The Manganese Dilemma

by Ian Miller

  "Right," Rutherford said. "You two can start working together. For today you will merely access standard Russian websites. No hacking required, but rather you should familiarize with standard Russian web protocols, and, of course, learn to find your way around."

  Burrowes began wondering what he was doing there. If the story Rutherford gave him were true, the NSA would surely have told him what he had done so far. This was simply a waste of a day, but then, if they wanted to pay him to waste a day, so be it. Or maybe they wanted Svetlana to find out how good his Russian really was.

  Maybe he should try to find out what Svetlana was trying to do.

  "So," Burrowes said, turning towards Svetlana, "what should we do to start?"

  "You know the Cyrillic alphabet?"

  "Of course." He had to admit this, otherwise why would the NSA have sent him? But that raised some interesting questions. His hacking code used Latin characters, apart from the obvious preponderance of numbers, mainly because many Russian computers used Western operating systems, and that made sense because the Russians wanted to be able to use the resources available to the West. No point in doing everything yourself.

  "Then," she said brightly, "take me to some Russian shopping sites."

  "What? You want to go shopping?"

  "I want to see if you can find your way around."

  "I suppose that makes sense," he said. "So would you prefer the English or Russian versions of Yandex?"

  "Ha! You do know something."

  "Probably not enough. I don't even know where to go and make coffee."

  "Then you'd better locate our facilities first." She turned to the nearest of the others there and said, "Dennis, why don't you show Charlie here where the essentials are while I set up a small problem for him?"

  The face that presumably belonged to Dennis looked up, scowled, looked like he was about to say something, but then he saw Svetlana's expression, which clearly said that the boss would back her up, so rather grumpily he indicated to Burrowes that he should follow.

  About five minutes later the two returned, Burrowes holding two mugs of coffee.

  "Oh, Sveta," Dennis announced, "I showed him how you like it, so don't play silly buggers with him."

  "Would I do that?" she asked, giving a sweet and innocent look. Then she looked down a little, and added, "OK, I probably would, but thanks for the coffee." She tasted it, then said, "That's good. You can now be promoted to be my official coffee maker."

  "Does that mean I'm permitted to call you Sveta?"

  "Oh dear. Wanting to get familiar this soon?"

  "Sorry, Ms Antonovna. Won't happen again. Now, shall we start? What do you want?"

  "How about the best shoes available in Kursk?"

  "Shoes in Kursk I can do. Best is a matter of opinion." He sat in front of the computer and opened Yandex. After a few minutes, he burst into a broad smile.

  "You're amused?"

  "Can't help it," he admitted. "It's the name, and since I've found it, let's look at Legky Shag." He paused, then frowned. "Well, I know one of them's off Ulitsa Lenina, but . . ."

  "But?"

  "I am sorry, Ms Antonovna, but if you want to buy shoes there, I need to buy you a ticket to Kursk. They do not seem to sell via the web."

  "I'm afraid that's out of the question," Dennis said, as he stuck his head over his computer. "Our Sveta would be arrested at whatever airport she used to get into Russia."

  "What?" Burrowes asked with a forced frown. "You mean to say our Ms Antonovna is a wanted criminal?"

  "She's most certainly wanted by the Russians." Dennis had a wide grin on his face.

  "Well, what did she do?"

  "Are you lot going to get any work done today?" This was from Rutherford, who had seemingly overheard the last part of this exchange.

  "Er, yes sir," Dennis said, and put his head down.

  "So, you want to know what Svetlana did, do you?" Rutherford said. "OK, that's as good an exercise as any, but you have to find the Russian version. That means you'll have to go tolerably deep, because this was not something the Russians were proud of. Svetlana, offer some clues, but make sure he does the hard work."

  It took most of the rest of the day, but eventually Burrowes had the story. The traitor Nikolay Antonov had attempted to defect to the West, and had taken his daughter Svetlana with him, as well as a number of top secret documents containing the designs and planned specifications of future Russian military equipment. He had been apprehended on the Estonian border, but the daughter had managed to cross.

