by Leslie Wolfe
“Yeah, sure, but dogs inspected the cargo upon delivery. Afterward, no one will think to check it again. A rogue employee makes the most sense.”
“And it fits the UNSUB’s preferred methods,” Tom added. “The plan always had these precise targets, these precise interventions. He always went sharpshooting, not carpet-bombing. It fits.”
“So what do we do?” Alex asked.
“I’ll handle that,” Sam said. “I’ll get a good friend of mine from the NSA to recommend the replacement of all InfraTech staff with NSA personnel until the devices and the software are deployed.”
“How would you prevent the UNSUB from learning that?”
“I can’t. We don’t know who that rogue employee is, so we can’t control the communication,” Sam said, “but the NSA has procedures for clean, contained takeovers.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Tom said.
“I’m not really worried about that,” Sam concluded.
“Just wait for me to get back from Delhi, will ya?” Alex asked.
“You’re not going back, are you?” Steve asked.
“Yes, I am. I have to sign off on the bloody software, don’t I? Maintain our cover?”
“Alex, I can’t go back with you. I have to work on getting the software rewritten. I can’t do that under their surveillance,” Lou said.
“It’s all right, Lou, I’ll be fine.”
“Please reconsider,” Steve pleaded. “That guy, Bal, threatened you. It’s not safe for you there, Alex.”
“It never was, Steve, yet here I am. Please trust me. Trust me that I can do this. Please.” She gazed into his blue eyes for seconds, silently. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I have no choice, really. If neither of us goes back, our cover is blown, and everything we tried to do goes straight to hell. So, lovely curry, here I come.” She joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
No one laughed; no one even cracked a smile. They were a tough crowd, these guys.
“The problem remains,” she resumed in a serious tone, “that we still don’t know who these fuckers really are. For that, I see very few options. Any ideas, gentlemen?”
“I could reach out to some old contacts in the CIA,” Sam offered, “see if they picked up on any chatter recently, or have any clues of any kind. Ask them if they know anything more about the Indian terrorist, Singh. Maybe his association with the software company CEO would give us something. I’ve already asked here and there and gotten nothing. No one knows what that bastard’s up to these days.”
“By the way,” Lou asked, “who followed him that day?”
Sam hesitated a little before answering. “Mossad,” he finally said.
Lou whistled. “Good to know you have friends, Sam.”
“Mossad’s got him on their known terrorist list, but they don’t have any intel that could help us in our case. I’ll check some more, see what’s out there.”
“What time is it in California right now?” Alex asked.
“We’re precisely twelve hours ahead of them, so it’s 8:42 in the morning in California,” Steve answered. “Why?”
“Friday or Saturday?” Alex asked.
“Friday.”
“OK, there’s some hope. I see no other option than to do what you men can never do, no matter how high the stakes and how lost you are.”
“What’s that?” Tom asked, intrigued.
“Ask for help.”
...84
...Friday, September 2, 8:44PM Local Time (UTC+5:00 hours)
...Royal Island Resort and Spa
...The Maldives
She pulled the SatSleeve from her bag and fitted it to her cell phone. Everyone watched quietly, curious to see her next move. She dialed a number and a professional female voice answered on the first ring.
“This is Mr. Bernard’s assistant, how can I help you?”
“Good eve...morning,” Alex corrected herself, “may I please speak with Mr. Bernard?”
“I am sorry; he is unavailable at the moment.” Bernard’s assistant had that polite, yet assertive and cold demeanor very common to executive assistants, trained in rejecting all kind of unwanted callers, day in and day out.
“When is the earliest I can reach him?” Alex insisted.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Yes, this is Alex Hoffmann, an acquaintance of his.”
A split second of hesitation, then the executive assistant’s voice came back on, much softer and more helpful.
“Miss Hoffmann, if you could kindly hold the line for a second, I will put you right through to Mr. Bernard.”
