Chapter 2

"I think it's time to pay a visit to our hacker." Wei told the others. "Now that we've fortified ourselves with food and drink."

"You might as well make yourself comfortable, Liam." Darren told his bodyguard. It still amused him that the US Government felt he needed one.

Wait a while, will you? Sun projected from somewhere high over the Pacific Ocean. This one is smart and already she's got to know that someone's on her trail. If you tip her off that you know her homebase, she may just pull up stakes and disappear, then it will be harder to find her.

You've got a point. Darren replied. I've got a couple of telltales watching her place, and we'll know if anything goes in or out. Maybe we don't have to do any direct investigation yet. The simulation didn't show it, but is it possible to get the name of her ISP and trace her through them?

You still have a few things to learn, don't you Darren? Jun laughed. Since the simulation shows her place as standing alone, and individually protected, this bird is her own ISP. She's probably got a small Linux machine acting as her server, and from the protections she's got on it, she's probably done most of the programming herself.

Okay, but even if she's got a T1 line hooked up directly to her server, Darren replied, unembarrassed. He was a good student, but he knew there was still much to learn. she still needs someone providing the bandwidth and allocating the address or block of addresses that go with it. Somewhere, somehow, the IP address I found should give us, at the very least, a physical location.

You're right about that. Mei chimed in. Some good old fashioned detective work should get that for us. We'll get on it and hopefully will have something for you by the time you land.

It didn't take long. Half an hour later, Sun and Jun were copying the address in Tsim Sha Tsui where the TI line terminated, according to the provider's records.

Darren, in his capacity as First Gentlemen, had a meeting with the directors of several charities which his assistant set up for him in the Rose Garden at the White House. As important as this meeting was, it chafed Darren to sit and drink tea with overperfumed church ladies and overweight gentlemen who clearly were not suffering at the same level as those their charities purported to help. It didn't help that, every time he felt like telling one of the pompous idiots that he would match every dollar he or she deducted from their salaries for their cause, Stephanie or one of the girls would jerk him up short and make him promise to behave.

At the far end of the table, a young woman whose clothes did not fit very well sat and quietly sipped her tea, listening to the pleas of the others but saying nothing.

Wei, Darren thought at his wife's mother, can you get me some information on a Ms. Althea Resnick and her charity?

Sure, Darren. Let me just open another window here... Wei replied from the G/WSS office across town. Hmmm. It's small, but very well thought of. According to their own records and everything I can find about them from other sources, almost every dime they take in goes to paying for medicines, medical supplies and transportation for doctors who provide care for the displaced victims of unrest in Somalia and other places. Apparently they're all volunteers who recieve no salaries or other compensation. Ms. Resnick coordinates their efforts and sees that supplies and people get to where they are most needed. She has almost depleted her personal inheritance trying to make up for shortfalls in donations, and for her own travel to raise money for their cause. It's kind of like Doctors Without Borders, but smaller. They haven't even given themselves a name. You can read the financials here for yourself.

Thanks, Mom. Darren teased.

I'll 'Mom' you, 'Son!' Wei laughed as her daughter's husband returned his attention to his guests.

"Ms. Resnick - may I call you Althea?" Darren asked, startling the poor woman into spilling a few drops of tea on herself. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Resnick. I didn't mean to startle you. Please have the cleaning bill sent to my attention at the White House."

"Quite all right, Mr. Winchell." She smiled. "And please, do call me Althea."

He gave her a few moments to dab at the small stains, then continued. "Can you tell us something about your charity? What is it called?"

"I, uh, that is, we, uh haven't chosen a name for it yet." She smiled self-deprecatingly and continued. "We've been busy with other things, so at the moment it's simply the names of some of the doctors and myself. We have been meaning to come up with something catchy, but haven't got around to it."

"I've done a little research on the charities represented by the others here today, and it seems they're holding staff compensation to anywhere between 30 and 50 percent of income." Darren continued, as if complimenting the others on keeping their overhead down. "How much does your charity spend on salaries."

"Well, um, nothing, sir." She blushed a bit and he immediately regretted putting her on the spot like that. "We, that is, the doctors and myself, are volunteers. We don't get paid."

Darren shuffled some papers, pretending to find the one he sought as he pulled a sheaf at random from the stack. "But according to my research, you took in some twelve million in donations last year. What did you do with all that money?"

