Calhoun unlocked the front door of Federales with a swipe of his secure master identity chip in his faux Ironman Triathalon wrist watch. He chuckled to himself at the James Bond-ishness of some of the procedures that were now in full operation, which at one time had merely been some screenwriter's fantasies. "Kirk here. Beam me up, Scotty." He tossed the empty coffee cup in the waste basket in the entryway and swiped his identity chip again at the interior access door pad. The door catch electronically released, the door opened and he stepped into the office.
He passed through an open "bull pen" area with several empty cubicles usually occupied by "good guy" spies who spent their days, and often their nights, reading state and federal securities filings, financial reports issued by public companies, and documents from various judiciary procedings. Think Robert Redford in Three Days of The Condor. Calhoun's windowless private office was at the far end of the room. It too had a secure locking system to which he applied for a third time the identity chip's magic.
The office was about fifteen feet square. Plenty of room for a standard government-issue, gun-metal gray desk, two side chairs, a couple of bookcases and two four-drawer filing cabinets. The most important piece of furniture was a side desk upon which rested Calhoun's computer. The kid from Langley who had been in last month to upgrade the office's technology package appeared to Calhoun as hardly being old enough to own a driver's license. But he knew his stuff and had stayed on site an extra couple of days to insure that everyone was up to speed with the new operating system which linked all of the NSTF agents.
Calhoun sat down at his desk and swivelled his chair to face his computer. He flipped on the master control, the global surge protector, and the local access switch in sequence. Once the machine came to life, he logged on to the local area network (LAN), and then went through the NSTF secure linkup procedure using the GPS-controlled random number generator creatively imbedded in his desk clock. Finally, he reached his personal work space on the NSTF system.
A copy of the email had been sent to Calhoun last night after his conversation with the San Mateo analyst. There had been some concern initially over the wisdom of putting the information into the NSTF electronic system, and as to whether a new search warrant was legally required. In the end, late West Coast time, Raymond Marshall's legal eagles and their counterparts in California determined that the transmission was covered by earlier clearances. God, he hated attorneys. The email now sat in Calhoun's inbox.
The message read:
Adeki,
The VC guys think that they are legally protected if they take their backside cut three years after the issue date. We need to make sure that the trojan door is time sensitive accordingly. Mel won't last. She's already making noise. I'm headed to CI next week to make arrangements for at least four parties. Let's meet at Dante's on Pier 39 on the 4th for lunch.
AC
The message was time-dated 2:35PM May 25, 2001.
Calhoun immediately knew some of the particulars that would not be evident to an uninformed reader. Adeli was Adeki Singh, the former Cyberware systems engineer now working out of the goodness of his heart on some nebulous research project for Hawkeye Nation. VC was short for Venture Capitalists. Calhoun interpreted the use in the email to refer to the Equity Funding Group, a very private group of very rich men who had become even richer in the go-go 90's by investing in start-up tech companies.
CI must have referred to the Cayman Islands, a popular off-shore location for holding money in accounts that may not be accessible by you local IRS agent.
AC was obviously Anthony Carmondii.
And Mel was Melanie McDermott. And she was making noise back in May of 2001, maybe two years before the divorce.
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any content coming ?
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