It's been several months since Tracy charmed - or as Jason would have it, bullied - her way into his life, and between various jobs and having Tracy on his hands demanding to know everything there is about security systems, he hasn't had much time free. Today however, is a clean slate, with Tracy called away by her parents for an 'important' meeting of some kind.
Kimon methodically sorts out the latest collection of scrap parts into usable containers, while RIU snoozes atop an old-fashioned - some would say 'precyberlithic' - lava lamp.
Jason flops down into his chair and leans back with a loud creak. After a long sigh and a rub of his hands over his face, he says, "Right. Now that the three accounts are finished up and I don't have psycho-child hanging around I can finally look into something that has been bugging me. That suit was fine, other than that silly infection. Someone wasted a lot of money throwing it out. So ... I think I'm going to go find its previous owner. There was that site we recorded that her 'fun buns' pictures were uploaded too..." He cracks his knuckles as his lips curl in a bemused smirk. Nothing is more relaxing than being nosy.
To Jason's recollection, there are several files that may be of interest: the Soroyama 3.3 skin program (cleansed of the virus), the video recording of the prior wearer, the Irongrip Security search results, and the ID of the sneaksuit. There's a 'home base' URL for the virus itself as well.
"I'm sure the 'public' records won't mind me using an extracted facial picture to cross reference with all issues ids, eh?" Jason remarks to the snoozing dragon. "Or maybe a few private records too. And any high-school 'yearbooks' for reference, for that matter..."
RIU wakes up. Meep? Its blue eyes resume their normal glow as it looks about to see what's caught Jason's attention, then up at him.
"Just hunting teenagers, RIU," Jason remarks. "And no, it's purely business!"
Whistling to himself, Jason brings up a holo-image of the face of the suit's last wearer. His fingers roll and flick as he begins marking out trace points on it to identify points of interest, from the bridge of the nose, to distances between eyes, ears, mouth, and lips. "Nothing quite like knowing how biometric scanners use identifying marks, eh?" he quips as he brings up links to the city-wide network, using online versions of class yearbooks as the initial source of facial data since it's public and open. Always use the legal way first ... then go illegal if it fails.
Kimon's eyes go from their idle-mode amber to active green. Displays light up, showing a kaliedoscope of human faces, revolving one after another through the search engine's filter, and then the words "Match Found" flash.
Amanda Whaley: age 19. Graduated from North Bend Magnolia-4 Private School. Sophomore at New York Quantechnic University. Major: Psychocosmetology. Daughter of Thomas Whaley, current Logistics Sergeant for Irongrip Security. Presently single, currently dating several charming young lads. Projected likelihood of romance-related violence in near future: 67.5%.
Jason waggles his fingers. "Well, Hellllllllllllo Amanda. Now, have you been a baaad girl lately?" he nearly cackles as his search now moves into criminal records searching to see if she even filed a complaint on the suit ... to if she has gone missing at all.
Secondary search agents loop in additional data: her home address, her dormitory address, contact information, recent MyUniverse blog entries which describe her as having had a 'total bummer of a time' at a recent costume party - apparently she had been planning some kind of major reveal and then had to scrub the project. Her last entry is dated some twenty minutes ago, so she's evidently still around and able to blog about it.
There's no record of a missing sneaksuit filed by the Whaleys.
However, her past criminal record does show fines paid for prior charges of shoplifting, vehicle theft and joyriding, and her academic record shows several counts of harassment of fellow students, for which she was suspended from school for some weeks. She appears to have felt relatively little remorse over the incidents.
"Heheheh," Jason goes, a common trope when he's feeling a bit mischievous. "Kimon, I need to establish an untracable link so I can leave some comments on Amanda's blog hinting at her suit to see how she replies," he notes. It's now that he sits up because as silly as he may act this is where it gets serious.
