by Brad Taylor
I said, “Oh, I’ll use him, all right. It looks like the conversation with Pop went okay.”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Let’s just say the Council is a little concerned about Guy. You know pigs have started flying when they take your advice. Tell me you’ve got something beyond knowing he’s not in Montana. Some magical Pike thread.”
“Not yet, but I will. He’s not using any special tools, which means he’s relegated to commercial stuff. Still pretty significant, and I’ve got Creed trying to locate what apps he’d use, what technology he’d focus on to track a guy. There are a ton of useless ‘catch my wife cheating’ apps, but there are a few that are pretty damn devious, and that’s where he’ll gravitate. That is, if he’s really on the hunt.”
Kurt said, “Pike, Johnny called today. His team deployed on schedule, but he’s missing one piece of kit. A Gremlin. He did a predeployment inventory, and it was there. Now it’s not.”
The Gremlin was a small device the size of an iPad mini, with a folding antenna and a plastic case on the back the size of a cigarette pack. Its sole purpose was to remotely slave a cell phone for the introduction of malware. If you knew the IMSI or IMEI of a targeted phone, you could trick the phone into talking with the device, and it would implant any program you wanted—with certain caveats based on the cell network and security settings of the phone. It being missing wasn’t a good sign.
I said, “Hey, sir, let’s not go on a witch hunt here. Maybe it’s up in the team room. We can’t assume that Guy took it.”
Deep inside, I didn’t want to believe what Kurt was saying. I didn’t want to face the reality.
Kurt said, “Pike, you remember what you were like? Back in the bad days? After your family?”
Hearing an echo of what I’d said earlier, I caught Jennifer’s eye and said, “Yes.”
“Could you do this? Would you be capable?”
I said nothing for a moment. He said, “Pike?”
I looked at him and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I could do it. If it meant finding the murderer of my family, I’d have done it without looking back. But Guy isn’t me. This is a different situation. My family was killed in the United States, not on a combat patrol. And . . . I was . . . a little screwed up. This has nothing to do with me.”
Kurt took a breath, assimilating what I said, then dropped the hammer. “It has everything to do with you. Sorry, but you set the precedent. President Warren is talking about shutting down the Taskforce. Saying that our operational parameters are so far outside the law, we’ve inculcated a bunch of pirates. Men who don’t know where the line is anymore, because we removed the line for them. And you’re case study number one.”
“What the hell? Seriously? I lost my way, but don’t put this on me. My family was murdered in the United States. His was killed in combat. Guy is not my fault.”
“Nobody’s saying that. But they’re looking at the comparison. At one time, you were the closest thing to bringing us down. And now, you’re the closest thing to preventing that.”
I sighed and said, “What do you want from me?”
“I want him home. I want him back in the fold.”
I heard the words, but they didn’t really express what he desired. What the end state could be. I said, “And if I can’t do that? If I can’t get him back in the fold? What do you want?”
He dodged the question. “What do you have to work with?”
I said, “Creed?”
The computer geek turned around, looking scared, and said, “We don’t really have anything. I’m collating everything he could use, but we don’t have usernames or accounts. We’re fishing.”
Nicholas Seacrest shuffled a bit, looking hesitant, then finally opened his mouth. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place. Don’t try to find specific surveillance apps. Look for apps everybody uses.”
I said, “Like what?”
“Facebook, Instagram, that kind of thing. If he’s using it mobile, we can get his location.”
He saw us staring at him like a church group hearing rap music. He said, “What? You guys don’t use Instagram? Snapchat?”
Nick was a full ten years younger than anyone else on my team. I said, “No. We don’t. And neither will you in about a month. If you think Guy George is posting on Instagram, you’ve proven me wrong in my choice of teammates. Welcome to the real clandestine world, Air Force.”
He sank back against a wall, looking like he wanted to crawl through it to the skull-crushing training he’d left, and Jennifer sidled up to me, pinching my arm, telling me without speaking that I was being too harsh. She’d lived in the Taskforce he-man world, getting beat up just like I was doing to Nick, and she didn’t like it. I glanced at her and she whispered, “Calm down, commando. You might not be the smartest in the room.”
I gave her a small grin, pulling back a couple of gears, because she was the smartest person in the room. But I wasn’t done with Nick. I said, “Okay, okay, start over, Veep. He’s not using social media, but he might be using something we can find. What else you got in your hipster tool kit?”
Nick looked at me like I was just baiting him for another insult. I said, “Cat got your tongue? You pining away for Kylie? Wishing you could just curl up in bed with her and get away from the mean people?”
Kylie was Kurt’s niece, and the one I had been tracking to find when I rescued Nick. The one I’d really wanted to save. At the time, I couldn’t have given a shit about him, but he’d ended up being pretty solid under fire, and it turned out he cared about Kylie as much as I did. In a little different way, of course.
Nick scowled, his face going crimson. Jennifer hissed, “Do you think that’s helping?”
I said, “I want to know what Veep’s got beyond just another face that Guy doesn’t recognize. You have anything at all to contribute?”
Yeah, I was being an ass, but it was for a reason. I wanted to determine if what I’d seen before was real. If he could take the pressure he was under and produce. Even if that production would be nothing more than snapping back at me. I needed to see if he had heart.