  "Well, what did you find?" Rutherford asked at the end of the day.

  Burrowes told him, then added, "What is puzzling is that Antonov was accused of taking top secret documents, but the Russian version fails to state what happened to them."

  "And what do you think happened to them?"

  "I asked Ms Antonovna," Burrowes said, and smiled a little at the annoyed expression that crossed her face when he named her so formally, "and she said she gave a briefcase to the US intelligence services, so my guess is, we've got them."

  "And what do you think they were?"

  "How would I know?"

  "A champion hacker could find out."

  "You want me to hack the CIA?" he asked in surprise.

  "A useful exercise," Rutherford said with a grin. "It's a test of your ability. If they find you, you're fired. If you can get away with it, then I'll have some confidence you can get away with what we want you to do."

  "I see," Burrowes said to nobody in particular. In fact, he did not see. From his NSA experience, he knew he could get into the CIA computers, and he knew how he could do so without being detected assuming the CIA were using the defences they had four weeks ago. What he did not know was how much fishing he would have to do if they had changed them.

  "So, what are you going to do now?" Svetlana challenged.

  "Go home," Burrowes said.

  "So you're a clock watcher?" Rutherford asked with a scowl of disapproval.

  "No, but I thought you might like me to try this somewhere else, so if it doesn't work, it won't be tracked back to you."

  "How very considerate of you." This was said in a tone of cold sarcasm.

  "Do you know what the information you handed over was?" Burrowes asked, as he turned towards Svetlana.

  "Not really," she said. "I understood it was top secret specifications to Russian military equipment then currently in the design stage, but of course while escaping there was not time to look, and I had to hand it over to the American soldiers."

  "And you really want me to do this?" Burrowes asked, his look directly at Rutherford. "Say abort if you don't."

  Rutherford stood there, saying nothing.

  "Then I'll take that as a yes. Ms Antonovna, if you want to know what you did, and risk being chased by the CIA if I mess up, feel free to accompany me for the evening. And make sure you have a taxi fare home after it either works or does not work."

  To his surprise, Svetlana decided to accompany him.

  "Then there is one more thing," he said, turning back to Rutherford. "I am going to need access to some serious computing power." When he saw Rutherford frown, he held up his hand and said, "That's under control, but what is not is what happens if the CIA discover the hack. They won't know it was me who did it because I'll be elsewhere, but I can't take the big computer equipment with me. You have to underwrite any loss if it goes sour. I need you to say yes to this, or the exercise is off."

  "All right. I'll replace the equipment, up to two hundred thousand dollars." This was said grudgingly. The NSA had given him a significant budget to be spent on equipment, and they had provided essentially all the equipment in this room. He had been told that he was under no circumstances to take equipment elsewhere, and it remained the property of the NSA. He had also been told that under no circumstances must this program choke for want of equipment. And here, on day one, he was faced with the problem that if he said yes, then one of those instruction
s might be violated, but if he said no, the other one would most certainly be violated. So he said yes and prayed.

  "Good. I'll do it tomorrow night, so you, Ms Antonovna, will have time to be sure you have your taxi fare. It will be from within the city environs. Have a good night, both of you," he said, and with a grin, turned and headed for the door, and the awful decorations of the corridors of the building.

  Chapter 5

  "Well, I see you know how to entertain a lady," Svetlana said, with a superior grin as she looked around the diner. "Cheap!" She put her coat over the back of the chair.

  "Yep, but more importantly, fast," Burrowes said. "This place serves an incredible number of meals and they do that by giving, as you indicate, good value, but also by turning over seats quickly. They serve quickly, and expect you to eat reasonably quickly."

  "No style at all, and you're not even offering wine."

  "This is formal business, Ms Antonovna. No time to be wasted, and most certainly we do not want intoxicating beverages to slow our performance, do we?"

  "Don't we?" she challenged.

