Qubit, page 13
“Vulnerable?”
“Yeah. Where I can actually log in to the router. From there, I run more traceroutes. Basically, I’m trying to find all the ways to reach a given brokerage server.”
“I see. But how do you log in to the routers? Aren’t they protected?”
“Some of them. Some, not so much. Sometimes they have backdoors from the vendors. It’s actually ridiculously easy.”
“I never realized.”
“Yeah. It’s convenient for tech support people, I guess. Once I have a bunch of routers, I simply run N-grep to filter out brokerage traffic and then net-cat that back to our servers, which are cloaked, so even if someone finds the monitor, they can’t trace it back to us.”
“Very devious. From there, you can run the traffic through the Wave Nine and, using Shor’s algorithm—”
“The quantum Schur transform, actually.”
“—you can extract the encryption key—”
“So I can decrypt the traffic—”
“And extract the passwords.”
“Right.” Lock paused. “You want to work with me on that first? Then we can just do the spoofing together?”
“Sure.” Although Raj was trying to act indifferent, Lock thought he’d seen the flicker of a smile. It made sense. All other things being equal, using the Wave Nine was cooler than spoofing Web sites.
Raj rolled a chair next to Lock’s as Lock began typing. He paused and looked at Raj. “It’s funny,” he observed.
Raj raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”
“You don’t know any more about this whole operation than I do.”
Raj gave him a twisted smile. “I always thought you knew what was going on.”
Lock shook his head woefully and stared at his monitor.
“We work for criminals, Mr. Cairnes. That’s about all I know.”
Patna Airport (Bihar, India)
Friday, April 27th
11:00 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Sophie awoke with a start, unsure of whether she was falling or rolling. Her mouth was dry, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She discovered she was lying on her side, one leg sprawling. She placed her foot on the floor and pushed herself up.
She was still on the jet, but she could feel that they were on the ground again, coming to a stop. She’d woken up like this before. They’d given her another Coke and another pill and she’d gone back to sleep. A man came over to her seat, and she thought he might offer her yet another pill. She didn’t want to take them anymore. Instead, however, he produced a burlap bag.
“No…” she heard herself whine quietly. The bag was slipped over her head before she could move, and she was yanked up on her feet.
She was led out of the plane, down a short stairwell, and into another car. Her head jerked back as the car pulled forward, and she began to feel dizzy. She felt herself falling forward and then over, but rough hands pushed her back up again. Leaning the other way, against what was presumably the car door, she drifted off, her head rocking gently with the vibrations of the car. She hardly noticed when the car came to a stop until the door opened and she nearly fell out. Her right leg began to tingle. She realized it had fallen asleep. She was pulled, limping, for twenty, perhaps thirty, steps, then heard a door open and voices, but nothing they said made sense. She was led into a house, and her face itched from the burlap rubbing against her skin, but she couldn’t scratch because her arms were held in place. Someone led her to another stairway, which she ascended clumsily. She heard sharp words that she thought might be directed at her, but she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t understand them anyway. She stumbled forward and then heard another door. She was shoved and felt the burlap being pulled from her head.
For a moment, everything was a white blur. Blinking rapidly, her eyes adjusted gradually to the light. She was inside a small, lamp-lit room with dirty beige carpeting. A cot sat in one corner and a table and chair in another. In the corner directly opposite the cot was a big easy chair. She heard a door shut behind her and turned around. She had been left alone.
She walked over to the window, gazing out into the darkness. The window was open, and a warm breeze blew into the room through a screen. She could see another building, about three stories high, across a brief, grassy expanse. Some of the windows had lights on. Were there other girls there, like her? Someone walked between the buildings down below. She wondered if she should try to call for help, but she was afraid. For the moment, the best thing to do would be to get her bearings.
