Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (22 page)

“Yes,” she said. “I want the results of that search query.”

The cursor moved to the search button, and clicked there. “Here you go,” Barrows said. “I’m sending it to each of you. The first screen is raw data.”

A list of documents appeared on her screen. All were red. AT&T. Comcast. Verizon Communications. Deutsche Telekom. Vodafone Group. Orange S.A. Softbank. Telecom Italia.

Zeus returned to the table with a fresh plate loaded with berries.

“Jesus Christ,” Abe said, reaching for his glass of wine, and taking a swallow. “How do you have access to all these phone company records?”

“Is this legal?” Charles asked, the worry in his voice indicating the reality of looking at Black Raven data was a bit different than the abstract concept of wanting to see it. “Phone companies don’t just produce their customer’s records. Court orders are needed, and…” He reached for a glass of water, and gulped it.

As his voice trailed, Samantha felt like she was being offered handfuls of the world’s most precious diamonds. Hers for the taking, with the promise of not getting caught.

But it’s still wrong.

“We only employ this technique when necessary, and we employ strict controls with the data,” Zeus said.

In other words, what I’m looking at is totally illegal. Unless—

Glancing at Zeus, she said, “You’ve been working on this longer than one week, haven’t you?”

He gave her a hard look. No answer.

“Who is your client, and what is the project?”

Again, no answer. She didn’t expect one. Yet she wondered what kind of job they were working on, who had hired them for it, and how much of it dovetailed with the ITT trial.

Barrows continued, “When you click on any of the data files, you’ll automatically receive only information relevant to your work.”

“Wait a second,” Samantha said. “How do you decide the parameters of relevance and how is that implemented throughout the databases? What kind of technology are you using?”

No one answered. She locked eyes with Zeus. Her palms tingled as she realized what she was looking at. Output from Shadow Technology, the brainchild of Barrows, originally produced for the United States government. The government had denied that it had implemented the cutting edge data collection and assimilation method.

“In the Senate subcommittee hearings, Black Raven said Shadow Technology was destroyed. Was that true?”

Zeus met her eyes, his expression unreadable. He slid his fork under a mound of blackberries and raspberries, stabbing a chunk of pound cake as he did so. “Barrows created Shadow Technology.”

“That isn’t an answer. In the Senate hearings you said James Trask destroyed the technology.” Samantha watched Zeus eat as her mind raced. Now it made sense to her why Black Raven came out of the hearing unscathed, given the virulence with which the company had been initially attacked. “You claimed the technology was destroyed because that’s what the government wanted you to say. That was why Black Raven wasn’t reprimanded for its tactics. It was a compromise. You helped the government, which, I’m guessing,” she acknowledged her guess, but her gut told her she was correct, “means the government has some version of Shadow Technology in place, something the government still denies. Or maybe the government has hired you to assimilate the data that it’s gathering.”

Zeus glanced at her before his gaze scanned the quiet room. All eyes were on him, waiting on his response. He shifted in his seat. “Best if we don’t go down that road. Barrows and Black Raven are now working together, and his knowledge and work product, whether it’s called Shadow Technology or not, makes databases like OLIVER possible.”

Enough said. Samantha clicked open the very first document, read for a second, then glanced at Zeus. His focus was on her. She looked at her screen. Her palms tingled as she clicked through the search results.

“Oh.” Abe said, leaning forward as he clicked through the same search results. “Good God.”

Chapter Eighteen

Samantha pushed her half-empty dinner plate and wine glass to the side, and pulled her laptop closer. After a few minutes, she glanced up at the monitor, into Barrows’ blue eyes. “You’re identifying a common link as Caller X.”

“Correct,” Barrows nodded. “A potential common link. We need more information. And even then, the link isn’t a direct link with each of the four incidents the ITT is looking at. Yet. We’re working on it. These analyses take time. So far, Caller X is only a potential common element in the French metro bombing and the Miami cruise ship bombing. The link is tenuous, and we don’t have his identity. Caller X may be more than one person. Among other things, we’re analyzing usage of burner phones and attempting to correlate that usage with electronic footprints from other co-existing devices. Historical analysis, though, is problematic.”

“Aren’t calls from burner phones typically dead ends?” Charles asked as Samantha stood, depositing her dinner plate at the buffet, while an agent removed the trays of food and brought in a silver urn of coffee.

“I assume there are no dead ends,” Barrows said, “as long as I’m dealing with humans, who are incapable of operating without error. Burner phones make their calls over existing networks. People carrying burner phones often carry other phones, which constantly communicate with cell towers even when no calls are made. With smart phones and tablets in the mix, there are multiple ways to analyze telecom data and digital footprints these days, even when law enforcement agencies haven’t seized the phone. Forensic methodologies are constantly changing to keep up with the technological changes. As I’m sure you’re aware, the technical aspects…”

While she listened to Barrows explain the ever-changing world of forensic methodologies in the telecommunication world with mind-numbing complexity, Samantha placed a wedge of pound cake on a dessert plate. When she returned to the table, she watched Zeus finish the last of his berries. He glanced at the wedge of cake she’d placed on her plate, and gave a slight headshake. Below the table, his leg pressed harder against her thigh.

