Street Game

  "I discourage company every way I can," Mack said.

  Lucas looked up at him. "You and Jaimie moving in together, boss?"

  Mack stared him down. "What do you think?"

  "That I'd better keep my mouth shut," Lucas muttered.

  "Good plan." Mack took the chair across from Kane, looking up as Gideon came in. He frowned. "You look tired. You aren't sleeping again."

  Gideon shrugged. "I'm fine. Getting headaches again, Mack." He washed his hands at the sink and looked around. "You know, I'm not all that hungry. I might lie down while I brief you. Do you mind?"

  You need a medic? Mack demanded with quick concern. Don't lie to me, Gideon.

  There was a long pause and it took every ounce of self-discipline for Mack to keep from looking at him, and possibly tipping off the others--or Paul--to their private conversation.

  "Use Kane's bed," Mack said aloud. "It will be easier for you to talk."

  Marc was the only one of them with real healing and medic abilities and right now, he'd gone out on the roof to keep an eye on their company. But there was Spagnola. The man was pararescue and he obviously had skills, psychic healing skills.

  I'll be fine, Mack, Gideon assured.

  Any bleeding? Mack held his breath.

  A nosebleed. Nothing serious.

  Around him the men joked good-naturedly with one another, but Mack could only hear the warning alarm going off in his mind. A nosebleed--nothing serious. It was another complication. He needed Gideon, but the man had to be seen by a doctor and immediately.

  "We've got two men sitting out in a fishing boat. Neither is very happy. One keeps puking. They're radioing our two on land. Right now they're sniffing around the warehouses, including this one, so I'm fairly sure they aren't certain of the exact location of the guns. But sooner or later, one of the guards is going to go home and someone else will take their place. There's no mistaking a Madigan man. They wear that cute little tattoo on the inside of their arms, trying to be all scary."

  "They don't get one of those tattoos without first killing a Madigan enemy," Mack said.

  "They like to brag," Kane said.

  "And they strut around the docks. A couple of Madigan's men were in the pub down the street and the local fishermen never even looked at them. It takes practice to keep your eyes off someone like that," Lucas said. "Practice and fear. And these fishermen are tough. When I went up to the bar, one of the older fishermen gestured for me to sit with him. He made sure I was facing away from the bar and the two Madigan men. He didn't say anything to warn me off, but he was definitely trying to convey to the newbie in the neighborhood that you don't 'see' those men."

  "Gideon, did you ID any of the Doomsday team?"

  "Oh, yeah. We got one of the heavy hitters running the show. Armando Shepherd. Believe me, boss, he's not the one in the boat."

  "Why do they all call you 'boss' and not 'Top'?" Paul asked.

  "He's been our boss a long time," Kane said. "It's a nickname more than a title. But if the brass is around, or we're running a mission, most of the time we call him 'Top.' "

  Mack sent them both a quelling look as he got up to pour a large amount of coffee into a container to put it in the refrigerator. He left the rest on the warmer and returned to his chair. "Now that we managed to settle that important issue, did you ID anyone else?"

  "Armando always travels with his psycho buddy, Ramon Estes. The two are homegrown, by the way. Grew up in New York City. Both were Marines. Before that they terrorized their neighborhood until things got so hot they joined the service."

  Gideon sounded so tired Mack went over to the bed there in the shadows and carefully inspected him for tell-tale signs of bleeding. You take anything for the pain?

  Gideon shook his head. Wanted my head clear to report.

  Mack bit back a curse as he dropped a hand on Gideon's shoulder. "You're taking something now. Kane. We need the medic bag."

  A hush immediately fell over the group. They'd grown up together and Gideon was immensely popular with them all. He had a way of bringing calm to any situation. He tended to be quiet, but was one they always counted on, a good man to have at one's back.

  "You don't wait next time," Mack said. "And that's an order." There was no pretending it wouldn't happen again; they all dealt with it. And if he was right, and their psychic talents were growing with use, or with whatever else Whitney had done to them to accelerate it, so were the negative side effects. Mack brushed at the lines of fatigue etched into Gideon's face.