I glanced at Jennifer, telling her to back off on supporting him. Letting her know she wasn’t doing him any favors. She got it. She’d been there before, and understood.
Nick glanced at Kurt, then said to me, “Sorry, Granddad. I didn’t know I had to spell it out. He’s got a digital trail, just like you do. That didn’t start with my generation. You ever bought anything on Amazon?”
I nodded, telling him to continue. He gained courage and said, “I promise he has a trail under his real name, and there will be a crossover with whatever name he’s using now. Maybe he doesn’t use social media—Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram—but he’s using something. Uber, Spotify, something like that. He can stay away from what you’re looking for, but he’s using something you’re not seeking. I promise.”
When I didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and said, “Jesus, I’m not saying he’s blabbing on Yik Yak, but he’s using something.”
I said, “What the hell is Yik Yak?”
Before he could answer, Kurt snapped his fingers and said, “Wait a minute. He might have a point.”
He opened the door and snagged the first person he saw, saying, “Get me George Wolffe. Right now.”
I said, “What do you have?”
“Nothing yet. But maybe something. George sat with Guy after our meeting, and he said something about a playlist.”
George entered within seconds, saying, “What’s up? I’m dealing with some serious blowback from the North Korea thing you handed me. Am I here to take Creed back? I could use him.”
Kurt said, “No such luck. You remember when you were talking to Guy George after our meeting? He had earbuds in and ignored you?”
Wolffe looked confused, saying, “Yeah? He was listening to a Pandora station his brother had created.�
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Kurt said, “His brother? He was listening on his brother’s account? You sure about that?”
“Yes, I think so. He talked about how his brother had created it, and it was the only thing he had left from him. Why?”
I smiled at Nick and said, “You’ll do.”
30
Turning to Creed, I said, “Does that help?”
He whirled to the keyboard and said, “As a matter of fact, it does. Pandora sends location information every damn time you use it. It’s evil shit, but works for us. I’ll have to find his brother’s username, then crack his password, but with the information we have on him, it shouldn’t be that hard.”
Through a Department of Defense database, he pulled up everything we had on Guy’s brother, including email accounts, AKO login, and anything else the DoD required of its soldiers, then used that to mine the web for associated usernames, hoping that he—like most people—duplicated passwords and login credentials. At the same time, he started a devious little program that began a brute force attack against the Pandora login, throwing everything he found at it. He started his work, digging deeper and deeper, and I turned to Kurt.
“Sir, what’s the real mission here? I understand bring him home, but what if he’s actually onto something? What if he’s fighting the good fight?”
Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Just get him home. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not right. We can’t have individual justice. If he’s correct on the death of this brother, we’ll deal with it, but he can’t do that unilaterally.”
I took that in, considering just saying “Roger that” and driving on with the mission. But I couldn’t.
I said, “Sir, he’s got a lot of information on the guys from Qatar. My mission in the Caymans wasn’t smoke and mirrors. I get he might be off the reservation, but they did kill his brother. They deserve to be put down. It’s a Taskforce mission.”
Kurt bristled and said, “Pike, don’t go there. Don’t. Just get him back. I can’t throw away . . .”
I waited, but he didn’t finish. I said, “Can’t throw what away? This unit? Seriously? Is that what we’ve become? More worried about our own asses than what’s in front of us? Sir . . .”
“Pike, leave it alone.” He ran his hands through his hair and said, “Fuck, this is getting way out of control.”
I said, “Nothing is out of control. You control your own destiny, and what’s right is right.”
He rubbed his eyes and I saw the absolute pain of what Guy was doing. What I had done in the past. He said, “You have no idea what you represent. We are an organization that is antithetical to everything the United States represents. You do what you can for the good of the nation, but you represent the worst. We have more power than any element in the United States arsenal, and every bit of that power is predicated on secrecy. We fight for the good, but Guy has become the bad. I’ll burn down the organization before I’ll take the bad.”
The statement was so harsh I wasn’t sure where to go with it. I said, “Sir, surely you don’t think—”
Creed cut me off, saying, “I’ve got penetration. I’ve got the Pandora account. It was used mainly at Fort Meade for the last three months.”
I heard the location and immediately thought of my own deployments, when I wasn’t as top secret as I was now. Keeping my eyes on Kurt, I said, “That’s the satellite dish from Afghanistan. The IP address reroutes to Fort Meade. Go later. What do you have?”
Creed said, “I got a trace here in DC. The latest trace, as of yesterday, is Athens, Greece. Before that . . .”
Creed didn’t want to say it. I looked at him, knowing it would be bad. “Before that, what?”
“Before that, the login was from Key West, Florida.”
The words sank into the room like a dismal fog. Kurt said, “Shit. He’s gone over.”
I now knew we had to make a choice. It wasn’t just me talking a man off the ledge anymore.
I said, “Sir, what do you want me to do?”
“Bring him home.”
“And if I can’t? What are my rules of engagement? He’s going after all of them, and he’s going to find them.”
Kurt paused, then said, “End it. One way or the other. There is more riding on this than just a single man.”