"Understood," Kimon repies. The androgynous fox-robot in a kimono sets aside the synthetic myomer bundles it was sorting and moves up to Jason's side. Its eyes blink to orange. "Reindeer Armada security protocol detected. Threat assessment: medium." One display clears to a rendition of the geometry of the MyUniverse virtual reality site: a well-guarded central data repository, branching out to a network of local data nodes scattered around the world, replicating data back and forth, and a finer feathering of access points for users.
"Bridge into one of the local data nodes. We'll use piggybacking to carry packets into the more secure sections of the network. The trick is, of course, correctly breaking the encryption patterns they use so we can modify packets without detection," Jason instructs as he sits back. Instead of typing, his focus goes to his direct implant, as the neural interface is far more efficient for this sort of thing.
Each node on the graph shows up with a colored disc in several layers, representing the type and quality of the defenses at that particular computer system, and labels as to their apparent function. MyUniverse being a relatively public and open system, it's easy to see how it works, whereas a high-grade corporate or military installation would shield all such workings behind an opaque firewall.
As Jason shifts his focus, the outside world goes away, replaced by starry space all around him - cyberspace, each star a system on the Internet. Perspective works oddly in this space, functioning both in physical distance and logical distance. From a distance, MyUniverse appears to be a constellation, but up close the stars become world-spanning, reflecting the actual latencies between them. Interface windows appear around the edge of Jason's peripheral vision, showing details of the connection established up to this point.
The local access node grows larger as Jason approaches, identifying itself as "MyUniverse Local Access Node 177 - North Bend Central." Multitudes of green lines streak away from it to the thousands of people obsessively updating their own status and checking on others' journals, while a massive (at this data-scale) trunk leads away to the regional databank. If he makes a mistake and crashes the node, they're going to notice...
Jason resists the urge to cackle and declare himself a God here; even though thanks to his choice of computers and casing, his shape is more foxlike; reminiscent of the 'midway' form his friend Inari has. It's still different in that it looks more natural than stylized as hers did, but the similarity is there. He would claim it is because a fox is sly ... but it may also be that he misses someone he hasn't contacted in some time. In any event, he goes about his work professionally as the 'universe' and its constellations all have meaning. It's a song, or perhaps a dance ... to weave between nodes and intercept data.
Panels float around the node, each depicting a cartoonish reindeer in green or red harness - an oddly Christmassy touch, but perhaps MyUniverse is saving the actually threatening-looking security for its internal systems. These are its security systems, filled with tools to identify, authenticate, and pass through the multitudes of user requests.
"Time to dig a few 'dens'," Jason remarks to himself. It's audible to him, even if it's not really speaking. His form dances along the first data path, heading to the first 'fence' to tunnel under.
The ring of orbiting panels slows as he approaches, trying to focus its attention on him.
Jason is nothing more than a fleeting shadow mixed in with a data stream as it zips past the first layer. It's using an old encoding algorithm, easily identified and cracked with the right system. He's part of the first stream now, buried within its bits. Now can he weave into the next one?
The orbiting panels waver, then turn transparent - they are no longer an obstacle to him. Wait, what's this - some past administrator logged in remotely from a public terminal! The data trail he left behind should prove handy. Kimon's ability to analyze and project from data augment Jason's cyber-senses, producing a smoke trail that leads toward the next level of defenses.
'Nose to the path' you could say as the hunter stalks the trail left by one of the administrators. This is ... well, just what he always tells people. The weakest link in security is always the staff as this clearly shows. Soon he is a reflection of that administrator, his virtual 'skin' rippling with the signature of admin who 'left the gate open'. He doesn't even need to hide as he slips past the next layer, but ... he does anyway. Never let your guard down and always go for the overkill. It's better than being caught...
"Welcome back, Administrator," says the local (very unintelligent) AI that presides over the data access node as he enters its space. Cyberspace warps and reforms around him, becoming an endless library of books, a multitude of tiny robots scurrying hither and thither with new pages to be tucked into them; the AI itself looks like a copper-skinned female built into the desk, wearing librarian-style glasses - the style itself has persisted in media even though it's trivial for anyone to get vision-correction treatment these days.
