mr. Riley, don’t tell me that the United States government doesn’t just give away secrets on a regular basis. I’d say it happens a lot.”

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