Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

There’s a shoe store down the street and Peyton spends a moment fantasizing about breaking in to steal a pair of flats. She sighs and turns her mind, instead, to what may lie ahead.

The small parcel of groceries she purchased might last them three or four days, but then what? What are we going to eat after that? Peyton returns to her chair with that thought weighing heavy on her mind. Hunt for game? With what? She and Eric don’t have any type of weapon at home and probably wouldn’t know how to use a gun if they happened to stumble upon one. Okay, no weapon and no game. What, then? All the heavy thinking makes Peyton want to pee. She stands, looks down at her pitiful pile of belongings, and wonders if she can afford to leave them unattended for even a minute or two. A few hours ago it wouldn’t have mattered. They could have stopped at the grocery store on the way home. But now their very survival may depend upon those oh so few cans of food and the lonely case of water.

What to do? What is it—thirty, maybe forty steps to the lobby restrooms? Peyton squats down and empties everything out of her overstuffed bag. Looking at it now, am I really going to need the extra makeup or the shampoo and conditioner I’d pilfered from the goody closet? Of course not. What was I thinking? Peyton reloads the bag with the flashlights, extra batteries, a pair of scissors, and the canned goods. The bag is not large enough to hold the case of water, so Peyton scoots it close to the chair and pops open one of the umbrellas to hide it.

Hurrying down the corridor, her need to pee is no longer an urge but an absolute necessity. Rounding the corner she finds the restrooms cordoned off, OUT OF ORDER signs stuck on the doors. Peyton mutters a few unkind words as she slips the strap from the stanchion and tries to open the door. It’s locked. She steps over to the door for the men’s restroom and finds the same. Muttering another string of unkind words, Peyton turns and scans the lobby. Holding it is no longer an option. She spots the door to the stairs and walks over. Stepping inside, Peyton squats on the first step down to the basement, pulls down her underwear, and empties her bladder. The relief is instantaneous, but it does little to tamp down the humiliation Peyton feels. She stands, pulls her panties up and her skirt down, and exits, her face still burning with embarrassment.

That embarrassment quickly transitions to anger when she returns to find the case of water and the umbrella gone. Usually one to avoid conflict at all costs, Peyton is now fighting mad. She hurries to the exit and steps outside, looking up one side of the sidewalk then the other. The sidewalks remain packed with pedestrians, and Peyton is not tall enough to see over the crowd. She turns left and walks down to the intersection, searching for the culprit. In her mind she’s mentally calculating how long she was away. Three, maybe four minutes? How far can a person walk in four minutes? There are too many variables. If Peyton knew the direction the thief traveled, she might have a chance. Without that, it’s a crapshoot. Dejected, she trudges back to the lobby, her mind spinning .

How long can we go without water?

On final approach to LaGuardia Airport

Hank shuts down his laptop and closes the lid as Paige Randall disconnects the call to Natalie Lambert and passes the phone back to Hank.

“Jeez, I hope you didn’t kill my battery.”

“You have a charger,” Paige says. “We had some catching up to do.”

Hank, scowling, lights the screen to see the phone still has a decent charge. “She goin’ to send us some software goodies?”

Paige points at the ceiling then her ear, miming the question of whether someone is eavesdropping or recording their conversations.

“Plane’s clean. It gets swept for listenin’ devices and cameras before and after every flight.”

“Good. I didn’t want to implicate Natalie if this turns into a shitstorm. Yes, she’s going to send me the latest and greatest software she has.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s already a shitstorm. Did Natalie say anythin’ to you about a possible insider bein’ involved?”

“She’s going to send me an e-mail from home when she gets off work.”

“Do you think the NSA monitors her home computer?”

“They might try, but Natalie is one of the sharpest programmers I know. There’s zero chance the agency has penetrated her network. Hell, she creates or has a hand in creating most of the software the NSA uses to infiltrate other networks.”

“She’s that good?”

The jet wobbles slightly before touching down and the cabin fills with the roar of the dual engine thrust reversers. As the plane slows, the pilot triggers the reverse thrusters off and the noise level in the cabin returns to normal. “Yes, Natalie’s that good,” Paige says. “What’s the deal with you two?”

“We went out a couple of times, but it withered on the vine because our schedules never synced.”

“Was this recent?”

“Last spring.”

“So I take it there’s not a Mrs. Goodnight waiting for you at home?”

Hank slips his laptop into his bag. “Nope. What about you? Is there a Mr. Randall?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.”

Hank feels a… hell, he doesn’t know what he feels… maybe a tad bit of something. He tries to wrap his mind around why because they’d just met for the first time early this morning.

Paige smiles. “He was my father. Other than that, no.”

“Ever been married?” Hank asks.

“No. You?”

“Nope.” When the jet comes to a stop, both Hank and Paige unbuckle their seat belts and stand.

“What’s the game plan now?” Paige asks.

“Hopefully, Elaine has called the New York field office to arrange our pickup. Then I guess it’s on to Wall Street.”

“What about hotel rooms?”

Hank shrugs. “I assume we’ll have a couple.”

“But you don’t know where?”

Hank looks at Paige. “Are you one of those people who needs a precise plan? Everythin’ laid out in order—do this, then that?”

“Maybe. I like to know what lies ahead and I like having some idea of when it might occur.”

“Well, that’s not goin’ to happen here. We go where the evidence tells us to go and we do it after examinin’ said evidence and reachin’ some type of conclusion on the best path forward. We’ll eat and we’ll sleep, but I can’t tell you when or where.”

“Thank you for the lecture, Hank,” Paige says, her words laced with anger. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Fuck you.” Paige grabs her suitcase and rolls it toward the front of the plane, where the pilot is opening the door. She stomps down the steps, her suitcase bouncing along behind her. Hank grabs his two bags and follows.

“I think you pissed her off, Hank,” Donnie Davis says.

“I’m bettin’ it won’t be the last time.” Hank ducks his head in the cockpit. “Safe travels, Theresa.”

“It better be safe or we won’t be around to pick you up. How long you staying?”

“Undetermined. I’ll have the boss call ya.” Hank ducks back out. He and Donnie fist-bump. “See you on the rebound, buddy.”

Donnie glances out at Paige, who’s standing impatiently on the tarmac, a stern expression on her face. “Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.”

“Hell, I might need somethin’ more than luck.” Hank walks down the stairs and pauses to survey the area. He spots an idling black Tahoe near the entrance to the private flight terminal. “Ride’s here,” he tells Paige, pointing out the black SUV.