Islands in the Stream

The idea of that old fart dropping into retirement on a golden parachute just ate me up. So I handed him off to one of the Chinese hacker groups. Per my instructions they emptied Wilkins's accounts and anonymously donated the loot to a Chechnyan charity.

No really - don't thank me!! And good luck getting THAT back.

They also exposed my ex-wife's NEW husband for the corrupt, womanizing piece of shit that he was. That became a viral sensation for the fifteen second attention span of the internet. The fucker's resignation was a foregone conclusion. His and Heather's financial ruin was a surprise to both of them. If you want to protect your assets in the information age, you need to keep them under your mattress, not online.

I was rubbing my hands in glee thinking, "Poor Heather - The men she picks just can't seem to stay out of trouble." I wonder if she ever connected the dots?

~

Then, one hot and humid night it all changed. Buster and I were sitting outdoors at my favorite joint. He was staring off into space, like he frequently does when he is feeling content. And I was staring off into space, as I frequently do when I am trying to justify my existence.

I had gone completely native, which was a lovely illustration of how much I had transformed. During my marriage, I kept Orvis in business dressing like the ultimate preppie. I had a closet full of Vineyard style clothing and I never wore the same outfit twice. Now I lived in one pair of ratty old boat-shorts; underwear optional. I wore a garish, aloha shirt on top, with a faded sweat stained Under Armor fishing cap. That was my only wardrobe and it was all you really need in a climate like the Keys. When I wanted a new shirt, I just bought another cheap one from the tourist shops and dumped the old one. It beat going to the laundromat.

A slight figure, in cut-off jean shorts and a hoodie, sidled up to me, as I sat there. His sudden appearance startled me. He said, "Hey Mister" in a voice that was exceptionally high pitched for an adolescent. Maybe he was younger than I thought. He was a little guy, perhaps five feet and about 100 pounds. I assumed he was just one of the local teenagers hustling me for spare change. Then the kid flipped the hoodie back and I saw that "he," was a "she."

I guess you would call her a hippie-chick, if those people still exist. Her hair was thick and auburn, cut short and she wore no makeup whatsoever. She didn't need any, since her face was almost incandescently perfect, with eyelashes so long and thick that they looked artificial. But, it was her eyes that made her compelling. They were an incredible shade of green jade, inordinately large for her face, almost like an Anime character. Her nose was exquisite and her mouth was a sarcastic little rosebud.

The rest of her was built like a twelve-year-old. I said, "Does your mother know that you are out here hustling people?" She chuckled and said, "I haven't lived with my mother in a decade. I left home when I was 18 and I am never going back." I laughed and said, "Really??!! Seriously!!?? You aren't a day over 14 so stop messing with me or I'll turn you over my knee."

She gave a mocking little laugh and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. Aren't you the Thomas Miller Meissner who used to live at 1539 Greenbrier Lane, whose children are Thomas Junior and Susan, both of whom are Pell Grant recipients at Marquette University, and whose former wife is Heather Whittaker, currently in bankruptcy court?"

I looked into her eyes. They were no longer soft green jade. They were emerald hard. A chill ran down my spine. I tried to sound casual as I said, "How did you find me?" She might have looked like she was 14. But this was one of my minions. And she could make ANYBODY'S life a living hell.

She morphed back to a teeny-bopper and said cheerily, "I was the one who did the hack on your ex-wife and her two friends. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots." Damn!! The one time I get stupid and I have to run into somebody like her.

I said irritated, "But I gave that project to the Red Dragon Revolution?" She said with amusement, "Yes." I spluttered, "YOU'RE the Red Dragon Revolution???!! But I thought they were Chinese!!" She said amiably, "Pretty good cover, don't you think?" I sat there staring at her, my mouth hanging open. She was smiling placidly back at me.

She might be all of five-one. But, this woman could put more hurt on you than several Chapters of pissed-off Hell's Angels. I said alarmed, "But the RDR has pulled a ton of heavy-duty shit over the past ten years." She said with equanimity, "Thank you." I said with growing unease, "Aren't they one of the groups that the Mafia and the Bratva use?" She smiled benevolently and said, "Sometimes." GREAT!! AND she's ALSO connected!!

