Disclaimers in part 01
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"The more hidden the venom, the more dangerous it is."
~~Marguerite de Valois -- French Wit and Wisdom~~
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FROHIKE:
"Well, maybe Mulder will turn up something useful for a change," Langly snorts.
"Hey, we wouldn't have half our headlines without him," Byers reminds him tartly.
"You make us sound like we're no better than that Sandridge bitch."
"Are we?"
I'm not in the mood for Byers' moral postulations. "What matters is getting the story away from her," I remind them.
"Heh. We can get her copy, but not her resource material," Langly shoots back. "She can always go back to Fletcher."
"That's where you're wrong, boy," and I know this to be true. "Sandridge'll toss him out faster than a used jiz rag. Trust me, she won't go near him again. She's not that stupid." That's precisely the problem with people like her. They're not stupid. If they were, they wouldn't be such a problem.
"So we still get to scoop her," Langly looks unimpressed.
"Look, she has to get it through her editor, through legal, the whole nine yards. And deadline's past at the Post for the Sunday edition."
"Fortunately, we don't have those sorts of problems," Byers snaps. "Is anyone else planning on doing any work around here tonight? Because if you're not, I'd appreciate it if you'd all just shut up and let me grab Sandridge's copy."
"You got copy already?" Langly stares at him, looking a lot more dead than alive.
"She's typing it now."
"And when she goes to save her file--"
"She'll see all of it when she saves, but when she hits send for the editor, it's all going to be gone, gone, gone." Byers seems surprisingly satisfied about this. Apparently his holier-than-thou attitudes can vanish with the proper target.
Langly and I are still trying to check out the invasion we've just suffered at the hands of one Yves Adele Harlowe. Be nice to have some 411 on her. We've been scrounging but can't seem to find anything. Amazon might know more -- or not, and it doesn't matter, because once she's signed off, it means, don't bother me again with this.
"What're we gonna do about Fletcher?" Langly whines.
"We're not going to do anything about him. We won't have to. We bring this story to print, his bosses are gonna be all over him like white on rice," I advise him. We won't be bothered anymore by Mr. Man in Black Morris Fletcher after that. If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep a safe distance from us, which shouldn't be a problem once he's safely ensconced in whatever correctional facility he's sent to.
"Guys, just in case you forgot, this was his data in the first place," Byers points out as he continues to type in an animated fashion.
"No way in hell. He latched on to this stuff, hoping to sell it to the highest bidder and cash out. Any of you bother to look at his finances?" And Byers prides himself on being detail oriented. Ha.
"I haven't exactly had time," Byers' voice drips acid. Langly snorts in response.
"Well, just for your edification, I thought I'd add that our boy is ass deep in debt. More like drowning in it."
"Visa. It's everywhere you wanna be," Langly looks up, becoming interested.
"Worse that that. Eight major credit cards, all maxed. Twelve department store cards, also maxed. Took a second on the house in Rachel when it was at the height of its value, and now that it's been downgraded, he's in the red on equity. Lost a bundle on margin calls. And bankruptcy doesn't look too good to his bosses."
"So now we have the real motivation," Byers turns and stops clicking for a moment. "But who did he sell to? Sandridge?"
"Sandridge couldn't have come up with the kind of dough he needs to shovel himself out."
"Then who? The Russians? The Chinese?"
"Who the hell knows. All we know is, US citizens should have a look at their tax dollars at work." I shake my head. "It always comes down to money."
"You said it always comes down to sex," Langly whines accusingly.
"That too." Amazing how the two become perilously intertwined on so many occasions.
"Okay, looks like Sandridge is done with her copy," Byers says. "She's starting to boot down."
"Wonder what loser she yanked out of bed for that," Langly mutters bitterly. He blinks his eyes, then pushes his glasses up so he can rub them. "So you're telling me Fletcher's been in it for the cash all along. That Deb got shot up because he took a major trip down Debtor's Alley." The last sentence is uttered in a tone that's unbelievably hard, even for Langly.
Not a kid anymore. He's playing for keeps, just like the rest of us. It's hard to be charitable when you've got that much at stake.
"What about this Yves Adele Harlowe that Amazon talked about?" Byers frowns, as if thinking is causing him pain. Wouldn't be a surprise. Thinking is starting to hurt all the time these days.