Alex smiled, thinking her name was still worth something with her former client, the CEO of one of the biggest banks in the world.
“Alex, what an unexpected pleasure,” Blake Bernard answered. “Glad to see you still remember me.”
“Mr. Bernard, of course—”
“Blake, please.”
“Blake, yes, how are you? I hope you’re well,” Alex said, very uncomfortable with such pleasantries. Her direct style didn’t value the typical icebreakers other people used, and she struggled with them every time.
“I’m good, very good, Alex. I do remember you quite well, and I know you wouldn’t be calling me just to check on me, no matter how depressing that feels. What can I do for you?”
She cleared her throat a little.
“I’m working on a case, and I need your help.”
“Shoot,” Blake said, getting ready to jot things down on a paper pad.
“I need your jet in the Maldives, ASAP. And no, it’s not for personal enjoyment.”
“Even if it were, that’s not an issue. The jet will be on its way within the hour. What else?”
“I need access to your anti-money laundering team, software, terminals, and to Clarence.”
Clarence was one of the best anti-money laundering analysts in the industry, a friend of Alex’s since she had worked on Blake Bernard’s case.
“He’ll have to cancel his Labor Day plans,” he said.
“I have no other way,” Alex said apologetically.
“That’s fine, he’ll understand. What are you up to these days?” Bernard asked. “I know you can’t really tell me, but—”
“I’m chasing a terrorist, Blake, and don’t ask me how that happened, ’cause I don’t really know. I just know I have to catch this man, and I need your help. Badly.”
“You got it. What else do you need?”
“One more thing, please. Your pilots should be ready to sign our NDA.”
He chuckled.
“Consider it done.”
...85
...Sunday, September 4, 2:23AM Local Time (UTC+5:00 hours)
...Royal Island Resort and Spa
...The Maldives
Lou entered his hacker username, SealBreaker, and password and gained instant access to an encrypted chat room where he knew he’d find at least one of his buddies hanging out.
He typed, “Salutations, white hats in there,” and waited. A chime soon followed.
TheMoon: Hey, SealBreaker, haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been damaging lately, bro?
SealBreaker: All damage has been done already, and it wasn’t me. But we can fix with a little sweat and get mega bragging rights.
Another hacker joined their chat.
MissMeNow: Long time no see, Seal, baby, what’s new? Any decent hackification lately?
Lou laughed out loud as he typed his reply.
SealBreaker: Turned all cool and nice now, just playing around with some really neat stuff.
TheMoon: What’s the gig about?
SealBreaker: Interested?
TheMoon: No spec, no statement.
SealBreaker: Right on. How would you like to prove that we can code in days what offshoring did in months, charging millions for it, and their code still sucked?
TheMoon: How much?
SealBreaker: Coding? Or dough?
MissMeNow: Funny...both, b
aby, both.
SealBreaker: Code not that much, money unsure, maybe nada. Count on generic bragging rights, ’cause you won’t be disclosing what the code is about.
MissMeNow: Sounds like total exploitation to me, baby Seal.
Lou frowned.
TheMoon: Sounds like government fuckup Seal’s trying to cover, that’s what. What’s the code for?
SealBreaker: Code of silence compiles?
MissMeNow: Error free.
TheMoon: Same on this machine.
SealBreaker: It’s the e-vote, hats. That’s what I need you to write.
TheMoon: Wait a sequence...R U 4 real? WTF, man?
SealBreaker: 100 percent, no rounding up.
MissMeNow: Alpha will want in, and we want Alpha bad for this. I’ll get him. Maybe even Hyde&Seek.
A chime announced another participant.
Alpha: Just heard. One Q before I start coding. Why us?
SealBreaker: ’Cause we need the best security ever. You’re the best.
Alpha: Have a spec?
SealBreaker: And a good one.
TheMoon: How do we do this?
SealBreaker: I’ll coordinate if you like. The functionality ain’t much to code. Security is big. Offshore already malwared it. That’s why I’m asking you.