I saw Jennifer fold inward, looking like she felt sick. I said, “Sir, I don’t know if I can do that. I’m telling you up front. You’re asking me to kill an American soldier.”
He bristled, saying, “I never said that. Never. Jesus. I’d never ask you to do that. I’m asking you to solve the problem.”
I faced him head-on. Looking him in the eye. “Sir. You know where this is going. I’ll bring him back if I can, but you picked me for a reason. I know where his mind is. I know what he’s capable of. And he’s going to do it. He’s going to kill every single damn one of those guys from Qatar. Unless I stop him, and I can’t promise how that will occur.”
Kurt said nothing. Just stared at the wall, feeling the disaster, and knowing he was the commander. The one to give the order.
Finally, he said, “Pike, I can’t let it happen. Even if it’s right in your mind. I need you to interdict him. Period. Can you do that?”
I glanced at Jennifer, seeing revulsion floating in her expression. Next to her, Nicholas Seacrest showed confusion, not sure what he was being asked to volunteer for.
I said, “Yeah. I can do it.”
Kurt relaxed and said, “Thank you. Look, bring him home. I don’t want any killing, of the Qatar guys or him. You’re the only one who can do that.”
Repeating a quote by the assassin from In the Line of Fire, I said, “Because we can’t have monsters roaming the quiet countryside, now can we?”
31
Brushing his teeth inside his hotel room, washing away the grime from forty-eight hours of eating junk food, Guy heard his phone buzz. A three-phase jarring vibration, it was distinct, telling him the GPS fence had been broken. He was surprised, and pulled the toothbrush from his mouth. Not because it had triggered, but because of the time. It was going on six p.m., and the target had been back at the yacht for only a couple of hours. Guy still had preparations to make, but the alarm caught him short, making him wish yet again that he had a team. Someone to track the man twenty-four/seven. A group of Operators he could insert in and out, instead of just himself trying to maintain a blanket on the target.
After escaping from Nikos’s thugs, he’d taken a commercial flight straight to Heraklion, Crete, getting out of the furnace of Athens. It was an overnight sail on a routine ferry, but only forty minutes by air. He knew two simple facts: One, his target was meeting a man on the island, and two, he was taking another yacht to get here. Not knowing where the meeting was to occur, or even when, Guy had conducted a stakeout of the Heraklion harbor. In truth, the boat could have docked anywhere, involving a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree search of every cove. It was an island, after all, but Guy had heard Heraklion mentioned, and figured a boat that size would not port at a simple harbor with nothing but a slip of concrete to moor against. No, it would anchor at a habitual place. Somewhere with electrical power and other amenities. Every coastal city in Crete had one, but Guy was betting it would be the Heraklion harbor, the one for the island’s capital. He knew it was guesswork, but it was a fairly good one. Even given that guess, the surveillance hadn’t been easy.
He had initially focused his reconnaissance effort on a location that would allow him to continually observe the slips. There was none. The harbor—like most harbors—jutted out from the city itself, surrounded by a seawall, without any place to camp out and watch. He’d hoped for a hotel overlooking the slips, but was out of luck, the closest he could find being a mid-price hotel called the GDM Megaron, which had a view of the sea but certainly wouldn’t work for surveillance. It did get him close enough to react if the boat ever arrived, thoug
h, so he made it his temporary tactical operations center.
In Athens he’d purchased and downloaded a unique Android app that let him access thousands of open-source webcams around the world, from zoos to traffic cameras. It was a time-wasting way for the average user to gaze across the continents at a beach they would never visit, but it had a double use as a poor man’s surveillance application. Guy had used it to search for cameras in the Heraklion harbor. He’d found one way out on the seawall, watching the entrance to the harbor and the large ferry lines that came and went, but none of the boat slips themselves.
The only thing this harbor had that others didn’t was an ancient castle, sitting in the water on the seawall about two hundred meters out, protecting the harbor from intruders who were no longer relevant. It was an archeological treasure, famed for its history, and not something he could use for the long term. But he could use it for pinpoint mechanics once the yacht entered.
He decided to split the difference, leveraging the webcam app to identify the Qatari vessel arriving, then the fortress for the start of a pattern of life. From there, he would—hopefully—inject the target’s phone with another application, called OneSpy, which would allow him to covertly monitor the target, both for cell phone content and location, freeing him up from close-in surveillance.
The castle itself was something from the seventh century, and was connected to the land by a concrete walkway along the top of the seawall. He’d investigated and saw it was being renovated, with the backside blanketed in scaffolding and signs proclaiming construction hazards, but he saw nobody working. It looked as if they’d run out of steam and had just left the scaffolding in place. Easy to climb, and because of the renovations, it was closed to tourists for the foreseeable future. Especially with the horror show of the Greek economy.
He’d purchased a hide-site survival package of olives, salami, and water, then sat on his hotel bed, alternately watching the feed on his laptop and the BBC channel on the television. Living on room service, refusing to shower or to leave the monitor for more than a bathroom break, his enclosure beginning to take on the peculiar smell of hide sites in the past, he finally saw the boat he was waiting for. At dusk, a hundred-footer flying the jack of Qatar entered past the seawall.