"Give me the data pages for customer Whaley, Amanda," Jason instructs the system and within moments have access to her entire blog, from status to everything she has ever posted. Before he locks it down, he searches it for private entries, in case she decided to write about her suit, but lock it to herself as the only reader. Failing there, well, he has plans.
Amanda Whaley's MyUniverse journal looks like a typical (if old fashioned) book on the outside, but the pages on the inside are moving videos. It takes a little fiddling with the search feature, but Jason finds it - a deleted entry!
"Oh, Amanda, nothing is ever deleted on the 'net," Jason all but purrs when he finds the entry. Just restore the flag to mark is as live instead of deleted and ... view!
"OMG! My dad is the best ever," Amanda says excitedly. She's cute and fluffily blonde, her hair done in an asymmetrical style long and hiding her face on one side, short and cut to a razor point on the other. "He brought home a-- well, it's going to be a surprise at the party, but I'll tell you this, it's going to make all the other suits around look like kids drew on them with crayons! Thanks Marty, that site you showed me is going to be really handy..."
"Okay, so ... she's ... goofy," Jason remarks, amused. It's now his turn to write an entry and he does so. One that will be right on the front of her 'page' when she logs in, visible to only her. 'Your account has been locked for questionable and possible illegal activity regarding skin suit program copyright violations. To unlock, contact our technical support at the following link to discuss this matter," he enters, then establishing that link as a tunnel back to a anonymized chat server that will contact him when she connects. He then 'closes' the book and flips the 'latch' to lock her account from her being able to post until she contacts him. It's sad that people still fall for these types of simple redirect but ... they do. And she has done something illegal, which he cited ... so ... "And now we just 'disconnect' and wait!" he thinks.
The AI thanks Jason as he returns the book to its care, then hands it to a small floater robot which whisks it off to some nameless shelf in the recesses of MyUniverse.
"But before I go ... " Jason says, falling victim to something he hasn't done yet out of ... well, he just couldn't bring himself. But since he is here ... might see if Inari has her own site now...
"Inari?" The AI tilts its head to one side. "One moment, sir. 12,517 entries found. How would you like to refine your search?"
"Inari, music sensation. Entered the scene four years ago, just after the incident at the first Avatar's amusement park," Jason mutters to himself as he enters more and more narrowing information to identify the specific Inari, including connections to a woman named Akiko.
The book appears! ... It appears to be a Voya Multimedia creation, documenting Inari's rise to the singing sensation of the musical world, with a multitude of links to other Voya music, movie, and interactive drama stars, along with a myriad of interesting facts about her preferences, recent activities - she had eel wrapped in bacon sushi-style for breakfast - and recent boyfriends - currently single, having kicked her boyfriend out the hatch of a moving aircar; he survived thanks to landing on another aircar nearby. It offers a 24/7 'All Inari all the time!!!' channel, showing selected video from one of the cameras that surround her constantly.
Jason ... isn't quite sure how to take her kicking some poor guy out of an aircar. That brings back odd memories, for certain. Even though he knows he shouldn't ... he searches for any mention of his name in the official pages.
There isn't any - but there is a curious absence. She uses generalities when talking about her past - a childhood where other children teased and bullied her, where she was forced to sneak around, and where she managed to give them their comeuppance now and then through cleverness, and a dramatic escape from the heart of the Incursion from her kidnappers to the safety of Los Angeles. And she never talks about her first boyfriend, but admits she has had one. Fan sites are rife with suppositions about who this could have been.
"How did you break up with him?" asks one reporter. Inari's smile is crooked as she gives the reporter a look beneath dark-lashed eyes. She says only, "Who says I did?"