He grumbled, “Not even berries?”

As he watched, she popped a bite of buttery, dense, pound cake into her mouth.
Grow up
, she told herself, incapable of denying that she’d skipped the healthy berries just to see if he’d notice. The delicious, almond-flavored taste of the cake was only slightly marred by her adult inner voice.

Getting a rise out of Zeus on something as ridiculous as food choices shouldn’t make you feel so good.

Task at hand: OLIVER’s data.

Caller X—a possible link between two events the ITT is examining.

A potential smoking gun, perhaps pointed at Maximov?

“So, if you’re trying to hide your calls, you not only have to use a burner phone; you have to turn off all your other devices?” Charles asked.

“Our precise methodology of analyzing usage of co-existing digital devices is proprietary,” Zeus interjected before Barrows could respond. “But you’re on the right track, Charles.”

“I’ve been involved in cases where experts are employed to analyze telecommunications and cyber data.” Samantha put her fork down on her plate, after cutting one more square of pound cake that she planned to eat. “Isolation of co-existing digital devices while burner phones are used is something I haven’t come across before. The technique hasn’t been used by experts in the ITT proceeding.”

“It’s a new technique,” Barrows said.

“New techniques spell problems for admissibility.” Having experience with dealing with experts and consultants in a variety of fields, the one commonality she found was a tendency towards mind-boggling complication as the experts communicated the results of their analyses. Barrows’ reputation as a genius, one of the greatest minds of all times, meant he could take the complications to a new high. Anytime she came across new analytical techniques, warning signals sounded. In litigation, attempts to admit the results of expert analyses were often met with bitter opposition, which attacked not only the results, but also the qualifications of the experts employed to do the studies.

“Complex issues such as this were supposed to have been brought to the court’s attention months ago, so any attempt on my part to work with the results of your analysis will have to be carefully crafted. Can you keep this simple for me by focusing on Duvall or his co-defendant Tombeau; how is any of this relevant to them?”

“Caller X is only one line removed from Duvall and Tombeau,” Barrows said. “Caller X potentially had direct communication with David Thompson, the alleged perpetrator of the drone attacks on the Miami cruise ship.”

“I don’t see it,” Charles said.

“More details are proprietary,” Zeus said, with a stern gaze directed at Barrows. “Barrows can’t explain more about his methodology. However, he can explain more about analyzing digital footprints, in general. Basic stuff.”

Barrows nodded, and continued. As Samantha listened to him, she watched Zeus stand, stretch his arms over his head, walk to the buffet, and pour a cup of steaming black coffee. Another agent joined him there. Both of them turned to the monitors, leaned against the wall, and focused on Barrows.

“Is there a potential Caller X link with the London trade show bombing and the Colombian court house bombing?” Samantha asked.

“Not yet. Of the four participating countries, the French and the American investigators have done the best job with compiling data. We’ve taken what they did and expanded it. With the Brits and the Colombians, we have to basically start at ground zero to determine whether there is a link. That will take several days.” Barrows frowned as he glanced at her, then glanced down, presumably at an off-camera computer screen. “Perhaps as long as a week. In any event, focusing on what we’ve figured out since Sunday night, when we accessed the ITT data, once we were able to see the inputs used by the French investigators, we broadened the parameters—”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Barrows,” Samantha said, “but can you focus on Duvall, the witness who is on the stand?”

Blue eyes bounced back to her. “Sure. The intermediate line that links Caller X to Duvall is someone who has been considered and rejected by authorities.”

“Wait a second.” Abe stood and leaned on the back of his chair with his elbows for support. He glanced at Barrows, who had turned away from the camera for a second, his attention focused on a computer monitor. “Intelligence agencies have had forensic investigators scouring phone records for months. Why haven’t they found this?”

Barrows glanced at the camera for a second, his gaze finding Abe. “OLIVER’s data pool is larger.”

“How can that be?” Charles sat erect, shoulders back. “It takes court orders to accumulate most of the data. Either you’re using the existing data, or—”

“Black Raven access isn’t limited by the same legal restraints that are controlling the ITT proceeding.” Samantha didn’t need Barrows or Zeus to answer her team’s questions. “The information we have in the ITT proceedings was produced pursuant to court-ordered subpoenas. Those subpoenas typically have court-approved time frames, designed to secure only relevant information while protecting privacy.”

“That’s correct, Samantha. Plus,” Barrows added, his attention now focused on the camera, his gaze on her, “information in the ITT proceedings is only produced after human thought went into determining what was necessary. My technology assumes that very small judgment modifications on data sets produce enormous variations in the end result, so I use technology to assist me in the variables. For example, if someone determines the time period relevant to the Paris metro bombing is only sixty days, that will limit the responsive data produced by the telecommunication companies.”

