After hearing her career details from Paul, I had created the mental image of a woman clinging to former glory and, maybe, just looking for attention. But, while she was still quite the looker, it was the mixture of desperation and genuine fear in her face that made me instantly take this more seriously. I made a mental note to stop thinking in clichés, and reminded myself that most people who call Bill have a genuine reason to do so.
I shared our notes and ideas for the system’s setup with Bill’s tablet, and listened to their conversation while keeping to the background myself. I still noticed how Mrs. Miller gave me doubtful looks as Bill went over the notes.
“You don’t have any kind of surveillance active at the moment?” Bill asked in an astounded voice, after noticing that point in our annotations.
“No. There is very good security around here.” Mr. Miller answered. “Patrol cars arrive within two minutes of a call. We didn’t think we’d need it. We have an alarm system, of course, and motion activated lights in the driveway and porch ... but that’s it.”
“Yes, I see those listed. We can have the camera system and a few extra flood lights for the rest of the property installed by tomorrow. How about additional security? Have you heard back from the police yet?”
“No.” Mrs. Miller’s exasperated voice answered. “We couldn’t give them any pictures, and I didn’t recognize any of the photos they showed me. There was nothing they could do except send additional patrol cars into the area for a few days.”
“Wait! They...” I started confused, but held my words to first look at Bill, seeking permission to speak. I wasn’t in any way experienced in actual dealings with clients that weren’t about camera angles and Servers. When Bill nodded, I continued. “Did they actually tell you there was nothing else they could do?”
Mr. and Mrs. Miller exchanged a look before she answered.
“Yes. That’s why we called you.”
I walked over to Bill and whispered my idea to him. I couldn’t do it without his approval, since, if this worked, there was the possibility they wouldn’t need our surveillance system anymore. When he nodded, I spoke again.
“Do you have the exact date and time of his attempt to enter the house?” I asked, and Mrs. Miller scribbled it down on a little piece of paper. “Can you show me where he tried to enter?”
After exchanging another insecure look with her husband, she walked me to the huge patio door in the living room. Her husband and the others stayed seated at the big table in the dining area, so Bill could work out his proposal. Then she watched me as I got to work.
I pulled out my phone, opened the app to get information about the nearest cell towers, and made sure I was connected to the one with the strongest signal at that position. Then I opened a WiFi-hotspot on my phone for my laptop, and traced the packet route through the mobile network. I had ... heard ... that it was possible to gain remote access over a cell tower, and complete control over its Base Transceiver Station, if you bombarded its UDP service-ports with empty packets. You just needed to know how to reach those service ports. To my great relief, it worked perfectly and, after retrieving the access logs from the BTS, I moved back into the living room to sit on the sofa. As Mrs. Miller watched my fingers dance over the laptop’s keyboard to apply the filters to the log files, and the texts of my command prompt scroll over the display, she started talking to me.
“So ... no offense, but aren’t you a little young to work security? Are you an intern?” she asked while trying not to sound offending, causing me to chuckle.
“No, Ma’am. You’re right about me being young, but I’ve been working with Carter Security for two years now. I do the IT stuff, like writing security guidelines, setting up servers, and checking out new camera systems.”
“How old are you then?”
“Seventeen, Ma’am.”
She looked at me with surprise. “Seventeen! You’re a year younger than my youngest, and already doing that kind of work for two years!?”
I shrugged my shoulders, not eager to discuss my private life with a total stranger, before I answered. “The pay is good and the Job is fun. So why not?”
“Huh. I wish my Jacky would’ve been so assiduous when he was your age.” she mused.
My fingers stopped moving and I looked at her startled. Mrs. Miller had a child she called Jacky. Maybe a son by the name of Jack Miller?
“You don’t happen to also have a daughter called Mia?” I asked carefully.
“My, yes, I do! You know her?” she answered cheerfully.
I was in Jack and Mia Miller’s home. My old bully, whom I publicly knocked out in sophomore year, and his sister, the second in line to the position of queen bitch after Ava.
“We go to Western High together. She’s friends with my sister, Ava.” I sighed while getting back to work, praying to get this done and out of the house before either of her children came back from school.