"I doubt that was ever me," Jason mutters to himself as he re-reads the entries, "We were never .. well ... you know." He has to stop himself there and shake his head and complain, "And why am I talking to myself." He almost closes the book ... then decides to do something stupid. Even though ie may never reach her, he opens up one of the 'Send Inari a message!' chats and writes, "You were always destined for something great. Even when the heart of darkness held you in its grasp amongst the worlds, enthralled against the light, there was hope. I'm glad you held onto that air car back then and found your path to freedom. Shine brightly." He doesn't leave a name, nor any way to trace it. If it reaches her ... she might realize who wrote it. If not ... well she's probably happier anyway. He closes that book and returns it to the 'manager'. "Time to go," he remarks as he slides back into the data stream and out the way he came.
The message appears in gold on the page, the sender only 'Anonymous'.
Cyberspace recedes around Jason's viewpoint, MyUniverse dwindling into a constellation, then a star, and then space fades from black into grey into... The real world around him. Kimon's eyes fade from warning orange to a calm green.
Not ten minutes later, while Jason's reviewing the myomer bundles that Kimon sorted out - most are old and showing signs of fatigue but there are some relatively fresh ones - his robot chimes. RIU perks up.
"Amanda?" Jason asks Kimon for confirmation.
A computer display lights up. "Incoming connection - Amanda Whaley."
Jason sets down the bundles he was working with and rolls his chair back over to his desk. "Link established. Anonymized chat multi-peer chat online. Text-only," he mutters to himself as he establishes the link.
"MyUniverse Support Session #7185624," announces the lying chat system. Several more lines follow, emulating the actual service, and then Amanda's first line of text shows up. "OMG what kind of primitive tech support system is this you don't even have VOICE OMG OMG"
"This system is designed to keep professionalism and bias out of dealing with the matter at hand, Miss Whaley. Voice and images inject emotion, text does not," Jason types his reply. "We are partnered with many companies around the world to bring our users the very best in products and service. We must also take any complaints they lodge against our customers seriously. Particularly complains that involve the theft of intellectual property. We received a report that you downloaded an illegal copy of the Amaranth skin and your entries seem to corroborate the report."
"What? That's totally unpossible," Amanda retorts, though her actual typing is filled with shorthand and typos. "Show me the evidence!"
"I have not include the link out of respect for your privacy, but since you wish to be combative," Jason types, ... then includes the link to the hacker site her pictures were uploaded to. "The skin you downloaded was infected with a virus known as the Emperors New Clothes. It was through this virus that your theft was tracked. Do you deny that is you in the images, Miss Whaley?"
There's dead silence from the other end.
The chat window fills with "OMG"s one after another, and then after a bit of teenage sputtering, "PLEASE DELETE THE PICTURES OMG THAT IS SO UNFAIR FML FML FML"
"As I noted earlier, we take all complaints seriously. First, intellectual theft is a serious crime and carries stiff penalties. However, the owner of the property informed us that you obviously suffered for your actions based on those pictures. Also, they realize it has likely rendered your skin suit useless. They have offered to remove the software from the suit for you if you will ship it to them and will not pursue charges against you," Jason types, knowing full well she doesn't have it any more.
"OMG please tell me you can delete the pictures," Amanda types, though her reply is in all caps and suffused worse than ever with teenage chat epithets. "I'll do anything just give me time I'll do anything... I have money! Can't we just forget this ever happened?"
"This isn't blackmail, Miss Whaley. The owners merely wish to protect their property," Jason replies in cold text. "If you are willing to ship the suit to one of their facilities, they will cleanse it and absolve you of any legal liabilities. Furthermore, they will try to remove the posted pictures, as infected skin programs harm their reputation as well, as I am sure you can imagine."
"I, um, I, give me time, I put it away someplace safe, I gotta find it, just get started with the delete and I'll get it to you, okay?" Amanda babbles.
"Have you been distributing copies of the program, Miss Whaley?" Jason now writes. "Is that why you require time?"