Sitting down on the cot, she noticed a ceiling fan spinning lazily above her. She reached up and pulled a cord and was plunged into darkness. She pulled the cord again, and the ceiling lamp came back on. There was a second cord and she pulled that one. The ceiling fan spun faster, but it didn’t seem to cool the room down much.
She walked to the door and tried the handle. To her surprise, it opened. Stepping out cautiously into a darkened, empty hallway, she crept slowly forward until she reached the stairs. She heard men’s voices speaking a strange language. Someone laughed. She took a step down the stairs, but then she heard footsteps approaching. Turning around and walking quickly back down the hall, she slipped once more into her room, closing the door softly behind her.
Almost immediately afterward, the door opened and a large man stepped into the room holding a glass of water in one hand and something in his fist with the other. She was again overwhelmed by stench of cologne. The man held a magazine under his arm and spat words at her as he set the glass of water on the table by the bed. Next to it, he placed another of the blue pills, then sat down in the easy chair and opened the magazine. Sophie saw there was a nearly naked woman on the cover. The man grunted and grabbed his crotch, ignoring her. She turned away and sat down on the cot again, staring at the water and pill.
The man abruptly spoke to her. Sophie looked up and saw he’d lowered the magazine to his lap and was pointing at the table. She put the pill in her mouth and took several swallows of water to wash it down. The man raised his magazine again, and she looked down at her feet. She was wearing her favorite red Converse. She remembered being excited about her outfit when she’d left the house to meet Krista because her red Keep Calm T-shirt matched her shoes and belt. She wondered how much time had passed since then.
Feeling drowsy, she lay down on her side, facing the wall, and curled up. She felt hot tears on her cheeks. Her eyes closed. She was playing in the surf on the beach again. A cloud was blocking the sun. A big swell was approaching. She called out to Krista…
Jurong East, Singapore • Katya's Apartment
Saturday, April 28th
8:00 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya ran down the two-lane, tree-lined avenue, parallel to the train. She wore black tights and a loose tank top, already damp with sweat. The sun was still beginning its ascent in the morning sky, and a light breeze cooled the beads of sweat on her skin. It was nice to be out when the sky was blue instead of pink or purple. Haruo had sent her a message telling her to forgo their usual meetings until further notice—with the Triad investigation wrapping up and Vipul’s refusal to do anything interesting enough to justify opening up a new one, there was nothing to talk about.
She ran past a big open field beneath the flyover, thinking about the future. She’d filed her reports on the Triad case Thursday. Quartan had put her in for a move to Langley as an analyst on Friday. All that was left to do now was wait for the official responses to both. She’d event sent an email to her parents and told them she might be coming home.
She turned onto Jurong East and ran past the soccer field. She was going to miss Singapore, with its broad lanes, beautiful parks, and all the tea shops and wonderful restaurants. Maybe that was why she kept checking the surveillance video and cell phone transcripts. She’d kept an eye out for any further mention of Detroit and tracked Vipul’s movements, but he’d done nothing but go back and forth between his apartment and the office. And now he appeared to be traveling again.
She ran past an elderly Chinese couple dressed in matching tennis outfits and then past the resort condos. She wondered whether there was more to her fascination with Vipul than just a reluctance to leave Singapore. Wasn’t the Triad case a big enough feather in her cap? Was she worried that she might miss out on something big if she left? Was she just overreacting to Haruo’s apparent hunch? Even Haruo wasn’t trying to open a new case—at this point, it was just a hunch.
She ran past the train station and down the path that led to the bridge where she had met Haruo all those many mornings. Of course, the hunch of an Agency legend like Haruo was not a thing to be taken lightly. So perhaps that was it. She’d had a successful career in the field, enough to give her some cache as an analyst, enough to have some influence over her assignments. She had been a good, reliable field agent. Nothing wrong with that, she reminded herself.
She crossed the bridge, looking out across the water as she had done so many times with Haruo. It looked so different by mid-morning. Instead of the purple-hued mirror she was accustomed to, silvery ripples ran along its surface. Would she regret going to Langley if it turned out that Haruo was right? Perhaps. But on the other hand, ten years in the field was enough. It was time to move on. Settle down a bit. Make a home for herself. And maybe someone else, too?