Alpha: Fuckers.
TheMoon: When do you need it? Next week ok?
SealBreaker: Super.
Alpha: Shoot that spec over and we’ll get busy.
MissMeNow: Baby Seal, we shall shine again. There’s winnitude in this project. Me excited.
Lou let the air exit his lungs in a long sigh. They were the best American white hat hacking had to offer, despite the fact that some had criminal records, and others were barely of legal drinking age. They were the good guys coming to the rescue. He had more than hope; he had a solution in place.
...86
...Tuesday, September 6, 9:41AM Local Time (UTC+5:00 hours)
...Ibrahim Nasir International Airport
...The Maldives
Alex was trying to hear over the noise of Blake Bernard’s jet, parked nearby with its engines idling. The Phenom 300, relatively silent for a jet its size, still caused their goodbyes to be awkward, covered by the constant whirring of its engines.
“Will you be OK?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, I will,” Alex said. “I’ll just tell them Lou dumped me and went home. I’ll have an excuse to look sad and stay locked in my office all day long.”
“Ah, thank you much,” Lou said, “make me the asshole.”
“If the shoe fits.” Alex laughed.
“Bye, kiddo, we’re right behind you, one phone call away,” Sam said. “I’m not leaving the area. Just paying some friends a visit, then I’ll be in New Delhi, very close by in case you need me.”
“Who’s your friend?” Alex asked.
“Just an old Russian spook, mad at life and willing to have a glass of vodka with me. He knows people, things, stuff like that. Who knows? Might be worth the travel time.”
She looked at them, feeling tears coming to her eyes. Steve was quiet, dark, his forehead lined with worry. Sam was confident and encouraging, his normal self. Lou was preoccupied, studying the tarmac’s asphalt. He must be thinking about the software, the burden is on him now, Alex thought. Tom looked proud; Alex couldn’t figure out why. There was nothing to be proud of. Not yet, anyway.
“All right, you guys, go ahead, you’re gonna miss your flight,” she said, half-jokingly. They climbed the Phenom’s ladder and soon were out of sight. The Phenom’s door closed and locked, and then the jet started to taxi away. She looked at it until she couldn’t see it anymore. Minutes later, she saw it take off on her left.
She watched it disappear, and then she went back inside the terminal, waiting for her commercial flight to New Delhi to start boarding.
...87
...Tuesday, September 6, 10:07PM EDT(UTC-4:00 hours)
...Flash Elections
...Nationally Syndicated
“If Doug Krassner proves to be as controversial a president as he is a candidate, we’re in for an exciting four years,” Phil Fournier opened his news insert. “His ratings remained stable during the past few days, high enough to have us believe he’s the next president, but low enough to add excitement to this race. The wheel might turn at any moment.
“In Krassner’s case, the electoral campaign has been a roller coaster of controversial statements, scandals, revelations, and surprises, out of which, for the most part, he came out shining even brighter than before.
“However, the country stands divided on Krassner, and divided passionately. The issues separating his supporters from his opponents are powerful issues, leading to heated debates and strong emotions. These emotions now transcend the political party lines, becoming more and more personal for both sides. Even long-standing democrats are won over by Krassner’s views on the economy. Even hardcore republicans are repelled by his liberal, non-committal stance on religion and abortions.
“After last week’s debate, Krassner’s rating still holds at 46 percent. While he looks like he might be our next president, that’s not entirely sure. Bobby Johnson’s ratings rise slowly but surely, and Johnson might yet prove to be the proverbial tortoise that wins the race.
“From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good night.”
...88
...Tuesday, September 13, 1:08AM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)
...Lou Blake’s Residence
...San Diego, California
He had spent the past week or so glued to his living room. His laptop was logged into the encrypted chat room he and his white-hat friends normally used. It announced with a chime whenever any of them had questions. A week of eating canned food and delivery pizza, dozing off now and then on the sofa, and keeping track of Alex’s whereabouts via her cell phone’s tracking app. He was counting the minutes until she’d be able to get out of New Delhi and come back to safety. He was counting the minutes until the voting software they had dubbed e-vote 2.0 would be ready to deliver.