Amanda types panickedly - if ever you could hear hyperventilating through text, now's the time - "No, no, it's nothing like that, I just put the suit away someplace safe so it couldn't lock up on anyone, it was horrible, I couldn't breath, I had no idea it was uploading the pics, I feel violated, OMG please help me!"
"Calm down and we shall try. What model of skin suit were you using?" Jason types. "It will help prep the facility for the proper cleansing procedure."
"Um, um, um, it was a sneaksuit! Real official, military kinda thing," Amanda types. She identifies it correctly as a Second Skin suit, but blanks on the model number, typing in several and asking if that sounds right after each one.
"I cannot validate model numbers, but I will pass these on. You do understand that civilian possession of military grade equipment is also a crime? Did you have the proper permits filed for it?" Jason asks.
By bits and pieces, Jason manages to worm the story out of her. It seems her father works in the logistics department of Irongrip Security. She claims to have him firmly wrapped around her finger, and so when she revealed she needed a high-end suit with optic camoflauge, he came through by 'borrowing' a sneaksuit from work and doctoring the records so it wouldn't show, at least until the end-of-year audit. After her trial run ended so disastrously, she claims at first she "put it away safely", then finally breaks down and admits she threw it into a disposal chute and has no idea where it is... And her father has been hinting for weeks now that it'd be nice if she finished whatever project she had that needed it so he could get it back into the system. She offers 'all her savings' - apparently N$400 or so - if the administrator can make those pictures go away and intercede with her with the Amaranth copyright holders to get her time 'til she can wheedle her father into finding another suit, that ca
can be returned in its place.
"This is all highly irregular. Numerous crimes have been committed here, Miss Whaley. You have put your father in a difficult position, in addition to your own legal situation. The copyright holders will do what the can to purge those pictures from the site. In addition, they will not pursue legal action at this time," Jason types. "I hope this has taught you a lesson, Miss Whaley. Being flippant with other peoples' properly, be it material or data, is traceable. They will log the numbers you have provided and if the suit turns up again, they will contact you. And if I were you, Miss Whaley, I would save that money and use it to pay your father for the suit so he can replace it in the inventory at his work. We will now unlock your account. Have a good day, Miss Whaley."
"This is so unfair," Amanda despairs. "Cut me a break please, this is the worst day of my life! Like being stuck in that suit for fifteen minutes wasn't bad enough! Anything you can do would be sooooo appreciated..." It's easy to imagine her taking a deep breath and leaning forward. What is it with these teenagers?
"And now you understand why we do not use video, Miss Whaley. Sit upright," Jason types. And with that, he disconnects the chat and unlocks her account.
"Looks like I have to go moonlight as a good samaritan and delete those pictures," Jason laments, "And snoop a bit, perhaps."
The website for 'Face Reality' seems to be significantly more protected than MyUniverse's access node - it's shot through with the telltale red of high-grade security. Furthermore, there's only one access point for it, and no clue what lies behind the facade.
"Impressive," Jason muses as he examines the security for nearly an hour. This is a dangerous game ... but when has Jason ever really backed down from a challenge? He decides to at least attempt it, with instructions to Kimon to sever the neural link if it becomes life-threatening.
The node manifests in cyberspace before Jason-fox - it's a giant clown's face, but instead of mirth, it carries a malevolent air, surrounded by skeins of orbiting razorwire. Unlike MyUniverse, there are very few lines threading to it, appearing briefly, then fading away. It's not a popular website, and that will make it harder to pretend to be a harmless user.
With these sorts of systems, it is better to do a divide and multi-'attack' so to speak, to make it appear like a surge of activity, to hide the entrance of someone with more ... dangerous intentions. He's had to do this before for clients ... and it has never come cheap. Why he is doing this now for some stupid teenager ... bah. He's getting soft in his 'old age'.
Something seems odd to Jason-- wait. While the website is publicly accessable, protecting the inside core are three levels of razorwire defenses, blurring in place every few seconds. That's the telltale sign of one-time pads being used to encrypt sessions to the administrative core. This will be an especially hard ststem to crack. At least the Armor-ICE in use will hamper the system's own attempts to track Jason back, since it has to re-encrypt its connection at those times.
