George did. He told Zee that Kasey, whom Zee had known somewhat from time spent around the complex, had been a part of the iDoc beta-test group, as well as Sal. He then told Zee about Laney Chesney, Greg Tarkington, and Claire Wong, also members of the iDoc study who had serious illnesses on top of diabetes. “All five relied upon iDoc to medicate them in a truly futuristic fashion, functioning like a real pancreas, using an implanted reservoir of insulin and constant, real-time monitoring of their sugar levels in the bloodstream.”
“I get it,” Zee replied. “What’s the rub?”
“I have reason to believe that iDoc killed all five by dumping the contents of their reservoirs into their systems all at once.”
Zee looked askance at George. “If you are saying that the reservoir fucked up, I’m with you. Shit happens. But if you think it was intentional, I think you are crazy. I know a lot of those guys—”
“Proof!” George said, interrupting and getting the reservoir he found in Sal’s car out of his pocket and setting it on the table. “Proof that the phenomenon I just described is real. Whether it is intentional or a glitch is why I’m talking to you. And to be honest, I’m thinking intentional.”
Zee carefully picked up the reservoir and examined it.
“It can’t be fully appreciated without magnification,” George offered. “The surface of the reservoir contains thousands of tiny encapsulated doses of insulin. Each is individually programmed to be released upon reception of a particular radio frequency.”
“I understand the concept. But why have you jumped to the conclusion that iDoc is killing patients?”
“The reservoir you’re holding was implanted under Sal’s skin about two months ago. It was supposed to last two or three years, depending upon Sal’s blood sugar levels. That reservoir in your hand is completely empty. I believe iDoc sent a message to do a massive, total dump.”
Zee set the chip down on his coffee table, revolted by the thought of where it had been and what it might have done. “How do you know that the reservoir dumped all its insulin just before Sal’s death? Maybe it happened after it was removed from the corpse.”
“Good question. And I don’t know for sure,” George admitted. “That’s one of the reasons I need your help.”
“And why do you think it was intentional?”
“In all five cases, the insulin dump occurred soon after a serious likely terminal diagnosis had been entered into their electronic medical records. That’s a very odd coincidence.”
Zee sat silent, staring at the reservoir on his coffee table. “Exactly what do you want me to do?”
George let out a sigh of relief with the sense Zee was softening up. “Several things.” He pulled out a smartphone. “This was Kasey’s.” He turned it on and showed Zee the iDoc icon, then demonstrated how it didn’t open. “I think Amalgamated wipes it clean after the patient dies, which makes a lot of sense. It guards the confidentiality of the patient’s medical history.”
George then produced the second phone and handed it over to Zee. “This was Sal’s. It followed his body out through the windshield of the Oldsmobile when he crashed. It was obviously damaged. But it apparently functioned for a short time because an ER nurse was able to extract some medical information from it before it died, and I got it to turn on briefly.”
Zee examined Sal’s phone, turning it over in his hands. “Poor guy.”
“Now, it’s only an idea, but I think that perhaps in this case the app wasn’t wiped clean. I want you to see if you can get anything out of the phone. Maybe a dump command or something like that.”
Zee nodded, staring at the phone’s shattered display face. “I might be able to do a kind of forensic autopsy. There should be some data still in its storage unit, if not in its processor.” He looked up at George. “You’re willing to pay me ten thousand dollars to do this?” Zee asked incredulously.
“I’d want a little more than that for ten thousand.”
“Figured. What?” Zee frowned.
“I want you to hack into Amalgamated’s central iDoc servers. If we can get Sal’s whole record we can compare it to whatever you find on his phone. If it’s intentional, like I suspect, I want to be able to prove it. Only then can we be one hundred percent certain of what is going on and if it’s outside hackers or commands from inside Amalgamated that are responsible for the deaths.”
“You’re asking for a lot—”
“If I’m right, they killed my fiancée. You knew her. If I’m right, they killed Sal. You knew him. I’m aware of five deaths. How many others will die before they should when iDoc goes national and then international?”
“I don’t know, man,” Zee mumbled. He looked at the two phones. “This is serious shit, hacking into health records. It’s on par with hacking into the Pentagon, for Chrissake.”
“It is serious,” George agreed. “So is killing people.”
Zee nodded. George had him on that point.
“Amalgamated must have contingency plans to handle anyone with questions or suspicions. I want to be open with you. Doing this might put you and me in physical jeopardy, knowing what kind of money is involved. Billions are at stake, if not trillions. And that’s no exaggeration.”
From the grave look on Zee’s face, George recognized he wasn’t helping his case, bringing up the downside. Still, he felt he had to be honest. “Listen, Zee,” George continued, trying to tone down the urgency in his voice. “I have to play this out whether you help me or not, but I need proof of what is going on in order to go to the media, which is my idea of what I will do if my worst fears are realized. And the only proof I can imagine getting is what I’m hoping you can provide me.”
Zee softened a bit. “Are you serious about the ten grand?”
