The Unknown

by Brett Battles

  He’d been so sure the torture was going to happen the last time they landed that his fear had overshadowed even the pain in his head. But within twenty minutes or so, they’d taken off again, his box not moving an inch.

  The next time they went down, he had no doubt the story would be different.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “We’ve got a problem,” Orlando said.

  “Don’t tell me we lost them,” Quinn said.

  “Not yet, but if they don’t change their course soon, we will.”

  She turned her computer so he could see it.

  On the screen was a map that encompassed the eastern half of Romania, all of Ukraine, and a bit of Russia. Two dots—one blue and one red—were moving slowly across the image. The blue one, representing the kidnappers’ plane, was about fifty kilometers into Ukrainian airspace. The red one, marking the team’s aircraft, was still over Romania, about one hundred and twenty kilometers from the border.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “The Ukrainian radar system. I’m having a problem getting access to some of its coverage areas.” She clicked a button and an overlay of yellow transparent blotches appeared over the country. “There’s only a few dead spots here in the west.” She tapped the screen over several blotches. “If the kidnappers don’t change direction, these shouldn’t be an issue. The problem will be if they continue east of Kyiv.”

  There was no need for her to point out what she meant. The yellow overlay covered at least three-quarters of that part of the country.

  “What are the chances you’ll be able to find a way in?”

  “I’ve been trying for a while, and I’ll keep it up, but….” She shrugged, not looking hopeful.

  “Are there any satellites we can repurpose?”

  “Jar’s checking that now.”

  Quinn looked back at Jar, who was using his computer since hers was now a pile of slag. Nate sat next to her. They both appeared to be looking at something on the table in front of them, but it was hidden from Quinn’s view by the laptop.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  He pushed out of his chair and walked back to see what was holding their attention. The item turned out to be the tracking disc Nate had rescued from Debrecen airport. Its surface glistened from what Quinn guessed was a spritz from the small bottle of specialized solution from the team’s fingerprint-detection kit that sat nearby.

  “Orlando said you were checking on satellites,” Quinn said.

  Without taking her attention off the disc, Jar said, “Finished already.”

  “And?”

  She glanced at the laptop. “I have found two that might be able to help. One is NSA, still trying to hack into it.”

  “And the other?”

  “Russian weather satellite. But its camera is not as detailed. I am running a test to see if it can even find the other aircraft and follow it.”

  “How long until you know?”

  She finally looked up at him. “Ten more minutes should be sufficient.”

  He jutted his chin toward the disc. “Any luck with that?”

  Nate leaned close to the disc for a moment before sitting back. “Looks like it’s ready.”

  Jar removed a small, ultraviolet flashlight from the kit and shined the beam on the disc. The otherwise uniform surface was now broken by the distinct ovals of fingerprint ridges.

  “Looks like a thumb,” Nate said.

  “It is,” Jar confirmed. “Right side.”

  That made sense. With only a few short seconds to place the bug, the woman would have likely used her thumb to push it into place.

  Jar grabbed the palm-sized scanner and started setting it up over the disc to make a digital image.

  “If you get a hit, let us know,” Quinn said. He returned to his seat next to Orlando.

  “She having any luck?” Orlando asked.

  He told her what Jar had found.

  “I doubt the weather sat will pay off,” Orlando said. “Maybe Misty can pull a few strings and get us access to the NSA one, without us having to sneak in. Did you get the satellite’s ID?”

  Quinn leaned into the aisle and looked toward the back. “Jar, what’s the ID on that NSA satellite?”

  She gave it to him, but there was no need to repeat it to Orlando, as she had already typed it into a message she was composing for Misty.

  “Hey!” Nate shouted. “She’s in!”

  “In what?”

  “The NSA satellite. She’s got control.”

  “What the hell?” Orlando said.

  Quinn turned to her, thinking she was reacting to what Nate had said, but instead she was staring at her screen.

  Her email window was gone, no doubt minimized because she didn’t need it anymore. In its place was the map detailing the areas where she’d been having trouble getting radar access. The yellow spots in the northwestern portion of Ukraine were still there, but all those in the east, in the direction the kidnappers were headed, had disappeared.

  Every single one of them.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Orlando said.

  “Could whatever was blocking you have been a system error that cleared?”

  She frowned as she opened another program and typed. “Maybe, but I doubt that.” After several seconds, she sat back and motioned to her screen. “See? The problem’s still there. Nothing has changed. But I’ve got access.”

  The screen was full of letters and numbers that didn’t make any sense to Quinn.

  “All this data should still be inaccessible. I didn’t do anything.”

  The skin on Quinn’s arms tingled. The coincidence of both problems clearing up at the exact same moment was unlikely in the extreme. He exchanged a look with Orlando, and knew she was thinking the same thing.

  They relocated to the table, Orlando bringing her computer with her, and showed the others what had happened with the radar data.