  "I'm okay, boss. Just need to sleep. Can't seem to these days."

  Lucas had mentioned in passing to Mack that Gideon wasn't sleeping. He should have followed up on it. Gideon often prowled the apartment at night when he wasn't on guard duty, and during the day he wasn't taking his usual catnaps.

  His heart beat too fast, and there was a bad taste in his mouth. He recognized it as fear. Mack had always controlled every situation through careful planning, and yet now he had no way of ensuring his men were safe. He took every precaution on a mission, but their health, the consequences of their psychic abilities, was beyond his control. It seemed the stronger the gift, the greater the repercussions.

  Kane dropped a hand on his shoulder as he placed the medic bag on the bed beside Gideon. "We all made the decision, Mack," he said quietly.

  Mack let out his breath. He knew none of them blamed him, and maybe some of them would have done it anyway without his endorsement, but they had been following him since they were kids and he had known they'd follow him this time. Kane's statement didn't let him off the hook, though he appreciated it.

  Kane prepared a shot. "I'm going to get you to sleep, Gideon. Just lay it down for a while. No dreaming. Just go out and let your mind and body rest."

  Gideon flashed him a wan grin. "Yeah, I'll try to remember about that dreaming thing."

  "Maybe I can help," Paul said, his voice a little thin.

  There was instant silence. All the men turned to eye him carefully. The scrutiny was thorough.

  "What can you do for him, Paul?" Mack asked. "There's nothing in your jacket indicating you're a healer."

  The tips of the kid's ears turned crimson. "The bio was tweaked quite a bit."

  "Why?"

  Paul shook his head, his gaze sliding away from Mack. "It's not what you think. Protection, not to spy."

  "Protection for who?"

  Paul heaved a sigh. "Me. Sergeant Major assigned me to your unit because he believes you have the best chance of protecting me."

  "Tell me the rest."

  "I'm not at liberty to do so, Top."

  "Damn, do you think this is a game? You pose a threat to even one of my men, do you think I have the least compunction about putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger?" Mack stalked across the short distance to stand in front of the kid, glaring, staring straight into his eyes. "I hope you can read, because I'm giving you the gospel here, Paul."

  "I read you loud and clear, boss," Paul said.

  "You haven't earned the right to call me boss," Mack said. "Until I can trust you, you call me Top."

  Paul stared straight ahead. "Yes, Top." He barked it out, a marine to a master gunnery sergeant.

  "Just what can you do for Gideon?" Kane asked.

  "I have some healing talent, sir," Paul said. "I'm able to visualize the brain and skull and see any damage done."

  Mack sucked in his breath. "You're a fucking psychic surgeon," he guessed. There was a note of awe and respect in his voice in spite of his anger at Sergeant Major for planting someone on his team with unknown skills. A psychic surgeon was one of the rarest of talents. Mack had never actually met one. It was rumored they existed, but no one he knew had even seen one. Joe Spagnola, like many others, had the rudimentary skills to heal wounds, but none of them could actually operate as a psychic surgeon was reputed to be able to do. "You're the real damn deal."

  Paul's gaze shifted around the room, touching on all the faces. "I
could be killed if anyone found out."

  "Are you crazy? If you're the real thing, you're invaluable."

  "Let me help him." Paul took a deep breath.

  For the first time Mack realized the kid couldn't stop looking at Gideon and his hands seemed to be weaving a pattern, fingers moving continually as if he was under a compulsion. Mack stepped aside.

  Stay close to him, Kane. I've never seen a psychic surgeon in action, but I've heard stories that they're a little insane. The kid's showing some disturbing signs. I'll take Jaimie's drink down to her. We need to find out what exactly is on that computer.

  Why wouldn't Sergeant Major want us to know? Any team leader would give their right arm to have him on their team. We argued against taking Paul on for half a day. Why didn't Sergeant Major just tell us and spare the argument?

