Gone Tomorrow - Lee Child [113]
“I also shot four federal agents with darts.”
“No one cares about them.”
“Who are the Hoths?”
“I can’t volunteer information.”
“So why are we here?”
“You help us, we’ll help you.”
“How can you help me?”
“We can make all your felonies disappear.”
“And how can I help you?”
“You can help us find what we lost.”
“The memory stick?”
Springfield nodded. The waiter came back with his tray. Mineral water, and coffee. He arranged things carefully on the table and backed away.
I said, “I don’t know where the memory stick is.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But you got as close to Susan Mark as anyone. And she left the Pentagon with it, and it isn’t in her house or her car or anywhere else she ever went. So we’re hoping you saw something. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to you, but it might to us.”
“I saw her shoot herself. That was about all.”
“There must have been more.”
“You had your chief of staff on the train. What did he see?”
“Nothing.”
“What was on the memory stick?”
“I can’t volunteer information.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“Why do you need to know?”
I said, “I like to know at least the basic shape of the trouble I’m about to get myself into.”
“Then you should ask yourself a question.”
“What question?”
“The one you haven’t asked yet, and the one you should have, right at the start. The key question, you dumbass.”
“What is this? A contest? NCOs against officers?”
“That battle was over long ago.”
So I spooled backward to the beginning, looking for the question I had never asked. The beginning was the 6 train, and passenger number four, on the right side of the car, alone on her eight-person bench, white, in her forties, plain, black hair, black clothes, black bag. Susan Mark, citizen, ex–wife, mother, sister, adoptee, resident of Annandale, Virginia.
Susan Mark, civilian worker at the Pentagon.
I asked, “What exactly was her job?”
Chapter 61
Springfield took a long drink of water and then smiled briefly and said, “Slow, but you got there in the end.”
“So what was her job?”
“She was a systems administrator with responsibility for a certain amount of information technology.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means she knew a bunch of master passwords for the computers.”
“Which computers?”
“Not the important ones. She couldn’t launch missiles or anything. But obviously she was authorized for HRC records. And some of the archives.”
“But not the Delta archives, right? They’re in North Carolina. At Fort Bragg. Not the Pentagon.”
“Computers are networked. Everything is everywhere and nowhere now.”
“And she had access?”
“Human error.”
“What?”
“There was a measure of human error.”
“A measure?”
“There are a lot of systems administrators. They share common problems. They help each other. They have their own chat room, and their own message board. Apparently there was a defective line of code which made individual passwords less opaque than they should have been. So there was some leakage. We think they knew all about it, actually, but they liked it that way. One person could get in and help another person with minimum fuss. Even if the code had been correct, they would probably have deleted it.”
I remembered Jacob Mark saying, She was good with computers.
I said, “So she had access to Delta’s archives?”
Springfield just nodded.
I said, “But you and Sansom quit five years before I did. Nothing was computerized back then. Certainly not the archives.”
“Times change,” Springfield said. “The U.S. Army as we know it is about ninety years old. We’ve got ninety years’ worth of crap all built up. Rusty old weapons that somebody’s grandfather brought back as souvenirs, captured flags and uniforms all moldering away, you name it. Plus literally thousands and thousands of tons of paper. Maybe millions of tons. It’s a practical problem. Fire risk, mice, real estate.”
“So?”
“So they’ve been cleaning house for the last ten years. The artifacts are either sent to museums or trashed, and the documents are scanned and preserved on computers.”
I nodded. “And Susan