  “Did either of you ask for outside help?” Quinn asked Orlando and Jar.

  “I didn’t,” Orlando said.

  “I have told no one,” Jar replied.

  “Someone must know,” Quinn said. “There’s no way this was just—”

  “What about Daria?” Kincaid suggested.

  Quinn frowned. “Who’s Daria?”

  “Danara,” Orlando said.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Kincaid said.

  To Quinn, Orlando said, “She’s the hacker who melted Jar’s machine.”

  “Did you say Danara?” Nate said.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Give me a moment.” He pulled his bag onto his lap and rummaged through it.

  “How the hell would this Danara even know we’re having problems?” Quinn asked. “She destroyed her connection to us, didn’t she?”

  A cloud passed over Orlando’s face. “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

  “Here it is,” Nate said.

  He was holding a small stack of papers. Written on the one he’d moved to the top was: What about Danara?

  “What is that?” Quinn asked.

  “Some of the notes from Brunner’s apartment.” Nate turned it over. “There’s a date on the back. May thirtieth, three years ago.”

  “He dated the note?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Whether he did or not, he definitely knows this person,” Daeng said.

  “Possibly,” Nate said, but he was frowning.

  A moment of silence descended, then Orlando said, in a slightly raised voice, “Danara, can you hear me?”

  Quinn looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What are you doing?”

  She held up a hand, telling him to be quiet. “Danara?”

  From Orlando’s pocket, a calm female voice said, “Yes, Orlando, I can hear you.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Kincaid said. “What the hell?”

  Orlando pulled out her m
obile and set it on the desk. “You hacked into my phone.”

  “I did.” The same voice, clearly from the device.

  “What else have you hacked into?”

  A brief pause. Then, from every speaker in the passenger area of the plane—phones, computers, the overhead PA system—Danara said, “Everything.”

  While most of the team froze, Kincaid jumped up, pulled out his phone, and dropped it on the floor.

  “How did she do that?” he asked.

  “Good question,” Orlando said.

  Quinn knew what she was really saying was that Danara shouldn’t have been able to do that, especially to the phones belonging to Quinn’s team. Orlando had encrypted them so that they’d be virtually unhackable. The emphasis was on virtually, apparently.

  “Danara, we are not your enemy,” Orlando said.

  “I’m inclined to believe you’re correct now. If I’d still believed otherwise, I wouldn’t have helped you gain access to the radar data and the NSA satellite.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Quinn touched Orlando’s arm. She nodded for him to go ahead.

  “My name is—”

  “Jonathan Quinn,” Danara said. “Cleaner. Currently in temporary employment of The Office.”

  There had been no indication Danara was using any of the cameras on the phones or computers, but Quinn had to assume she was, so he did his best to keep his surprise and concern off his face.

  “That’s correct,” he said. “Since you know who I am working for, it would only be fair if you told us who you work for and what your interest is in our mission.”

  “Dr. Brunner is my interest. I want him returned. Alive.”

  “That’s what we want, too.”

  “As I said, I believe you now.”

  “Do you work with Dr. Brunner?” Orlando asked. “Is he your boss?”

  A pause. “Yes, I work with him, and by many definitions, you can say he’s my boss.”

  It was an odd response.

  “That’s good to hear,” Quinn said. “Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping us a little more.”

  “What is it you need?”

  “We’ve had a hard time finding out what he’s been working on. If you share that with us, it could prove useful.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would this knowledge help you? You are already following the plane he is on. What does it matter why he was taken?”

  “It could give us a better understanding of those who kidnapped him. Which could help us find a way of defeating them.”

  “I see.”

  When Danara didn’t go on, Quinn said, “Are you going to tell us or not?”

  “I am not authorized to share that information.”

  “Then get authorization.”

  “Only Dr. Brunner can authorize its release.”

  Quinn stared at Orlando’s phone in disbelief, no longer caring if Danara could read his expression or not. “So you’re saying to get the information that will help us save Brunner, we need to rescue him first so he can tell you it’s okay?”

  “I’m aware of the contradiction,” Danara said.

  “I would hope so.”

  “But my directions are clear. On this matter, I cannot help you.”

  “Then apparently you don’t want to help the doctor as much as you claim. If you did, you wouldn’t hold anything back.”

  No response this time.

  “Danara?”

  Nothing.

  “Danara, are you still there?”

  Orlando’s phone remained silent.

  Orlando made an almost imperceptible motion toward the back of the jet. Grimly, Quinn nodded, but as he moved in that direction, she grabbed his arm and pointed at his pocket.

  He pulled out his phone and set it on the table. Then, also at Orlando’s prompt, he removed his smart watch and left it behind, too. As Orlando stood up, she indicated for Jar to join them.

  They squeezed into the bathroom, a space uncomfortably small even for one person.

  Orlando turned on the faucet and said, “If we keep our voices low, I don’t think she’ll be able to hear us.”