She followed the path around the perimeter of the garden, waving off a dense phalanx of insects. She had decided to go ahead and cross the far bridge and then come back through the Japanese Garden. The truth was, being in the field wasn’t nearly as romantic or exciting as she’d thought it would be. And it went without saying that it could get lonely.
She crossed the bridge and made her way past a parking lot, heading toward the Japanese Garden. She reminded herself that, even if she wanted to stay in the field, there was no guarantee that her assignment would be Vipul—or even in Singapore. Besides, it would still be a few days before she got word from Langley about her next assignment. Perhaps Vipul would make a move before then. If not, she’d go home and begin the next chapter in her life. But if he did, perhaps Haruo would open up another case. And since she was already set up on Vipul, he’d naturally offer it to her.
She crossed the next bridge into the Japanese Garden. She felt a tingle of excitement when she thought about checking the surveillance from yesterday. Maybe today would bring some new development and—she caught herself before finishing the thought. Even if the surveillance showed enough to open a new case, and even if Haruo assigned her to it, it probably wouldn’t be worth hanging around for.
After all, the Rathod crime family was relatively inconsequential. It wasn’t as if the fate of the world would be hanging in the balance or something.
13
* * *
Corktown, Detroit • Mad Dog's Tavern
Friday, April 27th
9:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
By the time Lock arrived at Mad Dog’s, Ray and Kafka had already taken the back corner booth and ordered a round of drinks. Lock went straight back, skipping his usual ritual of greeting the bartender and the regulars. He noticed Kafka had ordered him a beer, while he and Ray had whiskeys. He grunted as he sat down next to Kafka.
Kafka made the barest of introductions. “Lock, Ray. Ray, Lock.”
The two men nodded at each other. Lock could tell Ray was tall even though he was sitting down. His posture was erect and his well-worn leather flight jacket was stretched taut by his broad shoulders. His head was shaved, and his round face sported a day’s growth of stubble. His skin was leathery like his jacket, and Lock figured him for a healthy fifty, maybe even older. He had a steady gaze, squinting from the left eye.
“I told him about Sophie,” began Kafka.
Lock nodded.
“How can I help?” asked Ray in voice aged by what Lock guessed was years of smoking. He did work at a grow farm, after all.
Lock tilted his head in thought. “Honestly? I’m at a loss. I don’t know where to start. I was hoping maybe you—”
“Go to the police,” said Ray.
Kafka jumped in. “He can’t. He’s afraid they’ll kill her.”
“It’s really your best shot,” insisted Ray. “If you go to them, right now, you tell ’em everything you know, they can round up anyone who might be involved and question them. But every hour you wait makes it less and less likely they’ll be able to find her.”
Lock shook his head. “I can’t risk it. The moment the cops start sniffing around, they’ll kill my daughter. The thing is, I don’t think…I don’t even know who’s really behind this.”
“Sure. But maybe somebody’ll talk.”
“Look, I already know I can go to the police. I’ve decided against that. That’s why we came to you. So if all you can do is tell me to—”
“All right, fine,” frowned Ray, holding up his hand. “Can’t hurt to understand your options.” He paused and took a sip of whiskey. “The first thing I’d be thinking is that I’m being followed. Being watched.”
Lock thought back to the SUV following him after he’d learned about Sophie’s kidnapping.
Ray continued: “They probably know you’re here right now. Hell, maybe they’ve got someone in here watching us.”
Kafka looked over his shoulder.
“I don’t think anyone’s in here. They’re all Indian guys.”
“What about that guy?” asked Ray, gesturing to Carl, one of the regulars, who had dark wrinkly skin, white hair, and, as he’d told Lock many times, was fully one-quarter Chippewa and another quarter Wyandot.
