Firewall (The Firewall Spies Book 1)

by Andrew Watts

  Colt said, “I assume Israel is denying she works for them.”

  “Of course,” Wilcox said. “They say they don’t know anything about her. They asked for another few days. Trust me, we are applying pressure. But it’s not like they did anything unusual.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Industrial espionage? Spying on US citizens and companies?”

  “Israel does that all the time. So do we, for that matter. You should know.”

  Colt shook his head. “But I’m not spying on Canada or Israel or the UK. Israel is our ally. And they broke the rules and got caught—”

  “Did they? Ava worked for Pax AI. You and I asked her to spy on Pax AI. Then she left the building in a rush and fled the country. What law did she break, exactly? The industrial espionage evidence looks thin.”

  Colt fumed.

  Weng looked up from her computer. “Another message from Trinity.”

  Everyone’s heads went to their phones and computers. They were all now part of a small group that was getting forwarded Trinity’s messages.

  Weng read aloud. “Trinity is pleased to announce the sale of Pax AI’s AGI program technology. Each buyer’s representative should arrive in Rome, Italy, within twenty-four hours’ time of receiving this message. If any buyer sends a representative who is not on our approved list, they will forfeit their right to participate in the sale. We will contact each representative upon arrival in Rome.”

  “Who’s our representative?”

  Everyone turned to face Colt. He looked up from his phone, dumbfounded.

  “I guess I’m going to Italy.”

  Part III

  “China, Russia, soon all countries with strong computer science. Competition for AI superiority at national level most likely cause of WW3 IMO.”

  * * *

  – Elon Musk, 2017

  33

  Colt’s flight landed in Rome before dawn, local time. As soon as he stepped foot on the pavement, he received a text message from Trinity.

  St. Regis Hotel

  Colt took a taxi to the hotel and walked into the main lobby with its stunning white marble floors and fine rugs. The lobby was spacious and filled with a wealthy-looking international crowd. Twelve-foot-tall trees in large pots were scattered throughout the space. A giant gold and crystal chandelier hung overhead.

  The clean-shaven Italian man behind the front desk said, “Mr. McShane? Welcome, your room is ready.”

  “Thank you,” Colt replied, looking around the lobby. Various people eyed him. An Asian couple sipped tea at the nearest table in the hotel restaurant. He noticed a large man with a crew cut who looked like he had trouble fitting into his suit. And a few others who blended in with the tourists and businesspeople coming in and out of the hotel.

  “Here is your room key, sir. The bill has been taken care of. Oh, and I have a message for you here.” The man handed Colt a sealed envelope.

  Roma Termini. 0630 hours, tomorrow. Further instructions to follow.

  “Thank you.” Colt felt eyes on his back as he made his way into the elevator. As he rode to the third floor, he put to memory the faces he’d seen in the lobby and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that Trinity was in such absolute control.

  The suite was amazing. Definitely not in his price range. Every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a palace. The art hanging on the walls was on loan from a museum. The minibar was stocked with high-end Italian brands. A fiery orange set of fresh flowers in several vases were placed throughout the suite. And on the flatscreen TV in the living room, images of the food and drinks from the hotel dining options showed an array of delectable treats and savory dishes.

  Colt placed his bag on the bed and took a hot shower, fighting the urge to check in with Wilcox via the CIA phone. Trinity had proven to be extremely capable. The room was surely bugged.

  Colt didn’t like the decision to participate in Trinity’s game. Americans shouldn’t pay a ransom for American technology. Maybe they wouldn’t. Colt didn’t know what Wilcox and his superiors had planned. Rinaldi had said there were many people working on this case now. Colt imagined teams in the FBI and CIA all working to find out who was sending messages under the name Trinity.

  He couldn’t help wonder why Trinity had chosen him as the US representative. He supposed his cover was burned now, and decided to talk to Weng when he returned about taking a future assignment as an operations officer under an official cover.

  Colt got out of the shower, toweled off, and dove into the soft bed. He took a nap to stave off the jet lag he knew would hit him the next day.

  He awoke hungry, dressed, and headed down to the hotel’s Lumen Garden restaurant. Lush greenery was everywhere. Ivy climbed the walls. Baskets of decorative plants hung overhead. Colt sat on a wicker couch with big blue cushions. A glass coffee table in front of him was prepared with high-end place settings and glassware.

  A waiter came over and handed him a menu. More people were arriving for lunch. Colt recognized several familiar faces, including a few from the lobby. He was pretty sure these were surveillance teams, here to assist their respective foreign intelligence servicemen. He wondered if Trinity would follow through with its warning and issue a penalty?

  Colt glanced overhead but didn’t see any security cameras. Were they being watched? Did Trinity have their own human intelligence capability here? Or was Colt just being paranoid, falling victim to the conspiracy legend?

  Trinity. The Bigfoot of the intelligence world.

  An Asian man sat in the couch seat to Colt’s left. Colt nodded politely to him. The man was in his mid-forties, an expensive Cartier watch on his left wrist.

  “First time at this hotel?” the man asked Colt. Fluent, American-accented English.

