Access Denied, page 10
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
And why the occasional faint frown as he looked at her? If he preferred the old Maude, with her graying bun and bland, dowdy wardrobe, he was out of luck.
He'd be a difficult friend, Maude thought, even as she laughed at his anecdote. Too many seemingly innocent topics that soon steered perilously close to dangerous waters.
Perhaps it was time to dive into those waters, though, Maude thought, as the waiter cleared away their salad plates and brought their steaks. Probably a good idea, tackling head-on what she suspected was in both their minds. Admit that she and her friends were still worried over Nestor Garcia. Norris knew they had tangled with Garcia. He didn't know the whole story, but he would probably believe they were anxious that Garcia was still at large. A little afraid Garcia would want to pay them back for foiling one of his operations.
Before Maude got up her nerve to mention Garcia, Norris introduced the topic.
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"Look, you probably know what this is all about," he said.
Maude raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and took a bite of steak and chewed it.
"You're looking for Nestor Garcia," Norris said.
Far blunter than expected, Maude thought. She chewed the steak rather more thoroughly than necessary, buying a few more moments to think through her response.
"Was that his real name?" she asked, finally. "I've always wondered."
"Almost certainly not, but it's one we both know," Norris said. "You haven't answered my question."
"I'm not sure what you want," she said. "Looking for him? We're constantly watching for any signs that he's returned to cause us trouble, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't you?"
"I don't know what his role is in this credit card thing," Norris said. "And I don't know how you people got mixed up in it. All I know is that I'm following a lead on the creep—one of the first I've had in six months—and the next thing I know, I've stumbled over you and your merry band. It doesn't make me happy."
Maude nodded and said nothing.
"It's hard to understand how the thieves got his credit card information," Norris went on. "He's not careless. I've wondered if he knew about the scam, maybe even was involved in it, and decided to throw his credit card into the mix, just to see what happened. And look what happened."
"The FBI came running, a private investigator began staking out the pick-up site, and one of the thieves turned up dead," Maude said. "I guess he knows we're watching."
"Makes me wonder if Fairfax should have picked the Blake kid up a little sooner," Norris said.
"You think he might have known something about Garcia?" Maude asked.
"We may never know," Norris said.
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"You don't think the police will catch his confederate?" Maude asked.
"What if the confederate was Garcia?" Norris said.
"Garcia?" Maude echoed. "Isn't this a little . . . well, small for him? I mean, it's ingenious, but how much can they possibly steal this way? A few thousand dollars a week? That's a lot for petty criminals, but for Garcia? I got the idea you wanted him for something far more insidious.''
"Yes, this one ring is small," Norris said. "But efficiently organized. Far more organized than Tayloe Blake could have managed; the kid never made it out of tenth grade. So well organized that it would be nearly impossible to catch them if they stuck to the plan. And if you had a network of these credit card rings, each operating in a specific geographic area . . . maybe Blake just had the local franchise. Maybe there are dozens of these rings operating all over the country. Credit card fraud and identity theft are multi-billion dollar enterprises these days. I can see Garcia wanting a piece of that pie."
"Yes, that would be worth his while," Maude said. "And getting small-time crooks to do the dirty work sounds like something he'd do. Like the spider."
"What spider?"
" 'He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web,'" Maude said, quoting something Turing had sent her the night before. " 'But that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them.' "
"'He does little himself,'" Norris said, picking up the quotation. " 'He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized.' Sherlock Holmes on Professor Moriarty, in The Final Problem.'"
You read Sherlock Holmes?" Maude said.
"Of course," Norris said. "Actually, I don't necessarily think Garcia's agents are splendidly organized. More like clueless and highly expendable. Like poor Blake. But apart
from that the comparison's apt. I don't suppose there's any chance I could convince you to help us catch him."
"Help you?" Maude exclaimed. "And here I've been expecting you to read me the riot act about staying as far away from him as possible."
"I will," Norris said. "Or I would, if I thought there was the slightest chance you'd listen. Although I hope you'll stay away from any personal encounters and do your Baker Street Irregular-number online. But we could use your help. You and your hacker friend, Ms. Grace, and that company you've founded."
"Help with what?" Maude asked.
"Someone—and Garcia is a prime possibility—is using some kind of highly sophisticated computer program to hack into financial networks," Norris said. "We can't prove it—whoever's doing it is too good. They haven't committed any crime. Not yet, anyway."
"But you're afraid they will.
"We're afraid they're preparing for a major financial coup of some kind," Norris said. "And while I don't have a whole lot of information on precisely what you people do at this Alan Grace outfit—"
"We develop and implement expert systems," Maude said. "Complex, customized software solutions to automate routine but complicated activities."
"Expert systems," Norris said, nodding. "That figures. Look, I feel reasonably sure you aren't up to anything criminal, and yet Garcia seems unusually interested in you. You've managed to get almost as close to him as we have, in a lot less time. And if you're working on expert systems— that's what our analysts figure he's using. Maybe you can help us."
"With what?" Maude asked.