“I am. And if I’m right, I’m betting there will be a lot of job offers for the guy who helped expose it all.”
Zee nodded, a little embarrassed. “It’s just that I’ve had some recent online poker losses and, well, I have rent and bills and all.”
“Help me and the money is yours.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Zee said. “But with a couple of conditions. I use your computer when I try and access Amalgamated’s servers. And I only use your modem. When the shit hits, I prefer it hit there.”
“No problem,” George agreed immediately. “When can you start?”
“Give me an hour. I need to shower and grab a bite to eat to be fresh for this. It ain’t going to be easy. I imagine they have created some serious firewall shit.”
George felt a huge relief wash over him. “Okay, great! How can I help?”
“By paying me. Knowing that I can pay my past due rent will let me give you my undivided attention.”
“Consider it done.”
39
GEORGE’S APARTMENT
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, JULY 4, 2014, 7:20 P.M.
True to his word, Zee appeared at George’s front door an hour later, freshly showered and wearing a pair of baggy sweats. He was holding a coffeepot filled with fresh brew. In his other hand, he was balancing a carton of Red Bull and a carton of Marlboro cigarettes on top of a fishing tackle box filled with tools, computer CDs, and other paraphernalia. In response to George’s comment that he had a lot of stuff, Zee said he was loaded for bear.
George eyed the cigarettes. “I’d rather you don’t smoke.”
“Sorry, dude, but ciggies are a must if I’m gonna have any luck. It’s the cigs or nothing.”
“Okay, fine,” George relented, recognizing that there were people who couldn’t concentrate unless they had their smoking ritual, which was sometimes more important than the nicotine. He pointed toward his dining room table, where he had his laptop set up and ready to go next to Sal’s smartphone. He’d put Kasey’s back in the box in the closet.
“Where’s
your modem?” Zee said, scanning the room.
George pointed it out next to his TV. Zee went about inspecting it.
“It works well,” George said. “The cable people said it was a good one.”
“It’s a piece of shit, but it’ll do.”
George realized that everyone who ever commented on his apartment either referred to it or what was in it as “shit.” When all this was over, he’d have to address the issue. Assuming he was still around when it was over. He was painfully aware that what he was doing could very well impact his career.
Zee plugged in his coffeepot and stowed his Red Bull in the refrigerator, then settled down at the table and opened his toolbox. The time for small talk was over. He went to work on Sal’s smartphone first, removing it from its orange case and opening its back. He put on a pair of binocular loupes and closely examined its inner contents.
George watched him for a while but became bored. He went to his refrigerator and scanned its contents. “Care for something to eat?” he called out to Zee.
Zee didn’t even respond, which was a good thing, because there wasn’t much of anything to offer. George took what was there and made a sloppy sandwich, eating it while standing over the sink. He again thought about calling Paula in Hawaii but decided to wait until he had some more proof that her beloved iDoc was in trouble. He imagined she was going to resist belief in a big way. He wondered what effect it might have on their friendship. Probably not good.
40
ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE VAN
GEORGE’S APARTMENT COMPLEX
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, JULY 4, 2014, 8:52 P.M.
There was a prearranged knock on the back of the van. Steven, the shorter of the two technicians, reached out and unlocked the door. Andor Nagy, a handsome, powerfully built man, climbed in. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and his tie was loosened.
“What’s up?” Andor said with a slight Hungarian accent. He took a seat on a small bench along the side of the van.
Steven, manning the visual leads, pointed out Zee sitting hunched over a dismantled smartphone. “Your guess is as good as mine. We have what we believe to be a neighbor working on a smartphone, which we guess belongs to the mark.”
“Any idea why?”
“None whatsoever. The neighbor came in more than an hour ago, but there has been almost no conversation.”
“Where’s Wilson?”
Steven pointed to another, darker screen showing the inside of George’s bedroom. George could barely be seen lounging on his bed, watching TV with the sound turned way down.
Andor called up to Lee, who was manning the headphones a little farther forward in the van, to confirm that the two men in George’s apartment had been silent.
“That’s right. No chatter,” Lee replied.
“What’s he looking at online?” The laptop on the dining room table was angled so the screen wasn’t visible to any of their cameras.
“Nothing. So far,” Steven said. “He’s just been messing with the cell phone.”
Andor shrugged. “We’ll just have to be patient, then. Has Wilson made any phone calls or sent any texts?”
“Nope.”
“Let me know if and when anything changes,” Andor said, rising to leave.
“You will be the first to know,” Steven assured him.
41
GEORGE’S APARTMENT
WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, JULY 5, 2014, 5:40 A.M.
George was rousted from a deep sleep when Zee rudely shook his shoulder. George had fallen asleep in his clothes while watching television. The TV was still on.
Zee was in a dither. “I’m done, and I’m out of here.” He looked like a madman. His eyes were red and his face drawn and pale. The combination of the night’s activities plus all the coffee, cigarettes, and Red Bull had given him a visible tremor in his hands, and his voice was raspy.