  "Not if we have to run through some dubious back streets. And, I might add, your shoes are not exactly appropriate. You need that ticket to Kursk."

  "Trying to get rid of me, are you?"

  Burrowes felt a little chastened, so to change the subject, he enquired about who the other two were, and what they did. Svetlana told him the other one was called Brian, but she did not know what they did.

  "You don't know much about your work mates do you?" he said with a smirk.

  "I've only been there a couple of days longer than you," she replied with a shrug, "and no, I don't know their surnames, and I am far from convinced that Dennis and Brian are their real names anyway."

  While this surprised Burrowes, the meal arrived to stop the exchange. Burrowes had already indicated that they should eat, so Svetlana killed any further conversation by diving into her food. To her surprise, she found the food really was of quality, even if, as she indicated, it lacked presentation style.

  "It all mixes in the stomach," Burrowes had reminded her.

  When they had, as Burrowes described it, refuelled, he suggested that she either follow him, or go home.

  "Go home? You don't want me?"

  "In my case, it is neither want nor not want. I can do this myself. But there is an element of risk, and . . ."

  She smiled a little at his discomfort, and said, "I doubt it's as risky as trying to evade the FSB."

  "That may be true," Burrowes said, then added, "Of course, if I'm any good, they won't even know."

  "I wouldn't miss this for anything."

  Burrowes paid the bill, with Svetlana watching over his shoulder, then they set off.

  "Fortunately, it is cold," Burrowes said before going out onto the street. "Put up your hood and keep looking down."

  Svetlana gave a smile, and said, "You want to avoid surveillance cameras?"

  "It never hurts to take precautions," he said, as he put up his own hood. "It also keeps the head warm and the snow out of the hair."

  They ended up walking down a narrow alley, then down to a basement entrance that was separate from a main building, which was apparently a small apartment complex. Burrowes took out a key, and opened the door. He took off his coat and shook the snow off it.

  "This your place?" Svetlana asked, her voice showing quite some surprise.

  "No, and I'm not going to tell you whose it is, and I expect you not to try to find out. I have the key for the night." He indicated they go in, after which he shut the door and produced a small torch. He noticed that Svetlana reached into her handbag and put on a pair of fine gloves. He indicated a small door, and he walked over to it and indicated that Svetlana should follow. He entered, and used his torch to find a light switch. He turned the switch on, and even Svetlana was impressed, as indicated by her gasp of surprise. There was a large bank of computer equipment.

  Burrowes sat down and threw some switches, thus turning the equipment on. He looked at Svetlana, and suggested she take a seat. She took one, and came up beside him.

  "While we're waiting," she said, and handed over some bills, "here's my share of the meal."

  "You don't have to –"

  "Don't worry," she said with a broad grin. "You're cheap!"

  "Thanks for noticing," he said, but he also noticed that she had handed over half the amount of the bill, rounded up to the nearest dollar. She had noted exactly what was on that small piece of paper he had pocketed.

  "You obviously value money, so . . ." When she saw him struggling for a reply, she grasped his shoulder and added, "Don't worry. I approve. We Russians have learned its value the hard way."

  Burrowes had no reply to that either, but by now the computer was ready. He started typing, while Svetlana appeared to watch casually, as if waiting for something to happen. He started by rerouting the hack through a number of foreign servers, and after he had gone around the world in short steps more than once, he keyed in instructions to alert him if anyone was trying to trace him. He also inserted code that would remove the route from detection once he hit a certain key. Svetlana yawned. Then through two more servers, then into the CIA. He typed in a series of characters, and he was in.

  He queried "Nikolay Antonov" and downloaded the folder of files to a memory stick. He queried "Svetlana Nikolayevna Antonovna" and downloaded another folder to a memory stick. He then tried "Svetlana Antonovna" followed by the date of the river crossing, and then downloaded another folder to the first memory stick. Then he quickly shut down the link, and shut down his computers.

