Chapter 11: Put a sock in it

I woke up early. I had been going to bed at odd hours lately, partly due to the stranger and partly due to Clara, which, thinking about it, seemed to be just as much a stranger as whoever was abusing me. I had found it hard to read his opinions of me, and felt transparent and powerless, but her reaction had actually felt worse. I didn't expect anything else from him, while I thought, and she told me, that she liked me and would support me. Trust can be such a dangerous thing sometimes.

Anyway, I had a few things to do. I had a quick breakfast, and backed up my e-mail into one of my flash drives. I needed to look into it carefully, but I didn't want to do so in my room. Perhaps master's surveillance was good enough to see me doing it directly, or perhaps he controlled my computer. I'd have to go elsewhere to do this work. Unfortunately the library closed on weekends, so that wasn't an option. Really, the obvious choice was to go back to Clara's again. However, on the one hand I didn't want to impose on her too much, and on the other I had been shocked by her attitude the previous day. I didn't know if I could trust her enough to do this stuff in front of her.

I had to make assumptions. The stranger could already be controlling my computer, in which case I was pretty fucked, because any chances I had to analyse the e-mails and any measures I'd take to see what was going on during the Skype session would become immediately obvious. In fact, if that was the case, perhaps he already knew I had backed up the mail. I couldn't just do nothing though. I had told the stranger I couldn't put up with that much pain again, and it was true. I still hoped I could solve this situation without involving any other people, but I realised that eventually the stranger would take things too far and everything would come out, unless I managed to stop him before it came to that, and that entailed certain unavoidable risks. Risks like viewing e-mail headers on my own computer, and hoping the stranger could at most make as little sense of it all as I could.

The headers of all his mail seemed to point at the same IP address: 212.58.224.138. At least if I was reading them correctly, which I wasn't too sure of. There were several lines from different servers the mail had gone through, but that appeared to be the originating IP. I thought of showing the headers to Chris. Perhaps I would if I couldn't go further with it on my own. There was no way to go anywhere without running risks. The difficult thing was finding the right balance, and I wasn't at all sure I was managing that well. Chris seemed, retrospectively, less of a risk than Clara. I hadn't told her everything and yet she had deduced disturbing amounts of it, and, what was worse, she didn't seem to be quite on my side anymore.

Now I had an IP. The question was what to do with it. the stuff I had been reading online seemed to suggest that after you have the IP everything was solved. Well, those numbers didn't solve very much for me. I needed to understand things a little better. Hopefully the books I had borrowed would help.

Nothing to it, then. The only option was going back to Clara's, trying to work out what to do with an IP, and, perhaps, thinking of a plan for the Skype meeting the stranger had set up. Chris had said something about traffic analysis. I hadn't seen anything on that topic in the primers I got, so perhaps it wasn't going to be quite so simple. I thought of taking my laptop with me, but I didn't think I was at the stage at which it would be useful, and I didn't want to alarm the stranger prematurely, so I just took down the IP address (212.58.224.138) on a piece of paper, folded it, and put it in my pocket. This would perhaps better live with the books too, I thought.

Though Clara had woken up quite early the night I slept at her place, it didn't seem right to phone her at 9 on a Saturday. I felt like going out and clearing my head a little anyway, before I got on with the books, so I took a shower, put on a tracksuit, and went out for a run. It wasn't exactly my thing, but my thing wasn't working out very well, was it?

As I went out, I sent a short SMS to Clara. That way she could reply when she woke up. "Morning. I'd like to go to your place and check out the books, if it's OK. Hugs", it said. I was tempted to ask for a confirmation of delivery, but I didn't want to pay extra and she'd get around to calling once she was awake, so why hurry things? Dawn doesn't come sooner just because you wake up earlier.

The weather was a little cold and cloudy, but at least it was dry, and running warmed me up fairly fast. I ran to the library, which was of course closed, and then towards Clara's place, just randomly. The streets were pretty empty, and there wasn't much traffic either.

As I was about to head back, I saw Clara riding her bike. She saw me, and I could see she was surprised, and then pleased to see me. She waved, rode towards me, and stopped the bike by me.

"Hey!" she said. "What are you up to?"

"Did you get my text?"

"Nah, I don't check my phone while I'm cycling. I want to live, you know."

"Well, I wanted to..." Suddenly I realised she'd probably not be very happy to feel I just wanted to use her room to read. "I wanted to see you", I finished, blushing.

"Did you?" she asked, checking her phone. She snorted. "Right, you wanted to se me, sure." Fortunately, she was smiling as she said it. "You got to learn to lie a bit better, it's a handy skill to have."

"Not for a mathematician", I quipped. "We deal in transcendent truth."