"I'm betting it's a nom de guerre. Nobody names their kid that," I grumble.
"Sure. Like nobody names their kid Melvin, either," Langly mumbles, just loud enough for me to catch. At least he didn't call me Sneezy. He'd have seen the end of those long blonde locks.
"Wait, I'm getting something from Mulder," Byers breaks in before any further damage occurs.
"If it's the naked fit Oriental twins, I've seen it." It wasn't that great, either.
"No, it's -- he's sending another ad over for Viagra."
"He's the one that needs it." If he can be around that luscious partner of his for that long and not get it up, there's something seriously wrong with him, which we already know there is, but I don't think that part of his anatomy is completely inoperable.
"Probably how he encrypted what he sent," Langly suggests.
"Then you decrypt it," Byers fires at him.
"Not in the mood."
"Great." Byers groans and begins to enter a decryption algorithm. Within four minutes, he's broken the code, but the results aren't promising. "Oh, wonderful. All he's sent is the list of the FBI's hit list of known female hackers."
"Good, maybe we can find out Amazon's real name," Langly retorts.
"I don't give a crap what her name is. Why she's such a bitch would be more useful," I snarl.
There are 13 names on the list. The girls are definitely moving in.
"No Yves Adele Harlowe," Byers sighs. "I think we're going to have to raise Amazon again."
"She'll fry our rig if we do that," Langly warns. "I've heard what she does when she gets pissed off."
"She can put her PMS on hold for an hour," I growl. "I'm raising her again, and I don't care what her problem is."
Byers spiders down to where she operates. We don't know if she's on, since she always operates in invisible mode, but we ding her.
And wait. It takes several interminable minutes before she comes on, and it's not pretty.
Amazon: What? You bothered me once tonight already.
Byers: We need more info on Yves Adele Harlow.
Amazon: Don't have any. Ask the Ferret.
Byers: She's not on.
Amazon: That's not my problem.
"Well, she's certainly a cooperative soul," Byers snaps.
"Lemme try to find the Ferret. I'll offer her some new cheats for Mafia," Langly offers.
"I thought you hated that game," Byers looks at him, mystified.
"I do, but hey, she loves organized crime, I guess."
"Do what you have to do, but get her."
"Fine, fine! I just have to find where she's gaming."
"If she's gaming. She didn't show on anywhere."
"She's gaming. It's Sunday morning early. Not like she's gonna be asleep."
"What if she's not playing Mafia?"
"Then she'll be playing somewhere else! Jesus, gimme a freakin' break, would ya?" Langly is beyond his usual petulance.
I doze off while he checks out the various game rooms. And there are a lot of them. She could be in any number of places. Or maybe she took the night off. Maybe she got a life.
Nah. Doesn't happen in this world. Most of us are scared to get a life. That's why we do this. And you know what? It's a good thing most hackers don't go for it. Watching what happens to people you get close to is far uglier than watching it happen to yourself.
"Okay, okay, I found her, she's in 'Third World Takeover,'" he announces.
"Can you get her attention?" Byers demands.
"I'm trying!"
Fifteen minutes later, a line of text appears in the box he's left open for her.
Ferret: You know, I had the most beautiful coup d'etat staged. I've been working it all night, and you had to come and spoil it. I was about to be dictator of all of Southeast Asia.
Lord_Manhammer: You play such boring games.
"Langly, would you not antagonize her?" Byers hisses.
"She DOES play boring games! I mean, who wants Southeast Asia?"
"Apparently she does. Get to it, boy." I mean it, too. This night isn't getting any shorter. Daylight is starting to creep across the sky, thin streams of light appear through the window bars.
Ferret: You owe me for this one.
Lord_Manhammer: I got something for you.
Ferret: It better be good.
Lord_Manhammer: New Mafia cheats.
Ferret: Hand them over.
Lord_Manhammer: Not yet. We need some 411 on somebody.
Ferret: What do I get for that?
"Christ, a mercenary in real and virtual time," Byers mutters.
Lord_Manhammer: I already told you! I have cheats.
Ferret: That was for interrupting my game. What else are you going to give me?
Lord_Manhammer: What do you want?
Ferret: Cash is always nice.
Lord_Manhammer: You are talking to the wrong guy.
Ferret: Then this conversation is over.
