saying it. Perhaps he could describe a blast radius. He opened a browser and typed in a quick search, "atomic bomb blast radius." He found plenty of historical data, but no number jumped out at him. Finally, he found something on the Homeland Security News website. A one megaton surface blast would deliver a lethal dose of radiation for a distance of 90 miles, and cause extensive internal damage for 160 miles.
He checked the monitor again. Monique was wrapped in a towel, carefully applying makeup in front of the vanity.
I'm just too patriotic, he thought to himself. I should have started the email after she dressed.
He closed securities display and wrote quickly in bad English. He briefly considered translating it into Korean or Farsi, but decided against it. He still didn't know who was behind the bombing, and until he did it was best that he not implicate the wrong party.
He spent a few more minutes finding the server aliases and a few embassies that his imagined terrorists would want to warn about the upcoming blast. Then he encrypted message and sent it through an anonymous transmitter to a fictitious account at each server.
He smiled smugly. Within hours the massive American security apparatus would be looking for the bomber. They would probably succeed too. They had better, because he had a hot one in the guest room and no more time for saving the world.
Unintended Consequences
Tuesday 11:42 p.m.
Monique threaded her way around the edge of the dance floor to the table where Dave sat with his friend Rowdy and the skank he had picked up from a cruise ship. So far she had been able to satisfy herself that Dave didn't have a steady girlfriend, didn't have a wife, wasn't broke, and didn't have a rich daddy.
At the table, Rowdy glanced her way and gave her a leering appraisal. She also knew that Dave had no interesting friends. Rowdy was a real creep.
She set the drinks on the table, gave Dave a longer than necessary kiss, and slid into a seat beside him.
His phone chirped. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. She leaned in as if to snuggle closer and read the message.
"And get boulder."
It was a strange message. She wondered if it was a code.
Rowdy turned to his skank. "After all that sailing, it's time to go behind a rock."
Dave turned to Monique. "And get boulder," he grinned.
Across the table, Rowdy’s skank convulsed with laughter. Rowdy looked livid. Dave's phone chirped again. This time he took a call.
"Hello, David L. Richards."
She could hear a woman's voice, talking very excitedly.
"Hi TJ, you don’t need to thank,” he began, but was cut off by more loud, excited shouting.
"TJ," he said quietly, and turning away. "Now isn't a really good time."
He glanced at her. She gave him an encouraging smile. This may be the competition. If so, voila, competition over.
He straightened, turned back toward her, and in a firm voice declared, "If it's a matter of national security, of course I'll be there."
Her eyes twitched in amusement. No one had ever invoked national security to run home to his jealous girlfriend before. Mentally she gave him a ten for originality and a one for guts.
"Monique," he began, setting down the phone, "I have some urgent business to attend to."
"I'll go too," she smiled.
"No," he began, but then he looked across the table at Rowdy, ready to move in. He smiled reluctantly. "Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way."
The FBI
Wednesday 12:05 a.m.
TJ stood fuming in the middle of a short drive leading to the gate of Dave's villa. Two FBI agents stood next to the car a few paces, away talking in low tones and doing their best to avoid her. She tried to decide who she wanted to kill first, Dave, or her idiot boss.
A small car roared down the street, turned rapidly into the drive, and screeched to a halt. She dove out of the way into some low shrubs. She struggled to her feet, swearing loudly.
"Dave, I decided, I'm going to kill you first,” she muttered staggering to her feet.
“Désolé, Madame,” a sultry woman's voice began. The voice belonged to the driver.
"TJ, are you okay?" Dave ran around the rear of the car.
She pulled herself out of the shrubs, brushed off her jacket, and turned to face him.
"Shut up and listen Dave. You have caused me a world of trouble, and you are going to cooperate or I will break every bone in your drop-out body. Is this sinking in?”
“Of course, T…” he began.
"Then get this gate open, this car out of my way, and start explaining."
He turned to the car, reached across the woman, and after glancing at her cleavage pressed a button. The gate began clanking open. Then he said something very quietly to the women. She nodded, started the car, and drove through the gate.
