Twenty-Nine Cozy Bears

42

Tehran, Iran — University Library

The Major turned and glanced at Sara. She was standing to his left, just behind. Sara had naturally leaned forward, as she read over his shoulder what was on the laptop screen.

They were left alone together, again. They are left alone together too easily. And with such a casual manner. Alek and Narges just said good-bye, and then they left. Left them here, in the library. Like urges or desires did not exist.

His left eyebrow raised when he considered that — maybe with them, they don't. The hijab hung like a specter in the conversation. This did not pose challenges before. The Major realized this had only become a problem because he wanted to sleep with her.

The connection between violence and sexual desire is well documented. He understood this — but it didn't seem to matter. It appeared that things like understanding and knowing availed him nothing. Logic and reason were also useless sets of tools. Worse than useless actually, they were irrelevant.

Her nearness; her proximity — he could discern the heat of her body — hear her breathing — distinguish her heart's beat in the pulse of her wrist.

His hands moved across the keyboard of their own accord. Operating on muscle memory tasks he has performed thousands of times. While he observed his animal nature growing, and kept the urges from his eyes and expressions, from his voice and his language — his hands set the monitor setting and the screen of his laptop flashed into existence on the large TV screen they brought in from another room.

"There, that's better," he said.

Sara smiled, and then pulled a chair around to his side of the desk to sit beside him and observe his actions on the large screen.

"So, where do we start?" she asked, as she scooched her chair a little closer to him.

He turned, and in his glance, met her eyes — quickly looking away, back to his laptop.

"We start with who, who are we looking for? Best to start with what we have, which is the security cameras here in the library and what they managed to see. We will need that video cleaned up and enhanced for facial recognition. Also, recognition of body language."

"Body language?"

"They were trained. Formal military drills are much the same all over the world, but each source has its own quirks. We're probably looking for Mossad, but it would be nice to have confirmation. So we'll do both on the library footage."

She listened intently. In less that ten minutes she slipped out and brought back her own laptop so she could try the tools and software programs herself. She immersed herself into every word he spoke and and fact he parleyed. He has rarely been listened to with such blazing energy.

He wondered if he judged her so adept, because he wanted to sleep with her. He didn't know, and this disturbed him.

An hour went by, and then another. He was use to heavy acquisition during long sessions of demanding calculation. Years of persistent effort. She was a natural energy-beast. Sara's eyes glowed with curiosity fueled by the excitement of new skills.

Sara sat back in her chair when the image enhancers began running on the security vids, and rubbed her eyes, "Once these are finished what's our next step? What do you use for searching? I mean, during the day, with people coming in for work from surrounding cities and suburbs, there are fifteen million people in Tehran. What is going to cover that?"

The man also leaned back, taking the moment to stretch out his arms and legs, "Last I checked, Tehran is also covered and recorded by over five-thousand CCTV cameras. Two thousand of those purchased only a few years ago. This is not counting all of the security cameras at the airports, in the Metro, on the buses, or privately owned web cams — of which there are thousands. We have a huge amount of video being collected every hour, every day."

This sounded like a large amount of cameras in a city, but New York and Tokyo both have tens of thousands installed.

"And," she asked, drawing the word out into a note, "you can do all of that on your laptop?" That she had doubts was plain— they danced in her deep brown eyes.

He barked a short laugh — which he managed to cut off before he vibrated the walls, "Ah, no." He cleared his throat and sat straighter in the chair. "We'll use a zombie party and cloud spaces to hold the data to sift."

She gave him a quirky grin, "So this is not the first time you have been in my country," she accused with a teasing voice.

His knee-jerked a response was of denial — but he caught it before it left his throat. Instead he said, "Actually you are right to think of it in those terms. Because I believe that somehow, boarders are going to be part of the Internet in some capacity. And not too far from now."

"Countries," she said, "... this country... already has filters and proxies in place to limit or close off certain content providers. Also we have our own Intranet as well."

"Exactly. Soon, once these become established and more dependable or accepted, they'll implement a system of identification for entry and access to local/national news or information."

They paused, relaxing, letting everything simmer in their minds. Six hours they pressed themselves into the subjects, immersing themselves into the understanding and application.

"Last night," he began, his voice low and calm, "you became upset with me regarding these activities. Today you are accepting, perhaps even excited by what can be done. I apologize if I said something that offended you."

Sara studied his face, searching his eyes for several moments, and then she smiled, and rocked a little in her chair, "Damn, you are so serious about nothing."

He could accept that it was hers to offer, if there was something there, not his to demand. So he simply waited.

Her smile turned to a grin, then upturned a corner into a smirk. The silence continued, and she became more solemn, "My parents are missing."

"Missing?" he asked, with a tone begging for clarification.

"That's all I know. They went to Iraq, three years ago, with my two brothers. That is all I have."

All she had was a thin reed and she didn't want him tromping through with his hacker sensibilities, he surmised. And who would? If there was any chance... if there were any chance... three years, and nothing?

"No abandoned car or truck or anyone seeing them reach a mile marker? Nothing?" he asked in wonder.

She glanced over at him, and shrugged, "Another gypsy curse, perhaps." Her voice soft, deflated.

The distance in her voice pulled him closer, "I apologize for my crass handling of the subject."

"The subject just caught me off guard. I feel no injury."

Turning to meet her eyes, he said, "I would like to know more about you, and your life here."

"How do you mean?" she asked, a guarded tone edging her words.

"Nothing nefarious," he grinned. Then he turned more somber, "You stuck with me, you didn't run away. Last night."

"That was my job," she demurred.

"Da," he said, "but you did yours. Many do not do theirs, and leave others to die."

She nodded her head but her body language told him, she wasn't comfortable with his attention.

"But we better finish up here and continue tomorrow," he said, closing his laptop and unplugging it from the TV screen.