  More importantly, why didn't he want us to use him? Watch him close. If he looks like he's hurting Gideon, kill him. Don't ask questions.

  Mack shrugged. "Go ahead, kid, but you be careful of him. He's our eyes and ears. We're crippled without him."

  For the first time, real animation came into Paul's face. He hurried over to Gideon and, holding his palms an inch from Gideon's body, began to pass his hands slowly over the entire frame, taking his time, paying special attention to the head and skull. He looked as if he'd gone into a trance.

  Freaky, boss. The kid's out there somewhere, Kane said.

  You just make certain nothing happens to Gideon.

  The other men were moving in close for a better view. Mack pushed his way to the kitchen. He needed answers and they were on the kid's laptop. Jaimie and Javier had to get inside of it.

  CHAPTER 12

  "Oh, this isn't good," Javier whispered.

  Mack froze at the bottom of the stairs. They needed to know what Paul was hiding from them. If Javier and Jaimie couldn't figure out how to open the laptop and hopefully clear Paul's name--well, he couldn't have a spy on their team risking the others.

  "I've never seen anything like this," Javier admitted.

  "Fortunately for us, I have," Jaimie said.

  Mack stood for several minutes drinking in the sight of Jaimie absorbed in her work. This was one of those times he loved the most. The complete concentration and focus, the absolute joy of discovery when she found what she was looking for. She made love to him like that. Wholly focused on him. Every magnificent brain cell, every nerve ending, every particle of her being, was given to him. All of her. Body, mind, soul, and heart. He could see that in her work. Jaimie was an all-or-nothing person. And her work, like her love, was her all.

  She enjoyed the journey. The harder the challenge, the more she enjoyed the fight along the way. That, she said, was as good or better than the actual discovery. Unfortunately, she didn't always care about how long it took to get her information. And he needed it immediately.

  He came up behind her silently, very aware of her head so close to Javier's. She had great affection for Javier, and he shared her love of computers and code. The two of them could spend days or weeks talking a language that gave Mack a headache, but he didn't care, he loved to see her excited and happy.

  "Here you go, honey. One iced coffee with whipped cream." He put it on the desk a distance from where she was working but within reach. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I hope you have good news for me. And here's your hot coffee, Javier. Plenty of sugar. Kane said to tell you real men don't use sugar in their coffee."

  Javier snorted. "He doesn't know how to stay up all night."

  "Are you getting anywhere? Paul seems to think you'll have a bit of a problem. I told him he was crazy and you'd have this thing spilling secrets to you." He gave her a hopeful smile. "I was telling the truth, wasn't I?"

  "We blew past the operating system password," Javier said. "It wasn't that hard. Virtually all laptops made in the last few years contain Firewire ports."

  Mack scowled at him. "I'll take back the coffee if you don't speak English."

  Javier shrugged and grinned. "One of those 'holes' you can plug cables into along one of the sides of the laptop. If the Firewire port is enabled, and the laptop is using the Windows operating system, you can break into the laptop via the Firewire port."

  "So we just needed to connect another computer--running a Linux operating system instead of Windows--to the enabled Firewire port on the laptop," Jaimie explained. "The machine is then tricked into allowing the connected computer to have read and write access to its memory. We then ran a special program on our computer that found the log-in password in the laptop's memory. Then we logged in using that password."

  "And we thoroughly vetted all the programs. He's got quite a few he modified, and he's good. But then we found this." Javier indicated the screen. "He's got himself what has to be a classified program. We normally wouldn't have a problem breaking into it, but we were expecting a normal-length password, not this."

  "I don't understand." He hated those three words. And he often had to use them around Jaimie and her precious computers.

  Jaimie flashed her world-class smile. "Well, Mack, here's the thing. Encryption techniques are now so powerful that it's virtually impossible to intercept encrypted files or e-mail messages in transit and decode them. The weak point in security systems is always at the place where someone accesses an encrypted file or e-mail message. Usually this is a matter of entering a password chosen by the person. And because people aren't very good at choosing secure passwords, it's not too hard to break into their files. It's not so much that they base their passwords on things other people might guess. It's more that their passwords are too short. In fact, if their password is made of letters and numbers and is less than twenty-three characters long, I can run a special program off a supercomputer that will test every possible combination, and be able to find their password within a few hours."