I said, totally flummoxed, "But, the RDR controls the internet's biggest zombie botnet?" She smiled and said self-effacingly, "I don't know whether it's the LARGEST. But it serves my purposes." I said overwhelmed, "And didn't the RDR write the IPv4 worm that shut down the internet for a couple of hours?" She smiled modestly and said, "It was only in the industrialized countries." Yikes!!

I had to ask the obvious question, "So what are you doing here?"

She said, "I came to warn you. I've been through your life with a fine-tooth-comb and you seem like a decent guy for a "pseudo." I'm especially sorry for what the bitch did to you. I put the maximum hurt on her if you care." She was beaming with a naughty-little-girl look that was frightening.

I am NOT a brave man. I wanted to throw up my arms, run screaming back to my trailer and hide in one of the closets. But based on what this lethal little creature had just told me, I knew that I had to continue to interact with her. I said, "You wanted to warn me -- about what?" I didn't think that I would like what she was going to tell me. But I realized that the people with the best Kung-Fu know everything. And The Red Dragon was hacker royalty. So whatever she was about to tell me was important.

She actually looked at me with some sympathy. Up to that point she had been watching me like a snake about to eat a bird. And the fact that still she seemed more homeless waif, than lemme-fatale was totally irrelevant. The best of them are born with their talent and it manifests itself very young.

She said, "I'm afraid that your efforts have been a little too successful. You have taken a lot of money out of the pockets of some very bad people. So the community has put a bounty out on you. And you need to disappear."

I just intuitively believed her. The problem with success is that it makes you stand out. And I knew what happens to people the hacker culture decides to get personal with; your secrets are public knowledge, you have no money, your credit score drops to zero and the cops will be looking for you. I was also certain that whoever wanted to collect the bounty could pull it off. I asked the obvious, "How can I trust YOU to NOT collect that bounty?"

She laughed uproariously and said, "I could have doxed you a long time ago. What do I need with money? I take whatever I want. My flight down here and the rental car were paid for by some guy you tossed my way named Wilkins." I was so shaken that I blurted, "You mean you didn't give his money to the Chechnyans?" That was irrelevant. I KNOW... I'm an idiot!!

She said with continuing amusement, "What does THAT have to do with anything. You have perhaps 72 hours to disappear, or very bad things are going to start happening to you, and all the people you know. I'm here to arrange that disappearance for you."

Then she stopped and said impishly, "So let's go back to your place." I almost heard a sexual inference in her tone of voice. But I was old enough to be her father. In fact, my daughter Suzie, was only seven years younger than my deadly new friend. Besides, she might be twenty-eight but she still had all of the sex appeal of a pre-pubescent teen.

I knew what was going to happen. She needed to use my equipment to kill me off. And in the transition I was going to literally become a new person!! In effect, the gods were pulling the rug out from under me one more time; just as they had on that fateful Friday almost four years ago. It was like being struck by lightning. One moment I was living a life full of peace and contentment, as Tommy Meissner. The next moment Tommy Meissner was very abruptly and unexpectedly dead. My mind was still catching up with what THAT meant. I had been happy for the first time in a long time and then in an instant it was all gone.

My total disappearance would have been unbearable, if I had still been married. But it was really no big deal for me now. Nevertheless, an intense feeling of nostalgia and regret washed over me. The kids were going to think that I was dead. I would never see them again. My employer of almost 25 years was going to be left holding the bag. And my career, which had been my entire life up to that point, was over. The feelings of loss were indescribable.

I rose wearily and motioned for Buster. He stood and gave me a look like, "Who's she Boss?" I started to cross U.S. 1 heading for my trailer. She was tripping happily along next to me. She did not quite come up to my shoulder and Buster probably weighed more than she did. I said, "Not to sound ungrateful but why should I believe you?" She said, "No offense taken, I'll show you when we get to 17 Poinciana Drive." I said, "OKAY enough - I get it!!" Then I muttered under my breath, "Show off!!"

She was telling the truth. We work in command lines, not the point and click interfaces that the herd uses. She did a little typing and there was no doubt. Several groups wanted my head on a platter and they had put the word out on the Dark Web. I was flattered by the number of bitcoins they were offering. But, I HAD cost them a lot of ill-gotten plunder. I just never expected them to get that barbaric. My guess was that organized crime was the inspiration, not the nerd community.

