stupidity of man.’ ”
“Was that General Patton or George C. Scott?”
“What’s the difference? The point is that computer security is also a monument to the stupidity of man. For every measure there is a counter-measure. If I remember my hacker’s manual correctly, the program in question is called inkspot. It can find its way into the operating system of a computer in any number of ways. Watch this,” Sam said as he turned the iPad toward her. He clicked on the Start icon at the bottom of the screen and then clicked on Find. Under files and folders he typed in the word inkspot. Within microseconds a file was displayed on the screen. “Yes. Look here . . . the hacker didn’t even bother to change the name of the program.”
“You’d really be a great detective if you could tell me who was checking her mail. You implied that there’s no infallible security system on computers. Prove it!”
“No sweat. The address of the hacker is embedded in the program. He used a mathematical code to hide it, but I’m familiar with the code. It’s a mailbox on a remote site. Foolishly, the hacker chose a Hotmail address.”
“Why do you say, foolishly, Sam?”
“Because the serial number of every Intel chip is encoded in the ROM. Hotmail has a program that reads the serial number and matches it against the purchase orders of every computer sold. Ninety-nine percent of computer owners register their computer in order to validate their warranty. Virtually everyone who has a mailbox at Hotmail can be traced by the serial number of the chip.”
“Too bad you don’t have access to the Hotmail database.”
“Oh, but I do my dear. I can break into the Hotmail database faster than you can say Jackie Robinson.”
“Who the hell is Jackie Robinson?”
“He was the first Black baseball player to break into the majors and he was as fast as greased lightning. He was my father’s favorite player on the old Brooklyn Dodgers. Look, I’m in. Let me type in the date, January 15, and see what we have. Let’s narrow it down to New York City.”
“Not too bad, Sam. You’re down to about 500 entries. What now?”
“Moreau’s letter was sent at 10:52 P.M. Let’s scroll down the list. An e-mail was received from New York City at 10:53 P.M.: [email protected].”
“Now what genius?”
“Now we access the database and trace it back to the serial number on the chip.” Sam cleared the screen and typed in a series of commands. A menu appeared on the screen prompting the user for an e-mail address. Sam typed in Clarion. Within seconds, the serial number of the Intel Chip together with all the registration information appeared on the screen.
“Sam, look at this. The computer is registered to an L. Smith in Washington, D.C.”
“Could be a Fed. I wonder . . . in accordance with the Freedom of Information act, the serial numbers of all government computers are listed with their department and agency. I know the URL of the website to trace a location by serial number. Sam typed in http://www.interagency/interweave/processor, hit enter, sat back and waited.
“Boy, it’s taking a long time to load. I’m used to supercomputer speeds. All right, Esther, we’re ready to go! What’s that serial number again?”
“A3Q42E-21C*P”
Sam entered the serial number. “The computer that received Eleanor Moreau’s e-mail is located in the FBI building, room 417, cubicle B.”
“So it is the FBI! Why do you think the FBI was interested in Eleanor Moreau?”
“Maybe just her Canadian connection. They may have viewed her as a security risk after her divorce.”
“Can you break into that computer?” Esther asked anxiously.
“Not from here. But I could plant the same inkspot virus into his Hotmail box. I’ll get a cc of every e-mail he sends out or receives from that box.”
“Do it Sam.”
“If I do, there’s a possibility that the agent who has claim to that box will find me the same way that I found him. You and I could end up in a heap of trouble.”
“Wait a minute, why am I included,” Esther asked nervously.
“There’s a well known maxim in the business, my love: whatever the subject knows, so does the girl. And it’s easier to pump her for information. Maybe even torture her.” Sam was getting some sadistic satisfaction in needling the latest love of his life and self-fashioned sleuth.
“Then forget it. I don’t really give a damn who killed her.”
“Too late! I’ve already attached the shadow program.” Sam got up from his lounge chair and ran over to the ice pool. He bellowed loudly from the shock of the icy cold water. He nimbly transferred to the hot mineral bath. Esther followed him into the spa.
Sam clutched her around her waist. Her body was firm, beautifully carved and proportioned; she was electrifying. Esther dug her fingers into his shorts and fondled his derriere. Then she undid the string and pulled down his shorts. Sam stepped out of them and let them fall to the pool bottom. Her hands ranged ravenously over his body, dancing from one muscle group to the next, massaging them, and caressing them, until she finally reached home. She loved his rock hard phallus. It was longer and harder than any she had ever known and she had known a few. She played with it hungrily and then turned to brace herself on the side of the pool, her legs spread open in a perfect v-shape. She loved it in the water. Sam’s long penetrating thrusts made her cry out uncontrollably. When Sam climaxed it felt like Mt. Helena erupting with all its fury inside of her. “Sam, no one has ever pleased me like you,” she said, in earnest.
Sam climbed out of the mineral bath and showered under the San Trope tower. Esther followed him and they went back to the chaise lounges fully spent. There were two piña coladas waiting for them. Their skin was scorched by the hot sun and they were drained from their exercise. The iced drinks quenched their thirst and revived them.
“I think we’re going to break some kind of record,” Sam said.
“Do you think you can keep up with me?” Esther teased.
“The more we do it, the more I want you.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, “the more you have of me the more you want to put Qu Min on your list of conquests .”
“You’re crazy,” Sam said.
“No need to pretend, Sam, I know you. I saw how you looked at her, even when she had her shirt on.”
“What do you know, Esther?”
“No woman can possess you—not yet. Not even me.”
“You underestimate yourself Esther. I’m all yours.”
“Are you, Sam? I saw you sneaking glances at Qu Min pretty intensely on the plane.”
“Esther, we’ve been over this before. I didn’t tell her to take her shirt off. But when she did, I was merely examining the evidence as any good detective would.” Sam grinned.
“Sam, could you ever forgive me if I slept with another man? Never mind. Don’t answer that. You know I would forgive you if you slept with another woman as long as you didn’t love her. If you feel you must have Qu Min to fulfill some sexual fantasy, I’ll understand. I only have one request. You have to be honest with me. I have to know about it if you do. And remember, whatever you do, just don’t fall in love with her.”
Sam didn’t answer. He put his Yankee hat over his sunglasses and lay back on the lounge. He was wondering if Esther might be right about him. That he did view Qu Min with his bedtime eyes.
“Sam, I was thinking,” Esther said.
“You think too much,” he snickered.
“Is