The Survival Code, page 14
“I’ll have some,” Toby says. “They sound delicious to me.” He takes the bag and pours some into his palm.
“I’ll have some as well,” Navarro says from underneath the ice pack.
I roll my eyes, but a couple minutes later Charles is busy chewing.
According to the drill, I’m supposed to inventory the supplies in the camper. That will partially determine what we do next, since how much food and gas I find there will dictate the route we take. Then I’m supposed to do laps around the motel. Make sure we’re safe and secure.
But we have only a couple hours before we have to leave, and I don’t know when I’ll have another opportunity to inspect the laptop. I also don’t know if I can trust Navarro. I had no idea what Dad might have told him to do. So I get the computer and act casual, taking the far side of the bed away from the window and making a show of fluffing up the pillows. I sit cross-legged on the orange Southwestern patterned bedspread.
The screen powers on, and I barely get the console window open before Navarro sits up and puts the ice pack aside. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at a few things,” I say. Every time Navarro moves, I have to force myself not to stare at him.
Navarro stands at the foot of the bed where I sit with MacKenna. When his gaze rests on the laptop, I add, “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” he counters. “Because you’re supposed to be doing a perimeter check. No one has made any effort to ensure the safety of our positon.”
MacKenna turns a page of her book. “That sounds like an excellent job for you, Captain Courageous.”
Navarro opens his mouth, closes it again and finally says, “Fine.”
He leaves the room, and I’m uncertain whether or not that was a good idea.
“That guy is tons of fun,” MacKenna says.
“We need him to find my dad,” I reply.
“I’m still not totally convinced we need to find Dr. Doomsday. I think it’s a better idea to use whatever’s on that computer to get my dad out of jail.”
I turn my attention to the computer.
There are two issues.
One. Is the code that triggered the explosions at the bank still on this machine?
Two. If it is, how did it get there?
A smart hacker could easily code a piece of malware to trash itself after it executes. But if you were deliberately trying to frame someone, you wouldn’t do that. The whole point would be to plant evidence.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
It was called Day Zero.
This is Dad’s area. But generally, a zero-day exploit is a piece of malware that’s been hanging around for a while. Day Zero is the moment when the user becomes aware that they’re screwed.
It’s usually the start of something.
Something terrible.
I do a search and find the term in the directory. Quickly. Easily. It’s in the main documents folder buried in a few folders. But I can tell.
It was meant to be found. And it was modified on Monday. Around 4:00 p.m.
Right before the explosion at the Rancho Mesa bank.
I open the program file in the console window, and code fills the screen.
I have no idea what I’m looking at.
The code calls all sorts of audio files that must have been on the bank’s mainframe. I stare at the screen. It would take me months to even scratch the surface of what this program was or what it did. Worse, there’s something about it. Something familiar. It’s got a certain style.
It reminds me of Dad.
I shudder.
Next to me, MacKenna leans over my screen. “You found something?”
“Maybe.” I rotate the laptop so that the screen is at an angle that she can’t view. “I’m not sure what though.”
She cocks her head and gives me a disbelieving sigh.
“I’m serious. I mean...”
On TV, an attractive woman describes the efforts to find David Rosenthal.
Toby uses the remote to turn down the volume. “You mean what?”
I have a book report due on Friday. Mom needs to add more money to my school lunch account. That’s what hits me at that exact moment. That I should be home forcing myself to read my textbook and whining about not being able to play Republicae. I’m so tired, and reality is hitting me like an Arizona dust storm.
Our lives are gone.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I mean, I might have found something. Terminus said that the National Police think someone used the built-in speaker systems at the banks to detonate explosive materials. I think that’s what this program does. But you’d need a PhD in computer science to understand this thing.”
Basically, you’d need to be my father.
“Can people do that? Cause explosions that way?” Toby asks.
I hate the fact that so many of these conversations keep coming back to Dad. “My dad thought so. He felt computer hardware was vulnerable to a sonic attack, and he was running experiments when he was still friendly with Carver. Dad wasn’t able to get the technology to work though.”
It seems risky to use the Wi-Fi to contact Terminus, but I don’t see any other choice. I connect the laptop and start a chat.
Me: You there?
Terminus: Yep and for the record you’re scaring the hell out of me. Where are you?
I don’t have time to get into what’s happened or exactly where we are.
Me: Looking for Marshall.
Terminus: You need to think about this.
Terminus: You’re not gonna find him and half of the state is out looking for you.
Terminus’s assumption that there’s no way that I could possibly find my dad sort of pisses me off. I mean, it’s probably true. But still.
Me: I spoke to him. About an hour ago.
Terminus: Uh...
Terminus: Did he say where he was?
Terminus: Or what he’s doing?
Me: He said he’ll meet me.
Terminus: What?
There really isn’t time for this. And MacKenna is staring at me. I type faster.