  “It is,” Colt replied.

  The Asian man said, “It’s a very nice place.”

  “It is.”

  “San Francisco was nice too.” The Asian man was looking at the menu as he said this.

  Colt turned and studied the man’s face, realizing that he recognized him. Chinatown. He was the man sitting across the street at the outdoor café the day he went there with Weng. Colt tried to remember his name.

  “Do we know each other?” he asked.

  The man put out his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. My name is Liu.” Colt shook his hand. Liu said, “You and I are here for the same reason, I believe.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “We’re both on the buyer list.”

  “I see,” Colt said. Not an admission. But not a denial either.

  Colt thought about his best play. It made sense to keep the man talking. Gain intelligence on a potential foe.

  Across the restaurant garden space, a balding man sat down. Colt recognized him from the FBI images he had studied. Petrov. SVR. The rezident in Russia’s Houston consulate. He had been Marisha Stepanova’s superior. Colt felt his pulse quicken.

  Liu said, “So . . . any idea why they chose you?”

  Colt shrugged. “Why do you think they chose you?”

  “I asked them to,” Liu said.

  The waiter came over. “Sir, are you ready to order?”

  Colt said, “The club sandwich, please. Water is fine.”

  “I’ll take the caprese salad, please,” said Liu.

  The waiter took their menus and departed.

  Colt said, “How long did you work in the US?”

  “A long time. Fourteen years, on and off.”

  Colt said, “You like it?”

  Liu smiled. “I did. But in my line of work, in my country, you must be careful not to like it too much. Or your time there will be shorter.”

  Colt chuckled. “That’s very honest of you.”

  “What about you? How long did you do this type of thing?”

  Colt felt uneasy, but said, “A while.”

  “You were military?”

  “I was. You?”

  “No. They recruited me right out of
school.”

  Colt said, “Your English is excellent.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, were you mostly on the West Coast, then?”

  Liu answered, “Yes. Business consulting. Working with investors in the US and Canada. Helping to forge ties with my clients’ companies.” Colt translated in his mind. Economic espionage in North America’s tech hotbeds. Helping China to steal secrets and gain intelligence on competitors.

  They spoke for a few minutes like that. Cryptic, guarded sentences. Trading superficial information without sharing anything vital. The food came and they ate in silence. Colt kept stealing glances at Petrov across the restaurant and caught the Russian looking at them a few times.

  “Who are you looking at? Petrov? Hmph. Now that he spotted us, he’ll probably write up a report that China and America were plotting against him over lunch,” Liu said.

  Colt snorted.

  Liu said, “That might not be the worst thing, however. But it also might not stay secret, if we tried . . .”

  Colt placed his club sandwich on the plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What do you mean by that?”

  Liu took a sip of water from his glass. “Because someone on your side is working with them.” He stuck a forkful of fresh mozzarella and tomato in his mouth and began chewing.

  Colt frowned. “Working with the Russians?” he asked softly. “Do you know that for sure?”

  Liu said, “Let me ask you something. When they brought you to San Francisco, what did they tell you about Kozlov’s death?”

  Colt remained silent.

  Liu said, “Did they tell you he died in Seattle? In a hotel? Or did they tell you he died at Pax AI’s Mountain Research Facility?”

  Colt forced himself to breathe in a normal rhythm. He couldn’t show how unsettled this line of questioning made him.

  Liu raised his eyebrows. “My guess is that they told you Kozlov died in a hotel . . . just like they told the newspapers. But he didn’t. Kozlov died at The Facility. He was working for the Russians. Something happened to him at The Facility, and there was a coverup. There are some people who want everyone to believe Kozlov died far away from Pax AI. Who misled you, Colt?”

  Colt saw the waiter taking the Russian man’s order.

  Liu continued, “Who knew about your relationship with Ava Klein, all those years ago? It was in your file. Who set up the meeting with Kozlov in Seattle? It had to be someone who also knew about your agent, Marisha Stepanova. And who knew about your meeting with her in San Francisco? Your team has already discovered that these assassins have ties to Russia. But you need to ask yourself . . . how are the Russians getting all this great intelligence? Who is their man on the inside?”

  Colt was clenching his jaw, growing angry at Liu’s onslaught. Because everything he had mentioned was of sound logic. These were the things that had been bothering Colt.

  “Who do you think it was?” he whispered.

  Liu said, “I think it could only be one person. Your CIA handler. The head of Vancouver station. Ed Wilcox. I’ve seen him in action before. He’s a very smart man. But he was the only one who had access to all this information. He is the only one who could control who saw various bits of data. Don’t you wonder how all this happened right under your nose?”

  Colt had to push back. He knew he was being played. The MSS was trying to manipulate him for their own purposes.

  “Pax AI showed me a video of Kozlov’s last day. He looked fine.”

  “What did Luke Pace say about it?”

  Colt ignored the question. “The FBI investigation showed . . .”

  “Tell me about the video.”

  Colt frowned. “What video?”

  “The video of Kozlov’s interview. Was there anything unusual about it?”

