The Digital Dream Read online

  >>>>> ..3..

  CHICAGO POLICE DEPARTMENT

  INCIDENT REPORT LOGGING SYSTEM

  YOU DO NOT HAVE ACCESS PRIVILEGES TO THAT PART OF THE SYSTEM.

  PRESS ENTER TO CONTINUE.

  “Oh shit. Come on.” The smile disappears in a scowl of surprise and disappointment. “Don’t freeze up on me now, you bastard.” He tries entering the 3 again. The result is the same.

  He’s been locked out. However it was that he’d been able to get access to that part of the system before, it is no longer working. Maybe someone has discovered the leak. He wonders if he should disconnect quickly and change his network address, before it can be traced back to him. Maybe.

  But he hates to give up. Before his sickness, Predator was not known for giving up. Last year, it had been his late baskets that had seen his team through to the county college finals when, with five minutes left, it had looked like they were history. Predator doesn’t believe in letting go.

  Five minutes. Give ‘em hell. Predator peers at the screen while his hands feel their own way over the keys. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... After the numbers have all failed to produce any result, he tries letters. Q... W... E... R... T... Still nothing.

  Special characters. !... @... #...

  When the screen flickers, he’s been entering characters so automatically that he has no idea which one worked. He looks down at the keyboard. His finger is resting on the * key. He looks up at the new message on the screen.

  INTERNAL POLICE RECORDS SYSTEMS.

  There is a series of choices under the heading. They are all new to Predator and don’t seem to make a lot of sense. At the bottom of the display is a warning:

  INFORMATION CONTAINED HERE IS RATED CONFIDENTIAL

  A7 CLEARANCE IS REQUIRED FOR ANY RELEASE

  “A7 clearance.” Predator whispers, as though there is someone outside his bedroom door who could be listening at the keyhole. God alone knows what it means but it sounds heavy.

  He leans back and forces himself to think, his fingers drumming idly on the spokes of his wheelchair. His curiosity is tempered by caution. Before his illness the computer system had been a toy, a plaything he had used for entertainment on those odd rainy nights when he had no date or no friends to meet. He’d thought it was kinda nerdy, actually. Looked down at the sort of spotty spectacled freaks who hung out in the computer lab at school. He only got the system because his adoring parents had wanted to reward him after he had been selected for the High School football team. Kiddy stuff, he figured, but with a chance to impress the scouts from the University of Illinois he’d heard were interested in him. Scholarships beckoning...

  It’s ironic, he supposes, that, after the illness took away the use of his legs—and any prospect of sporting triumphs for a long time, if ever—he found solace in the computer. For a time, it was some of the more violent games—Nazi Death Camp, Hunt for the Alien Bodysnatchers, Raid Over Hanoi—that had held him. He is an intelligent boy and recognizes that the vicarious violence is a substitute for the real pain he’d like to inflict. Mindless revenge on someone, while his only connection to the sport he loves is now the posters on the wall and the sideline place on Saturday afternoons.

  Now he is a computer sportsman.

  He was introduced to the wonders of networking by one of the schoolmates who came round to his house after the news got round, all tongue-tied and awkward, not knowing what to say to him or his parents. The boy was a nerd. Logon UNDERDOGG. He’d thought it was funny at the time. But the Dogg was cooler than expected, had shown him how to connect up the modem, how to dial other users and get into the Internet and the bulletin boards. How to go about hacking into other computer systems where the security defenses were a challenge to young minds that made Alien Bodysnatchers look like something out of kindergarten. Yeah, the Dogg had been unexpectedly cool.

  He has become addicted. Irrespective of debts of honor, he knows he cannot stop. Caution just ain’t in it. He hits ENTER.

  DO YOU WANT TO ACCESS AN INDIVIDUAL RECORD?

  ENTER (Y=YES/N=NO) ......

  Predator shrugs.

  >>>>> ..Y..

  Another menu.

  DISPLAYING LAST RECORD ACCESSED

  FRAUD SECTION

  SENSITIVE CASES

  POLITICAL CONNECTIONS

  SUBJECT: FRANCIS, GEORGE SIMON.

  Predator has never been much interested in politics and it is a few seconds before the name registers.

  3

  CLOSED USER GROUP (CUG#7) e-MAIL

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  I have your report. P6. Para 2. Explain to me about this reaction.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  Your requirement was for an intelligent system. It was designed to store information and learn from its experiences. It uses its knowledge base to make decisions when it’s confronted by a problem. It is capable of initiative. Or, at least, what we would regard as initiative.

