Strickland did a Whois lookup on the Washington, D.C., IP address and saw that the domain was registered to a company named Mirror Strategies. A quick check showed them to be a public relations firm. But then, it was much more likely they were being used as an unwitting proxy—most likely compromised themselves by the people doing the data theft. Perhaps their network was just a drop zone for stolen files from around the globe. The thieves could even recompile the source code remotely for added safety. Strickland would have no way of knowing just who was behind this—Chinese, Russians, Americans . . . who could tell? And who was to say it was even a government that was doing it? It could be just a cyber crime gang. Grad students like him, perhaps. Privateers for a foreign government, or just hackers doing it for shits and giggles.
Christ. Strickland’s mind was racing. What did this mean? Well, for one thing, he could prove that their work had been—and was indeed still being—stolen. And that meant that they could avoid disciplinary action from the university. Hold it: They might even have a legal case against the university at this point. Would Stanford then be willing to underwrite an effort to find out who had done this to them? To find the people, companies, or governments responsible for this? In fact, DARPA would need to know. The Department of Defense would need to know. This had national security implications.
First Strickland had to call the team. His team. Whether Prakash was enraged at him or not, they needed to collectively decide on a course of action. Barely thirty minutes had elapsed after Strickland posted his revised code until it appeared half a world away. Someone had methodically targeted them. This was deliberate espionage. Strickland was just the weakest link, but it was likely that, had he not made the mistake, whoever it was would have kept searching until they found a way in.
On a brighter note that meant Strickland was not entirely responsible for this. It was no accident—it was someone’s mission. Deliberate. Targeted. Espionage. Someone was watching their research with great interest. That meant there was still value here.
Strickland picked up his phone and checked the time—four-thirty in the morning. This couldn’t wait, so he called the calmest person on the team: Gerhard Keopple. Maybe Koepple could convince the others to reconvene. . . .
* * *
Infuriatingly, it took over twenty-four hours for Strickland to get the entire team to agree to a meeting. Prakash had been the lone holdout, and it required the combined efforts of Koepple and Kasheyev and finally even Professor Lei to convince him to show up. Bao-Rong and Chatterjee weren’t a problem. Like Strickland, they weren’t really critical team members. They were ready to hear what anyone could do to salvage this situation—and their academic careers.
Strickland had told them only that he’d discovered how the code had been stolen—and by whom. In fact, the discovery had made him paranoid, and he refused to hold the meeting at their offices. Instead he’d insisted on a public place in the quad just north of Memorial Church. The wide paved courtyard there had a rosette pattern in its center, and that’s where they found themselves standing in the predawn light as the occasional university worker walked past them on the way to the church or points beyond. Here they could see anyone approaching from a long way off.
Kasheyev betrayed no emotion. “How’s your face, Josh?”
He hadn’t thought about it all day. “Fine. I’m fine.”
Professor Lei nudged Prakash. “I think you have something to say to Josh.”
Prakash sighed impatiently and refused to look Strickland in the eye as he spoke. “I apologize for striking you, Josh. It was wrong, and I regret it.”
Strickland nodded. “That sounds very . . . well rehearsed, but apology accepted.”
Professor Lei raised her eyebrows. “So we’re meeting out here why, Josh—because you think the offices are bugged?”
Strickland nodded. “The university network’s been compromised—possibly by a foreign government. I’ve got the proof.”
Prakash stared. “Oh, it’s foreigners now.”
Professor Lei interjected, “Vijay, let’s hear—”
“Why should we trust a damn thing he says?”
Koepple cast an annoyed look at him. “C’mon, Vijay.”
“Josh could be spinning tales of espionage to get himself off the hook. To make himself out like he’s some sort of hero.”
Strickland was starting to feel badly treated. “Someone is interested in our work, Vijay. Is that so hard to believe? We both know how much it could be worth. Somehow someone found out about it and focused on obtaining it.”