“Highly unlikely, given the digital, scrambled nature of the signal. Remember our briefings? We were assured this was one short step down from encryption, and my name isn’t listed anywhere in association with the number of this phone.”
She thought of the conversation with Jordan James, but decided to ignore it. After all, she had never mentioned their destination in that call. “You want to know how I can say conclusively that the leak came from my call to you, Jake?”
“How?”
“An ophthalmologist was waiting. That request was passed only through you.”
“Good Lord,” he said quietly.
“And, Jake, there’s something else. I got a call in flight on the way into Honolulu that was supposedly from someone at Langley. You need to know about this, because the call set me up to believe the show they’d put together.”
“You’re not alone, Kat. We were thrown off, too, probably by the same person falsely claiming to be one of our liaison people at CIA.”
“So what do you make of this?” she asked. “Who on earth are we up against?”
“There’s a theory running around here …” Jake’s voice trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Well, the thing that stopped me is that everything you just described to me reinforces that theory.”
“Which is?”
“That we’re finally encountering what some analysts predicted all along, a terrorism-for-profit organization, and they’re simply clearing their throat to get our undivided attention.”
“You mean mercenaries?”
“Worse. They may be working for themselves—an organization determined to establish their power before they demand a huge ransom not to kill.”
“I hate to say it, but that thought had crossed my mind, too.”
“Kat, this morning the National Transportation Safety Board held a news conference in response to all the media speculation and, in essence, confirmed that SeaAir very likely resulted from the simultaneous loss of both pilots in flight.”
“In other words, the same scenario as Meridian.”
“Except in Meridian, one of the pilots refused to die,” Jake added. “NTSB isn’t saying how the pilots were taken out, and even though the press asked about the possibility of things like explosions and toxic fumes, NTSB says they don’t know.”
Kat thought for a few seconds before replying. “If true, Jake … if the same organization is responsible for both and it’s the start of an unprecedented extortion scheme … then the fact that they have not gone public with any demands means they definitely will strike again.”
“Precisely. That’s the assessment.”
“Good Lord! But would such a group pull out so many stops to kill Robert MacCabe and the other survivors just on the outside chance they knew something?”
“Considering the magnitude of what they’ve already done and the worldwide scope of their operations, I’d say it makes perfect sense for them to bend heaven and earth to get rid of MacCabe and anyone he might have talked to.”
“Including me, of course,” she said.
“Including you. Now. Where do we go from here?”
“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” Kat rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I’m exhausted, Jake. We all are.” She gave him a rundown on the condition of the survivors. “I’m not even sure that Honolulu ophthalmologist was legitimate.”
“What I meant, Kat, was where do we meet you when you arrive? This one has got to be done right, and since we’re dealing with a commercial airline, we shouldn’t have another diversion problem.”
“Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle,” she said, passing the expected arrival time.
“We’ll be there in force, Kat, at the gate.”
Kat hesitated, holding back her burning desire to raise the issue of eye-killing weaponry possibly built by the U.S. military, but the question oozed with political danger. Perhaps she should think it through a bit longer before discussing such suspicions with the deputy director of the FBI.
“I’ll call you from Seattle, Jake,” she said instead. They disconnected, and Kat glanced at Robert before sitting in silence a few moments. She wondered if conspiracy theories tended to multiply in direct proportion to fatigue. Why had she held back with Jake Rhoades?
The sudden ring of the phone caught her off guard, and she jumped, losing control of it, batting it in the air and barely catching it and regaining her grip. Robert was trying to suppress laughter, and she smiled somewhat sheepishly as she punched the button and unfolded the antenna.
“Katherine? Is that you?” Jordan James asked.
“Yes, Jordan! And you don’t know how good it is to hear your voice … but where are you calling from?”
“I’m at home, using the secure line State installed last week.”
“No one else there?”
“No. Why?”
Once again she ran through the particulars of what had happened, ending with the potentially offensive question she couldn’t avoid. “Uncle Jordan, I hate to ask you this, but are you sure of whomever you talked to at Langley? Because someone intercepted everything I said to you.”
She heard him clear his throat.
“That’s why I’ve been frantic to reach you, Kat. There’s a very serious leak.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the problem isn’t Langley or my phones, the problem is at the Bureau. You can’t tell them anything until the leak is plugged.”
“That … that’s just … that doesn’t make sense.”
“Nevertheless, you’ve been targeted by someone, and all the information they needed originated with your call to Jake Rhoades.”
“He’s my boss, Jordan! Jake absolutely can’t be—”
“Of course Jake’s not involved. I would be flabbergasted if any real FBI agent is involved, but someone’s got access to the Bureau. You have to trust me now, Kat. Didn’t you just tell me the IDs of those guys in Honolulu were flawless?”
“Yes.”
“Most likely because they were genuine.”
“No! We don’t have any agents by those names—”
“Not the point, Kat. The IDs may well have been fabricated by the same office that prepared your ID. These people have found their way inside. Didn’t they know the language? Didn’t you say they sounded like your fellow FBI agents?”