  This is an immensely complex program. It is impossible to predict every possible combination of events. There are potentially billions. We’ve been making such rapid progress recently that it’s been difficult to make sure that all the doors are closed properly.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  > It is capable of initiative.

  In other words, it took you by surprise. You didn’t know what the fuck it was doing, did you?

  > This is an immensely complex program.

  I know it is complex. Don’t patronize me, Doctor.

  > We’ve been making such rapid progress recently...

  And don’t make excuses. I don’t pay you to make mistakes.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  I am sorry. Is there anything else in the report that requires further explanation?

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  IT ALL REQUIRES FURTHER FUCKING EXPLANATION.

  I DO NOT WANT GOBBLEDYGOOK TECHNICAL EXPLANATIONS OF GAME AND CHAOS THEORY. TELL ME WHAT REALLY HAPPENED.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  At this stage in its development, we have had to set the system loose, in a manner of speaking. This means that it is out on the network. It is self-replicating, as I explained in the report. In theory, it could be in a million places at once. And we think it hit a million to one chance. The system encountered a virus. A crude thing, but it was operating at a level that was compatible with that of our system. It was as though the two programs were resonating at the same level and the virus became embedded in the program. The first time it happened, the program simply took what it thought was defensive action. It was acting within its parameters. It worked correctly. It’s just that the parameters we gave it were slightly too wide.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  And that stupid boy could become aware of it.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  We do not believe that he actually realized what he was communicating with.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  I still want to know why we didn’t hear about the problem at the time and why this thing of yours went off and took action without us being aware of it.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  I have no explanation. I repeat. I apologize.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  I want to know the MOMENT anything else happens. NO MORE SURPRISES!

  4

  When I finally get to the Amalgamated office, I find Kathleen crouched over the borrowed terminal. She looks up as I enter: momentarily, stupidly, I’m lost in her presence and the appeal of her large brown eyes.

  “Well, I’m back into the network...” If she’s aware of the effect that she has on me she gives no sign of it. I play it cool and hope that my efforts to hide it are successful. She turns back to the screen as I sit down beside her.

&n
bsp; “Look.” The screen logo shows a large slanting B and, at the bottom of the screen, the words

  Blackdawn Importing INC: Press ENTER to continue.

  Kathleen stabs at the key and another menu appears.

  “I told you at the weekend that I could detect other computers. I’d guess that some of them aren’t even in the States. I thought I might have a try at listing them. Just so that we know what we’re dealing with.”

  I rub the old-broken nose. “All right, but be careful. We’re skating on the edge of the law here. If someone detected us...”

  Kathleen nods. “I can’t put my finger on it but I still get the idea that there’s another trace program running. A couple of times I’ve had the feeling that someone’s watching me.” She shakes her head, sending the thick reddish-brown hair tumbling. “Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

  I frown. “You’ve got nothing specific?”

  “Not really. Although there was a time-out a while back after I entered my access code. Well, I say my code... Actually, the code I’m using belongs to Gabriel. He’s the guy from Amalgamated who normally uses this workstation. Anyway, the code acceptance is usually instantaneous but this time there was a break of about thirty seconds. I thought I’d got a problem with the security system but it came back okay.”

  I look around the tiny office. Another small handbill has appeared next to one of the posters. It advertises a gay men’s and lesbian’s ball in a local club. Looking around, I see that a man’s overcoat is hung on the back of the door and a battered travel bag has been thrown carelessly down beside a chair.

  “Gabriel, huh? No problems with using his room?”

  “No problems.” Kathleen seems surprised and then sees me glance at the overcoat. “Oh, he doesn’t mind me being here. He’s spending most of his time out of the office anyway on this course they’ve got him doing. He just pops in now and again.”

  Her eyes return the screen. “He’s a nice boy anyway.”

  I smile. “I’m pleased to hear it. Look, I have to get back to the firm. Why don’t you call in late afternoon and let me know how you’re going on?”

  Kathleen’s attention remains on the terminal. She waves an acknowledgment as I leave. I guess she’ll wait until I’m clear before she breaks down and sobs with heartbreak at my departure.

  5

  CLOSED USER GROUP (CUG#7) e-MAIL

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  > I want to know the MOMENT anything else happens.

  We have some more information. We can confirm that whoever was able to trace the hackers through the system used a modified form of the original virus.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  > Whoever was able to trace the hackers through the system used a modified form of the original virus.

