Threat Vector

by Tom Clancy

  Yao smiled, a little patronizing to the older man, though not intentionally. “Mr. Chavez, there are probably ten million hackers across China involved with computer fraud to one degree or another. Any one of these guys probably has multiple user names. There is not a database that I am aware of that keeps up with that rolling landscape.”

  Jack said, “This guy is pretty good. Surely somebody knows about him.”

  Yao sighed a little but kept a polite smile, then stood and went behind his desk. He pulled his keyboard to him. “I can send an instant message to a friend up in Guangzhou who’s a bit more up-to-date on cyber–financial crime. It’s going to be a needle in a haystack, I promise you, but it won’t hurt to ask him if he’s ever heard of the guy.”

  As Adam Yao typed he asked, “What’s the handle?”

  Gavin and Jack looked at each other. With a conspiratorial smile from Ryan that said, Let’s blow this guy’s mind, he gave Gavin the go-ahead.

  Biery said, “His handle is FastByte Twenty-two.”

  Yao stopped typing. His shoulders stiffened. Slowly he turned back toward his three guests. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Chavez had joined the game with his two colleagues. He asked, “You know him?”

  Yao looked across his desk. Ryan could feel a mild suspicion on the part of the CIA covert operator, but above this, the thrill in the young man’s eyes was obvious. He seemed to recover a bit before replying, “Yeah. I know him. He’s . . . he’s a subject of interest in another case in which . . . in which I am tangentially involved.”

  Jack tried not to smile. He liked this guy, he was smart as hell, and it was clear by everything Jack had seen that Yao worked his ass off out here, essentially by himself. He enjoyed watching Adam Yao squirm trying to find the right words to hide his excitement that he might finally get some more intel about a target that had, until now, not been on anyone’s radar but his own.

  “Well, then, maybe we can work together to combine our efforts,” Chavez said. “As Jack said, we are willing to put some money into this operation to see if we can track him down.”

  Yao said, “The tracking down is free of charge. He’s working out of offices in the Mong Kok Computer Centre up in Kowloon.”

  “You’ve seen him? In person?”

  “I have. But it’s a complicated situation.”

  “How so?” asked Ding.

  Yao hesitated for several seconds. Finally he asked, “Where are you guys staying?”

  Jack answered, “We’re right across the harbor at the Peninsula.”

  “Are you three free for drinks tonight? We can talk it over a bit more, maybe come up with a plan.”

  Chavez spoke for the group: “Eight o’clock?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Melanie Kraft sat on the sofa in the living room of her carriage-house apartment on Princess Street in Alexandria’s Old Town. It was seven in the evening, and normally she would be up at Jack’s place or even working late, but tonight Jack was out of town and she just wanted to sit on her couch in the dark, watch TV, and think about something else other than her problems.

  She flipped channels, decided against a Discovery Channel program about the Middle East and a History Channel program about the life and career of President Jack Ryan. Both of these shows would normally be interesting to her, but right now she just wanted to vegetate.

  She settled on an Animal Planet show about wildlife in Alaska. She felt sure that would keep her attention and take her mind off everything that was going on.

  Her mobile buzzed, moving across the coffee table in front of her. She looked down, hoping it would be Jack. It wasn’t. She did not recognize the number, but saw the area code was D.C.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, girl. What you up to?”

  It was Darren Lipton. He was the last person on earth she needed to talk to tonight.

  She cleared her throat, put on her business voice, and said, “What can I do for you, Special Agent Lipton?”

  “Senior Special Agent, but I’ll let it slide.”

  He seemed like he was in a good mood—jovial, even.

  It occurred to Melanie almost immediately that he was probably drunk.

  “Senior Special Agent,” she corrected herself.

  “Listen, we need to get together for a quick powwow. Might take all of fifteen minutes.”

  She knew she could not say no. But she was not ready to say yes. She wanted Lipton to think she was not his puppy, his personal property that would come whenever he called. Even though that’s exactly how Melanie felt now that he’d revealed that he was holding her entire future in his hands.

  She said, “What’s this about?”

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. How ’bout we get a cup of coffee. Seven-thirty a.m. I’ll come to you. Starbucks on King Street?”

  “Fine,” she said, and she hung up the phone, then went back to watching grizzly bears catch salmon, her mind heavy with new worries.

  —

  Melanie and Lipton sat at a table outside on a cool and windy fall morning. Her hair whipped around her face while she sipped her tea to keep warm. Lipton drank coffee, his black trench coat was open to show a dark blue suit, and he wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast.

  She wondered if he was trying to hide bloodshot eyes. In any case, with the shades and the blue suit and the black trench coat, he screamed Fed to anyone in the coffee shop or walking by on the sidewalk who paid attention.

  After a minute of one-sided small talk, Lipton got down to business. “My boss needs more from you. I tried to placate him, but you haven’t given us anything since our last conversation.”

  “I don’t know any more now than I did then. It’s like you want me to catch him passing nuclear secrets to the Russians or something.”

