“They’re right. It
“Time traps,” Boldt repeated.
“You slow down the system and buy yourself time to catch this guy. Another thing that occurred to me?” she asked rhetorically. “Are you aware that some ATMs can be instructed to ‘eat’ ATM cards? They use it to pull the counterfeit cards and bad accounts off the market.”
“We thought about that, too. But we want him to have the card. That card is how we catch him. But these time traps.”
“Go,” she said, anticipating his apology before he ever spoke it.
“You sure?”
“It’s my idea. Go.”
He grabbed his weapon and his badge wallet and literally ran to the back door. The last thing he heard from her was, “And catch the bastard! We could use a little peace around here.”
Boldt exchanged a dozen phone calls with his wife, each bringing him more encouragement. At twelve noon Pacific time-evening in London-in an amazing show of technology, the time-trap software was beamed by telephone company satellites via computer modem and downloaded by technicians at Ted Perch’s NetLinQ ATM switching station. The entire transfer took twenty-two minutes.
With an open phone line to London, NetLinQ technicians worked furiously to install the software, which crashed the first time on-line, freezing twelve hundred cash machines for over fifteen minutes. At 2:18 P.M., July 17, Perch authorized the activation of the software network-wide for a second time. And for seventeen minutes, it held.
The second crash involved a cluster of 120 First Interstate machines, which was later deemed something of a success. By five o’clock sharp, with 17 percent of NetLinQ’s directly controlled ATMs time-trap operational, the first effort was made to place a six-second drag in the transaction time. These intervals of delay were quickly tagged WOTs-for “window of time.” The six-second WOTs were placed between the customer entry of the PIN number and the appearance of the first transaction menu. Remarkably, the system held. For 279 cash machine customers, a brief but effective test pause had been created in their transaction, virtually unnoticed by any of them, but sending up a cheer at NetLinQ that was heard all the way to London.
Through a series of conversations, Boldt encouraged Perch to increase the number of machines that were time-trapped, but Perch was reluctant to risk a third crash in a single evening. “I would like to be working here tomorrow,” he teased Boldt. But Boldt hounded him. By 7:22, another commercial bank’s network had been added to the core group, leaving 27 percent of all ATMs in Washington State and western Oregon under the direct control of time-trap software.
Boldt spent the early evening at NetLinQ monitoring the effectiveness of the new software, and congratulating the crew for their efforts. The ransom account had never been hit before eight o’clock in the evening, leading Boldt and others to suspect Caulfield might be holding down a day job-although Ted Perch pointed out that late evening made sense for such hits. Many banks restocked their cash machines at the close of business; if an extortionist wished to avoid being seen by bank employees, then at the very least he or she would wait until after the close of business-as late as 6 P.M. at some branches.
The NetLinQ operations room was an impressive collection of high technology and reminded Boldt of what he had seen of telephone command centers. It was nearly pitch-black, the focus of the room being three enormous flat-screen color monitors that visually mapped all ATM traffic in the NetLinQ region. The floor descended toward these screens in three tiers, each housing rows of computers, some of which were attended. The far right-hand screen showed all those ATM locations under time-trap control. After pestering from Boldt, Perch reluctantly added another six-second WOT, this time between account authorization and delivery of cash.
NetLinQ’s public information office had earlier distributed a press release, announcing that due to system maintenance some “inconveniences” were to be expected. The eleven o’clock news had promised to run it.
For the sixth consecutive night, an ATM hit occurred shortly after 8 P.M. “It’s getting like clockwork,” Perch said, pointing out the flashing dot on the overhead screen. Clockwork was what Boldt hoped for-the more predictable and repetitious the withdrawals were, the increased chance of apprehending a suspect.
Perch announced, “Five seconds and counting.”
Boldt relayed news of the hit directly to SPD dispatch. “Location is N-sixteen. Repeat: En-one-six.”
“Ten seconds,” Perch tracked. He checked a computer screen. “This one is
Boldt could imagine one of his plainclothes detectives throwing a car in gear and speeding toward the location. But with less than five seconds to close the gap, he did not see much hope.
He needed more people. He needed more of the machines time-trapped.
“Transaction complete,” Perch announced, dejected.
“Lieutenant?” Boldt barked hopefully into the telephone receiver.
Shoswitz said, “Surveillance is four blocks and closing.”
Boldt felt tempted to cross his fingers. He envisioned the unmarked car running traffic lights and braking loudly to a stop. To Perch, Boldt said, “We need better communication with the field.”
“Tell me about it,” Perch replied, frustrated and upset.
Shoswitz said through the phone, “Nothing. Repeat: No visual contact.”
Boldt relayed this to Perch, who cursed so loudly that he raised the attention of several of the NetLinQ employees.
An hour later there was a second hit, though this time on a machine not under software control. Surveillance failed to close within twelve blocks.
“We need more of the machines on the software,” Boldt complained.
“Don’t tell me my business, Sergeant. We can’t make any more headway until morning. We have two lags in usage: nine-thirty to eleven A.M. and two to five P.M. That’s as soon as we can hope to put more machines on- line.”
“We need them tonight!”
“The system will crash. And if it crashes while this person is online, then it could look intentional. Is that what you want?” he asked heatedly.
Reluctantly, Boldt sat back and watched a third and final hit take place. And for a third and final time that night, surveillance was nowhere close.
At a few minutes before midnight, he was summoned to the hotel room where Dr. Richard Clements was staying.
Boldt arrived depressed and exhausted.
Shoswitz and Daphne reached the Alexis before Boldt, and all were awaiting him when he arrived.
The suite was spacious, with paper Japanese sliding doors separating the bedroom from a sitting room that included a large glass conference table, two couches, a coffee table, several freestanding lamps, a fireplace, and a wet bar. The decor was granite, glass, and steel-ultra-modern-which was not to Boldt’s tastes, and yet here he found it to his liking.
CNN was muted on the television in the corner-Michael Kinsley with his coat off, interviewing an author-and Clements kept the remote within reach.
Clements was dressed casually in linen pants and an Italian-designed white Egyptian cotton shirt, with black loafers and no socks. He was drinking what looked like brandy out of a snifter the size of a fishbowl, and he carried a wad of chew neatly in his upper lip, leaving a bulge there as though he were trying to stop a nosebleed. He wore half-glasses, tortoiseshell imitation that rode on the bridge of his nose precariously. He sat at the glass conference table in a black leather-and-stainless steel captain’s chair, waving a two-hundred-dollar mechanical pencil in the air and punctuating his authoritative instructions.
“You sit there. And you there. No-there, please,” he advised Shoswitz. “Yes, thank you. The Armagnac is
