94
“What you got, Fielding?” Annoyance painted McKinney’s voice almost as red as his hair.
Bobby McKinney had been running cyber-security operations for the MGM Mirage and its owned hotels for so long he could sniff potential trouble, just from the reactions of the system administrators. He was known as a man who was completely incapable of sitting still, constantly making the rounds of every one of the Las Vegas hotels that operated under the MGM umbrella, poking his nose into every aspect of the most sophisticated security system outside of the NSA. Today it was Bellagio’s turn to endure his presence, the tired, nervous movements of the systems administrator showing the stress his twenty-hour workday and probing intellect produced.
The young computer technician glanced up from his workstation and shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Could be nothing.”
“What could be nothing?”
The technician ran a hand through his long blond hair, sweeping it back from his face in a movement that reminded McKinney of a schoolgirl. But, while Larry Fielding might straddle several sexually ambiguous boundaries, he was one of the best young computer geniuses in the entire company.
“Let me show you.” Fielding turned back to the keyboards stacked in front of him, an arrangement reminiscent of something you would see at the pipe organ inside the Mormon Tabernacle. His long, slender fingers touched the keys so rapidly and softly that he seemed to be stroking them.
The flat-panel monitors surrounding him changed to show the blackjack tables. As he stepped the video forward frame by frame, he oriented the view on a single table, and at the young Asian man sliding into a just-vacated seat. The dealer had just finished filling the shoe with the cards she had extracted from the Shuffle Master. With a small smile, the man pushed a stack of black chips onto the betting mark. Fielding froze the display.
“I spotted this guy when I was reviewing the table data. He played at five different tables, always making his big bet just after he sat down, winning all five of those first bets. After that, he reduced his bet and continued to play at that table for twenty or so minutes.”
McKinney’s eyes watched as the video jumped from table to table as the man played his first hand.
“Here, take a look at his expression as he places that first bet,” Fielding continued.
McKinney leaned in closer. “Intense isn’t he? I’d bet his heart is doing one twenty or better.”
“Now, watch his face as he continues to play. You’d swear it was two different people. There!” Fielding slowed the video to a crawl.
McKinney nodded. “Bored stiff. Looks like a guy that can’t wait to walk away from the game.”
“Exactly what I thought.”
“What I want to know is why my computer security team spotted that instead of the pit bosses?”
Fielding smiled. “You’ll have to ask them.”
“I intend to.” McKinney looked down at the computer technician. “But someone who figured out how to tamper with the shuffle machines isn’t what’s bothering you, is it?”
The technician pointed at one of the frozen video frames on the display. “It was so subtle I almost missed it. You see anything funny in the background?”
McKinney grabbed a chair and slid up beside Fielding, his blue eyes scanning the video frame. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Fielding left the display as it was, pulling up footage from additional cameras on the other monitors. These new views were not of the blackjack table, but of the hotel staff checking in guests. Each image showed the same exact time as the frozen frame at the blackjack table.
At first, McKinney failed to notice the connection. These new angles showed the checkin counter, which could be seen from a distance in the blackjack table shot. As he glanced back and forth between them, it hit him.
Seeing the light dawn in his eyes, Fielding pointed at a spot just over the Asian man’s shoulder. Just visible through the crowded background, a darkly dressed girl leaned across the checkin counter in discussion with a clerk. It was the only shot that showed her.
“I’ve played all the video forward and backward. There’s not another shot of this girl from any camera in the building.”
“None?”
“I’ve checked backward and forward from the time of this shot. Nothing.”
McKinney rubbed his chin, then raised his voice loud enough for everyone in the data center to hear him. “Okay, everyone listen up. We have a situation. I want a priority search of all our systems focused on the girl in this shot. I want to know everything about this young lady, especially her parents and how they managed to hack into our systems. Fielding will brief you. Take your direction from him.”
“What about the Asian?” Fielding asked.
“I’ll take care of that situation with the bosses. You stay focused on the data intrusion. Check all the camera data files to see when they were last modified.” McKinney pointed at the clerk across the desk from the girl. “And get me the name of that hotel clerk. I want to have a chat with her.”
McKinney paused at the door and looked around at the technical team staring at him, raising his voice once again. “One more thing. You will not discuss this with anyone except me. Is that clear?”
The response from everyone present almost brought a smile to McKinney’s lips. It sounded like a basic training unit’s response to their drill sergeant. That was good. Even the new people had been taught who to fear.
95
Union Station sat at the nexus of D.C., the restored Beaux-Arts architectural majesty of the metro and rail transportation hub giving bold testament to the thesis that not all government money is wasted. Since the completion of the remodeling in 1988, it stood as Washington’s most visited symbol of rebirth, a Phoenix risen from the ashes of decay. Even the busy shops and restaurants fitted flawlessly into the elegant architecture. It reminded Kromly of a beating heart, pumping humanity through the veins and arteries of the nation’s capital.
Garfield chewed slowly as he leaned against the wall, letting the freshly baked, buttery warmth of the soft pretzel dissolve on his tongue. The line at Auntie Anne’s Pretzels was even longer than usual, especially for midafternoon Friday, people trying to get an early start to their weekends.
A woman in a navy-blue pantsuit stumbled as she stepped away from the counter, spilling her soda and dropping her handbag on the ground.
Garfield stepped forward, bending down to help her gather her things.
“That was so clumsy of me,” she mumbled as he handed her purse back to her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the throng of humanity headed toward the train platforms.
Garfield finished the pretzel, licking the salt from his fingers as he paused to throw the wrapper into the waste receptacle. Then he turned and headed toward the multilevel parking garage, the computer disk he had retrieved from the open handbag tucked safely in the inside pocket of his sports jacket.