  “How long do you think she’s been listening in on us?”

  “At least since just before she destroyed my computer,” Jar said.

  Orlando nodded. “The safe bet is to assume since not long after you connected Brunner’s key to your machine.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Quinn said. “And how do we get her to stop listening?”

  “Disable anything with a microphone or camera,” Jar said.

  Quinn stared at her. “So, basically, we need to go off the grid? How is that going to be practical?”

  “It is not. I was only answering your question. I am not suggesting we do this.”

  He took a breath to quell his rising anger. “Sorry.”

  “We need to assume Danara, or anyone she might be working with, will be listening in at all times,” Orlando said.

  “Who is she?” Quinn asked.

  “Someone who’s at least temporarily willing to help us.”

  That might have been true, but Quinn thought the cost might be too high. “So, how do we make this work?”

  “First, we disable or cover every camera,” Jar said. “This way she cannot see our expressions, or read anything we write down. Second, we create muffles for the microphones that can be removed when we need to use them. We must not assume this will keep her from hearing us, but it should at least cut down her range. Third, we come up with a protocol for having private conversations. A gesture that means leave your phone or computer behind and follow.”

  “You just think all of that up?” Quinn asked.

  “I did not have to think about anything. The steps are obvious. And you did not let me finish. There is a fourth. We hand out the comm gear.” She looked at Orlando. “Correct me if I am wrong, but she should not be able to hack into that.”

  “Hopefully,” Orlando said. The comm system wasn’t run through any kind of central computer that could be hacked into, and the frequency that carried the encrypted digital signal was dynamic, making it nearly impossible for anyone to follow. “But I would have never thought she could get into the phones, either. We’ve got to communicate, though, so I don’t see a better choice.”

  They worked out a few more details, then Orlando and Jar returned to their computers to continue tracking the other aircraft. One by one, they sent Kincaid, then Daeng, and finally Nate back to the bathroom to be briefed by Quinn.

  As Quinn was finishing up with Nate, someone knocked on the bathroom entrance.

  “Your phone’s ringing,” Orlando said from the other side. “It’s Misty.”

  Cursing under his breath, Quinn opened the door. Orlando held his phone out to him and mouthed, Careful.

  With a nod, he took it from her and swiped ACCEPT.

  “Hey, thanks for calling back,” he said. “I was wondering, have you heard from Peter yet?”

  The pause on the other end was slight. To most, it wouldn’t mean anything. But Quinn knew Misty was reacting to the code phrase he’d just used. This particular question—one he’d never had occasion to use—let her know everything was okay but the line was potentially bugged.

  “I did,” she said. “You know Peter. He’s up to his usual tricks.”

  Another code phrase. She had information for him.

  “Can you let him know I need to talk with him? I’m a little tied up so it might be a bit.”

  “I can do that. But don’t wait too long. He seemed eager to talk to you, too.” Her information was something she thought he’d like sooner than later. “I could set a reminder if you want. For after you’re home.” And with this last, she’d told him which server he could look on to find the material.

  Now all he needed was a Danara-free computer.

  “That would be great, thanks,” he said.

  Misty pro
ceeded to give him a briefing that amounted to her saying there was no news on Brunner from her end. He asked a few appropriate questions, and she gave him a few appropriate answers.

  “Got it. Thanks,” he said.

  “If I learn anything new, I’ll call.” In other words, he should call her as soon as he was in a position to do so.

  “Talk to you soon.”

  “Quinn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.” No code phrase there. Just the concern of a friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Long after midnight, the kidnappers’ plane left Ukraine and crossed into Russia.

  No problem with radar data there. Either the Russian system was not as well protected as its neighbor, or Danara had cleared any blockage ahead of time. Quinn would have bet everything he had on the latter.

  As for Danara herself, she had yet to reappear, despite the occasional attempt by Orlando or Jar to lure her out.

  With nothing to do, Nate and Daeng had fallen asleep not long after the conferences in the bathroom. It took a bit longer but eventually Kincaid joined them, his deep breaths rattling from the two seats he was slumped over, a row back from the table.

  “You should rest,” Orlando told Quinn. “Even if they land right now, we’re still an hour behind them. And who knows when you’re going to get a chance again.”

  “How’s the clearance for Russia coming?” he asked. She’d been working on getting permission for their plane to pass into Russian airspace, using the ruse that the aircraft was ferrying an Uzbekistani businessman back to his home country.

  “Just waiting for final confirmation. It’ll be fine. Sleep. If there’s anything you need to know, I’ll wake you.”

  He didn’t like the idea of knocking out in the middle of a chase, but really, there was nothing more he could do. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He moved to a seat across the aisle and reclined it as far as it would go. He was fairly confident he wouldn’t fall asleep, but even resting his eyes for a while would be helpful.

  He closed his lids and tried to think of nothing.