“Not that kind of Indian. From India.”
Ray grunted. “Then I’d say that’s your other problem.”
“That they’re Indian?”
“Well, no. But where is she? I mean, if you know where she is, maybe then you can start thinking about how to get her out. Do an extraction. But…I mean, what if she’s in India?”
Naubatpur (Bihar, India) • Rathod Apartment Building
Saturday, April 28th
10:30 a.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Sophie retreated into the corner of her cot. The small room had turned out to be dirtier and more confining in the light of day. A thin man with a thick mustache and greasy hair sat in the easy chair, watching her and licking his lower lip. He pointed at the table next to the cot, upon which was a bowl, a glass of water, and another blue pill.
She crawled to the cot’s edge and eyed the thin man. He hadn’t moved. She stood up, teetering, her knees trembling, then collapsed warily into the chair next to the table. The bowl was full of some sort of gruel. She looked again at the thin man. He continued glowering at her but still hadn’t moved. She picked up a spoon that was next to the bowl and began poking at it. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was rice mixed with some other grain. Fragrant, unfamiliar spices assaulted her senses. A wave of nausea engulfed her and then passed as suddenly as it had come.
She put down the spoon and turned to the man in the chair, who still watched her intently. She pointed to the door. He shook his head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said slowly. Perhaps he spoke English? He said something back to her that sounded angry. She hesitated and then pointed down between her legs. The man smiled and grunted and began making thrusting gestures with his hips.
Sophie choked down a sob and, after considering the possibility of urinating in her chair, pointed again at the door. The man shook his head again, but he was smiling now. Sophie pointed her toes together, crossed her hands over her groin, and pointed at the door yet again. The man laughed and pointed. Sophie made a face, as though she’d just eaten something sour, and pointed once more at the door. Finally the man relented. He got up and opened the door.
She stood up uneasily. The thin man motioned to her to come forward, but Sophie hesitated. She didn’t want to get any closer to him than she had to. The man motioned again and snapped at her. She took a few wobbly steps forward, walking past him as quickly as she could. Once in the hallway, she reached out to steady herself. She sensed the man following behind her. He walked past her and opened a door opposite her room. Sophie walked unsteadily into the bathroom and turned to close the door. The man held it open and shook his head. Placing a hand on a nearby countertop, Sophie walked slowly to the toilet. She turned and looked back at the man. He was grinning and nodding. He pointed at the toilet and began speaking to her. It was clear to Sophie that he intended to watch her. She turned back toward the toilet and stood there, staring at her shoes.
Afterward back in her room, hot tears burned on her cheeks. The man encouraged her to eat, but she had no appetite. He pointed at the water and the blue pill and began yelling. She shook her head, crying again. He grabbed the back of her head in one hand and the pill in another and shoved the pill into her mouth. His fingers smelled like dirt and urine. He held the glass to her lips, and she swallowed the dribbles of water. He shoved her down on the cot, and she quickly retreated into the corner. She could feel him standing there, watching her.
She closed her eyes hard. Another wave of nausea hit. She had a vague realization that it wasn’t nausea, it was hunger. She thought about the gruel on the table. Her mom would be angry at her for wasting food. She wanted to get up to eat, but she was so heavy, something was pulling her down. Tomorrow, they’d go to the beach. She and her mom and Dennis. She felt the warm sand between her toes and squinted at the sun-speckled surf…
Lafayette Park, Detroit • Lock's Apartment
Saturday, April 28th
8:00 a.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Lock stood in the kitchen in a T-shirt and sweats making his morning coffee. Since Sophie’s kidnapping, he’d hardly slept. But he was eager to get back to work, to make sure she wasn’t harmed, and maybe even convince Kirin to let her come home.
He was startled by a loud pounding on the door, his first thought that Kirin’s thugs were there to rough him up. He stood in the kitchen, staring at his French press, unsure of what to do. Why would they want to do that?