Me: I need your help. Check this out.
I drop the file into a secure partition on the server.
Terminus: Whoa.
Terminus: What the hell is this?
Me: I need you to figure that out.
Me: I mean, who could possibly have written something like this?
Terminus: Other than Marshall? I don’t know.
Terminus: I’ll put out some feelers.
Me: I’ll contact you as soon as I can.
I’m about to close the chat window when another message comes through.
Terminus: Wait. I did find out one thing.
Terminus: Jay Novak is being held at Goldwater Airfield.
Terminus: Chat in the back channel says
Terminus stops typing.
Me: Says what?
Terminus: They’re going to kill him. On Friday. Carver will address Congress that morning and then
I close the chat window.
Oh. My. God.
At the same time, MacKenna slams the book shut and points at the silver computer. “We have to destroy that thing. It’s obviously the evidence someone has manufactured to frame my father. We don’t need to help them do it!”
It feels more critical than ever to save it.
She makes a grab for the laptop.
I shut it and jump off the bed. “I’m not finished inspecting it. And, anyway, it’s not that easy to destroy a hard drive.”
MacKenna gets up too and reaches again for the laptop. “Oh, it’s plenty easy. We can run over it with the car. Or smash it against the desk. Or fill the bathtub with water. Or—”
“No, we can’t!” People always think it’s so easy to destroy data. In reality, hardware techs hate having to retire servers. The process of truly making sure that data can’t be retrieved from a drive is time-consuming and annoying. You need to secure-erase the files, populate the drive with garbage data and then physically destroy the computer. “The National Police have a crime lab where they can recover data from partially destroyed computers. They’ve been able to get files off disks that have been put through a shredder.”
She makes another grab for the laptop.
“We should...at least see if...we can figure out how...the file got there,” I tell her as I back into the corner near the bathroom to keep the laptop away from her.
“You guys,” Toby says, sitting up. Charles is watching with his mouth open.
We all freeze at a light knock at the door.
Toby gets up and, after pausing at the peephole, opens the door, letting a bit of blue twilight into the room.
Navarro’s back. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” MacKenna and I say at the same time.
I shove the laptop into the yellow bag and leave it in the corner. “Did you find anything?”
Navarro shrugs. “Eleven out of the twenty-five rooms are occupied. There are a few truckers probably en route to the interstate. A pair of elk hunters. A family having their house in Why fumigated. A rep from Dice Pizza checking out the local store. No one seems like a threat.”
We need things to calm down a bit. Toby gets MacKenna to sit on the bed, and after a while she’s reading again.
“How’s the book?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
MacKenna frowns. “Annika Carver is one cold, robotic bitch.” She adds, “Her skin cream is good though.”
Leaning over, I glance at the page she’s reading from. A passage catches my eye.
Ammon Carver’s operatives have largely shielded the tycoon’s daughter from deep scrutiny, working to bury reports that Annika cheated on her college entrance exams and to destroy unflattering photos. Annika Carver’s ethics, whatever they may be, remain mostly unknown.
MacKenna turns to me. “Did you ever meet her?”
I shake my head. “No. Dad worked with Carver, but we didn’t see him much. I only met him once. He didn’t seem like a family man.”
MacKenna shuts her book and removes an old-fashioned pad of paper and a pen from the drawer of the nightstand. She begins scribbling notes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Working,” she says. “If we ever get to go home, I want to be ready to write.”
Forever a journalist.
Toby manages a weak smile even as his biceps tense. He leans forward. “About our dad? You’ll have one heck of an inside scoop.”
Ammon Carver’s face fills the TV screen. He’s wearing his usual dark blue suit, but his yellowing hair and beard aren’t as neatly trimmed and combed as usual.
He’s standing at a podium in the presidential mansion’s rose garden with his wife hovering in the background, fidgety and inconsequential.
Carver’s voice grates. Like someone filing their nails.
“My fellow citizens, in a move designed to prevent further instability, I’ve been working with Congress to enact a series of temporary emergency measures that will include curfews, supply rations and transportation restrictions.”
Oh no.
“Supply rations?” Toby repeats. “What the hell does he want to ration?”
I’m more worried about the transportation restrictions. That could mean more patrols. Or roadblocks. We now not only have to find Dr. Doomsday; we have to do it faster.
“It’s also essential for every citizen to cooperate fully with the ongoing investigation into the recent terror attacks. While I am relieved to report that The Opposition has worked with authorities to apprehend the main instigator, we do not believe that The Spark organizer, party financier and Croatian immigrant Jesen Oscar Novak, was working alone.”
Jay’s picture flashes on the screen.
I shiver. I should say something. Now. Say something. Now. Now. Now.
“Spark organizer?” MacKenna says. “He manned a voter registration table one day for three hours! I had to beg him to do it!”
