Spiders Along the Dark Web

"We will set up offices at major corporate headquarters across the nation, and we will investigate all business transactions, and any financial crime caught in the act will be held accountable. Thank you." The people off camera clap and cheer in good faith. And in a shady tavern in the poorest area of the city, a man sits wearing such dark heavy clothing that he casts a shadow. His long long thick wool trench coat was navy blue with the collar flipped up, and his fedora was died as dark as the night. A drunken laborer sitting next to him studies him up and down before laughing. The shadowy man paid little attention, busy sipping on his water. "You know what mister? I don't mean to be rude, but you look like a man late for the past. You and I both. Cheers!" The drunk lifts his glass in the air. The shadowy man said nothing but made the same gesture. They drank in silence. A private investigator rummages through the computer of a rundown old office building. The company is believed to filter criminal transactions into a private account before destroying information by dumping it in digital black holes that break the information down into undecipherable jargon. He lights up a cigarette. He wasn't supposed to smoke in the office, but he didn't think the mice and mosquitoes would mind. It was stressful work. He'd been at it going on weeks now, and their system is so state of the art, that their digital files might as well be shredded, burned, and the ashes diluted in water. "It's going to take astrophysicists possibly centuries before they figure out how to translate, and reconfigure decipherable information from the surface of the black holes. And even then that's up to speculation until workable techniques are developed." He drops his cigarette in the trashcan and almost starts several dusty golden pages of dried documents on fire. He has a eureka moment. He gets on his phone. He calls his boss. The shadowy man's phone rings and he picks it up. He listens in on the conversation. "Sir, do you know where they keep their paper files?" asked Detective Willard. "Top floor, detective. Why do you ask?" asked Chief Miller. "Sir, with the technology that we have it's still impossible to decipher their methods, and I have a Ph.D in Cryptology," said Willard. "Waste enough tax dollars before finally having the balls to tell me what I already know. Have you found anything?" asked Miller. "Destroying transactions online is a federal crime if I'm not mistaken," said Willard. "But without the solid evidence, it's all pure speculation," said Miller. "That's why we need a team to dig through all these files. If we find the accounts and the tracking numbers, we can start finding holes in their finances, and trace it back to their illegal online transactions," said Willard. "That's good, detective. The physical files are in the sub basement. Gods speed. And if you need a Certified Document Examiner, let me know right away - and keep me posted!" The shadowy man hangs up the phone, leaves a tip and leaves the tavern more serious than ever. He walks out, leaving nothing but coldness and chills behind him. Detective Willard, Certified Crypto Forensic Analysts left his cigarettes as he climbs the stairs to the basement. He pulls out a solid set of keys handed over as evidence until further notice. He rummages through them until he finds the right key. He opens the basement door, locks it behind him, and walks on over large dark stairway leading down. He flips on the light app, and looks around. The floor is part flooded with boxes and boxes of drenched moldering papers. He looks over at a huge pile strategically places in the far corner. He digs to the bottom and pulls out one of the boxes. He flips on the old light hanging from the ceiling and starts rummaging through them. He starts to notice a pattern. They are all getting filtered through .GCON, an arcane system even for Detective Willard. He wasn't even familiar with it. He calls his boss.