  Javier nodded. "And--even though all the security specialists recommend it--we'll never be able to convince most people to choose random passwords with more than twenty-three characters." He winked at Mack. "Bet your password isn't more than twenty-three characters."

  "I lived with Jaimie for a year. Believe me, I can barely remember the damned thing it has so many letters and numbers."

  Jaimie smirked at him. "You can always ask me if you ever forget it."

  Mack rolled his eyes. "I told you it was useless. She can get into my computer."

  Javier grinned at him. "I don't think you're ever going to get away with sending hot e-mails to Internet babes."

  "Another approach people have tried is biometrics: using the unique characteristics of a person's biology to allow only that person, or a group of people, to have access to something," Jaimie continued, giving Javier a warning kick beneath the desk. "The most familiar use of biometrics is retinal scanning: You place your eyeball in front of a retinal scanner, it measures various features of a person's retina against a database that stores the retinal info for legitimate people."

  Javier put down his coffee. "We're all familiar with retinal scanners as a way of limiting access to sections of buildings. But you can add retinal scanning to a computer as well, as a way of making sure that only you are allowed access to your computer or to certain files. A major drawback is that you have to add this 'retinal scanning' hardware--a special device you press your eyeball up against. You can't just run a program on your computer. In addition, there are horror stories that go along with this technology, like security breakins being accomplished by cutting out a person's eyeball and holding it up to a retinal scanner . . ." Javier wiggled his eyebrows to look evil.

  "Unfortunately"--Jaimie gave a little shudder--"that really does work."

  "Can I just bring the kid down here and shove his eye at the computer, or do you need me to really cut it out?" Mack asked, straight-faced.

  Jaimie made a face at him. "I don't think we need to do anything quite so drastic. My PhD dissertation introduced a new approach that combines the idea of generating more secure pass
words with the idea behind biometrics: coming up with a unique identifier for each person. Here's the idea. Just like a person's retina or fingerprint, everyone's brain is unique. In particular, everyone has memories that no one else has. If we could identify a unique memory for a person, and find a way to express it in the form of a sequence of words--enough words to be secure of--we'd have a password no one could ever break. The program would be a terrific new tool for security without requiring the extra hardware that biometric approaches like retinal scanning does, and without having to remember an impossibly long sequence of random letters and numbers. I call it 'mememetrics'--because, in contrast with biometrics, it's based on unique memories rather than unique biological characteristics."

  "How does it work?" Javier asked.

  "Here's how it's done. My AI program conducts an interview with a person aimed at ferreting out a memory unique to that person, and expressing it in six words: the password. A password made of six unguessable words is just as secure as a password made of twenty-three random letters and numbers."

  "Because there are about 170,000 words in the dictionary," Javier said, grinning with excitement. "Brilliant, Jaimie. I knew there was a reason I fell madly in love with you."

  Mack smacked him on the back of the head. "She's in love with me. Keep talking, Jaimie."

  Javier ignored him. "If you choose six words at random from the dictionary for a password, a program trying to crack the password would have to search through an impossibly large number of combinations."

  Jaimie nodded. "Multiply 170,000 by 170,000 by 170,000 by . . . you get the idea: six 170,000s multiplied together. Our fastest supercomputers would take over three hundred years to search through all the possibilities. So this kind of password is pretty secure."

  "You never told me about this, Jaimie," Javier said. "How does the program work?"

  "It has about a thousand different 'schemas' representing different kinds of remembered personal experiences: from happy childhood memories, to low-grade traumatic experiences, to fantasies, to love or sexual memories, to memories of accomplishments, on and on."

  Mack frowned at her. "I don't want to know the kid's sexual fantasies, Jaimie, just his password. I need a look into that computer."