"Except when you're dealing with a girlfriend, right? Sure, come and see me then", she said, riding away, leaving me behind.

I was a bit embarrased about Clara's teasing, but I was relieved she didn't mind me visiting, even if it was just to check my books. We'd met very near her place, so it didn't take me long to get there. She was waiting for me at the door, which I thought was a nice gesture.

She let me in, asked me if I had had breakfast, and since I had, led me to her room. She hadn't had time to change, so she was still wearing her cycling clothes: practical more than pretty. Her bed was made, and her things were in good order, just like my previous visit.

For some reason I felt awkward about being there, with her. I dithered a bit, and She seem to run out of patience, so she just gestured towards the bed.

"Mind if I sit then? I don't want to rumple it up", I said.

"Oh, and me hoping you were here just for that!" She bent down to take off her shoes. "You can always make it again, if you're that bothered. What's up with you today?" She stretched a little, and stood there, looking at me, her stockinged feet on the floor, almost as if she was daring me to do something about them.

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence later, she picked up one of her shoes and offered it to me. Not knowing what to do, I didn't want to get things going the wrong direction, so I didn't grab it.

"Take it", she said. "Check how it works; you may learn something."

I was getting more confused by the moment, so perhaps that's why I decided to do as she said. After all, it was a clear instruction, leading to a clear course of action, so I took the shoe she was offering, toe pointing at me.

"What should I check?"

"Everything. Find out how it's built", she said, and sat by my side. At least she was no longer standing there, looking down at me.

The shoe seeme to be a little worn, but in good condition. It was similar to a hiking shoe, though when i checked the sole, it had a cut out rectangular area. It seemed to be designed to have something attached, and the missing bit of sole let one see another molded layer of material. I didn't know much about cycling, so I did find the design a bit puzzling.

"Alright, so this attaches to something. What's it for?"

"Got it. These shoes are made for cycling, so they attach to the pedals through a cleat. That's why they have that hole on the sole. Check the inside."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Come on, check the inside."

I opened the shoe up and checked the inside. There didn't seem to be anything special.

"Use your hand."

"No offence, but you've been wearing these just now."

"Like you mind. Come on."

Inevitably I was getting a bit aroused by the whole thing: manipulating Clara's shoe, and the way she was bossing me around. I maybe should have stopped, but if I had that kind of self-discipline I wouldn't have had any problem with the stranger to begin with. So I checked the inside of the shoe with my hand. It was still warm, and a little damp. There was an insole, and I realised the sole of the shoe was unusually thick.

"So there seems to be some kind of layer between the foot and the sole. What is it for?"

"Right. On this kind of shoe the sole is a bit flexible, so you can walk with it", she explained. "But that's not very good for cycling. Between the outer sole stuff and the foot there's a more rigid layer, to help transfer the pressure from the pedal to the whole foot instead of just the part that's in contact with it."

"I see"", I said, and dropped the shoe to the floor. "So why do I want to know this?"

"Natural curiosity? I like cycling, and I'm hoping we can do that together at some point, so it would be useful for you to know the gear."

"Heh, that's a bit of a strange way of giving me a tutorial though."

"Well, didn't you like it? They say people learn better when they have some personal interest. I suspect if I would have told you about the design of the shoe you'd have fallen asleep by now, but checking it out with your own hands, that's more engaging, especially given your ... proclivities."

I couldn't deny she was right, so I didn't try. Somehow, though I felt a bit embarrased about the way she was acting towards me and how I was reacting to it, I also liked it, and I didn't feel as crushed as when the stranger did it, maybe because Clara was just treating it like something normal, perhaps a little quirky. She wasn't being mean about it at all, even if she was being a bit pushy. Could she possibly believe there really was nothing much wrong with my perversion?

"I have some time pressure, so do you mind if I get on with the books?"

"Oh, sorry. I should have asked, perhaps. I've been checking them myself as well, and they would definitely benefit from journalistic style. Some of those pages are true walls of text." She stood up and got the books from one of her bookshelves and dropped them by me. I picked up the book I wanted, as she got another book for herself from one of the shelves, and lay down on the bed.

I begun to read, trying to make sense of the unusual terminology and dense style, but I soon felt Clara's toes touching my leg. It startled me, and I shuddered a little, pulling away. I looked at Clara, and she smiled at me. She had done it on purpose. I tried to go back to my reading, but it took me a while to regain concentration. The tactile sensation of her socked toes, their warmth and pressure against my leg, kept intruding in my thoughts as I was trying to understand IP geolocation, network classes, routing tables and similar arcana.