“Yes.” She felt her head spinning, her resistance to this bizarre idea crumbling in the face of his authority and logic.
“Kat, the problem is deep. Whoever is running this show has access to everything they need to target you and your entourage. I can’t tell you how I know this, because it comes from a startling source, but my one hope is that it’s only a single mole at the Bureau, and most likely clerical.”
She said nothing for a few seconds as she sat with her pulse pounding in her ears, wondering just what was real.
“So what do I do, Jordan?”
“First and foremost, you cannot trust any of your compatriots at the Bureau until we know where the leak is. You have to assume that virtually every conversation goes right offshore to whoever is behind this operation.”
“Offshore? We’re sure of that?”
“Nothing else fits. Remember when I headed the CIA fifteen years ago? You don’t forget the earmarks.”
“You’ve had so many important jobs, Uncle Jordan, I forgot about CIA.”
“Well, trust me, Honey. Where are you headed right now?” he asked.
She thought quickly and decided one communication had been enough. “Jordan, I … don’t think I should speak the words on this line.”
“Of course. That’s a good precaution. But, did you tell Jake Rhoades?”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of that. Okay, Kat, now listen to me. Whatever you do, do not get off that aircraft the normal way, or run any risk of being intercepted by, or going with, anyone purporting to be FBI agents. If you’ve told Jake, there will most certainly be a party waiting fo
r you, but not the one you want.”
“But Jake will make certain that doesn’t happen again.”
“He got outfoxed in Honolulu, didn’t he? Whoever these people are, they’ll find a way to divert, contain, distract, or otherwise neutralize whomever Jake sends. We do not know what’s real here, and until I can get to the bottom of this—and by the way, I’m taking this to the White House in the morning—until we know where the leak is, you’re going to have to stay out in the cold and tell your own people nothing, because when you do, the information goes right to the enemy.”
“Jordan …”
“No questions, Katherine. Just do it. Your life depends on it. Understand?”
“Yes, but Jordan, I’m an FBI agent. How can I run from my own people?”
“If you don’t, Katherine, I’ll lose you, and we’ll lose those survivors you brought out with you. Look, before your dad died, I promised him I’d try to look after you as much as I could, and this is one where I can guarantee he’d say the same thing: Find a hole, take the others with you, and go hide in it. When you’re secure and certain that no one knows where you are, call me. But not at State. Only on this phone. We need time to ferret out who’s behind all this. And we will find them. Your responsibility is to protect yourself and the five people with you. Just concentrate on that.”
“Okay, Uncle Jordan. Thank you.”
“It’s going to be okay, Katherine.”
She disconnected and sat rubbing her forehead, more confused than ever, and aware that Robert was about to burst with questions.
“An uncle?” he asked, as tentatively as he dared.
She nodded, explaining who had been on the other end of the line.
“The Jordan James?” Robert asked, his eyes flaring as he sat forward. “You know him?”
She nodded. “Longtime friend of my dad’s and a Dutch uncle all my life.”
“I’m impressed, Kat! James is in the same league with John Foster Dulles, Clark Clifford, and Henry Kissinger. The perpetual presidential adviser.”
“That’s my Uncle Jordan.” Kat turned to look Robert in the eye. “Robert, wouldn’t Walter Carnegie have found a way to safeguard what he’d discovered and get it to you somehow?”
Robert nodded slowly. “If there was any way he could. I mean, I don’t know what scared him away or kept him away from our meeting. But he was the typical scientist, and he would have been obsessed with safeguarding whatever he’d found.”
“Then somewhere out there is a predeath message to you from Carnegie with the information we need, or at least clues on how to find it. You agree?”
“Yeah, but where? In a letter? In my E-mail? Stuffed under my doormat? I mean, the possibilities are endless.”
“Not to a panicked man, Robert. We have to think like he was thinking, and see only the options he would see, and we don’t have much time. I’ve got the sick feeling our murderous little terrorist group is getting ready to strike again somewhere, and whatever Carnegie was trying to pass you is the antidote.”
Robert MacCabe sighed. “Then let’s connect the laptop to this incredibly expensive seat back phone system and get busy.”
chapter 34
ABOARD UNITED 723, IN FLIGHT,
150 MILES WEST OF SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO
11:50 P.M. LOCAL/0750 ZULU
For nearly two hours, Robert MacCabe had tried various ideas through the connection of his computer to the seat back phone system. Personal E-mail, his electronic mailbox at The Washington Post, a manual search by his secretary ordered by E-mail, and an hour’s worth of attempts to hack into Walter Carnegie’s E-mail account had turned up nothing. With the DC-10 beginning its descent for landing in Seattle, frustration was growing.
“Do you have any other Internet accounts or E-mail accounts?” Kat asked.
“No,” he replied, sitting in thought for a few seconds. “Wait a minute.” He entered a series of commands and the computer began dialing another number.
“What?” Kat asked.
“A brainstorm, and probably useless,” he replied. The logo of an Internet service appeared on the screen, and Robert waited with his fingers poised over the keyboard.
