Project Purple

12 - The Detective

Heads turned when the levelheaded free man waded into the fracas: "I just don't see," he began again, "...how any of us, on this green Earth, can justify killing innocent, unborn children at that early stage of human development-of which we all pass..."

"Cyber warfare on the West," Groucho said.

Felix grunted, "Or Lanzhou."

Rigor looked up, "Lanzhou?"

"That's in the north west."

"I know where it is."

"Chinks are hacking into government files likes there's no tomorrow," Groucho said, "They break through firewalls like cat burglars."

"Damned good cat burglars."

The Governor stood up with the self-assured reserve of ultimate authority. "We're here, every Sabbath, for inspiration. We don't all agree with each other, but it has fallen on our Preacher to listen to us, to help us, to inspire us..."

"So inspire us," the Cowleech cut in, "but we don't need this..." he stumbled for the word.

"We don't need this what, dear?" the Matron goaded.

The Goatwench eyed the Matron and those in the front from her hard little stool, "Evangelical goat shit."

More uproar in the Chapel.

"Squeaky clean," Groucho said again.

Felix nodded, "Damned, that Chink coffee must be strong."

"Good and strong."

Rigor tried to keep up with staccato-like exchange: "They sneak into hard drives, drop the files, leave no trace?"

Groucho jerked his head, "Real whiz kids, but it's the same old same old-Trojan Horse disguised as a Word program, takes over the system, redirects the programs, usually via Taiwan, or South Africa, as cover."

"Or the Brazilians," Felix said.

"Evangelical goat shit?" the preacher echoed in his affront.

"Such language," the Matron tsk-tsked.

"We're 17th century colonials, for crying out loud," the Buckskinner whined.

"And we follow the teachings of Jesus Christ," the Sayer added, sitting on her stool next to the Governor.

"Is there something going on between those two?" Groucho asked of the Sayer and the Governor.

Rigor nodded, "They do seem like an item."

"Offenders are shamed by wearing the Scarlet Letter," the Sayer continued, now standing, "and you have two of them!" She pointed a harshly accusing finger back at the Goatwench like she was a defendant in a witch trial.

"The unborn scream from silent throats!" the Preacher shouted, a suitable retort finally coming to him. And he slapped a loud hand down on his podium, but all the outburst did was incite more impassioned dispute from the splintered colonists.

"What's a free man?" Groucho asked.

Rigor shrugged, lighting a Pall Mall, "I think it's someone not indentured."

Felix evil-eyed Rigor, "I'm indentured,"-implying his mandatory service time with the police department.

"Me, too, Groucho conceded, "got a mortgage up the yazoo."

Rigor steered the men back to topic: "So the Red Chinese kidnapped these people?"

"We don't call them 'Red' anymore, Detective.

"Chink is better," Felix said.

"Mainland Chinks-Espionage is on the rise since global trade competition has intensified."

"It's cyber warfare alright," Felix said, "but this is different."

"I concur-The Chinks are more scapegoats than anything. The routes, the penetration tools, the code-it's all too sophisticated, even for them."

Felix nodded, "My thoughts, too."

For the first time, Groucho paused, hesitating, like he'd just heard a scream outside his window, but had decided to ignore it. "Might be time to withdraw, Detective."

Rigor knew these computer guys were all a unique bunch of social misfits, and they often went through quite elaborate, and ultimately pointless, routines to conceal their identities, mostly out of some raging paranoia, due to their own skewered conceptions of themselves. But with Groucho, his hesitation carried a certain intensity that had Rigor and Felix exchanging anxious glances...

Groucho continued: "I think what we're seeing here is one hellishly efficient and organized gang."

"A gang?"

Felix jumped in, "Hey, Russkies are no duffers when it comes to a good hack."

"Every government does it, if it can. But what we're talking about here is someone who can tiptoe in and drop off a screaming baby, then sneak away without leaving any trace at all."

"Why?" Rigor asked.

"Exactly."

Rigor rolled his eyes, "No, why?"

"Why do it," Groucho said, as if agreeing. "No recompense. And we're not even talking of cyber-crime here."

"So why do it?"

The Groucho mask went silent.

"Where does that leave us?" Rigor prompted. "What do you mean 'withdraw'? Can't you tell me anything?"

"I can tell you quite a bit."

"What don't you want to tell me?"

Groucho paused. "I think I have to ask you, Goldy, what's in it for you?"

Rigor frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why go there? - They rang your doorbell a couple of times, but so what? My advice: Don't open the door. They're obviously teasing you with this stuff, hoping to draw you out, hoping you'll run down some dark street, peering through the juniper plants for the little brats that rang the doorbell..."

"I don't..." was all Rigor could get out.

"They want you to commit to something, Goldy, and it doesn't matter a damned to them that you're a cop-That should tell you something."

"You ought to drop it," Felix said, as if Groucho's warning needed further clarification. But Felix then shook his head. "You don't know this guy-he doesn't drop it."

The Groucho mask nodded, like it had anticipated the unfortunate, foolish response. "Try BSocial."

The monitor clicked off; Groucho had contributed enough of his time.

Felix frowned. "You know what 'BSocial' is?"

"Just another of a hundred video sharing websites." But Rigor sighed at all the new work ahead of him that evening: He was going to have to scour 'Bsocial' for more traces of his unfortunate colonials.

At the door to Felix's room, Rigor turned back, "Why did he call me Goldy?"

Felix looked up from his keyboard, "You really got to ask?"

Then he took off his glasses-something he rarely did. "You're a nice, little goldfish ... Why take a dip with Jaws?"