“So the killer put poison onto the mouse?” asked Blaine.
“The killer turned the mouse into poison,” said Faraday. “He sent a complex code to the hardware that, along with a power surge to help catalyze the reaction, caused the polymers in the mouse to break down and reform into a toxic substance that was absorbed through the victim’s skin.”
“You’ve seen this before?” asked Pinchley, looking up at Faraday, surprised.
“Unfortunately,” said Faraday. “I’ve come across some very similar weaponry, and it’s clear that’s what happened here. This is a series of cyber attacks – no direct contact with the victims.”
Faraday gave Pinchley a nod, and the pathologist in turn nodded to his subordinates to return the dead to their place of slumber.
“Somebody really doesn’t like the U.N.,” said Blaine, her eyes following the rolling slabs of death back into the refrigerated mausoleum.
Faraday tapped more notes into his PDA, glanced up. “You think?”
“Let’s see the last three,” said Blaine.
Three more tables were brought in. Each victim had different types of trauma, all brought on by hardware that had been turned into deadly implements through one method or another.
A Dutch man with fatal brain damage. A Polish woman with her neck sliced open. A Canadian man with a fried pacemaker.
“We’re dealing with some serious assassinware, here,” said Faraday.
“Assassinware?” asked Cat.
“Software that creates a stealth connection designed to get in, kill, and get out without leaving a trace. Uses the World Wide Web to turn your friendly computer into a remote weapon.”
“So this could’ve been perpetrated from anywhere in the world?”
“Or right inside the Secretariat Building. Once we get the server logs, we may be able to learn more,” said Faraday. “But so far, this is the cleanest set of hits I’ve ever seen. I’d say this is most definitely not the work of some amateur terrorist. This is the result of some serious tech resources. Programming, software, hardware, high-end stuff. We’ll know more when I get a hold of the server logs.”
The two agents thanked Pinchley and left the morgue, grabbing another taxi.
“I’m going to want to see those server logs as soon as we obtain them,” said Blaine.
“Once I’m done with them,” said Faraday. “I’m the lead on this.”
“I was told I’m the lead,” said Blaine. “To be blunt, you’re the geek assigned to help me navigate the code.”
Faraday blinked hard and turned to her. “Excuse me? You’re on my turf, here, Agent Blaine. You were sent to assist me with the human side of the investigation. This is my case. Besides, I’m connected to this in a way that you aren’t. I’m just tolerating your intrusion here because you’re hot.”
Faraday felt his face flush. Forgot to turn on the filter between brain and mouth. Again.
Cat rolled her green eyes and blew air through her nose like an angry bull, setting her jaw. “Well, I see they don’t keep you around for your people skills.” She turned to look out the window, though it was fogging up. “Typical techie.”
Faraday chided himself for getting into the very conflict that Graham had warned him about. Still feeling embarrassed for his own comment about her good looks, he pulled out his laptop and brought up his blog. He checked the comments section. A new one from NonCredit Romeo.
Nice work, eh, Faraday? And I’m just getting started.
Faraday turned the screen toward Blaine. “Hey. Here’s why I’m so invested in this.”
Blaine looked at the screen without leaning in, as if to indicate disinterest. “What of it?”
“This guy posted detailed information on my blog about the murders before they occurred. About twenty five minutes in advance. If he’s not the killer, he has inside information.”
She turned sharply to him. “Why aren’t we knocking on his door?”
“He’s untraceable. Well, nobody’s untraceable, but he’s not making it easy. He’s very good.”
“And he seems to know you.”
Faraday turned the screen back toward himself, frowning. “Yes, he does. So you see why this has a personal angle.”
“Well, personal or not, you need to learn to show some common decency and respect. I know you’re used to dealing with ones, zeros, and pixels, but it’s time to grow up a little and realize we’re on the same side here. In fact, our offices fall under the same agency. So give the attitude a rest, will ya?”
Faraday closed the laptop and slid it into his valise. He took a deep breath and exhaled.
“All right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want some hotshot swooping in on my case.”
“Hotshot? Look, I’ve been with the CIA for four years. And I’m doing pretty well for myself, thank you very much. I’m building my career on my own merits, not piggybacking on others or stealing cases. I’m here to help solve the case, Faraday.”
Faraday looked at her face and saw her sincerity. She didn’t look defensive, just determined.
“Call me Scott,” he said, offering his hand in truce.
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© 2011 Michael D Britton / Intelligent Life Books
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