Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Guten Tag, brauche ich etwas Hilfe," I say arriving at my hotel's front desk.

The cute girl at the desk looks at me confounded.

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" I already note that she doesn't speak German by the flag pins on her lapel. She looks at her partner for help, but he's no better.

"English?" I say.

"English, yes. How can I help you, Sir?" She's relieved.

"Main key... is no more," I say in broken English.

"Pardon?"

"The room key, I lost." I use hand gestures to get my point across.

"Oh, certainly," she says as she logs into a computer. "What's your room number?"

"513, Keil Austerlitz."

People think hacking is all about writing code and outsmarting computers, but in reality, social engineering is as much a part of our arsenal as any good program. The hotel employee, eager to please and trying to avoid the awkwardness of our language barrier, checks my reservation. Seeing that I've supposedly been staying here for the last two days, she issues me a new copy of my key.

"Two, please," I say. "For in case."

"Sure," she says as she hands me a second one.

Once inside my room, I clean and stitch the small wound in my hand with some medical supplies I picked up on the way to the hotel. After I bandage my hand, I call for room service. In the shower, I imagine the face of Blake and his goons when they find their precious microchip went offline after I stepped on it. At least now I have a shot at escaping. For now, I just need food and CNN.

"The FBI has currently issued a warning to the Colombian government involving assassin, Eric Caine, who they say is currently in the city of Bogotá. The FBI found an airplane at El Dorado Airport in the Colombian capital. It was stolen just outside Caracas last night and is believed to have been used by Caine to cross the border. The Venezuelan authorities are urging the Colombian law enforcement agencies to issue a nationwide alert to capture the fugitive.

Venezuelan Vice President Ramos is scheduled to talk to leaders of the opposition in hopes of a peaceful solution to the wave of riots and protests throughout the country. Ramos, who will assume power in a ceremony later today, has even reached out to those leaders in exile in a desperate attempt to unify the nation."

The news flashes to a press conference for the head of the DISIP, Beltran Paredes, who addresses the press corps.

"So far, there's no evidence linking Eric Caine with the CIA or any other organization. The FBI has provided us with files showing that Caine has a record of mental illness, which has led him to break the law on more than one occasion."

"Is there any medical data to support that?" A reporter asks.

"Caine was seeking treatment at the VA hospital in Miami for posttraumatic stress disorder," Paredes answers. "The FBI have made those files available to us as well."

"What about Caine's affiliation with the NSA?"

"He did work for the NSA, but that was nearly a decade ago," Paredes says. "As far as we know, he acted alone."

It all starts to make sense now. The thing about the law is that it doesn't matter what you know or what you suspect; what matters is what you can prove. That's why they need me alive; they need a fall guy to cover their ass.

If the implant and whatever they were going to inject me with are a preview of what they can do, this is no garden-variety black op. I'm starting to have serious doubts that I'm going to be able to outrun these guys.

The hotel's business center is empty. Using the same trick I used at the café, I get administrator access to one of the computers and log into the hotel's network. I check out all the guests. Room 305 looks like a single American male. That should do it. It's time to go shopping.

Just like being stranded in an unfriendly country during a mission gone awry, a counter terrorist operator has to be able to find his way out of the situation, using his training and wits. During my time with the NSA, I found out that most security measures are largely placebos. Daring individuals can fool radars, inventive amateurs can forge documents and shrewd kids can break into computers. The idea that only a well-trained professional can do these things is a misconception. If that were true, coyotes, drug traffickers, identity thieves and all sorts of criminals would be easily brought to justice. It just takes ingenuity, determination, patience and a lot of nerve. Of course, if Mr. and Mrs. Blissful in Suburbia knew this, there would be a world full of insomniacs.

A few hours later, I return to my room with a few spare parts that I use to build a Radio Frequency Identification reader with an antenna. The thing looks like something E.T. would have assembled, but it's small enough and it'll do the work just fine.

I shave my goatee into a mustache, use an electric trimmer to recede my hairline about an inch, and don the non-prescription glasses. I take a picture of myself using a cheap digital camera, also courtesy of the stolen credit cards from the street robber.

I go to the lobby and make sure there's a new shift working at the front desk. Then I call room 305 using the courtesy phone. There is no answer. So far so good.

"Excuse me, my key is not working again," I say to a guy at the reception.

"What's your room number?"

"305, Miller," I say, giving him one of my spare keys. "They gave me this one in the morning, but I've been trying to get in my room for the last ten minutes and nothing happens."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Miller," he says giving me a new key. "Apparently, they gave you the wrong one. This one should work fine."

"I hope so. Thank you."

I walk into the room and Mr. Miller is not in, but luckily for me his briefcase-with his American passport-is.

Going back to the deserted business center, I use adhesive remover to peel the laminate from the passport, and scan the information page to a "free" version of Photoshop that I download from a warez site. I find the passport's font online. I then modify the information and swap the picture with mine. Once I laser print the new page and glue the laminate back, it looks perfect. Unless an immigration officer is already suspecting foul play, it will pass the casual inspection that Americans go through when returning home.

Connecting my makeshift microchip reader to the computer, I use the antenna to read the passport's information, which I re-write using software from a security site. Papa got a brand new passport. I buy a first-class ticket to Miami and I'm off to the airport.

There are cops everywhere, but no one seems to pay attention to the forty-something businessman buying a newspaper. The plane takes off without delay and I use the time to catch some Zs. Soon I'm standing in front of an immigration officer looking like any other businessman arriving in the US.

"Welcome home, Mr. Miller."