My identity was still anonymous. But my little friend assured me that somebody would crack that in a couple of days. She said admiringly, "You are pretty good for an amateur but not good enough to stay hidden from somebody like me. So, do you want me to do it or not?" It was like she was asking for my choice of ice cream; chocolate, or vanilla? I was holding a gun to my OWN head. I knew I had to do it. But I JUST couldn't pull the trigger. Tommy Meissner would be no more and I still had questions.

I said, "I have accumulated a lot of money. Will that come with me?" She laughed gleefully and said, "Of course. But you won't need money as long as I'm with you." I said bewildered, "Are you coming with me?" She said, "For a while, you need taking care of. Once you get on your feet we'll see where we go from there. I don't have a dad, or mom so maybe you can be my Daddy." That was said with a sly smile.

Well, I didn't have any kids either - now, although my life insurance would set Tommy and Suzie up for a long time and I could monitor them from the internet. I would never get to hold the grandkids. But at least I would know about their life. Ironically, I would be able to follow them on Facebook. It was very sad and unfair. But I had known all along that I was fishing in deep water.

I said, "How long will this take." She looked at me like I was an imbecile. She said, "PLEASE... I've been planting back doors for decades. We can leave tomorrow. What are you going to do with this?" She gestured to the trailer. I said, "Can you give it to my kids?" She said, "Sure!" I said firmly, no argument permitted, "I need to take Buster with me."

She looked skeptical. Then she said, "Alright, I can get him ADA certification as a service dog. What disability should I put you down for?" I said, "How about terminal stupidity?" Then I added, "I don't even know your name." She said casually, "You can call me Ariadne."

I got it. In Greek Mythology Ariadne was a Cretan Princess. She helped Theseus get away from the Minotaur and then Theseus dumped her as soon as he escaped. I was hoping that my little friend wasn't making some kind of sarcastic statement. I thought to myself, "I wonder what her real name is?"

~

Early the next morning James Robert Newhouse and his daughter Ariadne packed his things and headed up US-1. Why would I do something as nuts as just dropping off the face of the earth? It was an easy decision. I knew who I was dealing with.

Modern society depends too much on computers and predatory forces at the top of the virtual food chain make a lot of money from that dependency; most of it illegally. Anybody messing with their cash-flow can expect their wrath. I had assumed that my little operation would fly under their radar, since it was really nothing more than my post-divorce relocation plan. But it had been far too successful.

Cyberspace is like the wild-west. The fastest gun, is the one who dictates the rules. There is no sheriff in town and as a result, talented black hats never suffer the consequences of their crimes. In fact, they are basically the wolves and the rest of us are a flock of helpless sheep. The only reason why any individual sheep hasn't been eaten, is because the wolves haven't gotten around to them yet. Well, they had gotten around to me now. And that was why I was riding up US-1 with my new daughter.

Passports, credit cards and all of the other paraphernalia of modern life take a few days to deliver. So we had to find a place to hole up. Fortunately, Ariadne was a true wizard when it came to all things clandestine. I STILL knew nothing about her. But I DID know that she was an apex predator. She must have had ten iron-clad identities stashed away. And that foresight came in handy while we waited for the pieces of my OWN identity to drop into place.

We had decided that the U.S. mainland was too logical a place to find me. So the minute all of my stuff arrived we planned on taking the first cruise out of Miami. I hear you ask, "Why a cruise?" Can you think of a more anonymous way to execute a getaway? You are loaded on a thousand-foot boat with six thousand happy people? Then, all of those people descend on every port-of-call like the Marines storming Iwo- Jima. It is simple to get lost in THAT kind of crowd - anywhere!

Ariadne had checked us into a suite at the Fontainebleau; again a stroke of genius. If people are looking for you; you hide-out in a seedy back-street motel, right? It's the people who don't have anything to hide who check into the most ostentations place on the planet. The suite was $800 per night. But I was certain that some nameless person was paying for it. Ariadne had a pile of American Express Black cards to draw from.