TJ took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Dave, This is agent Henderson, and agent Choi. I'm sure you won't mind if they help me learn more about what you found."
She leaned in close and whispered, "And if you don't come up with something really good, really fast, I'm going to break every bone in your body."
“You look good, TJ,” he replied, hugging her tightly. “I’ve missed you.”
Forced Labor
Wednesday 12:15 a.m.
"There it is," Dave gestured at the large monitor.
TJ and the two FBI agents leaned in closer to the large monitor of the workstation.
“The trade signature is widely distributed geographically, widely distributed among brokerages. But everything else is identical."
TJ looked back, skeptical. "How can you be sure that this isn't a lot of different people with the same idea?"
"Because the source of the trades, our Mr. X, is betting on an extremely low close for the Standard & Poor's 500 index this Friday, but the pattern has been consistent for weeks. Normally there aren’t enough sellers at that price point, so he started early creating the demand. He has bet close to $50 million that something very, very bad is going to happen, although nothing in the last few weeks supports such a move."
TJ looked thoughtful. "And this something has to happen by Friday?"
He nodded, "Or Mr. X loses everything."
TJ stood up abruptly. "I'll need a file with all the raw data, plus a summary," she directed.
He gave her a mock salute.
Then her eyes narrowed. "Is all of the data of public information? It would be a shame if Mr. Choi had to arrest you for hacking into the exchanges?"
He threw up his hands, palms forward. "You and your friends can check if you want."
He brought up the raw data for the agents. After a minute of scrutiny, Henderson turned to TJ, "The data looks publicly available.” Then looking meaningfully at Dave, he added, “But we will check it at the office."
Monique stepped behind him, holding him possessively about to waist.
"Would Madame like me to call a cab?" Monique asked sweetly from over his shoulder.
TJ glared back at both of them. "No, I'm not done with Mr. Richards just yet."
Then turning to the FBI agents she continued, "I’ll remain here until he gives us get all the information we need. You don't need to stay, but I will send you a copy of all the files."
The agents nodded, grateful to be spared another all-nighter.
"I'll show these gentlemen out,” Monique beamed. And grabbing their arms, she escorted them to the elevator.
As the elevator doors slid shut, TJ turned to face him, folding her arms. "Who's the bimbo, Dave?"
"One of my sailing crew," he lied casually. “We have another opening if you can tear yourself away from your duties in Washington."
"Spare me the stories, Dave. Just get the data."
He sat down at the workstation, inserted a new flash drive, and began copying files. "If I had more time than I could probably even find out who Mr. X. is," he added gallantly.
<
br /> TJ put an arm on his shoulder. "Dave," she began warmly, "if you can do that, you will save yourself from a world of trouble."
"And you'll be grateful?" He asked.
"You’ll live to see the morning," she replied sweetly. “I created a quantum decryption array. It’s stable. It doesn’t just perform a few operations and then break down. It works around the clock. I can break and read 256-bit encrypted documents as fast as they come in.”
He smiled, remembering that all the communications with Dave 2 were 256-bit encrypted.
“I should get a Noble, but my boss is using your stupid tip to get me out of the office so he can steal my glory.”
He had known TJ since graduate school. He hadn’t seen her this dangerous since he had corrected her misconception about their engagement.
"I’ll do everything I can," he began, “but ...”
"Dave,” she leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Remember when you broke off our engagement?”
“Alleged engagement,” he winced, “but I do remember.”
She straightened, took four steps toward the elevator, and turned. “If you don't help me find our Mr. X, I'll render you physically incapable of fooling around with your bimbo."
“TJ, you know I’d do anything for you,” he lied, remembering the pain that the very sharp knee of this 120-pound woman could inflict. "Tell me what you know about the bomber. That will make it easier for me to find something."
She cocked her head to one side, considering. Finally, she drew a sharp breath and began.
"This isn't some terrorist bombing. This is economic sabotage. I can't tell you any more than that, but there is no bomb."
"TJ, it's me. I need to know what you know if you're going to find this guy."
"You know what I know," she frowned,