Tom Grace: Spyder Web

‘Great.’ Roe stood and collected her coat from the hook while Cole remained seated in the booth. She fished a wallet out of her purse and paid the bill.

‘Business meal,’ she said jokingly while collecting the receipt. ‘Let’s go.’

To Roe’s delight, Cole’s project had provided him with a Silicon Graphics workstation equipped with a highspeed modem. Over a clean, dedicated line, this transfer would go about twice as fast as her last job at Pangen Research. The nature of Cole’s project also granted him unusually high system access for an outside contractor, high enough that Roe was easily able to create a temporary superuser on the Moy network with unlimited access. In ten minutes, Roe was effectively in total control of the Moy Electronics computer network.

Once Roe began copying the information she wanted onto her optical disk drive, there wasn’t much left to do but wait.

‘Here,’ Cole said as he held out a cold can of Coors, ‘it’s on the house.’

‘Thanks.’ Roe popped the top and took a swallow of the frosty liquid.

‘As terribly exciting as copying files is, I think I’ll go watch the Blackhawks-Red Wings game.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll just sit here and baby-sit the machine.’

The sounds of rabid Blackhawks fans filled Cole’s living room as the television came to life with the game. It was still early in the first period, both teams scoreless, but the checks were flying hard and fast between the longtime NHL rivals. Roe wasn’t much of a hockey fan, preferring college football since her days at Georgia, so she kept her attention on the file transfer. A small window on the monitor’s graphical display indicated that data was pouring out of Moy Electronics at an incredible rate.

Bored, Roe moved the mouse and clicked open another window. She decided to indulge herself by cruising through Moy’s project library, looking at anything that piqued her interest. The depth of the project library was a tribute to the productivity of the company’s engineering and software staff.

Littered among the report icons were a few multimedia demonstrations of upcoming Moy products. She slipped on the headphones that were plugged into Cole’s computer and began running the demos. The presentations were slick and professionally done, several of the minimovies incorporating special effects that the gurus at Industrial Light and Magic would love to add to their repertoire.

Scrolling further into the library, Roe discovered a directory icon labeled U.S. Government Projects. She clicked the directory open and found three more multimedia icons labeled Gatekeeper, Crypto, and Spyder.

‘No!’ Cole shouted with the groaning fans on the television as Detroit scored.

Roe ran the Gatekeeper demo and learned of the government’s effort to eliminate unauthorized computer access with neural-network devices that could actually learn and adapt to changing conditions. Such a device could fend off a hacker attack, going so far as to track the intruder back to his own computer. An anxious moment, in which Roe wondered if she was being tracked by a Gatekeeper, passed when the narrator announced that the first devices were to be installed on the government’s computers early next year.

‘Good thing there are no plans for commercial sale of those things’-she sighed-‘or I’d be out of business.’

The Crypto demo briefly described a new method of encryption for voice and data transmission that the government had recently put into place.

Very impressive, Mr Moy, Roe thought as the second demo ended. You’ve pushed both the hardware and software envelopes with these two secret projects. I wonder what you’ve dreamed up for Spyder.

Roe’s request was answered as the jazz sound track for the Spyder demo filled her ears. The device, a small black cube, appeared identical to the Gatekeeper, and the first moments of narration confirmed the two devices’ common lineage. The narrator, a sultry-voiced woman, then began describing the Spyder’s unique talents for covert intelligence gathering.

‘My God,’ Roe gasped as the demo ran through a simulated Spyder operation.

Once in place, the device quickly took over the host computer network. Users who logged into the infested network unknowingly lost their passwords, thus their electronic identities, to the Spyder. The simulation ended with the Spyder activating an outside line from the host network and transmitting the stolen information to its controller. The demo credits listed Bill Iverson and Michael Cole as coauthors of the Spyder’s operating program.

Roe slipped the headphones off and turned toward Cole, who was engrossed in a Blackhawk power play. That man has created an intelligence-gathering gold mine.

She walked into the living room and sat in an overstuffed chair facing Cole. ‘Michael, I think I’ve found an opportunity for us to develop a long-term, highly profitable business relationship.’

Cole muted the sound on the hockey game. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Good. First, I want you to tell me everything you know about the Spyder Project. Then you and I are going to have a chat with my partner. If this Spyder of yours is real, it could be worth millions.’

The jungle march was just what they’d expected: slow. Keeping clear of villages to avoid any undesired contact with the natives meant moving through thick jungle growth. What might normally be a two-day hike became a five-day exercise in silent motion. The heaviness of the flora seemed to envelop them as tightly as the sea, cutting off all but a few rays of sunlight.

The six men probing the jungle with Kilkenny moved as one, silently advancing, with their senses reaching out in every direction. The SEALs operated under the assumption that Masson and his men were as well trained and disciplined as they were. Their opponents also had the defender’s advantage of familiarity with the jungle, and booby traps were to be expected as they approached the enemy camp.

Gates was on point with Darvas, leading the squad during the night march, when he raised his hand and brought their approach to a stop. In the dark growth ahead, Gates saw the unmistakable silhouette of a person in a clearing of jungle growth. He motioned for Darvas to provide cover while he approached the darkened figure.

Crawling slowly across the moist ground on his stomach, Gates closed the distance to his target. Each motion he made, each breath he took was carefully controlled and measured. Like a jungle predator, Gates was calm and patient in stalking his prey.

On Kilkenny’s order, the remaining SEALs took up defensive positions around the clearing. Should Gates and Darvas find themselves outgunned, they would have a place to fall back. Kilkenny waited quietly with the rest of his squad as Gates neared the clearing.

From the jungle’s edge, Gates studied the figure but detected no sound, no motion coming from the man. Not even the sound of breathing. The figure was upright, but unnaturally so, with arms extended outward to each side. Crucified.

Gates moved up close and discovered that, whoever it was, he had been there awhile. The remains were in an advanced state of decay, with the clothing rotted and little flesh remaining on the bones. A garland of feathers and beads was hung around the corpse’s neck, along with several other items that Gates couldn’t readily identify.

‘I’m coming up behind you, Max,’ a muffled voice crackled in Gates’s ear. After years of working together, he knew Kilkenny’s voice even through the distortion of a throat mike.

‘What do you think?’ Gates asked, his gaze still fixed on the grisly figure.

‘Voodoo. Practically everyone on this island believes in the voodoo religion, and Masson is considered a powerful high priest. This is a warning.’ Kilkenny looked at the tattered remnants of the man’s uniform and noticed the shoulder boards hanging loosely. ‘Looks like he was Haitian military. We must be getting close to Masson’s camp.’