"This seems a bit extreme for some embarrassment site used to get people to see reality," Jason muses as his blunt 'muzzle' rolls in thought. "Now I'm curious. Time to see if I can penetrate this ... or not."
It's tricky to dodge and slip under razorwire that seems to blur and shift as he approaches, but somehow ... he manages it and glides past the first later without injury. His 'breathing' here is slow and calm as he focuses on the next. A simple attack this time, keep shields...
The remaining layers of razorwire shift in orbit slightly. They sense someone nearby, but they can't be sure where.
The next layer proves harder ... Jason glides and darts, trying to find a hole ... but nothing makes itself apparent quite yet...
Just as Jason thinks he's managed to find a hole in the razorwire, a previously unseen tendril whipcracks him from the other side! His first level of shields, formerly a bright gold, cracks and becomes translucent.
As Jason tests the system, several feints in and out leave him just avoiding nasty lashes of security code.
The system fakes a vulnerability to lure Jason in... And then it closes the noose around him! He activates his emergency disconnect, but electricity crackles brightly around him like foxfire.
"Kimon! Protocol Line Splinter!" Jason tries to order his system, breaking his data pattern up into thousands of fragments to confuse the system long enough to completely disengage.
Jason's apparent form splits into hundreds, no, thousands of little foxes all exactly alike. Arcs of red lightning crackle after him, chasing each one down. Pop! Pop pop pop! But the real one is just a step ahead, and as cyberspace greys out, fades away from sight... One last bolt cracks hard against his mind, sending him reeling from the chair.
Some moments later he awakens to RIU licking his face worriedly.
"No dippy kid is worth a lobotomy," Jason complains when his eyes open and he finds he has a slight headache. "Especially a free job. That was stupid, I should research that group more before I try that again. See if I can find who works on their security..."
RIU mreeeps! and noses at Jason, as if to scold him for getting it all worried.
"I know, I should know better than to be nice to people," Jason agrees with RIU and pats its head "I'll be fine. I was just a bit cocky, is all."
The little dragon twines up in Jason's arms, then rests its chin on his shoulder.
"Kimon, background search please. Anything you can find on the group 'Face Reality', please," Jason mutters as he relines a bit in his chair.
The fox-robot chimes. One display becomes a scrolling list of news articles about cyberhacks claimed by this group, another shows the title page of their webpage, open to their mission statement. There are a thousand or more hacking groups like this, splashing their names across whatever open websites they can deface, screaming their proto-idealogies into whatever ears they cna make listen.
"For a group that seems a dime a dozen, they have a nasty system. Can you determine a list of handles that 'work' for the group, Kimon? Cross-check news articles against their site. Backtrace the name registry of their site too, not that it likely has anything," Jason mutters.
This particular group surfaced about a year ago, but for people who want to embrace reality, they seem awfully shy about giving away real identities. Their leader goes by the moniker 'Black Queen', and their other hacker handles seem to be chess-themed like 'Rogue Pawn' and 'Bishop'. The name registrar is anonymous and funded through electronic cash deposits once a year.
Jason is half-tempted to hack the registrar and delist them. But ... after his headache passes. "Food," he decides. He gets up and heads into his kitchen to make a sandwich.
The little dragon winds around Jason as he gets up, perching on his shoulders comfortably.
"Do you ever miss the others?" Jason asks the little dragon as he goes about making a simple ham and cheese sandwich. With mayo, even.
RIU nuzzles against Jason's head, as if to suggest there's only ever one person it needs in its life.
"Thanks," Jason remarks as he goes to sit at a small table with the sandwich and a glass of water. He sits there for a time, just eating quietly, lost in thought. "Has it really been four years since everything?" he finally asks the empty room. "Does time go so quickly? And why did you just have to look up Inari again? You've got plenty of projects to work on, that would just complicate things."
