by Alex Lukeman
The material was an intelligence officer's dream, a treasure trove of names, numbers and personal observations. There were two encrypted files. The first was a private journal. Alexei couldn't believe a man so powerful would be so careless as to keep a record like this. It was more than a diary. It was as if Gutenberg was making notes for future generations, a kind of contemporary history. If the material was a dream, it was also a nightmare. Alexei had a big problem on his hands, big enough to destroy him if he wasn't careful.
3 February
The Korean samples have been procured. The information Kamarov obtained from his nephew was perfect. His men had no trouble with the train or the guard detachment. No witnesses. No casualties on our side. The samples will be in Zurich tomorrow.
Konstantine Kamarov, Vysotsky thought, and his bastard nephew Vladimir. Traitors, both of them. They killed my men.
A sudden wave of anger swept through him. If Kamarov had been in the room, Alexei would have wrapped his hands around the man's fat throat and squeezed until blood ran out of his eyes.
A dull pounding in Vysotsky's head signaled that his blood pressure was heading for the roof. He forced himself to take a breath and relax. It wouldn't help to give himself a stroke.
Konstantine Kamarov was one of the most powerful men in the Federation, one of the Oligarchs who'd come out of the darkness after the collapse of the Soviet Union. His nephew was Vladimir Kamarov, Deputy Director of SVR and Vysotsky's boss.
I need to make sure his loving nephew doesn't find out about this file, Vysotsky thought. I'll tell him about it just before I put a bullet in the back of his head.
The second encrypted file outlined a plan to test the virulent plague in Brazil before releasing it on a wider scale in China. It cited examples from history and modern times of what happened when a country's medical infrastructure failed and life-threatening disease spread among the population. There was a detailed analysis of how Gutenberg's consortium of banks could provide the loans required to finance recovery and establish dominance. The graphs and charts were convincing. The profit margins and net gains were impressive. The document projected two hundred million deaths in China alone and discussed the costs of cleaning up the aftermath. An addendum to the file discussed how much profit could be made from sales of the vaccine.
Vysotsky finished his drink and poured another. He was a man hardened by years of working as an officer in one of the most brutal and secretive intelligence organizations that had ever existed. He'd seen many things in his career, but nothing to match the pure evil of what Gutenberg was planning.
The man's a monster, Vysotsky thought, but perhaps I can take advantage of what he has created.
Russia was not mentioned in the plan. It made sense that Gutenberg and Kamarov wouldn't want to disrupt the enormous income that flowed to them through manipulation of Russian industry and oil contracts. Kamarov controlled everything from the production of the new MIG fighter planes to the knockoff American blue jeans sold on the street corners of Moscow.
Vysotsky read further in Gutenberg's journal.
23 February
Talked with K. in Zurich. Progress! Schmidt is a genius. He's ready to test a possible vaccine. Everything had been made ready previously at K.'s bioresearch lab, in anticipation of obtaining the samples. Kamarov's plan to persuade the Kremlin to authorize the raid on the North Koreans saved us a lot of trouble.
Volunteers have signed up and test subjects chosen. Facilities have been ready for several weeks, including the necessary crematorium.
Who is K.? Vysotsky wondered. The next entry was about a dinner party and the menu, of no importance. It was the entry after that that sounded alarms for Vysotsky, even more than learning of Kamarov's treachery.
27 February
The teleconference with the others went well. Everyone is pleased. Mitchell pointed out that Washington's reaction to the outbreak of plague would be denial that any problem existed for the U.S. He suggested that after the initial wave of reports had passed, the media should play up the wonders of American healthcare. Reports of the severity of the plague could be suppressed until deaths had reached some critical number, perhaps fifty or sixty thousand. Then a fear-based campaign could be launched to encourage Americans to line up for vaccinations.
There was general agreement to do this in each of our respective spheres of influence.
De Guillame pointed out that the outbreak would provide a perfect opportunity to test our new nano-trackers. Each tracker would be digitally imprinted on the spot via secure wireless connection with the name, address and government ID number of the person receiving a vaccination. It's a good idea, but the manufacturing facility is not ready yet.
A motion was raised and seconded to table the discussion on the trackers until a later date. It was carried unanimously.
This was followed by a general discussion. Thorvaldson and Halifax think we should focus on stimulating a backlash against immigration prior to releasing the plague. Mitchell laughed and said there was already plenty of backlash in his country. Halifax agreed that every Western nation and many in other parts of the world were well primed to turn against the inferior races attempting to infiltrate and undermine our societies. It was agreed that we will ramp up immigration issues in our respective nations in preparation for severe government restrictions, using the plague as an excuse.
The report was succinct, thorough and professional. It had been prepared by an officer named Ilya Yezhov. Vysotsky pulled up Yezhov's file on his computer.
