The Ingenue: Political Spy Thriller

by Terry Toler

  “Who was first?” I had asked.

  “Jamie Austen” Curly said. The woman who was now my girlfriend, maybe someday my wife.

  My thoughts turned back to the computer as I rushed back to find the Iranians.

  “Here, let me take over,” Pok said, motioning for me to get out of his chair. “You’re doing fine. I’m just more familiar with our internet. I can make it go faster.”

  Pok attacked the keyboard like I attacked the four egg sandwiches. He gave me a running commentary along the way.

  “They are looking for a security camera. In the Wonsan Tourist Zone,” Pok said. “There’s only one in the area, right?” he asked as if I would know.

  “It’s on a construction site,” he said. “The time of the murder was last night.”

  Pok laid out the details methodically.

  “He was killed on a mountain trail,” I said remembering the information from my search.

  “There are no security cameras on the trail,” he added. “Only down by the boardwalk.”

  Pok paused, clearly thinking. Then he began typing again.

  A few more keystrokes later, he said, “The Iranian operative was last seen eating dinner at a restaurant.”

  A half a minute later. “Here we go,” Pok said almost under his breath. “I found the camera.”

  He rewound the video. I was impressed with the ease in which he maneuvered effortlessly around the internet. I tended to pound on the keyboard. Probably because my hands were so much bigger than his.

  He stopped and pointed excitedly.

  “Look right there!” Pok said. “That’s the man.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “He’s middle eastern. How many Iranians are having dinner in Wonsan around that time? None. I imagine.”

  “At least one,” I said, correcting him.

  A lone man sat at a restaurant on a boardwalk. A bag that looked like a satchel sat at his feet. The image was grainy, but we could see enough to know he was middle eastern. He also had that look of an operative. I’d seen it many times. Curly worked our tails off trying to knock that look out of us.

  “No way!” Pok said. “I can’t believe what I just saw.”

  I couldn’t believe it either. A young girl walked right up to the table, stole the operative’s satchel, and walked away. The man got up and followed her. The camera captured their movements until the girl started running out of the screen.

  That same man was found dead several hours later.

  Who killed him?

  And who was that girl?

  9

  Pok knew more about the situation with the young girl stealing the satchel than he was letting on, which raised my curiosity even further. The whole thing made no sense. Pok was right. Iran was an ally. Why would one of their agents be killed in North Korea? And why would the Iranians need to hack into North Korea’s computer system to access the security camera? Surely, they could get whatever information they wanted from the North Korean investigators.

  The only explanation was that there was some highly valuable and sensitive information in that satchel.

  But what did I care? Not my problem. One less Iranian operative walking around on this earth was a good thing. God bless whoever killed him. I had more important things to consider. If I got my own computer, I’d investigate further.

  I was about to take a big step toward that end right now.

  “What can I do for the Lazarus Group?’ I asked Pok. “I think I’ve proven my abilities.”

  “You should be the one answering that question,” Pok responded. “What can you do for us? I’m not sure.”

  “I can get you in places you can’t go,” I said.

  “Such as?”

  There was a long moment of silence. I was sitting in the chair across from Pok on the other side of the desk. He was in front of his computer.

  “Pick a company you want to access,” I finally said.

  I hoped he chose one on my list.

  “The CIA,” he said.

  I laughed out loud.

  “I want to be alive tomorrow,” I answered.

  “I thought they don’t know where you are?” Pok retorted.

  “If I hack into the CIA, they’ll know it’s me,” I said. “I’m the only person in the world, capable of doing it.”

  There was another long moment of silence. “But . . .Every time I turn on a car, I’ll wonder if it’s going to blow up. Even worse, I’ll wonder if some drone at 35,000 feet, that I can’t see, is going to blow me to smithereens. Right now, I’m not on their radar. I want to keep it that way.”

  “You asked for a company,” Pok said flippantly.

  “How about we start with something a little less ambitious?” I said.

  “You pick a company.”

  Perfect.

  Just what I wanted to hear.

  “FCI,” I said. FCI was Financial Capital Investments. The largest hedge fund in the world.

  This time Pok was the one who laughed out loud. “Now who’s the one being ambitious!” Pok said sarcastically. “I’ve been trying to get into them for years.”

  “How about I transfer a million dollars from one of their investment accounts into your bank account just to prove it to you?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Prepare to be amazed, Daniel-san,” I said in my best Chinese accent. “I need a computer and one hour to hack into the site.”

  “Who’s Daniel-san?” Pok asked with a puzzled look on his face as his mouth twisted to the side.

  “Mr. Miyagi? The Karate Kid? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of that movie.” American movies were banned in North Korea, but I figured he’d seen at least a bootlegged copy.

  Pok shrugged his shoulders, clearly not understanding the joke.

  “Never mind,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Where do you want me to do my work?”

  “You can use my computer,” Pok said.

  All the better.

  ***

  Pok wanted to look over my shoulder.