Abe moved from behind the chair to sitting in it, his arms folded. “That assumption was made by French investigators, in subpoena requests that are in the ITT record.”

“Correct. I didn’t limit the time frame. Additionally, while the scope of the data search used by the French investigators was broad with respect to Duvall’s known phones, it was not as broad with respect to the people with whom he was in contact. I broadened the scope to include usage patterns of Duvall’s contacts and their contacts, with extended time periods.”

Samantha looked at the data, her eyes not finding what she was looking for. “Who is the intermediate person between Duvall, Tombeau, and Mr. X?”

“As simple as it gets. Duvall’s mother.”

Zeus returned to the chair next to her.

Abe said, “But authorities talked to her.”

Once Zeus slid into his chair, under the table, his leg found hers again. Enjoying the feel of his muscular leg, she realized she had missed having him there, while her mind sent a stern warning.
It was only a leg. Should mean nothing. Focus. Distractions come in all shapes and sizes. He might be the mother of all exams, but he won’t be your last test. He’s just a practice run. Get over it.

“Authorities did talk to her, without knowing about Caller X,” Barrows said. “And without seeing what we see regarding a link to Caller X and the other Miami cruise ship bombing, the French investigators didn’t realize her potential importance.”

“I’d need to follow procedure before I can talk to her, if I want the interview to become part of the ITT record,” Samantha said. “At a minimum, I need to contact the French authorities who interviewed her.”

“You might need to jump through the hoops of decorum and political correctness to talk to her—”

“You call it hoops. I call it the procedural rules of the ITT, and the rules are meant to be followed.”

His shrug gave an indication of how much he planned on following the procedural rules. “She isn’t in prison. Not even a person of interest, from what we can tell. Problem is, since Barrows found this information this afternoon, we’ve been trying to find her. So far we haven’t.”

“I need to use this. Tomorrow. When I’m examining Duvall.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Eyes serious, he shook his head. “But so far, I can’t think of a way you can. You can’t just walk into court with phone records, which aren’t in the ITT record and which we won’t acknowledge we have, and wave them in the air.”

Elation turned to a sinking feeling, because the fact that Duvall talked to his mother looked perfectly innocent, and without establishing the link between his mother and Caller X, she was going to miss an opportunity to get evidence of Caller X into the record, assuming that the evidence needed to be in the ITT record.

“There has to be a way,” Samantha said. “Something simple. Something already in the ITT record that I can use. Something that ties in Duvall’s mother and brings in Caller X.”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Barrows said, “but Black Raven has lawyers who are data analysts. We haven’t come up with an answer of how you can use this information.”

“I’ll find a way,” Samantha said, eyes on her laptop as her mind raced with options, some producing dead ends, some producing possibilities.

“I’m here if you need me,” Barrows said. “Spend a while familiarizing yourself with OLIVER. Run a few more searches. If you look here”—the clicking cursor moved to the top right corner of the search screen, on an image of a book that she hadn’t noticed before—“this icon will permit you to analyze historical searches in light of current information.” The mouse shifted to the Black Raven logo. “This will provide instant messaging access to me and my team. Or you can just call. We’re here to provide support, twenty-four seven. At times, we’ll send you an instant message and offer suggestions. Agent Small and his team can provide you with on-site tech support as well.”

Sam looked across the room to the agent manning the camera. Agent Small nodded. She’d met him the first night. Brown hair. Nice eyes, but serious. He was muscular, but smaller than Zeus. He was quiet and seemed to be constantly with Zeus or nearby, anticipating Zeus’s needs with barely a word exchanged between them.

“Mr. Barrows,” she said, glancing at the monitor, which had gone dark, then at Zeus, who was looking at her with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “I had another question.”

“Ask me,” Zeus answered.

“What else, exactly, is needed to put an identity on Caller X?”

Zeus shook his head. “Answer to that is proprietary. Rest assured, though, you’ll know his identity when we know it.”

Her stomach twisted. The intense look in his eyes was exactly the look that had always been there. The expression she’d always thought was preternaturally distanced. Only now she realized that the expression was really just the opposite.

Earlier that evening, she’d asked, “
Sex was a foregone conclusion on this job
?”

He’d answered,
“If this were just a job, I wouldn’t be here.
”

His statement hadn’t clicked, because all she’d wanted at the moment was good, hard sex. With him. Deep inside her. Thank God, he’d obliged, because if he hadn’t, by now she’d be clinging to him and begging for it.

In retrospect, she recognized that his statement indicated he had no problem with his feelings for her.

He wasn’t conflicted on that issue.

She was. She had enormous problems with her feelings for him.

Yet they were stuck with each other, and, clearly—given his performance earlier—neither one of them felt like depriving themselves of sex.