completely invisible, and it would have total control over its host. In all likelihood, no one would ever know the device was there. Even if its activities could be detected, they would be dismissed as the work of a person. After all, who in their right mind would suspect a computer of espionage?’
Barnett sipped his drink, then smiled. ‘I think you’ve reached the conclusion that I was hoping for. Recent international events are forcing the White House to reevaluate our diplomatic and trade relations with several countries, including Iraq, Iran, North Korea, and the People’s Republic of China.’
‘The Red Chinese will rot in hell before I sell them any ofmy computers, regardless of what the White House thinks of them.’
Barnett showed no surprise at Moy’s reaction. The defection of Moy’s father, a Chinese Oppenheimer, had resulted in the imprisonment of several relatives. Little word ever came out of China about the people they left behind.
‘I would never ask you to deal with the PRC. I know your family history well enough not to make such a request.’With that assurance made, Barnett returned to his original point. ‘What I wanted you to consider is what might happen if a computer equipped with one of these devices was to disappear in shipment and find itself someplace that we don’t officially want it. Further suppose that once our electronic spy had learned its way around this hostile nation’s computer network, it found a way to call home.’
‘Interesting.’Moy’s eyes narrowed as he studied the DCI’s face. ‘Is China to be a target for this type of operation?’
Barnett just shrugged his shoulders. ‘This is purely speculation on my part, nothing more than an exercise in wishful thinking. I will admit that our current shortage of intelligence assets in the PRC, coupled with their desire for high-end computers, make them an ideal target.’
Moy took the hint. ‘The modifications you propose would require significant funding and man-hours—at least a year of software development and testing. I expect that you’ll want the accounting for this little venture kept separate from the Gatekeeper Project.’
‘That’s correct. We’ll assign some of our technical people to work with yours on developing the…’Barnett paused as he found himself at a momentary loss for words. ‘What shall we call this new device?’
‘I’m not sure. What’s the word you used to describe someone like Aldrich Ames, a hidden spy working for your enemies?’
‘Ames was a mole. Like its namesake, intelligence moles burrow deep and are difficult to root out.’
‘Mole,’ Moy mused. ‘I’m sure my marketing people could dream up something from that, but it just doesn’t sound right. It’s too cute. The device we’re talking about is coldly logical, calculating and precise. It’s a finely tuned machine.’
‘Sounds like one of your sports cars.’
‘Exactly.’ A glint then appeared in Moy’s eyes, a flash of inspiration that could only have been more obvious had a cartoonist drawn a lightbulb over his head. He flipped to a blank page on his legal pad and sketched something very quickly. ‘I recently acquired an old Porsche, one identical to the car that James Dean drove into oblivion. This particular model had a very unique name. If the goal of this project is to create an electronic spy, one that operates exclusively in a World Wide Web of networked computers, then the resulting device would be a…’
Moy paused dramatically as he handed the legal pad to Barnett. Barnett saw on it a menacing arachnid leering at him, and one word in large block letters.
‘Spyder,’ Barnett said, finishing the sentence. He thought about the name for a minute as Moy sat back, pleased with his quick wit. ‘I give up, Phillip; Spyder it is. I’ll get everything arranged on this end to get you started. I’ll fund the project through my discretionary budget. That should keep it hidden long enough for us to complete development.’
ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN
November 17
The masonry walls of the Canham Natatorium reverberated with the rhythmic sound of swimmers pounding the shimmering surface of the fifty-meter pool into a froth. All the lanes were occupied by members of the defending champion Michigan women’s swim team. At the far end of the pool, Kelsey Newton carefully studied the strokes of the young women who swam the eighthundred—meter freestyle relay.
The sophomore who normally swam the third leg of the four-part event was lagging slightly behind the others, hampered no doubt by a badly bruised thigh that she had injured while traying. Traying was the collegiate version of sledding, in which trays borrowed from dormitory cafeterias were used instead of toboggans. The injured swimmer had lost control of her tray and tumbled harshly near the bottom of the hill.Kelsey barely suppressed a smile as she thought about her own pathetic attempts to steer those unwieldy slabs of fiberglass down the bumpy hills of the Nichols Arboretum.
These morning workouts were for conditioning and building endurance; the girls essentially swam on autopilot. Kelsey made a few notes on her clipboard and returned to the poolside office. She remembered these early-morning sessions from her four years as an undergraduate at Michigan and from the thousands of miles she had swum before and since. A wall in the basement of her parents’ home bore the trophies, medals, and ribbons from her days as a competitive swimmer. As a senior, she had been the captain of this team and had led it to a collegiate conference championship and earned for herself honours as an all-American athlete.
All the years of swimming had molded Kelsey Newton, sculpting every muscle of her five-nine body into curvaceous perfection. Her shoulders were broad, which only served to accentuate the curves of her chest, waist, and hips. A waterfall of straight blond hair, which she normally wore in a French braid, fell just below the level of her shoulder blades, and her eyes glittered with a shade of blue that she described scientifically as ‘lapis lazuli.’
The door of the men’s locker room opened and out came a man dressed in a dark gray swimsuit. A pair of swim goggles dangled loosely around his neck and a towel was draped like a rope across his shoulders. He looked over the cavernous space, as if it was the first time he’d been here, and then began walking toward the office where Kelsey Newton sat.
Like Newton, the man’s physique was the product of years spent in the water.His fair, freckled skin was tightly stretched over a lean base of chiseled muscles that were well defined, but not to the point of a bodybuilder’s exaggeration. There was a harshness to his form that suggested that the waters he was drawn from were far more turbulent than those of a fifty-meter pool. The scars that marked various points of impact on his body clearly indicated that this man was a product of the forge of violence.
He was six feet tall and his clean-shaven face was accented by a thick crop of flaming red hair that he wore short. The final evidence of his Irish heritage were the green eyes that sparkled with recognition when he reached the office.
‘Morning, Kelsey,’ he said, leaning against the door frame.
‘I see you found the place.How are you feeling,Nolan?’
‘A little rough around the edges, but not too bad.How about you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks to your grandmother. After the first toast, she and I switched