  “Or something,” Lipton said. He plucked his flop of gray-blond hair out from under his shades and then reached into his jacket. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and held it up.

  “What’s that?”

  “Court order to put a locator on Ryan’s cell phone. FBI wants to track his day-to-day movements.”

  “What?” She snatched it out of his hand and began reading the documents.

  “We have evidence he’s been conducting some highly suspicious meetings with foreign nationals. We need to be there and see what’s going on.”

  Melanie was furious that the investigation was continuing. But something else occurred to her. “What does this have to do with me? Why are you even telling me?”

  “Because you, my fair lady, are going to put the beacon on his phone.”

  “Oh no I’m not!” Kraft said testily.

  “I’m afraid you are. I’ve got the card you need to use. There is no physical device that he might find, it’s all done through the software. You just poke the little card in his phone, let it load, and then pop it back out. A thirty-second operation.”

  Melanie looked off into the street for a moment. “Don’t you have assets for this?”

  “Yes. You are my asset. My asset with assets, if you know what I mean.” He looked down at her chest.

  Melanie looked at him in disbelief.

  “Uh-oh,” Lipton said with a barking laugh. “Am I about to get another right hook to the teeth?”

  Melanie picked up from his tone and his facial expressions that he had somehow enjoyed it when she hit him.

  She told herself she wouldn’t do that again.

  She took a moment to compose herself. She knew, with the information the FBI had about her and her father, that Lipton could make her do whatever he wanted. She said, “Before I agree to do this, I want to talk to someone else at National Security Branch.”

  Lipton shook his head. “I’m running you, Melanie. Deal with it.”

 
“I’m not saying I need a new handler. I just want to confirm things with someone other than you. Someone above you.”

  Now the special agent’s nearly constantly leering smile wavered. “That thing in your hand is a court order. Signed by a judge. What more confirmation do you want?”

  “I’m not your slave. If I do this, I want some sort of assurances from the FBI that you won’t keep using me. I do this, and I’m done.”

  “I can’t make that promise.”

  “Then find me someone who can.”

  “It’s not happening.”

  “Then I guess we’re finished.” She stood.

  He uncrossed his legs and bolted to his feet. “You realize how much trouble I can make for you?”

  “I’m just asking for someone else to talk to. If you can’t make that happen, then I hardly believe you have the clout to send me to prison.”

  She stepped into the morning crowd heading up King Street toward the Metro.

  —

  The Peninsula hotel is on the southern tip of Kowloon, overlooking Victoria Harbour in a high-end retail district called Tsim Sha Tsui. A five-star property, the Peninsula opened in 1928 and proudly wears its old-world colonial charm.

  Past the fleet of fourteen green Rolls-Royce extended-wheelbase Phantoms at the front of the building, past the huge ornate lobby and a short hallway, an elevator whisks patrons to the top of the hotel. Here, the ultramodern and chic Philippe Starck–designed Felix restaurant serves modern European cuisine in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over Victoria Harbour to Hong Kong Island. A small bar sits at the top of a spiral staircase overlooking the restaurant, and here four Americans sat together in a back corner, sipping bottled beer and looking out over the lights.

  Chavez said, “You said this morning that the FastByte situation was complicated. What did you mean by that?”

  Yao took a swig of his Tsingtao. “FastByte Twenty-two’s real name is Zha Shu Hai. He’s twenty-four years old. He’s from the mainland, but he moved to the USA as a child and became an American citizen. He was a hacker when he was a kid, but he got a security clearance and was hired by a government contractor to do penetration testing of their systems. He figured how to break in, tried to give the information to China, and then was caught and sent to prison.”

  “When did they let him out?”

  “They didn’t. He was doing time at a federal correctional institution—that’s minimum security—in California. He was on work release, teaching computer skills to senior citizens, and then one day . . . poof.”

  “He split?” asked Chavez.

  “Yep. The Feds canvassed his home and all his old known contacts, and he never turned up. Escapees just about always return to their old life, even if it is just making contact with family, but Zha did not. The U.S. Marshals Service came to the conclusion that the Chinese helped get him out of the U.S. and back to the mainland.”

  Biery was confused. “This isn’t the mainland.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a surprise that he’s turned up here, but there is one thing even more surprising than that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s now with the Fourteen-K.”

  Chavez cocked his head. “Fourteen-K? The Triads?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ryan was surprised Ding knew about this organization. He had never heard of 14K. “A gang?”

  Chavez said, “Not like a gang in the States. Here, just admitting you are a member is against the law. Isn’t that right, Adam?”

  “Yeah. Nobody admits they are Triad in HK. Just being in management will get you fifteen years in jail.”

  Ding explained for Ryan and Biery: “There are over two and a half million members of the Triads around the world. The actual name of the organization is San He Hui, the Three Harmonies Society. The Fourteen-K are just one of many offshoots, but they are the most powerful around here these days. There are probably twenty thousand members of Fourteen-K here in Hong Kong alone.”

  Adam said, “I’m impressed.”

  Chavez waved the compliment away with a hand. “In my business it pays to know who the agitators are when you go into a new territory.”

