Gideon's Corpse

44

Warren Chu sat at his desk, sweating profusely and wishing the whole thing would be over. The FBI agent paced in the small office like a caged lion, occasionally asking a question before settling back into yet another long, excruciating silence. The rest of the Feds and security agents had disappeared into the tunnels; at first he’d heard a fusillade of shots, then the noises had grown increasingly muffled and distant before ultimately fading to silence. But this agent, the one named Fordyce, had stayed behind. Chu shifted, trying to unstick his sweating buttocks from the faux-leather chair. The A/C in this billion-dollar facility was, as usual, barely adequate. Chu was aware his comportment during the hostage situation had not exactly been heroic, and that added to his uneasy feeling. He consoled himself with the thought that he was still alive.

Fordyce wheeled around yet again. “So Crew said that? Exactly that? That somebody hacked into his computer while he was on vacation?”

“I don’t remember exactly what he said. Someone had it in for him, he said.”

Pace, turn. “And he claimed the emails had been planted?”

“That’s right.”

The FBI agent slowed. “Is there any way they could have been planted?”

“Absolutely no way. This is a physically isolated network. It isn’t connected to the outside world.”

“Why not?”

Chu was taken aback by the question. “Some of the most sensitive information in the country is in this system.”

“I see. So there’s no way those emails could have been planted by someone on the outside.”

“No way.”

“Could someone on the inside plant them? Like, for example, could you have planted them?”

A silence. “Well,” said Chu, “it wouldn’t be impossible.”

Fordyce stopped pacing, stared at him. “How would one go about it?”

Chu shrugged. “I’m one of the security administrators. In a highly classified network like this, somebody’s got to have full access. To make sure everything’s kosher, see. It would have taken a high level of technical skill—which I have. Of course, I didn’t do it,” he added hastily.

“You and who else could have done this—theoretically?”

“Me, two other security officers at my level, and our supervisor.”

“Who’s your supervisor?”

“Bill Novak.” Chu swallowed. “But look, all four of us have gone through stringent background checks and security reviews. And they’re watching us all the time. They’ve got access to everything in our personal lives: our bank accounts, travel, credit card statements, phone bills, you name it. As a practical matter, we’ve got no privacy. So for one of us to be involved in a terrorist plot—it’s just inconceivable.”

“Right.” Fordyce resumed pacing. “Did you know Crew well?”

“Pretty well.”

“You’re surprised?”

“Totally. But then, I knew Chalker, too, and I was floored when I heard about him. You never can tell. Both of them were a little off-kilter as human beings, if you know what I mean.”

Fordyce nodded and repeated, as if to himself, “You never can tell.”

There was a noise in the hallway, then the door burst open and a few of the security officers came back in, coated in dust, sweat beading their temples, bringing with them a smell of earth and mold.

“What’s going on?” Fordyce asked.

“They escaped, sir,” said the one Chu assumed was the team leader. “Into the side canyons leading down to the river.”

“I want the choppers deployed over the canyons,” Fordyce said. “Especially those with infrared capability. I want men deployed along the river, with teams going up every single one of those side canyons. And get me up in a bird, pronto.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fordyce turned back to Chu. “You stay here. I may have more questions for you.” And he was gone.