"You're welcome to examine our books, Mr. Winchell." She replied without indignation. He could see she suspected where he was going. "All of that money went to medicines, medical supplies, and transportation for the doctors."

"But it says here that you treated over six million people last year." Darren pretended astonishment. "Are you telling me you treated all those people at only two dollars per patient?"

"Actually, it was closer to seven million, and yes, we make do with what we can get." She was playing the game with him now, fully understanding his purpose.

"But how can you do that when it costs these others so much more to operate?"

Darren... ! Stephanie's thought, projected from the Oval Office, held volumes of warning.

I'll be good, but this is too good to pass up! They won't dare go to the press with any stories about how I was rude to them, because then they'd have to tell how I was rude to them. Darren could barely suppress a laugh.

You're incorrigible! Stephanie did laugh, startling her chief of staff who was waiting to talk to her.

"I'm sure their expenses are legitimate, sir." Althea smiled deprecatingly. "We've just been lucky enough to find people who really believe in what we're doing, and are willing to sacrifice a little themselves to help others."

"I see." Darren's smile teetered on the edge of politically incorrect before he got it back under control. "Well, I must commend you on that. Does anyone else have anything to add?"

The others were silent, as well they should be, and Darren called an end to the meeting. He spoke to his assistant, Agatha, as they were leaving. Discreetly, without letting it be known to the others, Agatha led Ms. Resnick to a small, unoccupied conference room.

"I'm sorry to have put you on the spot like that." Darren said as he entered. "Agatha, could I have a cup of coffee, please? And perhaps something for Ms. Resnick?"

"Coffee will be fine." Althea answered. "What can I do for you Mr. Winchell?"

In private, she turned out to be much more self-assured and Darren nodded his approval.

"As you may be aware, the Federal government, especially during my wife's administration, does not contribute to individual charities. Nor does it recommend any particular charity over others."

"I had a feeling that was the case, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to come here." She replied.

Agatha brought the coffee and started to leave, but Darren called her back.

"Please stay, Agatha." Darren told her. "We may have further need of your services."

Darren sipped loudly at the black, bitter brew. He had insisted that his staff learn to make decent coffee, and while it wasn't quite as strong as she had become accustomed to in her travels, Althea nodded her own approval as she took a somewhat less noisy sip from her own cup.

"Pardon my manners, Ms. Resnick." Darren said as let out a satisfied sigh. "But I like to let my hair down a bit after having to be nice to people I dislike."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Winchell." She smiled. "In the camps in Africa, when we can get coffee, we drink it from tin cups, usually on the run. This is a pleasant change."

Darren smiled back. "I don't have much time, since I do have another appointment, so to make matters brief, while I cannot donate to your efforts on behalf of the Federal Government, I would like very much to make a personal donation."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Winchell..." She began, but he cut her off.

"It's nothing of the sort. I donate to charities which I believe to be making a difference and not lining their own pockets. Yours has been operating on a shoestring for some time, and while that's commendable, I wonder how much more effective you would be if you had a bigger budget. What I propose to do is make a substantial donation, and let that fact be leaked to the press. Hopefully, it will set an example to others, and will make it a bit easier for you raise other funds."

"And you get nothing in return?" Althea asked skeptically.

"Unfortunately," Darren sighed, "my wife and I will probably get some grief from the press in return, since they seem to find only the bad in most actions taken by those in the public eye. Other than that, I may gain some personal notoriety - something I would willingly do without. My wife is the politician, I merely support her, but we agreed long ago that we couldn't let our public lives dictate how we lived in private. If I didn't believe in what you're doing, I wouldn't be doing this."

Darren glanced at his watch, took a last sip of his coffee and stood to leave.

"Agatha will get the pertinent information from you, Ms. Resnick." He said, taking her hand. "Have a good day!"

"I will, now." She smiled as Darren made his escape.

Sun taxied the Lear Jet to the designated spot, completed the shut-down and post-flight, then joined Jun at the hatchway. Except for some surprise at their expertise in flying the expensive private jet, Customs and Immigration gave them no trouble in their guises as the 'employees' of a Mr. Willy Chan. The G/WSS office in California had been in touch with a branch office in Hong Kong, and a new Mercedes Sedan, right-hand drive, of course, awaited them in the parking structure.