  “So,” Ryan asked, “FastByte Twenty-two is a member?”

  “I don’t think he’s a member, but he definitely associates with them.”

  “If he isn’t a member of the Triads, what is his relationship with them?” Ryan asked.

  “It might be some sort of a protector-protected relationship. A guy like him can print money. He can sit at his computer and then, within a couple of hours, steal the credit card numbers of ten thousand people. The kid is worth his weight in gold as far as his ability to conduct cybercrime, so the Fourteen-K could be watching over him due to his value.”

  Chavez said, “How good are the Fourteen-K guys at protecting him?”

  “They keep a couple of enforcers around him twenty-four-seven. There are Fourteen-K on him when he goes to work; when he gets off work, they guard his office and they hang outside of his apartment building, too. He does like to go shopping, out to the clubs at night, and he does this primarily in Fourteen-K bars and neighborhoods, and always with goons by his side. I’ve done my best to watch him to see who he moves with, but, as you can see, I am a small operation here. I thought I was doing a good job keeping my distance, but just the other day it became clear they burned me.”

  “Any idea how?” Ding asked.

  “None at all. One morning he just had more security and they were most definitely hunting for a specific threat. They must have made me the evening before.”

  Ding said, “It sounds to me like you need a couple new bodies in your operation to help you watch him.”

  Yao raised his eyebrows. “You volunteering?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Yao asked, “Have you done any surveillance work?”

  Ding smiled. “I’ve done a fair bit. Ryan’s helped me out once or twice. He enjoys it.”

  Jack nodded. “It’s in my blood, I guess.”

  “I imagine it would be.” Ryan still detected a hint of suspicion from Adam Yao. The guy was clearly a dialed-in observationalist. He said, “Just out of curiosity, what sort of surveillance, I mean, other than this situation here, does Hendley Associates get itself involved with?”

  Ding said, “Typical business-intelligence stuff. I can’t really go into it.”

  Adam seemed to accept this, and then he looked at Gavin Biery.

  “Mr. Biery, will you be joining us?”

  Chavez answered for him: “Gavin will stay here at the Peninsula and support us.”

  Adam Yao reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. He punched up a photo, and then passed the phone around.

  “Zha Shu Hai,” Yao said.

  His spiked hair, jewelry, and punk rock clothing surprised Ding and Jack. “Not exactly what I expected,” said Ding.

  “I was picturing a younger Chinese version of Gavin Biery,” admitted Ryan.

  Everyone, Gavin included, laughed.

  Yao said, “Lots of hackers in China think they are counterculture rock stars. The truth is, even the civilian ones like Zha usually work for the Chicoms, so they are pretty much the opposite of counterculture.”

  Ryan asked, “There’s no way he could be working for the Chicoms, is there?”

  Yao shook his head. “Being here in HK and not on the mainland, and moving around under the protection of the Triads, those are two pretty big strikes against the theory that this kid is shilling for the PRC.”

  Ryan had to admit that Yao’s logic seemed sound on that point.

  With that settled, Yao finished his beer. “Okay, guys. We can pick Zha up when he leaves the Mong Kok Computer Centre tomorrow evening. With three of us, we might c
atch a break and get some pictures of his contacts.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “First, though,” said Adam, “we need to do some dry runs through the city, just to get a feel for how we will work together. Why don’t we meet early to do some practice tails for an hour or two?”

  “Good idea,” said Ding, then he drained his beer and called for the check.

  As the men headed out through the restaurant, a young American dining with an attractive female stood and quickly rushed over toward Jack. Ding put himself between Ryan and the man and held a hand up to stop him.

  The diner said, a little too loudly, “Junior?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Big fan of your dad’s! Great to see you! Man, you’ve grown up.”

  “Thanks.” Jack smiled politely. He did not know the man, but Jack’s dad was famous, meaning Jack himself was recognized from time to time.

  The guy had been smiling himself, but the small and tough-looking Hispanic man giving him the stink eye had blunted his excitement to some degree.

  Jack shook the man’s hand. He expected to be asked for an autograph or a picture, but he could tell Chavez was having a cooling effect on the encounter.

  Yao, Ryan, Chavez, and Biery headed back down to the lobby. Adam said to Jack, “I bet that gets old.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Getting recognized? It’s not a big problem. I don’t get noticed one-tenth as much as I used to.”

  Gavin said, “I had a vendor in the office the other day who didn’t know Ryan worked with us. When I introduced him I thought the guy was going to crap his pants, he was so thrilled. Must have been a big Jack Ryan, Senior, fan.”

  Everyone laughed. The Campus team wished Adam a good evening, and Adam headed out into the night to catch a ferry across Victoria Harbour, back to his apartment.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Melanie Kraft sat at a fast food restaurant in McLean, just a couple blocks from her office at Liberty Crossing, picking at her salad. She did not have much of an appetite after her conversation with Special Agent Lipton that morning. She worried that at any time, carloads of FBI agents could appear to arrest her, and she even caught herself looking out through the glass of the shop more than once when a car pulled up.