The Fool's Run

output.
    On day 27, on the same day the Justice Department announced a special task force to investigate the Whitemark relationship with Defense Department officials, I changed the code that did Whitemark’s floating-point mathematics. The change would be virtually undetectable, and the resulting design problems would be almost impossible to pinpoint.
    At one o’clock on the morning of day 28, as I was working on a couple of final items, Bobby called again.
    More phone changes. Believe monitoring entire exchange for data transmissions. Recommend shutdown.
     
    Can I get in one last time?
     
    There was a pause, and then:
     
    If you call special number, can piggyback on me. I call Whitemark, when get in, you put in code, I watch lines. One time only.
     
    Okay.
     
    Tomorrow 10 a.m. your time.
    LuEllen was back the next morning, and she and Dace came in with Maggie to watch over my shoulder as we put the last program in. Or tried to.
    “Is there any possibility that they could trace us here?” LuEllen asked.
    “I don’t think so. But with the NSA, you can’t be sure. If they do, Bobby will know. We’ll get out.”
    LuEllen looked around the room. “What about fingerprints and everything? We’re all over this place.”
    “If they’re good enough to trace us through Bobby’s intercepts, we’re cooked,” I admitted.
    “All we can do is run for it and hope Anshiser’s interference will pay off. Even if they pick up prints, we’d have a day or two. You guys can get out to Mexico, Maggie can get back to Chicago, and I’ll take off in my car.”
    “Shit. That doesn’t sound so good,” LuEllen said.
    “What’s the risk, what’s the benefit?” Maggie asked.
    “I’ve got a nice finishing touch to put in. And to tell you the truth, I think Bobby’s at least as good with phones as anybody at NSA. Besides, they’re not expecting him. They don’t know we can see the traces coming out.”
    She thought about it for a minute, pulling at her lip. “Let’s do it,” she said.
    You on line with code?
     
    Yes. 9-second squirt.
     
    Be ready.
    Bobby dialed us into Whitemark through the satellite. When it came up, I punched it in, and our modem started transmitting. Two seconds into it, the transmission shut down as though cut with an ax.
    “Holy shit,” I muttered.
    “What?” LuEllen said anxiously.
    “Bobby shut us down. I hope.”
    “You hope?”
    “Yeah. I hope it was Bobby.”
    A second later the phone rang, and we all looked at it like it was a cobra. After a couple of rings, I picked it up and heard the familiar carrier tone. I turned on the modem again.
    Those suckers fast. They on line, followed me at least to Rome. Maybe all the way to banana stand.
     
    You okay? We okay?
     
    Yes. But you must shut down now. No more entries or they get us.
     
    Yes. Will call later, still special line.
     
    ’Bye.
    “What’s the special number?” Maggie asked.
    “It’s a cutout. I don’t know the details, but it signals him that I’m trying to reach him. He’s changed the main number, the one I used to have, and I don’t have it anymore. We don’t know exactly what NSA might do if they caught us, but just in case . . . I mean, if they use chemicals, it’s better if I don’t know how to get him. If they get the special number out of me, and try to use it, he’ll see the trace and get out.”
    “Good luck on that,” LuEllen said.
    We all sat and looked at the monitor for a moment. There was nothing on it.
    “That’s it,” I said, feeling suddenly tired. “We’re all done.”
    “Jesus,” said Dace.
    I looked over at Maggie. “Satisfied?”
    “I’m going in to Chicago,” she said. “Dillon will be doing a final analysis.”
    “We’ll shut down here. Are you coming back, or should we come there?”
    “You wait here. There might be something else Dillon thinks we should do—I don’t know what. But maybe something. I’ll bring the rest of the money.”
    She looked pinched, taut. If the job wasn’t done now, it would never be done.
    Dillon would know.

Chapter 14
    T HE FIGURE OF Maggie was the best painting I’d ever done. She looked at it when it was finished and said, “It’s mine.” The day after the end of the attack, I rolled it and slid it into a shipping tube as she packed her clothes.
    “This has been a strange experience,” she said on the way to National. She had the window down and her hair blew out behind her. “A team like yours opens up all kinds of