Yezhov was thirty years old. He'd graduated from the Moscow Military Commanders School with high honors and been commissioned a Junior Lieutenant. A year later he'd put in a request for Spetsnaz training and been accepted. Yezhov had served with distinction in Chechnya, where he'd been promoted and awarded the Medal for Courage for bravery in combat. He'd been brought into Zaslon three years before and promoted to his present rank of Captain. Yezhov had taken a specialized internal SVR training in sophisticated surveillance techniques and cyber warfare, which was why Gutenberg's drive had landed on his desk for evaluation. For once the system had gotten it right the first time.
Vysotsky gave a grunt of approval. He depressed a switch on his intercom.
"Yes, General."
"Find Captain Ilya Yezhov and get him here."
"At once, General." The voice sounded as though it had snapped to attention.
While he waited, Alexei thought about what he'd just read. A group of powerful men. It was all so depressingly familiar. He wondered if it was the same group again, AEON in a new configuration. Over the last two years they'd caused a lot of trouble, but he thought they had been destroyed. Perhaps this was a different group, perhaps not. It made no difference. Now that he had names, he'd soon know who they were. It was a given that they were all powerful and wealthy, like Kamarov. If he wasn't careful, Alexei knew they would crush him.
A sharp knock on his door announced Yezhov's arrival. Vysotsky reached down under his desk and activated a device that blanketed the room against any possible electronic surveillance.
"Come."
Yezhov was a taut, muscular man, a picture of how a Russian officer should look. His tall boots gleamed. His uniform was immaculate. Vysotsky would have expected nothing else, but it confirmed Yezhov's professionalism. The captain's face bore the mark of the Russian steppes, high cheekbones and dark brown eyes that matched his close cropped hair. He had a thin scar on the side of his jaw that ran back to his ear, a permanent reminder of his time in Chechnya. His lips were full, almost sensuous. He was about six feet tall. Yezhov was a man in his prime.
Yezhov saluted.
"Sir."
"At ease, Captain. Take that chair. Sit."
"Sir." Yezhov sat. His back was ramrod straight.
"I have been reading your report on the material discovered by our agent in Paris. You have been thorough."
"I try to be, sir."
"Have you spoken to anyone about this repo
rt?"
"No, sir.
"No one else knows what is in it?"
"No, General. The material is too sensitive. I was careful to maintain the highest security. You are the only person to see it."
Vysotsky nodded. "Good. What did you think of the contents? Give me your evaluation."
Alexei watched Yezhov carefully. It was a test. He was asking Yezhov to comment on explosive material that would create serious problems in the Kremlin and elsewhere. How would he respond? Would he evade? Hesitate? If he did, he was not the man Alexei wanted.
"Sir, if this information is accurate, it is critical we give it our full attention," Yezhov said. "It's bad enough that these men are planning an attack on nations vital to our national interest. It's worse that Konstantine Kamarov is one of them. He's a traitor. He should be arrested."
"I an certain the information is accurate, Captain. How would you approach the problem? Need I remind you that his nephew oversees our operations and appears to be responsible for the death of Major Kaminsky and his men?"
"With all due respect, sir, that is an obstacle that must be overcome. As to how I would go about it, I think a tactical solution is required. But I would proceed with great caution."
"A black operation?"
"Absolutely, sir. Blacker than the inside of a Siberian coal miner's ass."
"Your imagery is graphic, Captain. What would be the goal of such an operation?"
"Obtaining proof that Kamarov is a traitor and finding out more about this group."
"How would you obtain such proof?"
Yezhov paused, thinking. He seemed calm, at ease. Vysotsky waited, watching him. He was pleased by what he saw.
Not many could sit in front of me and keep their composure in a situation like this, he thought. This is a man who knows who he is.
"Kamarov is widely disliked," Yezhov began. "No one would be surprised if something happened to him. He knows this. I am sure he has heavy security with him everywhere he goes and at his residences."
Vysotsky nodded. "Continue."
"I don't think we can delay, sir, based on what's in that file. You asked how I would obtain proof. If he were to be kidnapped and a public ransom demand made, it would appear to be just another mafia extortion. Kamarov could be questioned in private about his plans. He'll give us proof."
"And then?"
Yezhov shrugged. "The man's a traitor. His body might provide an object lesson to others who consider betraying the Motherland."
"You would eliminate him, then."
"An excuse could be made that would satisfy everyone. Perhaps a communication from the supposed kidnappers."
"You would have done well in the old days, Captain. Prepare a detailed plan to put your idea into action. Have it on my desk by 0800 tomorrow."
It was an order and a dismissal. Yezhov stood.
"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"
Vysotsky waved his hand in the air, toward the door.
Yezhov saluted, turned in a precise half circle and left the room, closing the door after him.
Alexei got out the vodka and filled his glass. He'd just made the opening move in a dangerous game. If what he planned was discovered, he'd be finished. You didn't go after someone as powerful as Kamarov without risking everything. The oligarch would have serious men guarding him, former Spetsnaz who knew their job. Yezhov would have his work cut out for him.
Vysotsky sipped his vodka and thought about when he'd been a younger man. He missed the action of the old days, the fine adrenaline edge that came in the field, when everything hinged on one's planning, skill and luck. Now such things had passed to the next generation, although a bullet could as easily find him as a man like Yezhov. The only difference would be that his bullet would come while he was kneeling in some God-forsaken place instead of facing his enemies. Much had changed in Russia but some things would always be the same.