  "Now what?" Svetlana asked. She gave a look that could be considered challenging, but equally could be inviting.

  "Now we get the hell out of here," Burrowes said. "Fast!"

  Svetlana nodded, and took her handbag. "You should wipe the keyboard, and the door handles," she said, and handed over some damp wipes.

  Burrowes nodded, and did what she suggested. When the front door was closed she suggested she go first. She crept up the stairs and looked around, then waved Burrowes up. The lane was empty, but snow was falling more heavily. They walked briskly to the corner with a more important street, then ambled around it and blended in with the pedestrians who by and large were trying to get to wherever they could get warm.

  "Now what?" Svetlana asked.

  "I'm going back to my apartment to see what's on these memory sticks."

  "This should be interesting –"

  "It's probably better, Miss Antonovna, if I show you the outputs tomorrow," Burrowes said. He said it firmly and the intent was clear: he was not inviting her.

  "You're not going to invite me?" She raised her eyes, and seemed a little upset.

  "People would get the wrong impression if I brought a woman for the night," Burrowes said, "and by the time I'm finished this, it will be nearly morning." His voice seemed prim, but forced to be primly.

  "As you wish. Your loss." She shrugged, and turned away.

  Chapter 6

  A bleary-eyed Burrowes arrived rather late the following morning. He sat down at his workstation and yawned.

  "You're late," Rutherford said.

  "Yes, but I was up a fair bit of the night on your assignment."

  "And you found?"

  "A briefcase was handed over to some American Army officers by a Svetlana Nikolayevna Antonovna, who had crossed into Estonia in what was presumed to be a stolen motor boat. The Russians made something of a fuss about this, and the American battalion commander permitted the boat to be returned. I have a copy of his report, which Ms Antonovna might find interesting. A man identified as Nikolay Antonov was shot before he could get into the boat, and he died almost instantly, so the official Russian account of him being apprehended is simply wrong."

  "You saw the Russian account?" Svetlana asked, in surprise.

  "The CIA did, and translated it. There was a picture of your father's body lying face down in the mud, and if you want I
can give you a copy, but if I were you I would try to remember him as he was."

  "So you know all about my escape."

  "Yes, seemingly," Rutherford said, "but what was in the briefcase?"

  "Specifications for future military equipment," Burrowes said. "I can give you copies, Mr Rutherford, but I think you'll find them boring. And there was one more thing, namely a document that was not present in the CIA files, even though the document number was listed previously."

  "And what was this absent document about, or don't you know?"

  "I don't know," Burrowes said. "I also found an email referring to it, and it went out to agents in Russia. There were no details, and I am not going to list the agents, but the guts of it was they were to investigate rumours the Russians had developed some special paint based on some unknown manganese compound, and it was top priority to know whether this was true, and if so, what was this compound."

  "And?"

  "From what I can make out, the CIA is unsure as to whether this paint is real or a fraud, and they are sending agents to try to find out." He did not add that the NSA was supposed to be helping through electronic hacking. That would have been his job, had he not been fired. Or was it his real job here? Nobody had told him what this job was, but the fact this job was off the grid and the daughter was here was presumably relevant. He would be interested to see when, or if, they ever got around to telling him what his job was supposed to be.

  "So, your assessment of Svetlana?"

  He turned towards Svetlana, and with a grin on his face, he replied, "The CIA is reasonably convinced that the Russians would like to get their hands on her." He paused, and added, "Maybe shoe shopping in Kursk is a bad idea. You'll just have to make do with shoes made in the good old US of A."

  "You mean, shoes made in China or Indonesia, or –"

  "Point taken," Burrowes acknowledged.

  "Right. Time to refocus," Rutherford said. "For what it is worth, Svetlana here verifies that you did get into the CIA computers. As a matter of interest, how did you do it?"

  "Operational secret," Burrowes replied. "I did that and I evaded being caught, but if I told you, and someone else found out, and they tried and got caught, I'd be in the clanger, so . . ."