A familiar chime got him to jump off the sofa and grab his laptop. There was activity in their chat room; people were logging on.
MissMeNow: Hey, baby Seal, you up still?
SealBreaker: Always.
TheMoon: Yo, Sealie, what’s up?
Alpha: May the Force be with y’all.
SealBreaker: Greetings, hats. Speak.
Alpha: We done.
SealBreaker: For real?
MissMeNow: Real as it gets. Very done.
TheMoon: We’ve been done since yesterday, but Alpha wanted v 2.0 to be delivered on the 13th.
SealBreaker: LOL. And I’ve been waiting...
Alpha: Wish it were Friday the 13th.
SealBreaker: Tested?
MissMeNow: Yup.
TheMoon: Test some more, U got time.
SealBreaker: Will do. Encryption?
Alpha: Solidest I’ve seen. All hats coded that padlock.
SealBreaker: Rewrite/modify/clean? Or new?
Alpha: Entirely new. Offshore modules pure junk.
TheMoon: Pure barf.
MissMeNow: Barf + poison.
SealBreaker: Cool hats, you rock!
Alpha: You just acquired that value?
SealBreaker: Yep. The Force was with you on this.
Alpha: And with you. What next?
SealBreaker: Code transfer, shower, sleep. U?
Alpha: Same.
MissMeNow: Baby Seal, we shine, we rule, we deliver. Who needs running water over that? Just beer and zzz...
Alpha: ROFL.
SealBreaker: Can’t thank you enough, hats. Console.WriteLine (“thank you,” 1000000000).
That line of code, if compiled, would return the words “thank you” one billion times, running down the screen in endless, streaming rows of text.
MissMeNow: Compiles.
TheMoon: Be well, brother. Stay unhacked.
SealBreaker: Will ex
ecute. Signing off...
They had the replacement software, clean, secure, and election-ready. But that was only a part of the challenge.
...89
...Wednesday, September 14, 7:19PM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)
...Bukhara Restaurant
...New Delhi, India
Alex waited for her Tandoori mutton, one of the few Indian cuisine dishes her palate savored. Having dinner alone was not easy, especially in New Delhi, but she didn’t want to let herself be intimidated into ordering room service. A woman dining alone was insulting to many, but she willfully ignored any disapproving looks and managed to enjoy her dinners to some extent, evening after endless evening, reading from her iPad or browsing through a magazine. She missed having those lengthy dinner conversations with Lou, but she was still in Delhi for a precise reason, and he wasn’t, for another precise reason. The software was almost ready for signoff, which meant she could soon go home.
Home. The word had a very different meaning now, sitting alone in the Bukhara and ignoring the gazes of countless strangers who thought she didn’t belong. More than that, she hated the inaction; there was little she could do other than wait for the damn thing to be finally ready. Every day she thought of hopping on a plane and just going home, the hell with it all, and every day she talked herself out of it, considering the huge risk her departure would pose to their plan, to Robert and Melanie Wilton’s lives, to their overall mission.
Her phone rang, scattering her dark thoughts. She didn’t recognize the caller ID.
“Hello,” she answered neutrally.
“Alex, this is Blake Bernard. Can you talk?”
“Not really,” she replied, aware she continued to be under surveillance.
“Can you at least listen?” Blake asked.
She verified the encryption status on the phone. It was working.
“Yes, that I can do.”
“Clarence came back with some findings. There are several others names associated with the name you gave us, Mastaan Singh. Clarence ran some database searches looking for anyone traveling at the same times and same places as Singh, for several of his travels. He matched credit card charges, hotel stays, and wherever available, any type of aviation activity, whether commercial or private.”