news reporters from their beds. The Attorney General had laid it all out for her.
Debrah had locked herself in her office. “I’ve got media here. They’re expecting me to say something at the top of the hour.” Panic crept into her voice.
Kelly pulled the phone away from his ear. “How you doing, Jessi?”
“Interesting encryptions here,” she murmured, in her own world. “Are they watching from their end to see how I do it?”
“Sort of,” Kelly said, getting back on the phone. “We’re doing our best over here. I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get the job done.”
“Don’t be a cynic!” Jessi protested.
“Shit!” Debrah Drexler said in her best Bronx accent. “I’ve got to go do this, Kelly. I’ve got to. It’s one vote out of thousand votes that will help people.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Kelly said, forcing his tones into neutral for Jessi’s benefit. “This is an awfully important operation. Some things shouldn’t be compromised.”
“It’s my goddamned career! It’s my humiliation!” she said. He heard the anxiety in her voice. She wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to herself now, talking herself into it. She’d told him about the nights, long ago, when she’d used that same tone to talk herself into selling her body.
He heard noise in the background. “I’ve got to go. Call my assistant Amy at this number if you get anything.”
The phone went dead.
“Jessi?”
“I don’t think — oh, hey, I got it.” The girl sounded surprised. “That was easier than I thought. Those guys over there are really going to need to—”
“You’re right, thank you,” he said, checking the time: 6:52. “Okay, nice work. Can you excuse me, now? I’ve got to consult with them and it’s classified.”
“Classified?” Jessi said as he practically lifted her up and out of her seat. “But I’m the one that broke it, shouldn’t I—?”
“If they have any questions on the keystrokes, I’ll call you up,” he said. “Please, I’ve got a hard deadline on this.”
“Okay,” she agreed, although by the time she said it he’d already ushered her out the door.
Inside his office, Kelly reached for his remote and pressed a button. The clear glass walls seemed to fill with smoke and he was shielded from prying eyes. He grabbed a disc from his desk drawer. Through the clear plastic case he could read his own handwriting on the disc itself. It read: “Override.” He popped it open and practically rammed it into the E drive on his computer. As the disc booted up, Kelly scanned the DOJ database for the Attorney General’s personal drive. He found it quickly enough — once he was inside, he was inside, and nothing was hidden from him — and logged in. James Quincy’s computer now belonged to him.
The time was 6:55.
This was Kelly’s bloodhound program. It was designed to work like many other computer viruses, slipping into a computer undetected and wreaking havoc. This virus was particularly nasty because it not only wiped out all the data on the infected hard drive, it also had the capability of tracing the source of any data — the bloodline — to other hard drives, and going after them. As soon as the virus was ready, a crude query screen popped up. Kelly entered the data and properties of the pictures of Debrah Drexler, then hit go.
His bloodhound was on the scent.
Debrah Drexler straightened her back and opened her office door. There were two camera crews there and a couple of reporters — she recognized the local girl from Associated Press, and the
Debra Drexler had faced much harsher audiences before. The national spotlight during confirmation hearings had failed to wither her. Scathing op-ed pieces in the
“Thanks for coming. ” she began. There was no sign of Amy.
The bloodhound sent back information. There were two digital counters, one for files checked and another for matching files found. The “files checked” counter was racking up numbers faster than the eye could follow. The other one remained at zero.
Kelly checked his watch. She’d be talking to them now. It was over.
The right side counter changed from 0 to 1. Then, almost immediately, it seemed to skip 4 and 5 and go right to 6—the total number of pictures.
6 FILES FOUND. DELETE FILES?
“Yes,” he said as he typed.
TRACE BLOODLINE FOR THESE FILES AND DELETE?
“Oh, yeah,” he said again.
DELETE ALL OTHER FILES?
Kelly hesitated. That hadn’t been his plan. It was just one of the evil features of the virus he’d written. He typed in yes with malicious grin.
He picked up the phone and dialed Debrah’s office. “Senator Drexler’s office,” said a young female voice. He checked his watch. 6:59. “Tell her it’s done. Tell her right now. Go!”
5. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 A.M. AND 8 A.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
“I hope you don’t mind the early morning statement,” Debrah said. “You guys always get my quotes wrong after you’ve had your coffee, so maybe you’ll do a better job before the caffeine kicks in.” Her office door remained closed. No Amy.
They gave her a polite laugh behind their cameras and notepads. She could see the sleepy and impatient looks on their faces. They assumed that a U.S. senator would have some significant reason for giving a statement this early in the morning. They were waiting for it.
She swallowed her pride. “As you know, I’ve been an outspoken opponent of the NAP Act, which goes up for vote in two days before the Senate. Probably the most outspoken. I’m flying back for the vote tomorrow. In the intervening time, I’ve had time to reflect on the current war on terror, and on our activities inside our own borders to keep our people safe. I’ve come to the conclusion that—” she choked. She’d danced around the truth, she’d withheld information, she’d reserved judgment. But in more than twenty years in politics, she had never outright lied. Until now.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that—”
Her office door flew open. Amy appeared. She gave two thumbs up.
Debra Drexler felt warmth and comfort wash over her, a rejuvenating mixture of relief and love and pure, unqualified gratitude. Her knees nearly buckled, but she held herself up. She took a deep breath and gathered herself again. These were cameramen and reporters, and she was a United States senator.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that,” she repeated, “I was absolutely right in my opposition. The so-called New American Privacy Act is the epitome of double-speak. It takes away the rights of our citizens. It violates due process and the right to privacy…”
The woman from the Associated Press groaned audibly. She might as well have gotten up to report that there was fog on San Francisco Bay.