Lord_Manhammer: Look, we're in a bad spot, help us out.
Ferret: If you're trying to appeal to my better nature, just remember, I haven't got one.
Lord_Manhammer: What do you know about Yves Adele Harlow?
Long pause. Very long pause. But at least she hasn't left.
Ferret: You're really in over your head, aren't you?
Lord_Manhammer: You thought I was shitting you?
Ferret: Why should this be different from any other time?
Lord_Manhammer: What can you tell us?
Ferret: What do you want to know?
Lord_Manhammer: Not what, who. What do you know about Yves Adele Harlow?
Another very long pause. I'm relieved to see the message that she's typing.
Ferret: You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?
Lord_Manhammer: She picked us. Apparently.
Ferret: She hack you?
Lord_Manhammer: Duh!
Ferret: Not someone you want to mess with.
Lord_Manhammer: Obviously.
Ferret: She's got skillz.
Lord_Manhammer: We figured that out already. Who's she working for?
Ferret: Yves only works for one person, and that's whoever's the highest bidder.
Lord_Manhammer: Can you find out who she's working for?
Ferret: That's your job. I'm in the middle of a game, which you so rudely interrupted.
Lord_Manhammer: Well, we're in the middle of getting our asses messed up.
Ferret: Occupational hazard.
Lord_Manhammer: Got her real name?
Ferret: What makes you think that's not her real name?
Lord_Manhammer: We're just guessing.
Ferret: You and me both. Find out who she's working for. That's your only bet. Now if you'll excuse me, it's my turn to go again, and I'm not in the mood to lose another round.
"That was useless," I sniff. She didn't tell us much more than we already knew.
"She did indicate that this was someone definitely in it for the money," Byers comments.
"Her and everyone else," I snort. Who isn't in it for the money?
Oh, right. I forgot. Our bank balance generally suggests that we're not.
"We got her story, right?" Langly asks, yawning desperately.
"We did," Byers assures him. "Didn't even have to decrypt it."
"Well, duh. It's not like Sandridge would have a clue about little things like that," Langly sneers.
"What are we going to do about Harlow?" I ask.
"Whaddya think we're gonna do? We're gonna hack her back," Langly snaps, returning to his keyboard. "I'm not about to let some hacker bitch outdo me."
"You think that's wise?" I ask, expecting Byers to back me on this one.
"In this case, I think it's our only choice," Byers answers, to my chagrin and surprise.
"And we've got a story to get out," I sigh. "Let's get to press."
***
By late morning, we have the story ready to print. We've unsuccessfully tried to retrace Yves Adele Harlow's steps.
"Let's put a rush on this," Byers says as we finish the layout and putting the edition to bed.
"We'll have to pay the printer double. It's Sunday."
"I think it's worth our while."
"I think this whole thing sucks, and lemme tell you, if I didn't need to get back to Deb's so bad, I'd hunt down Hacker Bitch Barbie and kill her," Langly rants. "Fact, I'm taking my laptop."
"Just be careful." I know he's secured the phone lines in Deborah's apartment, but even with our setup, we're apparently vulnerable. We're going to have to do something about that, but such tasks are best performed when one is more than barely conscious.
Byers has an opening and doesn't miss it. "I guess you're not getting much action from Deborah, are you?" He winks at Langly.
Langly looks as if he's about to throw the laptop at Byers' head. "Fuck you."
"No, he wants Sari to do that." And I don't care how he reacts. I'm tired and punchy and he deserves it.
"Fuck both of you with a chainsaw. Anyway, I'm due at brunch in an hour. I really don't want to look as if I've been up all night," Byers hisses through clenched teeth.
"Ah, yes, interview with the in-laws," I hassle him.
Byers looks as if he could issue a square one to me in the jaw right now. Instead, he simply glares at me and says, "Are you going to the printer or not?"
BYERS:
One quick thing to do before hitting the restaurant with Sari and her family: a dropoff to Dr. O'Casey. I should have phoned in advance but don't feel comfortable discussing it, so I'll simply drop it off at the address Sari gave me.
It's a bit nerve wracking that no one answers the door for several minutes, and when it is finally opened, it's by a young, shapely woman wearing nothing but a towel.
"Sorry you missed your chance to conserve water," she winks at me seductively. I want to ask her if she's cold dressed like that but the temperature is already in the mid-90s.
