My first call was to an FBI supervisor – the woman to whom I had handed over The Division’s European files when the agency was closed down. She contacted one of her deputy directors, whispered that I had once been the Rider of the Blue, and I sat down with him a day later in a shabby conference room in a bland downtown tower.
After I had asked to speak to him alone and his two aides had closed the door behind them, I explained that Scott Murdoch’s social security number had been eliminated and the danger that presented to me. It took him a moment to master his incredulity but, once he had finished cursing whoever was responsible, he made a phone call and set about having the number restored.
‘I’ll flag it – I’ll make sure if anybody ever inquires about the number, you’ll be warned,’ he said. ‘What else?’
‘Someone to go in and alter computer databases. There’s a lot of information about me – or the aliases I have used – which has to be lost.’
‘Government or private computers?’ he asked.
‘Both,’ I said. ‘Everything from the records of an alumni association at a school called Caulfield Academy through to scores of announcements in the Federal Register.’
‘No hope,’ the deputy director said. ‘Databases are stripper rules – the Supreme Court says we can look but we can’t touch. It’d be illegal for me even to point you towards somebody who could help.’
I pressured him, telling him about the years I’d served my country, explaining why I needed him to break the rules.
He nodded thoughtfully, then something seemed to tip him over the edge and he started ranting. ‘Break the rules? You’re asking me to get involved in computer hacking – any idea how much that costs the community? This isn’t geeks, that was years ago – cyberspace is ram-raiders now. Smash into a site, ignore the damage, steal anything of value—’
I was stunned – I didn’t care about the Supreme Court or modern developments in cybercrime, I just wanted to clean up my past. I figured I must have touched a nerve, but that wasn’t going to help me get to safety.
He was on a roll, though, and he wasn’t stopping. ‘There’s a level even higher than the rammers,’ he continued. ‘Call ’em cat burglars – they get in, copy everything and nobody knows they’ve been there. They’re the brilliant ones. Had one guy, stole fifteen million mortgage files. Fifteen million! Each one included someone’s creditcard details, social security number, bank account, home address. Know what he was gonna do with ’em?’
‘Identity theft?’ I said, no idea why we were still talking about this.
‘Of course. But he wasn’t going to use it himself – oh no, that was too much like hard work. He was going to sell ’em to the Russian mafia. A buck each for the first million, he told us, just to get ’em in. Then he was gonna ride the up-elevator until he got ten bucks a file. Figured he’d make a hundred million. For sitting in front of a screen.
‘You know how much the average bank robber gets?’ he asked, leaning over the table. ‘Nine thousand bucks and maybe a bullet. Who do you think found the right business plan?’
I shrugged. I really didn’t care.
‘The guy is twenty-three, probably the best in the world.’
‘How long did he go down for?’ I asked, trying to show some interest.
‘Not decided. Maybe zip; depends if he keeps cooperating and helps nail the samurai crackers that are doing equally bad stuff. Battleboi was his online handle, so that’s what we call him.’
‘Battleboy?’ I said, not certain I’d heard right.
‘Yeah, with an “i”. Hispanic fucker. Grew up in Miami but lives nearby now, just off Canal Street, above Walgreens.’
He looked at me and our eyes met. The scales fell away and I realized why he had been telling the story.
‘Anyway, enough about my problems – I have to stop before I say something illegal,’ he said. ‘Anything else I can do?’
‘Nothing – you’ve done more than enough. Thank you,’ I said warmly.
He got up and started to lead the way out. Pausing at the door, he turned to face me: ‘I’m glad I could help with the social security problem. I know your reputation – a lot of us do – and it’s been an honour, a real honour, to meet the Rider of the Blue.’
He said it with such admiration, his handshake strong enough to turn coal to diamonds, it took me aback. He and his aides watched in silence, with respect I suppose you could call it, as I walked towards the elevator. Flattered as I was, I couldn’t help thinking of how a man gets burnt out long before his reputation.