I'm coming for you, Comrade Kamarov.
Vysotsky raised his glass and smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this alive in years.
CHAPTER 27
Valentina Antipov sat inside the warmth of a corner café on the Place de la Bastille at a window table and watched the crowds scurry by outside. It was a sunny Saturday and Parisians were out in force. Valentina sipped her espresso and waited for her contact to arrive.
It was unusual for Vysotsky to set up a direct meeting. One never knew who'd been identified by the opposition as someone working for SVR. Every public contact like this ran the risk of exposure. She was certain no one knew who she was or that she worked for Vysotsky. The public atmosphere of the café provided a plausible cover for the meeting. All the same, she wasn't happy about it.
The Valentina Rosetti legend was as good as SVR's master forgers could make it. Her passport was an authentic Italian issue. A deeper probe would discover all the paperwork a young girl growing up in Italy would accumulate. In Italy, there was a lot of paperwork and a bureaucracy noted for resisting attempts to penetrate its official archives. It would be very difficult to prove she was anyone other than she was supposed to be.
The café was crowded and noisy and blue with smoke. The government ban on smoking indoors was sneered at by most of the French. She took out a package of Gitanes, withdrew a cigarette and lit it with a slim, gold lighter Johannes had given her. She smoked Gitanes as much because she liked the blue Deco design of a gypsy woman on the package as for the strong tobacco. She drew the smoke deep into her lungs, exhaled in a long stream and felt herself relax just a little.
Her contact entered the café and came across the room to her table. She knew him only as Lucien. It was all she needed to know.
Lucien leaned down, kissed her lightly on each cheek and sat down across from her. It was a scene repeated a thousand times a day in Paris. He looked like any well-off Parisian man, reasonably handsome, somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s. His suit was well cut of good material, the kind of suit that spoke of respectability and sufficient income to be a likely companion of the beautiful young woman sitting across from him.
"Cheri. Good to see you." He spoke to her in French
Valentina answered in the same language. "And you, Lucien."
A harassed waiter came by. Lucien ordered a croissant and coffee in rapid, impeccable French.
When he was gone, Lucien said, "Armand is pleased with your last report."
Armand was General Vysotsky.
"I'm glad to hear it."
"He would like you to do something for him."
Lucien reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small flash drive, no bigger than a thumbnail, and placed it on the table near her coffee cup. She lifted the coffee to her lips and palmed the drive at the same time.
Anyone watching would have seen only two lovers talking. Perhaps they were planning an evening at the theater. Perhaps he was asking her to his hotel room. Anything was possible in Paris, between a man and a woman having coffee in a café.
"Insert the drive into the computer that you copied for Armand," Lucien said.
"What does it do?"
"It will add a line of code that will allow us to intercept his communications. The computer must be on, of course. It only takes a minute. You'll see a progress bar on the screen. Get rid of the drive after it's done. "
"He usually keeps his laptop with him and it's always off except when he's working. It could be a problem."
"It wasn't a problem before," Lucien said. He smiled, but his voice was cold. "I'm sure you'll find another opportunity."
"As you say," Valentina said. She stubbed out her Gitane and lit another.
"How can you stand those?" Lucien said. "I much prefer American cigarettes."
"I like the flavor."
The waiter brought the coffee and croissant. Lucien took a bite of the pastry.
"I'm really quite fond of these," he said. "Somehow they don't taste quite the same outside of France. When is the next time he'll be here?"
There was no need for him to s
ay who he was talking about.
"Tomorrow. He's coming in to meet with the directors of his French bank."
"Good." Lucien finished the croissant and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "This man has become a priority. Get to that computer as quickly as possible."
CHAPTER 28
"How are we going to stop Gutenberg?" Elizabeth asked. Everyone was in her office.
"Can we get into his computer?" Nick said. "There could be something on it to tell us what they're doing."
"It depends," Stephanie said. "If it's online and I can find it, I can hack into it."
Stephanie was the Project's secret weapon. She had a gift with computers, one that couldn't be taught. No one could keep her out once she decided to get in. Sometimes it just took a little longer.
"I always wondered how you did that," Lamont said, "get past all the firewalls."
"How do you do it, Steph?" Selena asked.
"Do what?"
"Get past the encryption protocols."
"You really want to know? It's a little hard to explain."
"How about the short version?" Nick said. "I always wondered myself."
"Do you know what an RSA algorithm is?" Stephanie said.
"Doesn't it have something to do with prime numbers?" Selena asked.
"That's right. A prime number is something that can only be divided by one and by itself. Most encryption schemes use prime numbers in a mathematical formula. Basically, what you do is create two different keys based on your formula. There's a public key and a private key that have interlocking patterns. Anyone might know the public key. That's what you use to encrypt the message. The private key is used to decrypt it. Without the private key you can't understand the message, even if you intercept it. If you want your data to be secure, you apply your formula and the computer encodes it. Any data, not just messages back and forth."