Chapter 51
Jabba resembled a giant tadpole.
Like the cinematic
creature for whom he was nicknamed, the man was a hairless spheroid.
As resident guardian angel of all NSA computer
systems, Jabba marched from
department
to
department, tweaking, soldering,
and reaffirming
his
credo that
prevention was the best medicine.
No NSA
computer had ever been infected under Jabba’s reign; he intended
to keep it that way.
Jabba’s
home base was a raised workstation overlooking the NSA’s underground, ultra-secret databank. It was there that a virus would do the most damage and there that he spent the majority
of his time. At the moment, however, Jabba was taking
a break and enjoying pepperoni calzones in the NSA’s all-night commissary.
He
was about to dig into his third
when his cellular phone rang.
“Go,” he
said, coughing as he swallowed a mouthful. “Jabba,”
a woman’s voice cooed. “It’s Midge.”
“Data Queen!” the huge man gushed.
He’d always had a soft spot for Midge Milken. She was sharp,
and
she was also the
only woman Jabba had ever
met who flirted with him.
“How the hell are you?”
“No complaints.”
Jabba wiped his mouth. “You on site?” “Yup.”
“Care to join me for a calzone?”
“Love to Jabba, but I’m watching these
hips.” “Really?” He snickered. “Mind if
I join you?” “You’re
bad.”
“You have
no idea….”
“Glad I caught you
in,” she said. “I need some advice.”
He took a long swallow
of Dr Pepper. “Shoot.”
“It might be nothing,”
Midge said, “but my Crypto stats turned up something odd. I was hoping you could
shed some light.”
“What ya got?” He took another
sip.
“I’ve got a report saying
TRANSLTR’s been running the same file for eighteen
hours and hasn’t
cracked it.”
Jabba sprayed Dr
Pepper all over his calzone. “You what?”
“Any ideas?”
He dabbed
at his calzone
with a napkin. “What report is this?”
“Production report.
Basic cost
analysis
stuff.” Midge
quickly
explained what she and Brinkerhoff
had found.
“Have you called Strathmore?”
“Yes. He said everything’s fine in Crypto.
Said TRANSLTR’s running full speed ahead. Said our
data’s wrong.”
Jabba furrowed his bulbous forehead. “So what’s the problem?
Your report glitched.” Midge did not respond.
Jabba caught her drift. He frowned. “You
don’t think your report glitched?”
“Correct.”
“So you think Strathmore’s
lying?”
“It’s not that,” Midge said diplomatically, knowing she was on fragile
ground. “It’s just that my stats have
never been wrong in
the past. I thought I’d get a second
opinion.”
“Well,” Jabba said, “I hate to be
the one to break
it to
you, but your data’s fried.” “You
think so?”
“I’d bet my job on it.” Jabba took a big bite of soggy calzone and spoke with his mouth full. “Longest
a file has ever lasted inside TRANSLTR
is three hours. That includes diagnostics, boundary
probes, everything. Only thing that could lock it down for eighteen
hours would have to be viral. Nothing
else could do it.”
“Viral?”
“Yeah, some kind of redundant
cycle. Something that got into the processors, created a loop, and
basically gummed up the works.”
“Well,” she ventured, “Strathmore’s been in Crypto for about thirty-six hours straight. Any chance
he’s fighting a virus?”
Jabba laughed. “Strathmore’s
been
in
there
for
thirty-six hours? Poor
bastard. His
wife
probably said he
can’t come home. I hear she’s bagging his ass.”
Midge thought
a moment. She’d heard that too. She wondered if maybe she was being paranoid.
“Midge.”
Jabba wheezed and took another long drink.
“If Strathmore’s toy had a virus, he would have called me. Strathmore’s sharp, but he doesn’t know shit about viruses.
TRANSLTR’s all he’s got. First sign of trouble, he would have pressed the panic button–and around here, that means me.” Jabba sucked in a long strand of mozzarella. “Besides, there’s no way in hell TRANSLTR has a virus. Gauntlet’s the best set of package
filters I’ve ever written.
Nothing gets through.”
After a
long silence, Midge sighed.
“Any other thoughts?” “Yup. Your
data’s fried.”
“You already said that.” “Exactly.”
She frowned.
“You haven’t caught wind
of anything? Anything at all?”
Jabba laughed harshly. “Midge… listen up. Skipjack
sucked. Strathmore blew it. But move on–it’s over.” There was a long silence
on the line, and Jabba realized
he’d gone too far. “Sorry,
Midge. I know you took heat over that whole mess. Strathmore was wrong. I know how you feel about him.”
“This has
nothing to do with Skipjack,” she said firmly.
Yeah, sure, Jabba thought. “Listen,
Midge, I don’t have feelings for Strathmore one way or another. I mean, the guy’s a cryptographer. They’re basically
all self-centered assholes. They need their
data yesterday. Every damn file
is the one that could
save the world.”
“So what
are
you saying?”
Jabba sighed. “I’m saying Strathmore’s a psycho like the rest of them. But I’m also saying he loves TRANSLTR
more than his own goddamn wife. If there were a problem,
he would have called
me.”
Midge was quiet a long time. Finally she let out a reluctant
sigh. “So you’re saying my
data’s fried?”
Jabba chuckled. “Is there an echo
in here?” She laughed.
“Look, Midge. Drop me a work order. I’ll be up
on Monday to double-check your machine.
In the meantime, get
the hell out of here. It’s Saturday night. Go get yourself laid or something.”
She sighed.
“I’m trying, Jabba. Believe me, I’m trying.”
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