"Tracking him down. Or at least getting a handle on what he's up to. Our guys have run into a brick wall, trying
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to analyze the software he uses to get the access and abilities he has. They'd welcome any useful information."
He paused and took a sip of wine.
"And if there was any way they could get a copy of his software . . ."he continued.
"I doubt if anyone could do that legally," Maude said.
"No," Norris agreed. "Which means that even if our guys knew how ..."
"You couldn't use what you found as evidence," Maude said. "Of course, if someone else found anything and turned it over to you ..."
Norris nodded, and Maude left the sentence unfinished. Norris looked mildly uncomfortable, as well he might, having just suggested that Maude and her friends help the FBI through illegal hacking. Or possibly accused them of being in league with Garcia.
She looked down at herniate and focused on cutting another piece of steak. Hacking into financial networks. Was it Garcia doing this? Or had Turing's efforts to find Garcia caught the FBI's attention? Quite possibly both. And as for seizing a copy of Garcia's software—what if that meant Turing's clone?
"You may be overestimating what we can do," she said, with a sigh. "You're certainly beyond my depth. I'll talk to the boss."
"But you make no promises," Norris said.
"I'll point out as forcefully as I can the distinct advantages of working with the FBI rather than against it, or more likely, at cross-purposes with it," Maude said, with what she hoped was a reasonably natural smile. "I promise you that much."
"It's something, at least," Norris said. And for the rest of the meal, by unspoken agreement, they stuck to lighter topics.
As Maude pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot, all
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the worries she had shoved into the back of her mind came crowding back.
The more Norris talked about the sophisticated computer program, the more it sounded like Turing. Or an AIP, at any rate. Did this mean Garcia had learned how to control Turing's clone? Or had someone else built an AIP? Or corrupted one of the existing AIPs?
And what would Turing say to the FBI's request for help? Was it a useful opportunity, or only another problem? The FBI could have information on Garcia that Turing didn't have—information the agency might trade for Turing's help in finding him. But finding Garcia wouldn't help Turing unless they could also find and rescue her clone, and working with the FBI in any way increased the danger they would uncover the secret of Turing's existence.
"Interesting times," she murmured, as she pulled into her driveway.
FRIDAY MORNING-, 11 a.m.
fly human allies have spent much of the
morning analyzing the implications of Maude's dinner with Dan Norris. Claudia continues to proclaim her conviction that Norris is interested in Maude socially. Romantically. Maude disagrees. I tend to accept Maude's interpretation of events. Maude was there.
"Yeah, but Maude's a cynic," Claudia said. "And a bit of a pessimist. No offense," she added, to Maude.
"I prefer to consider myself a consummate realist," Maude said.
"And he was impressed with the new Maude —/ can tell!" Claudia crowed.
"If you call looking at me and frowning being impressed," Maude said. "I kept checking to see if I had food on my face or something."
"Realizing he could have more competition now," Claudia said. "Maybe wondering if he already does."
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"It doesn't really matter," I said. "Even if Norris's interest in Maude is only personal, it still doesn't reduce the danger."
"Danger?" Tim repeated. "If he's asking for our help instead of investigating us, what's the danger?"
"Instead?" Claudia said, as she headed out the door. "Who says it's an either/or proposition? Come on — time to go to my interview."
"He could still find out about Turing," Maude said, glancing at the door to make sure Claudia was out of earshot. "That would be dangerous."
"I don't get it," Tim said, shaking his head. "What's so wrong with the FBI finding out about Turing? After all, they're the good guys, right? Shouldn't we be helping the good guys?"
"Yes," I said. "But just because they're the good guys doesn't mean they'd understand what I really am. To them, I'm a program. "
"Potentially an extraordinarily useful program," Maude put in.
"Exactly," I said. "So what happens if they find out about me? About what I can do for them? I think I have a right to decide whether to help them or not. What if they think they have a right to use me? Own me?"
"Involuntary servitude," Maude murmured.
"That's what's wrong with them finding out. I don't want anyone, not even the good guys, finding out about me unless I'm sure they understand what I am. And respect it."
"Tim!" Claudia called from down the hall. "Sometime today, okay?"
"Okay," Tim said, as he headed for the door. "1 hadn't thought of that. I just wish we could help them."
"I'd like to," I said. "I will if I can. But from a safe distance."
Unfortunately, keeping a safe distance meant relying even more heavily on my human allies. Which I hated to do. not so much because I didn't trust them as that I worried about putting them in danger.
Although at least Claudia's assignment today was unlikely to
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include much danger. More likely terminal boredom, if her perception of what goes on in places like PRS is accurate.
When Tim left to drive Claudia to her interview at PRS, I decided the time was right for my overdue discussion with Maude.
But before I could find a way of introducing the subject, I discovered that Maude had the same idea.
Now was as good a time as any-i Naude thought. She squared her shoulders and looked directly at Turing's camera.
'Turing, we have to talk," Maude said. "About this gardening thing."