“We are now in possession of critical evidence that my political adversary, David Rosenthal, masterminded the terrible violence that rocked our republic yesterday—”
Toby moves to the edge of the bed. “It makes more sense than calling Dad a Spark financier. I think he went to one pancake breakfast with Stephanie.”
“I wish we would go to a pancake breakfast,” Charles says.
“—with full support from The Spark leadership at the highest level—”
“I had to force him to do it!” MacKenna goes on. “Dad wanted to play golf.”
Navarro remains at the desk, saying nothing.
“What critical evidence would they possibly have?” I ask.
“Any citizen with knowledge about these attacks must come forward immediately...”
Toby rubs his eyes. “No idea. But Carver is clearly neutralizing his political rivals.”
At that moment, I wish I’d paid more attention to one of Mom’s thousands of political lectures, because I don’t understand what a lot of this means. “Why? Why would that be necessary? He won the election.”
Carver continues speaking in the background while Toby says, “He won by a very narrow margin, using very questionable methods.”
“Yeah, Dr. Doomsday’s methods,” MacKenna grumbles.
“He came into the presidency with very little political capital.”
“Rosenthal’s despicable acts have severely impacted First Federal’s ability to provide important financial services to its customers—hardworking, everyday citizens. I had to walk away from my role at my family’s bank to seek the office of the presidency, in order to do what I feel is critical work on behalf of the nation. However, I am maintaining daily contact with the First Federal team at all levels. They are doing their best to bring critical systems back online. The New Depression has crippled our great nation these past ten years, and what impact this crisis may have, I cannot say. I do say that...”
MacKenna fiddles a strand of her long hair. “He wants to hold The Spark responsible for the New Depression. For everything.”
Toby agrees. “The engine of outrage will only run when there’s someone to blame. Someone to hate.”
Of course, MacKenna and Toby understand this stuff more than I do. They study more and they haven’t spent the majority of their free time over the past few years in a Doomsday bunker. I want to ask Toby what he thinks. But he doesn’t look like he wants to talk.
And MacKenna is actually shaking her fist at the television.
“...and make right the wrongs of the last few years. This is a time to focus on what unites us, not divides us. But make no mistake, I will work tirelessly to restore the fundamental values for which so many of us yearn. In our country, let each man retain for himself the fruits of his own labor. Yet, let us all harvest from a common garden of ideas, of shared ethics and morals, of well-understood social roles and responsibilities. When a man earns his keep, keeps his earnings and is asked to give only his guidance to others, our nation will once again be the land of hope and prosperity.”
Light applause follows these words.
The broadcast cuts almost immediately to the local news, where a blonde woman seems to be repeating what we just heard. Toby turns down the volume.
“That shit is creepy AF,” MacKenna says. She looks at me, waiting for me to agree.
I pick at the sleeve of my sweater. “Um. Yeah. But I don’t get it.”
MacKenna’s eyes get wider and wider. “You don’t get it? That crackpot Ammon Carver is gonna use those explosions to throw anyone who opposes him in prison. Starting with my dad. Then, The Opposition is gonna let rich men establish their own little fiefdom in what’s left of the government.”
I look at Toby.
“Carver’s speech is code for cutting taxes for the rich and ending programs that help the poor and promote equality,” he explains.
MacKenna’s gaze turns to the heavy curtains covering the window. “It’s always the same story. These guys. They think there’s something wrong with the world when really there’s something wrong with them.”
Navarro is reading the room’s Bible. “Maybe there is something wrong with the world.”
MacKenna relaxes onto her pillows. “You mean like the fact that a bunch of old guys run it?”
What would MacKenna do if she knew what I knew? What would she do if she’d seen the message from Terminus?
They’re going to kill him.
I’m so cold. I pull the edge of the cheap comforter up around my side.
“I mean,” Navarro says, closing the book, “that the country has been on the edge of a financial collapse for almost ten years. The Spark has all this smug superiority, but what are they doing to help? What they do is make rules. And impose taxes.”
MacKenna sits up again. “Society has a moral responsibility to help people who can’t work or can’t feed themselves.”
Navarro leans forward in his chair, almost devastatingly handsome. “Because the government should enforce morality? The Opposition thinks so too. Once you accept that basic principle, all that’s left to argue about is the definition of what’s moral. What is the morality of marriage? Of death? Of having children? And is it really moral to take from one person to give to another?”
Toby runs a hand through his dark hair. “You wouldn’t give your extra money to help a friend?”
Navarro glances at me when he says, “I’d do anything for a friend. But that would be my choice.”
MacKenna purses her lips into a thin line. “I can’t believe this. The Spark is trying to make sure that all people have basic human and civil rights. That everyone gets treated equally.”
“The ability to take food off a stranger’s plate isn’t a right,” Navarro says. “Anyway, nothing is ever equal. People don’t work equally hard. They aren’t equally enterprising. You can’t treat everyone the same, because they aren’t the same.”