“What do you mean you’re out of here?” George asked.
“It means I’m out of here!” Zee disappeared out into the living room.
George leaped off the bed and ran after him while trying to get into his shoes.
Zee was throwing his tools and junk into the tackle box while muttering to himself, “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m dropping off the grid until this blows over.”
“Until what blows over?” George said, bewildered.
“Everything,” Zee replied cryptically.
“What did you find out?”
“Too much.” Zee snapped his toolbox shut. “Way too much.”
George couldn’t believe what was happening. “What exactly do you mean by ‘dropping off the grid’?”
“It means exactly what it sounds like. I’m heading for the hills until things blow over. I have some friends up north near San Fran. They got a cabin someplace in the High Sierras. That sounds about perfect at the moment.”
George couldn’t believe that Zee was leaving. “Why the rush? What did you find?”
“If you really want to know, you better get your ass up to my apartment while I get a few things together.”
George wondered if he was dreaming. “You’re planning on leaving right away? Now?”
“As soon as I can get my shit together.” Zee moved to the door, then stopped. “The money you promised?”
“I have to go to the bank for that kind of money. I was planning to do so at nine o’clock Monday morning. If you can just wait—”
“How much do you have on you?”
George shrugged. “A couple hundred bucks.” He’d stopped at an ATM after leaving the salvage yard, having been cleaned out by the tow guy.
“I’ll take it. I’ll get the rest later.”
George handed over the money. “What about what I was paying you for?”
“Upstairs.” With that Zee was out the door.
Mystified, George followed Zee up into his apartment. Zee ducked into his bedroom. George tagged along.
“Wait a second,” George said, thinking he could reason with Zee. “Take a deep breath and calm down. What did you learn?”
Zee started throwing clothes into a couple of duffel bags. “You were right,” he admitted. “Something weird is going on with iDoc. I was able to hack into Amalgamated’s servers. I checked the records for all of them: Kasey, Sal, Tarkington, Wong, and Chesney. At first everything looked normal. In fact, I was about to give up. Then I noticed something odd. An artifact is the best way to describe it. It was hardly noticeable, but there all the same. So, in each of the five patient records I backtracked and discovered this artifact that appears exactly seventeen minutes before the physiological data went nuts, signifying the beginning of the death event. Seventeen minutes on the dot for all five patient records. Pretty suspicious.
“I tried to figure out exactly what this artifact was—its reason for being, you know what I mean?” Zee didn’t pause for an answer. “And while I was working through the possibilities, it hit me! Bam! I realized what it reminded me of: Stuxnet.”
George shook his head. He had no idea what Zee was talking about.
Zee explained. “Remember when the U.S. and Israel ‘supposedly’ hacked into the Iranian computers that were running their nuclear centrifuges?”
“No. Can’t say I do,” George said.
“Well, the hack left an artifact behind. That’s how it was discovered. The hackers wanted to show the Iranians one manufactured set of data while hiding the real data showing what was really happening. It’s called a man-in-the-middle attack. The artifacts I found in the iDoc records are very similar, meaning someone hacked into the iDoc servers and did an overwrite of whatever was on those five records prior to the hack.”
“I’m lost.”
&n
bsp; “The way I see it,” Zee said while continuing to throw things haphazardly into his bags, “is that someone was trying to cover the tracks of either the application’s dumping of its reservoirs or a hacker initiating the dump. Now that I think about it, it must have been a quick fix, because they intercepted each record at the exact same time prior to the patient’s death. They should have varied that to hide it better, but when you’re in a rush . . . Anyway—app dump or hacker dump—the records have been overwritten.” Zee stopped packing and counted off the reasons on his fingers. “To hide the dump signal, to hide wherever the dump signal originated from, and to hide the subsequent physiological-signs data that showed the patients’ reactions to the dump up to and including their deaths. The reason I’m confident of this is that Sal’s cell phone definitely received an ‘all-dump’ message. I was able to retrieve his unaltered data records, so I’m absolutely sure in that particular case. Again, whether it originated as a function of the iDoc algorithm or as an outside hack, I do not know.”
“You said they tried to hide it, but do you have any idea where the overwrite came from? Could you trace it to its source?”
Zee zipped up his bags. “It wasn’t easy, but that’s what I was doing just an hour ago. I found traces of a couple of high-anonymity proxy servers—they’re called that because they try to hide their IP addresses, which a regular old proxy server does, too, but these things even try to hide the fact that they are proxy servers to begin with. They’re very stealthy. Anyway, there are some tricks I know of to unmask them and get a read on who they’re fronting for.”
“And who is that?”
“That’s why I’m out of here. That’s what’s most disturbing of all.” He headed into his bathroom, emptying the contents of his medicine cabinet into a plastic garbage bag.
“One of the server banks they’re fronting for is close by. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s somewhere up in the Hollywood Hills. Weird location, huh?”
“That’s making you run?”
“No, there’s another location involved, either contributing to the overwrite or just monitoring it, someplace in Maryland.”