"I'm sorry," Turing said. "I got carried away the other night. I should have realized how tired you were. Look, I've been studying various deer-control methods—do you want me to send you a summary? Or seeing how busy you are, I can just arrange installation."
"Turing," Maude began.
"There are all kinds of possibilities," Turing went on. "Higher fencing would be a good idea, at least for the backyard, though we'd have to check to see what your neighborhood association allows. And I suppose you would only want that in the backyard. For the front yard, and as a backup to the fence, we could install motion-activated water, light, and sound devices. Better yet, if we add a way for me to control the system, I could watch for deer and deploy the various defensive mechanisms in a coordinated manner."
Maude closed her eyes and shuddered. She imagined the results. A higher fence—it would have to be a good eight or ten feet high to keep the deer out—would make the place feel like a fortress, but she suspected it wouldn't help her sleep or prevent the neighbors from getting annoyed as Tur-
ing waged war on the deer in the front yard with an ever-increasing arsenal of gadgets.
"So what do you—"
"No."
"You don't like the idea?"
"I don't need any help chasing deer out of the garden," Maude said. "I don't really care that much if they eat the whole damned thing. I just want some peace and quiet."
A long pause.
"I thought you liked gardening," Turing said, finally.
"I like having a garden," Maude said. "I like looking at it. I like throwing a few seeds out and seeing flowers come up. I don't mind doing the occasional bit of pruning if something's getting out of hand. And maybe even planting something occasionally, as long as it's something that doesn't ever require much fussing over. But no, I don't like gardening, if by that you mean working in the garden. At least not on the scale you have in mind. The damned garden's turning into a full-time job, and I already have two of those, thank you very much."
Turing didn't say anything. Maude wanted to say something—anything—that would take the sting out of her words. But she held back. Maybe the sting was needed to get her point across.
"Sam's on the line," Turing finally said, a second before Maude's phone rang.
And after Sam's call, ordinary office business consumed most of the time left before Maude set out for her part in the day's sleuthing, and the moment to continue their conversation passed. It will be all right, Maude thought.
I still hate surveillance! Tim thought. His new vantage point—in the parking lot of a strip mall—had a good view of the front door of the PRS building, but no shade.
His borrowed cell phone vibrated. Claudia.
"Hey, hon," she said. "Guess what? I got the job!"
"That's great, I guess," he said. "Did you find out anything useful?"
"That's the great part," she said. She sounded unnaturally cheerful and a little dumb. Probably a persona she'd adopted to land the job. "They want me to start today!"
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Tim asked.
"Yes, right now—isn't that great?"
"Oh, I get it—they're listening."
"Yes—look, I can't talk long. I only told them I needed to call you so you wouldn't pick me up after the interview. Can you come back at—sorry, what time should I have my boyfriend pick me up? Okay. I get off at nine."
"Nine o'clock," he said. "Check."
"Gotta go," Claudia said. "Look, maybe I'll try to call you when I get a break, okay? Love you; bye!"
Tim dialed Maude's number.
"She's in," he said succinctly. "I'll keep you posted."
And then he hung up and shook his head.
So Claudia was in. That was good, right?
Even if Tayloe Blake's killer was working at PRS, he wouldn't do anything in broad daylight in front of dozens of other employees, would he?
He settled back in his seat and fixed his binoculars on the PRS parking lot.
Claudia has succeeded in getting hired
at PRS and Sam reports that she is making good progress in reorganizing Rose Lafferty's debts. I should be pleased.
But Ym still trying to absorb what Maude told me. That she doesn't like gardening. Or at least isn't as interested in it as I am. I realize that I have been running roughshod over her for months now.
/ wish she'd said something earlier.
Maybe she tried, and I paid no attention.
No, when I analyze our conversations since she moved into her house, I don t find anything to indicate that she had. But I do notice a lessening of enthusiasm for garden topics. Perhaps I should have inferred something from that.
I admit, I'm not good at inferring.
I will have to rethink the whole garden project. Scale back and readjust my expectations.
And most immediately, I will have to decide what to do about the deer-repelling devices I had Casey install yesterday. Unfortunately. I went ahead and had him do it before talking with Maude. Only a limited installation — some high-velocity water nozzles that I could aim as needed, and some speakers through which I could experiment with a variety of sounds. One advantage is that the nozzles can also be used for watering, thus removing that chore from Maude's to-do list.
Even so, under the circumstances, I don't think Maude will be pleased.
Perhaps, if I let some time pass, she will feel less upset and I can tell her about them. Or perhaps I should just send Casey out to remove them. Not today, alas: installing them took up much of his afternoon yesterday, and he has a backlog of work. But then, busy as Maude is, she probably won't notice them for a day or so.
Perhaps if I left them, determined how to use them to water the garden and chase the deer away, without Maude noticing, and then presented them as not only a fait accompli but something that has been functioning smoothly and usefully without disturbing her life . . .
I '11 have to think about it. A lot.
Meanwhile, shortly after Tim and Claudia began their surveillance. Maude decided to take down all the license numbers of cars in the PRS parking lot. while pretending to be stuffing flyers under windshield wipers.