It seemed that with the right databases, which one could consult online, IP addresses could be pinpointed to a country, internet service provider, and, depending on how complete they were, to a particular city. I wasn't sure how much that would help me, given that I knew perfectly well the stranger lived in my own flat, at least in all probability. Still, I couldn't just skip ahead randomly. I couldn't tell in advance what would be useful, and necessary to understand other parts of the puzzle.

As I was trying to pore over a complex passage about BGP finite state machines, wondering if I really needed to go into that much detail, I felt Clara's toes stroking my leg. It completely shattered my focus again, and when I'm focused on something I become angry and frustrated if I'm interrupted. I looked at Clara, trying to convey my indignation, and told myself I didn't want to scream at my girlfriend. She smiled again, and I managed to keep my annoyance in check. Didn't she realise I had no time for this? I went back to my reading, trying to ignore the feel of her rubbing against me.

When she started poking my leg, I completely loss my patience. I bookmarked the page, and shut the book, like a door slam. Clara just looked at me, and this time I couldn't keep my temper.

"I don't have time for this", I said. "I'll go read outside."

"You are so silly sometimes."

"Why, because I get distracted by that? Well, that's just how I am! I need to read this, soon. Why are you doing this to me, Clara?" I went from telling off to a plaintive whine. "Clara ... please? Don't play with me like that, not now."

Clara just kept smiling, making me even more annoyed.

"That's not why you're silly", she said, poking my leg with her toes. "You're going about this the wrong way, that's what I meant."

"What?" I was truly surprised. "What do you mean the wrong way?"

"Why are you trying to learn all that nerd stuff now? No offence, I'm sure it's incredibly useful and interesting to the right kind of person, which you clearly are. It's just not something that's going to help you much. At least it's not the best way you could be using your time."

"Are you saying I can't research?"

"Don't be so defensive. I'm sure you can research very well, the way you mean it. Which is precisely why you're going about this the wrong way. This isn't that kind of problem. You're not trying to find out some sort of external truth that's written in a book or waiting for an experiment to manifest."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you at all. I have some..."

"Listen. I'm going to give you my understanding of what's going on. You tell me if I'm wrong. And if I'm right you're definitely using the wrong strategy here."

"Ok, tell me what you think is going on then", I nodded.

"You haven't told me much, but it's clear something happened involving you and someone else, probably one of your flatmates. You're not sure who it is. Maybe you were drunk at the time, and you blacked out, and that arsehole has been showing you pictures. Whoever it is, he's managed to get you to do things you didn't want to, and you don't know how to break the cycle."

She hadn't got it quite exactly, but she had deduced a lot of the truth.

"Let's say you're not too far off. That's why finding out who's doing it is the most important thing. I need to be able to stop this, so I need to have something to retaliate."

"Yes, that much is obvious. But have you thought that's just not the best way to find out?"

"Ok, how would you do it then?"

"This sort of methods make sense when there's some bad guy doing something and you're trying to pin him down. You can find out where he lives, his internet provider or whatever, and deal with him. But you already know where this guy lives. You know it has to be one of your flatmates."

"Right, but I don't know which."

"Well, that's what I'm saying. You're not trying to find out a person out of a million, you're trying to find out a person out of four. Human factors are going to be a hell of a lot more important, easier and faster to think about than all this crap", she said, poking the book lying on my lap with her foot.

"Don't do that", I said, annoyed. "You don't treat books that way."

"So it could be your friend Ron, Alan, Chris or Victor, right? If I remember them all."

"I don't think it can be Alan. there's been a lot of computer communication involved, and he doesn't have one."

"Ok, now who of them do you think it is?"

"I've no idea! I get the feeling that it isn't Victor, but for all I know--"

"This is a human problem. Start out from your intuition, ok? So Ron or Chris. What do you know about them? Who has the opportunity, the knowledge, and the motive?"

"Chris knows a lot about computers, and he's obviously interested in security. He could have done it."

"And Ron?"

"Ron ... He can look things up. If he wanted to do something like that, he probably could manage it."

"I think it's him."

"What? But he wouldn't do that, he's my friend. He may--"

"I've seen the way he treats you. He may be your friend in some sense, but he doesn't respect you."

She was right. But it was inconceivable. It couldn't be him.

"I don't think it can be Ron", I said. She didn't reply.

She really thought it was him. And she had worked out a lot from few hints, so she had some intuition for people. I knew full well I didn't. But it couldn't be Ron. We had been friends for years. I was just getting upset thinking about it.

"I'm going back", I said. "I need to think this over."

"Do you need help? Every time you give in it makes it ahrder to stop, you understand that? I'm sure whatever happened first couldn't have been that bad, but now you're trapped. Don't fall in further."