doing the same.” “Basically, plug the
holes behind them,” I offered.
“Precisely.”
“What’s the talent pool look like?” I asked.
“Active Top Secret clearance, experience doing these kinds
of projects before or at least references that can speak to their abilities,
even if they can’t publish it on their resume. We’re looking for a criminal
hacker, except one that will work for us. Savvy enough to get dirty.
Professional enough to fix the problems.”
“When do we begin?” I asked.
“The clock is running, Simon,” Max said somberly.
I unclipped the cell phone from my belt and began dialing.
“Alright,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s do this…”
“I’m sorry?” Max asked, puzzled.
“We’re going to find you the best security guy in the
business. I’m just hoping he’s still in the country. And not in lockdown.”
“Right now?” Max asked.
“Right now.”
Chapter Five
There are moments in life when the
best approach is to take it easy and let the answers come to you. This was not
one of those moments. I was under the gun, under pressure to find the perfect
candidate for the hottest project in the market right now and time was
critical. Failure was not an option. There was no free pass, no easy way out.
It was put up or shut up time.
How do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found? You
make them come to you. I dialed from memory and was listening to the phone
ring.
“Who are you calling?” Max whispered, leaning across his
desk. I looked at Max and wondered how much I should tell him. A name wouldn’t
hurt.
“Chris Swenson,” I said.
“The Christopher Swenson?” Max hissed. I didn’t bother to
answer him. Chris Swenson had made the news three years ago when he’d managed
to hack into NASA. What didn’t reach the news was that the NASA job was a cover
for his real pet project, hacking into ECHELON, the global network for
monitoring communications by phone, fax, email and everything else practically
down to smoke signals. Blackthorn had found him before he was successful.
I first met Swenson in an interrogation room in what the
newspapers would describe only as an undisclosed location. The field agents
called it the “Recreation Room” and from the looks of Swenson, they’d had a bit
of fun with him while bringing him into custody. He was scuffed and bruised and
cuffed to the wall. His face was crimson with anger and his “Off-Duty Ninja”
shirt was torn at the collar. He looked like he was best friends with a plate
of ribs and wouldn’t recognize a treadmill if he walked past one. I recruited
Chris that day and put him to work for me.
Chris and I and a team of agents took on terrorist
operations up and down the east coast for six months. Then, one day, Chris
disappeared. He vanished without a word and went off the grid. I knew the work
made Chris high-strung. I knew the work made Chris high-strung. He would gulp
down Redbulls and pork rinds, then wash that down with double espressos. But
the thing about people like Chris is that they are irrevocably tied to
technology. They can’t bear the thought of not being in touch, no matter how
much it could come back and bite them in the ass.
I tried his home phone and work phone of the small PC fix-it
shop he ran. Both numbers were disconnected. I tried his cell and heard the
message that his number had been changed. Chris had used scrambled mobile
phones on Blackthorn operations so I’d never needed to use his personal cell
number. That’s the only reason he hung onto it. I dialed the alternate number
and got Chris’ voicemail at his new cellphone. He sounded better, healthier in
his message. I couldn’t discount what a life away from the stress of our
business could do.
“Hi, this is Chris Swenson of Clarion Corporation. I’m
unable to take your call...” Chris’ voice droned on until finally he said, “If
you need assistance immediately, please call extension 338 to speak to
holes behind them,” I offered.
“Precisely.”
“What’s the talent pool look like?” I asked.
“Active Top Secret clearance, experience doing these kinds
of projects before or at least references that can speak to their abilities,
even if they can’t publish it on their resume. We’re looking for a criminal
hacker, except one that will work for us. Savvy enough to get dirty.
Professional enough to fix the problems.”
“When do we begin?” I asked.
“The clock is running, Simon,” Max said somberly.
I unclipped the cell phone from my belt and began dialing.
“Alright,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s do this…”
“I’m sorry?” Max asked, puzzled.
“We’re going to find you the best security guy in the
business. I’m just hoping he’s still in the country. And not in lockdown.”
“Right now?” Max asked.
“Right now.”
Chapter Five
There are moments in life when the
best approach is to take it easy and let the answers come to you. This was not
one of those moments. I was under the gun, under pressure to find the perfect
candidate for the hottest project in the market right now and time was
critical. Failure was not an option. There was no free pass, no easy way out.
It was put up or shut up time.
How do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found? You
make them come to you. I dialed from memory and was listening to the phone
ring.
“Who are you calling?” Max whispered, leaning across his
desk. I looked at Max and wondered how much I should tell him. A name wouldn’t
hurt.
“Chris Swenson,” I said.
“The Christopher Swenson?” Max hissed. I didn’t bother to
answer him. Chris Swenson had made the news three years ago when he’d managed
to hack into NASA. What didn’t reach the news was that the NASA job was a cover
for his real pet project, hacking into ECHELON, the global network for
monitoring communications by phone, fax, email and everything else practically
down to smoke signals. Blackthorn had found him before he was successful.
I first met Swenson in an interrogation room in what the
newspapers would describe only as an undisclosed location. The field agents
called it the “Recreation Room” and from the looks of Swenson, they’d had a bit
of fun with him while bringing him into custody. He was scuffed and bruised and
cuffed to the wall. His face was crimson with anger and his “Off-Duty Ninja”
shirt was torn at the collar. He looked like he was best friends with a plate
of ribs and wouldn’t recognize a treadmill if he walked past one. I recruited
Chris that day and put him to work for me.
Chris and I and a team of agents took on terrorist
operations up and down the east coast for six months. Then, one day, Chris
disappeared. He vanished without a word and went off the grid. I knew the work
made Chris high-strung. I knew the work made Chris high-strung. He would gulp
down Redbulls and pork rinds, then wash that down with double espressos. But
the thing about people like Chris is that they are irrevocably tied to
technology. They can’t bear the thought of not being in touch, no matter how
much it could come back and bite them in the ass.
I tried his home phone and work phone of the small PC fix-it
shop he ran. Both numbers were disconnected. I tried his cell and heard the
message that his number had been changed. Chris had used scrambled mobile
phones on Blackthorn operations so I’d never needed to use his personal cell
number. That’s the only reason he hung onto it. I dialed the alternate number
and got Chris’ voicemail at his new cellphone. He sounded better, healthier in
his message. I couldn’t discount what a life away from the stress of our
business could do.
“Hi, this is Chris Swenson of Clarion Corporation. I’m
unable to take your call...” Chris’ voice droned on until finally he said, “If
you need assistance immediately, please call extension 338 to speak to
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