  “No way I’m going to show you my secrets,” I said adamantly. “We haven’t even discussed the terms of our relationship. This is like a job interview. We’re checking each other out. The million is a freebie. A goodwill gesture on my part.”

  “If you can steal a million from FCI any time you want, why do you need to be paid by me?”

  “A fair question. I have bigger plans for us than just stealing money.”

  “Like what?”

  “One step at a time. Let me prove to you that I can access FCI, and we can go from there.”

  “How do I know it’s not a trick?” Pok asked nervously.

  “You still don’t trust me,” I said jokingly. “I’m offended.”

  “You’ll get over it,” he retorted.

  “When a million dollars shows up in your account, you’ll know it’s not a trick.”

  “I locked my computer, so don’t even think of trying anything,” Pok said. “You can get on the web, just not on our site.”

  I wanted to say that I could get on their site anytime I wanted. How did they think I found their facility to begin with? Instead, I just said, “I don’t want to be on your site.”

  As soon as he was out of the sight of the computer screen, the first thing I did was unlock his computer. It took an extra minute of my time from the one hour. Pok was watching me nervously. I asked for some water, and he refused to go and get it. He had someone bring it in.

  It was an anxious hour for both of us.

  ***

  “I’m in,” I said an hour later.

  I could’ve said that after ten minutes but pretended to work for the full hour to make it look more realistic.

  “I don’t believe you,” Pok replied.

  “See for yourself,” I said, starting to turn the screen toward him. Instead, Pok stood up from the chair on the other side of the desk and walked around it so he was behind me. On the scree
n was the site structure of the website for Financial Capital Investments.

  Or at least it appeared so to Pok.

  He let out a noticeable gasp of delight. I let him control the mouse as he navigated around it, acting like a kid in a candy store.

  FCI managed 150 billion dollars in assets. From Pok’s perspective, he had just struck gold.

  “Pick a letter between A and Z?” I said to Pok taking control of the mouse.

  “A,” he said.

  “A it is.” I began typing and pulled up the investment account for Mr. Richard Adams. The balance in his account was over ten million dollars allocated among several investments.

  Pok examined the page carefully.

  Richard Adams didn’t exist and neither did the account. But Pok didn’t know that. What he was looking at was a fake copy of the real website. I hoped there weren’t any obvious mistakes on the web page.

  “You’re amazing. I’m impressed,” Pok said.

  You have no idea how impressed you should be. Now if Brad Rice will cooperate, we’ll work some magic.

  Brad Rice was my handler with the CIA. Two years ago, I went to him with an idea for a software program. He rejected the idea and said it couldn’t be done. For a year, I spent every minute of my spare time working on the program. With limited resources, the best I could do was a rudimentary skeleton of the idea. When I showed it to him, he was so impressed he took it to the CIA security council and got approval for me to build the software program with a team of ten programmers and a four-million-dollar budget.

  The result was a computer virus so lethal we had to work out of our own computer lab, with a separate server. It was like working with a pandemic virus at the Centers for Disease Control. Precautions had to be taken to make sure it never ended up on the web until the time was right, the program was fully developed, and safeguards were in place to control it.

  It took us a year to finish it. When it was completed, I named the program Kryptonite because it was the Achilles heel to any computer system. Applied properly, it could permanently destroy any known computer system in the world.

  The reason it took us so long to develop was that we had to reconstruct and build the websites of more than a thousand companies across the web as a front to hide the destructive virus underneath. Meticulous care was taken to build the sites to the exact dimensions of the real websites so that our facsimile was indistinguishable from the real thing. Like an art forger, creating a replica of the Mona Lisa. To pass as the real painting, it had to be perfect.

  We had never used Kryptonite. The CIA was waiting for the right time. It seemed as good a time to me as any.

  FCI was one of the companies on our list which was why I was glad I got to choose it. We duplicated their entire website including graphics and logos and created several thousand fake customer accounts as well. Once Pok gave me access to his computer, I logged into the Kryptonite program, and pulled up the FCI webpage.

  Since I unlocked Pok’s computer, if I gave Kryptonite permission, it could access the North Korean server and view everything happening, undetected. With a few strokes of the keyboard, Kryptonite could destroy the entire North Korean lab. More than likely, the CIA would want to mine the lab for information before destroying it.

  I hadn’t yet given the CIA permission. More trust needed to be earned with Pok so I didn’t get arrested. Since Mr. Robert Adam’s investment account was fake, so was the ten million dollars in investments. That money didn’t exist. I needed the CIA to approve a transfer of one million dollars from a designated CIA account into the account Pok designated.

  The moment I logged into Kryptonite, someone at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia was scrambling to notify a supervisor, who would no doubt be on the phone shortly to the Director of the CIA and probably Brad, since I logged in under my ID. I glanced at my watch. 9:45 a.m..