There was some minor hassling at the front desk. Buster did not fit the typical profile of the foo-foo canine. But they had no choice when they looked up his service dog credentials. Being disabled and all I needed my big, intimidating, smelly dog. The only other awkward moment was when we actually got up to our room. It was the biggest suite they had. But there was only ONE bed and I was not going to sleep with my daughter. Ariadne laughed and said, "Look at this couch. It's wider and nicer than most beds. I'm small. I can easily sleep here."

I had a duffle bag full of stuff. It was more-or-less everything I owned. Ariadne laughed and said, "You will have to spend today shopping Dad. In fact, I do too." She winked conspiratorially and said, "My daddy can't just be some schlub from Cleveland. And you need to be credible when you tap all of the money that you have in your Cayman accounts. Let's meet back here in the room in a few hours and I want to see a whole new you."

I had become totally dependent on Ariadne. So I did exactly what she told me to do. It wasn't that I was wimping out to some girl who was young enough to be my daughter. It was just that Ariadne was the native and I was a stranger in a very strange land -- without much prior notice I might add. So, I would have been a fool to ignore her advice.

I killed the entire afternoon creating the new me. And in the process I blew forty-five grand at Ida and Harry's, and Bleu Signature. I figured that the guy that I was now had been brought up in wealth. And so I did the full Ralph Lauren preppie costume thing; elite, understated, elegant and garnished with a little bit of "snob." It was tricky paying for all my loot. I charged the whole thing to the room. And naturally they called to validate that. They quickly found out that my purchases were backed by an Amex Black. So forthwith, one of the porters and I wheeled the whole stash back to the suite on two baggage carts.

Ariadne had beaten me to the room and was outside standing on the balcony watching the Atlantic. I noticed that part of the closet was filled with her new things and there were a couple of half packed JW Hulme leather roller-bags lying open on the floor next to it. Since those matched the two I had just bought, I knew that we had blown eight grand on luggage alone. Who says that crime doesn't pay?

She startled me when she walked back in from the balcony. When I had left her, she was a homeless waif in a black hoodie. This young woman was a total stranger. Her thick auburn hair was still short and utilitarian. But it was now styled in some kind of swept back look that emphasized her flawlessly proportioned and perfectly arranged features and her uncanny jade green eyes. She had also put on makeup. She obviously knew what it was. Now she looked like a stunningly beautiful and extremely rich Wellesley graduate.

More interestingly, she was very clearly not built like a 14-year-old. She was tiny and that made her look waif-like. But I already knew from her cut-off shorts that she had long, well-formed legs. Now, in a modest sun dress, it was obvious that she had taut round hips and small but full and shapely boobs. In fact, if she weren't my daughter I might develop evil thoughts about her.

She smiled and did a little twirl. She said seductively, "You like?" I said with astonishment, "My God Ariadne!! You're gorgeous!!" She colored bright red and said, "You don't have to sweet-talk me. I'm going to take good care of you anyhow." The meaning of that statement remained ambiguous. I blurted with profound sincerity, "No!! I really mean it. You are BEAUTIFUL." And there was no question about it. By any measure she was an absolutely spectacular little doll of a woman.

Her eyes kind-of softened, the way girls get when their emotions get fired up, and she tiptoed over on four inch heels that made her long muscular legs flex in ways that a father should not be thinking about. She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. Looked at me mischievously and said, "Thank you Daddy." God!! Where did she get that perfume from?

We ate dim-sum and Cantonese Lobster at Hakkasan. She was such a faultlessly superb little jewel of a woman that she was turning heads when we were seated. Half the room thought that she was my mistress. They were very disapproving. The other half were giving me benevolent looks, "How nice, he's taking his hot little daughter to dinner." I said, "Perhaps you should order for us, being Chinese and all." She grinned and said, "I'm just the Red Dragon when I work, my ancestors are all Scotch-Irish." That explained the dark auburn hair and contrasting green eyes.

She was actually behaving like we had a loving familial relationship. She was doing those possessive woman things, like adjusting my tie and picking stuff off the front of my lapels. But, I had NOT lost sight of the fact that she was perhaps the most dangerous creature in the greater Miami area, including all of the local coral snakes and alligators. It was like having one of those 20-foot pythons from out in the Everglades lovingly coddling you. I didn't know whether to be delighted, or terrified.