Kimon chimes. "Intrusion attempt detected," it announces. "Honeypot protocol engaged. Attempting to trace intruder."
"Of course," Jason growls, stuffs the remainder of his sandwich back into his mouth, then heads back to his lab and chair. "Type of attacking system and methods used, summary," he orders.
The trace displays on the screen. Unlike most commercial websites, Jason employs an extra layer of protection - a pseudo-system that pretends to be Reality Check's website, protected with just enough security to be convincing, while the real core lies beneath it. It is this system that the hacker is rooting around in, in the belief that Jason's system was 'a little tough to crack'; in the meantime, the system is slowly extending its probe back the way it came.
Jason leans forward as he watches the hacker root about. By watching its pattern, he can perhaps time the trace-back to speed it up...
Though it was bounced through a few proxy systems, the attack turns out to have been made textbook-style - and Jason wrote the textbooks. "Origin: Irongrip Security internal node 12," flashes the identifier on the screen.
"Well, well. Kimon, try to lock the system line attacking us and open a communication with the attacker, please," Jason says. "I wonder if this is 'dad' upset that I contacted his daughter. Though how he would have traced me ..."
The hacker's line freezes. A dialog pops up. "Establishing contact. Voice protocol... Established. Voice modulator... Established. Ready." Then a gruff voice. "What the devil-- hello? Who's this?"
"You have ten seconds to identify and explain yourself before I obliterate your node, and that of your entire subnet, Irongrip Security, node twelve. In addition, all activity has been recorded and signed for delivery to the appropriate authorities," Jason says calmly.
"What? Uh-- Sergeant Thomas Whaley, Irongrip Security. I believe the owner of this website may have information that could assist me in recovering a sneaksuit," the voice says. "Look, I'm not here to pick a fight, but if you found that sneaksuit, it's stolen property."
"Why do you believe I would have any knowledge of a stolen suit, Mister Whaley?" Jason asks as he leans back in his chair. "And more to the point, why are you willing to commit a crime in an attempt to recover it?"
Mr. Whaley audibly sighs. "Look, Second Skin gave me the access log for who'd stripped the suit serial," he says. "I backtracked the connection to here, and that wasn't easy, whomever ran the query was a real paranoid sonuva, but I've got a little skill myself, and nothing stays deleted forever in the digital universe, ya know?"
"No, it doesn't. I am part of a security firm, as you may have surmised, Mr. Whaley. I ran the number as part of an ongoing investigation I have going on that I cannot discuss due to client confidentiality. I do not have your suit," Jason remarks. "But, I do happen to know your boss. I do not think he would appreciate knowing that you are using his systems to perform illegal acts."
"Trigger-happy little..." The voice trails off into a mutter. "Anyway, I'd be real appreciative if we could get it back and no one needs to raise a fuss. I can arrange for a little finder's fee if it were to turn up, no questions asked."
There's a pause. "Are you in trouble, Mr. Whaley?" jason asks as he sits upright for the moment. "I surmise that you were in charge of the suit and it was under your watch that it was lost? And if so, how long do you have before you are in a ... dangerous position?"
"It's got to turn up before Dec. 20," Mr. Whaley avers, naming a date about a month away. "Sooner is better, but so far I've been able to shuffle missions so no one ever needs all of the sneaksuits at once. God only knows how long that'll last..."
"Right. I will keep that in mind as my case progresses. If I find anything, I will contact you. I do know where to find you," Jason says, "Good day." He waves his hand across his throat in a slash to indicate to Kimon to cut the connection.
"I'll pay--" The line shuts down.
"I somehow doubt Tracy is doing to part with her new toy so easily, yet ... " Jason mutters and rubs his forehead, "This could mean a man's life. It looks like I may need to find Tracy a replacement so that one can go back. I wonder if I can pull any favors with the military for my help during the whole Avatar's core business."