  Not ideal. North Korea was thirteen hours ahead of Virginia, so it was 8:45 p.m. the night before. Hopefully, someone could be reached who could authorize a transfer. Protocols were in place for such a contingency. The CIA didn’t want an officer in the field, hanging out to dry, while someone in Virginia was at a baseball game or a movie or having dinner.

  I just needed for them to cooperate so I could continue the ruse and gain Pok’s trust further. I stalled for time, giving Langley time to get in touch with the right people.

  “I need your wiring instructions,” I finally said to Pok. “What account do you want the money to go into?”

  Pok reached in the drawer and pulled out a list that appeared to be several accounts. He wrote down a routing number and account number.

  The website had a process for filling out the transfer of money.

  “There’s a fifteen-dollar fee if you want the money instantly deposited,” I said to Pok, laughing.

  “I’ll take it out of your commission,” Pok said with anticipation building in the room.

  The anticipation was both his and mine. I was as anxious as he was to see if the CIA would really transfer the money. If they didn’t, I was in serious trouble.

  I acted like I was checking and double checking the numbers.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  I hit send. Now, all we could do was wait.

  10

  Arlington, Virginia

  11:05 p.m.

  When the phone rang, violently awakening him from an intense dream, Maxwell Grant wasn’t happy. The red digital letters on the clock confirmed what he had suspected. He’d only been asleep for four hours.

  “This better be important,” he muttered to himself. He rolled his nearly three-hundred and fifty-pound frame to a halfway seated position, rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, cleared his throat, and grunted out a greeting.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly.

  “Director, this is Brad Rice. I’m sorry to bother you at this late hour.”

  By his own admission, Grant was an unlikely choice for the position of Director of the CIA. The un-consummate politician, Grant’s personality was abrasive, brusque, rude, crude, and basically socially unacceptable for a position that required tact and diplomacy. The President trusted him which was why he had the position.

  “Not as sorry as I am,” Grant said, almost to himself. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, remind me to fire you first thing in the morning, and hire someone who does know,” Grant said roughly and only half kidding. He’d never fire Brad, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel like doing so at that moment.

  “You know about the possible data breach with the Pakistani nuclear codes,” Brad said.

  “You’re the one who briefed me on it!” The words came out more vitriolic than Grant intended, but they might have the desired effect. “I think I’ll go ahead and fire you tonight since you’ve clearly lost your short-term memory. Either that or you think I’ve lost mine.”

  “You also know that an Iranian operative was killed in North Korea yesterday,” Brad added, not acknowledging the rude comments.

  “Brad,” Grant said slowly. “Let me ask you a question. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No sir. I think you’re brilliant.”

  “Then why are you calling me in the middle of the night, to tell me things you already told me today?”

  Brad never called. He was one of his most trusted men. It must be important if he was calling this late at night. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give him a hard time. It was time for him to get to the point.

  “I just wanted to remind you of the facts, sir,” Brad said, apologetically.

  Grant’s one pet peeve was being unnecessarily bothered at home especially at night. He got up early and went to bed even earlier which wasn’t ideal for a CIA Director. Most of the bad actors in the world were in hemispheres several hours ahead of Virginia time, and, more often than not, most crises arose in the middle of the night.
Grant’s directives were for his employees to handle it themselves, if at all possible. That’s what he paid them for, he insisted. If it was a real emergency, then they shouldn’t hesitate to call. Brad was testing the limits of his patience.

  “I don’t need reminding,” Grant retorted. “I’m well aware of the data breach and the dead Iranian. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing there’s one less Iranian spook in the world. That’s if I ever get to sleep. Is that what you called to tell me?”

  “No sir. Alex Halee just accessed Kryptonite. From a North Korean server.”

  The Director sat straight up in his bed. Suddenly, fully awake. “What the hell is Halee doing in North Korea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s your man! You don’t know what your operatives are doing?”

  “You know Halee.”

  “Did Halee kill the Iranian?” the Director asked, suddenly connecting the dots. It became clear why Brad felt the need to remind him of the Pakistan security breach and the dead Iranian. It’s possible that all three were connected.

  “I don’t know, sir. But that’s an assumption that wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

  Grant rubbed his face roughly. His mind raced. Processing and analyzing the data points. The consequences were mind blowing if he allowed his thoughts to go to their logical conclusion. He tried hard to rein them in and process them separately. He was good at analyzing facts and spitting out solutions that usually seemed to work out for the best.

  A Junior World Chess Champion, Grant had the uncanny ability to see the complex world as chess pieces and keep the United States two moves ahead of everyone else. His sharp mind allowed him to assimilate facts quickly and process a successful strategy even his most ardent critics were amazed by.

  “Somebody hacked into Pakistan’s nuclear server and stole their codes,” Grant said, speaking out loud. “North Korea is one of many possible suspects. So are the Iranians. But we don’t know who’s behind the hack. An Iranian operative was found murdered in North Korea. There was chatter of a satchel missing. Now, Halee is trying to access Kryptonite from a North Korean computer.”