  Does that mean that this person wrote it originally? My understanding was that it started with the boy.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  > My understanding was that it started with the boy

  We still believe that to be so. Our view is that someone else found it and changed it. We now understand the access routes and how it worked at a technical level. We intend to close down all the routes into the system.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  So the loop will now be closed?

  I want that done. And I want to know the origins of this latest breach of the program’s security, Doctor. I want to know who the bastard is.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  We are already working on that, Sir. I’m sure that the program will be able to obtain for us the location of the terminal and the ID of the person using it.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  Tell me when you’ve got it. Take no other action. I will decide what is to be done this time.

  6

  Late afternoon. McAllister strolls into the office. Lugubrious wink to the pretty receptionist. It must be windy outside: the big man’s hair is ruffled and his crumpled suit looks even more disheveled than usual, his shirt hanging sail-like over the loops of his belt where his stomach sags against it. He grunts a greeting and settles his huge frame into a chair facing me. The office suddenly seems much smaller. We spend a few futile minutes talking about the incident at Adobe Flats and its repercussions before moving on to the investigations that I’d requested. Mac retrieves a dog-eared notebook from his pocket and riffles through pages.

  “First this Blackdawn outfit. There ain’t a lot to say.” He pauses to scratch his stomach. Easy. Mac has a style all of his own and trying to hurry him is never a profitable exercise. “According to the official records, the company is wholly owned by this guy Robert O’Regan. But it ain’t trading. Never has, in fact. It’s just a shell.”

  I frown. Unused shell companies are not uncommon. People set them up for all sorts of reasons, generally connected with manipulation of tax laws. But such companies do not usually have expensive computer systems...

  “Next, Robert O’Regan himself. Seems he’s some kinda mystery man, which is strange, know what I mean, because, besides Blackdawn, he’s on the boards of five other corporations.” He produces another list and hands it to me. I check it out.

  “None of these names mean anything at all to me, Mac.”

  He grunts. “Me neither. But we ain’t dead yet. I got traces out on six other folk who are also listed as directors of these other corporations. And I’ve found out that Blackdawn and O’Regan both have bank accounts.” He waves another piece of paper. “I’m trying to find out more about them, too. That’s if you think we should go on.”

  “Right now, we go on—but only just. I had a talk with the boss earlier to explain why I still needed Kathleen. I didn’t say too much, only that we’d fixed the damage at the client’s site and were investigating the causes. I had to tell him something about the phantom network idea. He started talking about dropping the assignment.”

  “Why?”

  “Too dangerous, he says. If we got caught it could look as though we were the ones at fault. On top of which, the client won’t carry on paying for what we’re doing for much longer. I finally talked him into letting us go on for a few days, but we’re going to have to come up with something real quick.”

  “Well, I don’t expect to hear no more until tomorrow morning now.” McAllister sniffs and continues speculatively. “Might as well take time out for a quick beer.”

  I have to smile. When I first met McAllister, I was inclined to agree with people who described him as dry and humorless. It took time to figure out the deadly, sardonic sense of humor that lurks beneath the glum exterior. Now, I’m surprised to find I enjoy the big man’s company. Attraction of opposites, like I said before. Mac’s years as a detective on the tougher streets of a tough city have left him with an inexhaustible fund of stories, ranging from the scandalous to the ribald.

  While I’m considering whether I can desert the undiminished pile of paperwork on my desk, the phone rings. One of my old clients wants to know if I’ll be free to see them about a routine security audit later this month. I’m holding the phone under my chin and searching for my diary under a pile of paper when Kathleen returns. By the time the call is finished, the two of them have plotted a retreat to one of McAllister’s local haunts. It makes up my mind for me.

  7

  CLOSED USER GROUP (CUG#7) e-MAIL

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  REF: See attached WP file RMREP046.DOC.

  We are sure that this is the extent of the problem. Obviously, this person was involved in recovering the situation in this company and stumbled onto the virus as a result. It’s probable that he doesn’t really know what he’s into.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  And you’re sure that nobody else is involved.

  FROM: LEVIATHAN

  TO: CALIBAN

  The access is o
nly coming from one terminal. We know where it is. It all seems straightforward. We are putting a stop on it.

  FROM: CALIBAN

  TO: LEVIATHAN

  > We are putting a stop on it.

  NO! Open the system. Watch what happens. Make sure that whoever is using it does not get to anything sensitive.