Scott Mulroney, the chief in charge of cybersecurity for Gollum, was behind the desk, his appearance startling Dunkin.
Dunkin said, “Hey, what are you doing here today? Where’s Paul?”
“He wanted an early leave. I took his shift.”
Which wasn’t good. Scott was the original person Dunkin had brought his suspicions to in the first place. And the one who had rejected them.
Scott said, “What’s up?”
“Hey, I was just wondering why Jake still has a gold pass. He got it for that Japanese F-35 construction over seven months ago. Why does he still have it? Shouldn’t we rescind it now?”
Scott rolled his eyes and said, “What is it with your hard-on for him?”
“Nothing, really. He was just in here today, and he was on both Kibler’s and Larson’s computers. No reason to be on them. They’re working the artificial intelligence A2/AD for Taiwan. Not the F-35 program.”
The anti-access/area denial program was the missile defense system that would prevent the landing of any Chinese forces on the island. Using artificial intelligence, Gollum Solutions was working to decrease the decision times prior to missile launch from minutes to seconds. It was the most highly compartmented program Gollum worked on—and another reason that Dunkin thought the company was a little shoddy in the security department. Why keep that on the open floor? Because you just trusted everyone to stay in their own cubicle? He remembered his work with the Taskforce and knew that the project should have been stovepiped somewhere else.
Scott put down the book he was reading and said, “He was doing work. That’s what we pay him for. You heard the boss. The guy’s a genius.”
Dunkin knew Jake’s history. Undergrad at Stanford, doctorate from MIT, blah, blah, blah. As far as Dunkin could tell, he’d done nothing but university research on artificial intelligence until Gollum had hired him.
Dunkin said, “I saw him with removable media, and both Kibler and Larson have nothing to do with the interface for visual simulations for the fourth-generation helmet. It’s just odd. That’s not what Jake does.”
Scott turned to his computer and started tapping. Three minutes later, he turned and said, “No penetration or access to either system. They’re locked down, last login yesterday.”
What?
“Scott, I know what I saw.”
“No, you think you know what you saw. You keep this shit up and we’ll be locked down. Lose the contract. Let it go, man.”
Dunkin remained silent, and Scott said, “Unless you want me to take it to the boss, because you’re accusing me of not knowing my job.”
Dunkin shook his head, saying, “No, no. I don’t need any more trouble. Sorry to bother you. I must have been confused.”
Scott smiled and pointed at his screen. “Trust me, if he’d been rooting around like some Snowden clone, I would see it here. He didn’t.”
Dunkin nodded, thinking that having a beer in front of his television would be a better use of his time than continuing work here today. He said, “Yeah, okay. I’m headed out. Have a merry Christmas.”
Scott brought his book back up with a wave of his hand. Dunkin badged out and exited the building, fuming over the lack of action. He reached his car, unlocked the door, and saw another car leaving the compound.
One that looked like Jake’s. But he’d left over thirty minutes ago.
Hadn’t he?
Chapter 11
We landed in Brisbane after one of the longest hell-trip flights I’d ever experienced. We’d purchased the cheapest tickets we could because, at the end of the day, we really couldn’t afford this vacation. I was now having a little bit of buyer’s remorse, and not just because of the seats on the plane. Australia was way out of our budget. I’d broached going to California or something else closer, but Jennifer had talked about doing something really exotic. Something beyond just building a gap between us and Amena.
I’d wanted to tell her no, but I just couldn’t. She’d mentioned the Great Barrier Reef in an offhand way, talking about diving and how that was stupid, because she didn’t know how to dive. But I could see her eyes light up at the thought. That had been enough. I’d set up some SCUBA training with a buddy of mine, and she’d taken to it like a fish to water, to coin a phrase.
Now, eighteen hours later, exiting the aircraft, I was thinking going to Disney World in Orlando would have been a better bet. We had one more flight to catch, and all I wanted was to find a bed. But that was not to be.
We stumbled around the airport, getting our bags and clearing customs, then tried to find our next flight. We grew more and more frantic because the damn thing was boarding in forty minutes and the airport might as well have had Chinese signs for all the good they did. Nothing was helping us to find our terminal. We saw a sign for domestic ticketing on the upper level and took the elevator, which led us nowhere. I began cursing, which is something I just do.
Jennifer said, “Calm down, Caveman. This can’t be that hard. People on The Amazing Race do this all the time.”
I bit back my response, and we reentered the elevator, this time with a guy who looked like a Crocodile Dundee reject, complete with cowboy boots and a leather hat. I had no time for him, and internally begged him not to say a word, because I was seriously getting pissed.
He said, “You guys Yanks?”
Jennifer, because she can’t be friendly, said, “We’re from America. Yes.”
He nodded, like he knew what we were doing. He said, “I figured. You guys can’t find your next flight, right?”
She said, “Actually, that’s right. We’re taking a flight to Adelaide and there is nothing in this terminal that tells us what to do.”
He said, “Because you’re in the wrong terminal, mate. That terminal is a mile away. Get back down and take the bus. You’re literally at the wrong airport.”
I began muttering under my breath, and Jennifer gave me a hip bump. The door opened on the ground floor. The man looked at me and said, “Gotta take some help once in a while. Even if she’s the one asking.”
I locked eyes with him, about to give him a little American justice, and saw the same pirate I was. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
His crusty-ass self said, “I know I am.”
He left the elevator, and we both stood there, looking at each other. I said, “What the hell was that?”
She grinned and said, “Maybe being an asshole all the time isn’t the best solution. Let’s go find the shuttle.”
I chuckled, now back on an even keel, grabbed our bags, and said, “Okay, okay. Point noted. Let’s go.”
We exited the terminal, got on the first bus that arrived, and took a trip to the domestic terminal a mile away. Dumbest damn airport I’ve ever been in.
We made our flight, with Jennifer wide-eyed about being in Australia and me just wanting to get some sleep. Having been through a plethora of long-distance flights, I knew how the jet lag would hit. We would need at least a day to recuperate before we were normal.
We finally arrived at Adelaide, this time without drama. We found our rental car, I booted up our GPS and put in the address, and we left. I followed the signs out of the airport, getting into the suburbs of the city. Dunkin had given me an address about twenty minutes away, but you never knew with the GPS. It’ll get you close, but by no means would it guarantee the solution. I’d learned that in another life while using GPS for “precision-guided munitions.”