"I'm sorry, but I was under the impression Dr. O'Casey was here." I try to maintain some sense of composure.
"Oh, he's here." Another attractive young girl, clad in only her lingerie, comes up behind Towel Girl, giggling every inch of the way. "Seanie-poo! Some stiff here to see you!" She chimes out.
"Would you like to come in?" Towel Girl asks obligingly.
"Uh -- no, I don't think that will be necessary," I stammer. Seanie-poo? Please. A night of coffee and what I'm carrying in my pocket is already giving me indigestion.
Sean appears a few moments later, clad only in a pair of Mickey Mouse boxers. I shake my head.
"Come now, Byers, I've got nothing you haven't seen before. Or perhaps not?" He winks at me. I am not in the mood for his shit, not at any time, but especially not right now.
"I have what you asked for. We're going to press. You have first publication rights." I thrust a jewelcase containing a CD-ROM into his hand. "Thank you for your help." I hurry off, but he calls after me.
"Sure you don't want to come in and play? These girls could make you the sandwich of a lifetime."
"Thank you, but I'm already late for lunch."
LANGLY:
When I get to Deb's, she's conked out on the sofa. Rae's watching cartoons. Cool. Rae's a lot easier than her folks to get along with.
"I love Anime," she admits, kind of embarrassed.
"Cool." I kind of like Anime myself, but this way, she won't mind if I hook up and do some work.
"You working?" She asks me, not like suspicious or anything.
"Yeah." On nailing Hacker Bitch Barbie and her pal Kate Sandridge to the wall.
"Deborah says you're a journalist."
"Yep." That, and a few other things we won't go into here.
Rae watches Anime, Deb snoozes away with her feet in my lap, and I keep scanning and breaking down firewalls and jamming routers. At this point, I'll settle for revenge any way I can get it. You don't go around harming my girl and get away with it. And I don't care if you're an accessory and not the main player. You're dead, whoever you are.
Two hours of hammering away, and finally --
"Got her!"
Rae looks at me a little strange, but doesn't say anything except, "Would you like some lunch?"
FROHIKE:
I really should give up the cell phone. No sooner do I get into Spies R Us and it jangles, especially my nerves.
"What?" I bellow into it.
"I got her!" It's Langly.
"Got who?"
"Harlow!"
"You're kidding."
"Say it."
"No."
"Say it!"
"I'm busy right now!" And with that, I click off.
The story is now at the printer's. This is ordinarily a coup.
Right now, I couldn't feel a whole lot worse. The story of our careers, and I don't even feel like celebrating.
Maybe I need a trip to Fry's. That should cheer me up. Yes. Fry's.
And turning off the phone might help as well.
BYERS:
"Delicious lunch. Thank you very much for inviting me," I say to Hilda and Mark, trying not to yawn as I do.
"We hope to see you again," Hilda says, rising up to give me a kiss on each cheek.
"Be well," Mark shakes my hand.
Sari and I step into the light of day.
"Why don't you stay with your family? I'm very tired, really. All I want to do is go home and rest for a while," I tell her.
"I'm quite aware you're tired. That's why I'm driving you home."
"I can manage the Metro. Really, it's not a problem."
"Maybe not for you, but for me, well, friends don't let friends take the Metro when they're exhausted. Come on," she coaxes me, and I follow.
"I don't want to take you away from your parents when they're only here such a short time."
"I'll meet them back at Devi's after I take you home. Will you be joining us for dinner? You know you're invited." Sari's parents have invited me to dinner at the home of a friend of theirs from American University. Under any other circumstances, I'd accept, but I'm beyond tired, and not much up for socializing after what we've been through.
"Sari, I'd love to, but I'm pretty useless."
"I can see you're exhausted."
"I don't want to be rude to your parents."
"Trust me, they understand completely."
It's probably a good thing she offered to transport me, because as soon as the engine starts, I'm asleep, and I don't wake up until I hear her let out a shriek.
"John! Wake up!"
I'm having a hard time becoming conscious again, despite her entreaties.
"What is it?"
"John, I do have the right address, don't I?"
I look up, blinking. I glance at the street around me, and yes, it's our street, all right.
The only thing is, where our house should be, is blazing flames and smoke.
"OH SHIT!"
End part 19