  Colt wasn’t willing to go any further. “Look, Mr. Liu, what is your point with all of this? I imagine you aren’t just trying to look out for my best interests.”

  “My point is this: you may not be able to trust those above you. If you run into trouble, I would be happy to find ways to work together. The Russians are nearsighted. They see this technology only as a weapon. We see it as so much more. It is my belief that your superior is aligned with the Russians. Be careful. Think of Kozlov and Stepanova. You don’t want to end up like them.”

  34

  Colt awoke early the next morning to the sound of his alarm beeping in the dark. He briefly thanked God that none of the competitor nations had sent anyone to eliminate him while he slept.

  Colt forced himself out of bed, showered, dressed, and headed downstairs. His car was waiting, and he saw Liu getting into his own vehicle ahead of him, behind another car with men he didn’t recognize. All the buyers were traveling to the same place: the main train station in Rome, Roma Termini.

  The cars dropped them off under the station’s giant white overhang and they headed inside. Colt checked his watch. He was fifteen minutes early. Another buzz on his phone. Instructions on what tickets to pick up, with a warning.

  0700 to Naples. Any buyer who brings unauthorized passengers will be eliminated from the sale.

  Colt wondered how Trinity would control that. Did they have hired guns? Henchmen who could take on the MSS and SVR? They had planned everything else down to the last detail. Colt was curious how they planned to handle that part.

  The tickets were for a high-speed train, red and gray with an angular nose like a jet. Colt had been on them before in other parts of Europe. These trains could reach speeds in excess of two hundred miles per hour. The one-hundred-and-forty-mile trip would take an hour and ten minutes. Colt, having lived in New York City for the past few years, chuckled to himself. The same journey on the East Coast highway system might take three times that.

  He spotted several faces from the hotel while boarding the train. It was obvious that Trinity’s warnings weren’t being heeded. Some of the competitors were definitely trying to bring extra muscle, and Colt wondered what they might use it for. He wasn’t armed. Not smart, Wilcox. Or perhaps that had been by design?

  Now inside his compartment, Colt’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her sitting in one of the seats.

  Ava’s hair was now short and blonde. Probably part of her extraction tactics, Colt thought. Their eyes met and he could see the emotion on her face. Colt felt awkward and unsure how to react. The eyes of others in the car were on him. He just sat in his seat, his back now to her, facing forward in the train.

  Ava was having none of it. When an older Italian man sat beside Colt a minute later, Ava immediately got up and politely asked him if he would trade seats with her. The man was more than happy to accommodate the pretty young blonde.

  A voice in Italian came on the overhead speaker system, preparing everyone for departure. Ava’s face was close to Colt’s as the train began moving. The scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils, taking him back to his memories of their time together. A simpler time when they were young, and life wasn’t filled with disinformation and confusion. When the only thing that mattered was being with a woman he loved, in the sun and by the water.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. The sounds of the train masked her soft voice.

  “There are others in here, Ava. They’re watching us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should.” Colt turned to her. “From one professional to another.”

  She whispered, “I’m so sorry for deceiving you.”

  Outside the train window, the station gave way to Roman neighborhoods. Soon they gained speed, the world turning into a blur.

  Colt looked into her eyes. “Who do you work for?”

  “You must know the answer to that by now.”

  “I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

  She took his hand. “You know you can trust me, right?”

  “Can I really?”

  “Yes.”

  Colt said, “Then there’s something I need you to tell me.”

  “
Anything.”

  “What happened to you after I left Haifa?”

  She nodded slowly, and then began telling her story.

  35

  Haifa, Israel

  Ten years earlier

  At a café ten kilometers to the south of the harbor, Ava was sitting with her mother, checking her phone and wondering why Colt hadn’t called her back. They ordered drinks at an outdoor table on the busy sidewalk.

  Ava’s mother said, “So he is handsome?”

  Ava laughed and shot her mother a defiant look. “Yes.”

  Her mother was gleeful. “It must be serious for you to introduce us both.”

  Ava frowned. “It was now or never. Colt is leaving on his Navy ship and Father wanted to see me today. Better to rip off the bandage.”

  Her mother stirred sugar into her iced tea. The sun was beating down on them. Ava reached up and maneuvered the table’s umbrella so they were better covered by the shade. The busy marketplace across from the café was filled with people. A dark-featured man was staring at her, eating a piece of fruit. Ava was used to the hungry looks from men. She’d been getting them since she was a teenager. Ava stared back menacingly at the man until he broke off his gaze and walked away.

  Ava’s mom said, “Colt. A horse is a funny name for a boy.”

  “Mother.”

  “Your father will think so, too. Colt. Maybe you can name your first child Mustang?”

  Ava fully expected the three of them to share a laugh over the name Colt.

  Ava’s girlfriends from school marveled at how well her divorced parents got along. She used to wonder why they ever separated. But as Ava matured, she knew it was her father’s fault. His work was all there was room for. He was obsessed with his secretive business. Ava and her mother weren’t a part of that world. Eventually, his emotional distance became too much for her mother.