Michael Connelly - The Scarecrow

“After receiving funding from various investment blocs, Mr. McGinnis zeroed in on Mesa as the place to build Western Data after a yearlong search determined that the area best met the critical location criteria. He was looking for a place where there were low risks of natural disaster and terrorist attack as well as a ready supply of power that would allow the company to guarantee twenty-four/seven uptime. In addition and just as important, he was looking for a location with direct-access bridges to major networks with massive volumes of reliable bandwidth and dark fiber.”

“Dark fiber?” I asked and then immediately regretted having revealed that I did not know something I possibly should have known in the position I was supposed to be in. But Rachel stepped in and saved me.

“Unused fiber optics,” she said. “In place in existing networks but untapped and available.”

“Exactly,” Chavez said.

She pushed through the double doors.

“Added to these site-specific demands, Mr. McGinnis would design and build a facility with the highest level of security in order to meet compliance demands for hosting HIPPA, SOCKS and S-A-S seventy.”

I’d learned my lesson. This time I just nodded as if I knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Just a few details about plant security and integrity,” Chavez said. “We operate in a hardened structure able to withstand a seven-point-oh earthquake. There are no distinguishing exterior features connecting it to data storage. All visitors are subject to security clearance and recorded while on site twenty-four/seven with the camera recordings archived for forty-five days.”

She pointed to the casino-style camera ball located on the ceiling above. I looked up, smiled and waved. Rachel threw me a look that told me to stop behaving like a child. Chavez never noticed. She was too busy continuing the rundown.

“All secure areas of the facility are protected by key cards and biometric hand scanners. Security and monitoring is done from the network operations center, which is located in the underground bunker adjacent to the colocation center, or ‘farm,’ as we like to call it.”

She went on to describe the plant’s cooling, power and network systems and their backup and redundant subsystems, but I was losing interest. We had moved into a vast lab where more than a dozen techs were building and operating websites for Western Data’s massive client base. As we walked through, I saw screens on the various desks and noted the repeated legal motifs-the scales of justice, the judge’s gavel-that indicated they were law firm clients.

Chavez introduced us to a graphic designer named Danny O’Connor, who was a supervisor in the lab, and he gave us a five-minute rap about the personalized, 24/7 service we would receive if our firm signed up with Western Data. He was quick to mention that recent surveys had shown that increasingly consumers were turning to the Internet for all their needs, including identifying and contacting law firms for legal representation of any kind. I studied him as he spoke, looking for any sign that he was stressed or maybe preoccupied by something other than the potential clients in front of him. But he seemed normal and fully plugged into the sales pitch. I also decided he was too chunky to have been Sideburns. That’s one thing you can’t do when you are wearing a disguise: decrease your body mass.

I looked past him at the many techs working in cubicles, hoping to see somebody giving us the suspicious eye or maybe ducking behind their screen. Half of them were women and easy to dismiss. With the men, I saw nobody I thought might have been the man who had gone to Ely to kill me.

“It used to be you wanted the ad on the back of the Yellow Pages,” Danny told us. “Nowadays you’ll get more business with a bang-up website through which the potential client can make immediate connection and contact.”

I nodded and wished I could tell Danny that I was well versed in how the Internet had changed the world. I was one of the people it had run over.

“That’s why we’re here,” I said instead.

While Chavez made a call on her cell, we spent another ten minutes with O’Connor and looked at a variety of websites for law firms that the facility designed and hosted. They ranged from the basic homepage model containing all contact information to multilevel sites with photos and bios of every attorney in the firm, histories and press releases on high-profile cases, and interactive media and video graphics of lawyers telling viewers they were the best.

After we were finished in the design lab, Chavez took us through a door with her key card and into another hallway, which led to an elevator alcove. She needed her key card again to summon the elevator.

“I am going to take you down now to what we call the ‘bunker,’ ” she said. “Our knock room is there, along with the main plant facilities and the server farm dedicated to colocation services.”

Once again I couldn’t help myself.

“Knock room?” I asked.

“ Network Operations Center,” Chavez said. “It’s the heart of our enterprise, really.”

As we entered the elevator, Chavez explained that we were going down only one level structurally but that it totaled a twenty-foot descent beneath the surface. The desert had been deeply excavated in order to help make the bunker impenetrable by both man and nature. The elevator took nearly thirty seconds to make the drop and I wondered if it moved so slowly in order to make prospective clients think they were journeying to the center of the earth.

“Are there stairs?” I asked.

“Yes, there are stairs,” Chavez said.

Once we reached the bottom, the elevator opened on a space Chavez called the octagon. It was an eight-walled waiting room with four doors in addition to the elevator. Chavez pointed to each one.

“Our knock room, our core network equipment room, plant facilities and our colocation control room, which leads to the server farm. We’ll take a peek in the network operations center and the colocation center, but only employees with full-access clearance can enter the ‘core,’ as they call it.”

“Why is that?”

“The equipment is too vital and much of it is of proprietary design. We don’t show it to anyone, not even our oldest clients.”

Chavez slid her key card through the locking device of the NOC door and we entered a narrow room just barely big enough for the three of us.

“Each of the locations in the bunker is entered through a mantrap. When I carded the outside door I set off a tone inside. The techs in there now have the opportunity to view us and hit an emergency stop if we are determined to be intruders.”

She waved to an overhead camera and then slid her card through the lock on the next door. We entered the network operations center, which was slightly underwhelming. I was expecting a NASA launch center but we got two rows of computer stations with three technicians monitoring multiple computer screens showing both digital and video feeds. Chavez explained that the techs were monitoring power, temperature, bandwidth and every other measurable aspect of Western Data’s operations, as well as the two hundred cameras located throughout the facility.

Nothing struck me as sinister or relating to the Unsub. I saw no one here that I thought could be Sideburns. No one did a double take when they looked up and saw me. They all looked rather bored with the routine of potential clients coming through on tour.

I asked no questions and waited impatiently while Chavez continued her sales pitch, primarily making eye contact with Rachel, the law firm’s IT chief. Looking at the techs studiously avoiding acknowledgment of our presence, I got the feeling that it was so routine that it was almost an act, that when Chavez’s card set off the intruder alert, the techs wiped the solitaire off their screens, closed the comic books and snapped to attention before we came through the second door. Maybe when there were no visitors in the building, the mantrap doors were simply propped open.