“YES!” he said in a loud voice, startling Kat.
“Yes what?”
“Just … a second,” he said, typing in a response to a password request. The first two attempts were rejected, but the third worked, and he turned to Kat with a triumphant look. “Walter created a new account under my name at his Internet service, and used his own name as the password.”
“How’d you figure that out?” she asked.
“Pure guesswork.”
“Pretty impressive, Watson,” Kat replied. “It says there’s a message waiting.”
“I’m pulling it up now,” he said, as it assembled itself on the laptop screen.
Robert,
Since you’ve found this, many weeks have probably elapsed and something has happened to me. I figured that when you saw the bill on your American Express for this new E-mail account, you’d go probing. I also figured anything I sent to your regular account would be monitored.
I apologize profusely for missing our appointment. I was being followed and had to go elsewhere, and didn’t want to endanger you by any other contact. I don’t know who these people are, but I can assure you I’m not seeing things, nor am I becoming delusional. Someone, or some group, is highly incensed that I wouldn’t just go back to my office at FAA and shut up. So, wherever I am, it’s time you saw what I’ve seen. Maybe you can piece the rest of this together and get it exposed.
The following message is generic, with appropriate references I hope you’ll follow quickly. First, there’s a man you need to find ASAP. Remember our discussion about your piece on Desert Storm vs. technology, and what you said about Uncle’s other tricks? Okay. This guy knows the new tricks, and why they’ve stayed invisible. You will have already received his name and locale by the time you find this, though you may not have recognized the message. Look again. It ends with the number 43. The main file you need to see is LOC’d up at my favorite hangout using the name WCCHRN.
One more thing. Remember Pogo’s admonition about the identity of the foe, and be very careful, because they are out to get us!/Walter.
Kat pulled out a steno pad and copied the message carefully. “Okay,” she said at last, looking at Robert. “What the heck does he mean?”
“The Desert Storm discussion and the reference to Uncle is probably about new military hardware, but … I don’t really remember. It’s been a long time.”
“How about his favorite hangout?”
“I suppose he means a restaurant, and probably the one at the Willard Hotel, but why would he store a disk or something there?”
“You’re assuming it’s a disk, right?”
“Yeah, knowing Walter. He thought best on a computer.”
“But why the spelling ‘LOC’?”
Robert sat scratching his chin for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about that. I wonder if he means his house?”
“Where is it?”
“Arlington, Virginia. A small house. He divorced a few years back. She wanted to enjoy life, he wanted to enjoy work. The house suits—suited him, poor guy. It’s furnished in Early Federal Disaster Area.”
“He’ll probably come back and haunt you for that slam. One more question, Robert. He referred to a message you should already have received, but you’ve checked every message service you have, right?”
“Aha!” Robert disconnected his computer from the phone and raised the handset to dial in an 800-number. He punched in some additional numbers and looked at Kat while waiting for it to answer. “I lost my beeper somewhere in the jungle back there in Vietnam, but the host system stores messages for weeks.” He hunkered down to listen as the distant computer replayed the messages of the previous week, then reached over to write them on the steno pad i
n her lap. He sat up suddenly, smiling as he wrote down another name and the words “Las Vegas,” then disconnected.
“That was it, Kat! Walter sent it through my beeper. The name of his deep-throat source is Dr. Brett Thomas of Las Vegas. The message ended in forty-three.”
“We’d better find him quickly. We won’t be the only ones looking.”
SEA-TAC INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT,
WASHINGTON
Kat had returned to the cockpit jump seat as the big DC-10 rounded the south end of Puget Sound. She watched as the copilot reached up and pulled the pillow and map off his glareshield as the aircraft made a wide right turn over Elliot Bay and settled on to the ILS approach for Runway 16 Left at Sea-Tac Airport.
“Landing gear down, before landing checklist,” Holt called as they intercepted the glide slope and began the steady final descent to the runway.
“Jerry?” he said to the copilot. “I want you to bottom your seat out and make sure you’re not looking outside, just in case.”
“All the way to touchdown?” the copilot asked.
Holt nodded, turning to the flight engineer. “You, too, Joe. Stay sideways. I know it’s against procedure to land that way, but I want you shielded, too.”
“You’re worried someone might fire at us from the buildings off the approach end of the runway, right?” Kat asked.
The captain nodded. “Any air crew is vulnerable on final approach. With what you told us, and having you on board …”
She nodded. “Understood. I appreciate the caution.”
“Five hundred feet, no flags,” the copilot called, reading the instruments as the three engine jumbo jet descended through an altitude of 500 feet above the housing areas below.
Without incident, the DC-10 transitioned smoothly over the highway bordering the north of the airport and settled gently onto the runway. Holt deployed the speed brakes and lifted the thrust reverser levers as he kept the nosewheel on the center line.
Kat’s attention shifted to the North Satellite terminal on their left. She could see the large sign designating the gate they were supposed to taxi into, and she could see a significant number of black sedans and police cars arrayed around the jetway.
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