Countdown

by Ruth Wind

  “Well,” she said slowly, her nostrils flaring, “if it was lucky, then it was three times, because that’s the number of codes I’ve broken since I arrived at the Agency.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Great comeback. You know, I’m trying to be patient with you, respect what you have to teach me. But you have to respect my knowledge, as well. Computers are here to stay, and just because they scare you, and you’ve got your voice-mail password stuck to your desk and you don’t know how to collect e-mail without somebody setting the program for you, don’t take it out on me. I’m trying to help you!”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Kim hung up and let go of a howl. “He drives me insane!”

  Scott chuckled, stapling a sheaf of papers together. “Better call the FBI before he gets to them.”

  “I have a better idea.” Kim opened the Instant Messenger box.

  WINDTALKER2: Hey, Luthor, are you there?

  No answer. After five minutes, Kim reluctantly picked up the phone. She dialed his desk directly, but an electronic voice answered and said simply that her party was away from his desk. “Damn.” She punched in the key to be connected to a central number.

  A woman answered. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Margaret speaking.”

  “Hi, Margaret. Kim Valenti from the NSA here. Is Lex around anywhere?”

  “Not at the moment. You want his voice mail?”

  “No, thanks. I need to share some concerns I have over a possible terrorist alert in Chicago. Who’d be my best bet?”

  “I think you’re probably all right, Ms. Valenti. We just had a call from the CIA about the same thing.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Kim said as evenly as possible. “All the same, I’ll feel better if I talk to somebody on the bomb squad. Who else?”

  “I can put you through to Agent O’Brien.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hold please.”

  “O’Brien here,” said a voice with the edge of a Spanish accent. The juxtaposition made Kim smile. She explained who she was and what her mission of the day was, but before she could finish, O’Brien interrupted her. “Right. I just took a call from the CIA, an agent Milosovich. He said your guys have been killed, so it’s not a problem.”

  Kim rubbed her temple. “Not my guys. His guys. My cell is located somewhere in the Chicago area, and they’re planning something big. That is a problem.”

  “With all due respect, Agent—”

  “Valenti.”

  “With all due respect, Agent Valenti, we’ve been over the city like dogs the past couple of weeks, sniffing out every corner.”

  “He told you I’m high-strung and prone to exaggerate.”

  “Words to that effect.”

  “Right. Is Lex Tanner around?”

  “Nope. They’re at the airport, going over it one more time, double-checking security standards. It’s unofficially code orange, but we don’t want to alarm the public.”

  “Can you have him call me when he gets back?”

  “Will do.”

  Kim was about to hang up when O’Brien said, “Hold up. Tanner just got here. I’ll put you through.”

  “Thanks.”

  She listened to the sound of Vivaldi piped through the lines for a minute, then a man said, “Tanner here. What can I do for you?”

  Kim had never had a phone conversation with him. All their business had been conducted via instant messaging or e-mail. For five-tenths of a second, she was startled by the unexpected richness of his voice. Humid with the blurred edges of somewhere south. Deep South.

  “Hello?” he repeated.

  “Hey, Lex Luthor,” she said, recovering. “Kim Valenti, at the NSA. How’re you doing?”

  “Darlin’!” The genuine pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. “I’m doing just fine now that I’m talking to you. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a problem. Hoping you can help.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “We have intelligence that shows a Q’rajn cell in the burbs of Chicago, and they’re utilizing a virus to encode their e-mails. We broke the code and my partner and I are pretty sure they’re targeting Chicago in some way.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “Damn it!” Kim swore. “Not you, too.”

  “Hold on. No need to get ugly, now. I just heard from your buddy at the CIA who said they caught your guys.”

  Gritting her teeth, Kim said, “First thing you need to know is that Milosovich is so not my buddy. He’d love to see me fall face-first in a mud puddle. Second, they’re not my guys. They’re Milosovich’s guys, and he wants to think my guys were castrated by the fall.”

  “And you don’t think they were.”

  “No. Those guys were in Berzhaan and they’re undoubtedly all part of the same twisted terrorist sect, but my group is here, on American soil.”

  “All right. What’s your intelligence say they’re going to do?”

  “It’s not that clear. A bomb. Maybe the airport or an airplane.”

  “We’ve been over the airport five thousand times.”

  “I know. Believe me, I wouldn’t insist if I weren’t pretty sure.”

  He sighed. “Valenti, my hands are tied, babe.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Sorry. Old habit.” She could hear a tapping sound, fast and tinny. “Look, it sounds like Milosovich and you have some bad blood, all right, but he’s a good agent. And he’s got a lot of seniority.”

  “And I don’t.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay. Look, what if it’s not the airport? What if it’s along the route to the airport, or somewhere one of the candidates is going to speak? Bridges, television stations—” She paused, trying to brainstorm. “Wherever. You know your city.”

  He said, “Hmm.” And in spite of her concern and irritation, she felt it on the back of her neck. Velvety, rich. “A question—why target the candidates anyway?”

  “Because they can? Because it causes trouble? Terrorists don’t need a clearly defined reason to do things—they just want to create fear and confusion.”

  “I see your point.” Again that background noise of quick tapping.

  Kim said, “What is that noise?”

  “Sorry.” The sound ceased. “I have a bad habit of tapping a pen.”

  “No big deal.”

  “Look, Valenti, you’ve done me favors, and I’ll see what I can do, all right? But maybe you oughta look at the intelligence in another way, too. Maybe it’s not pointing where you think it is—and that would be tragic, too.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go over it again. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do.” He dropped his voice, and his next words were even richer, darker, like chocolate. Laced with espresso. “We still on for next week in your neighborhood?”

  “I’ve gotta tell you, Lex, your voice didn’t hurt the cause any.”

  “Yeah? You like it?”

  Kim smiled. “Call me if you find anything, Luthor.”

  “I’ll be talking to you.”

  Scott, sitting at his desk, raised his head when she hung up. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye, Valenti.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and stood up. “I’m going to take some personal time. I’ll be back later.”

  Chapter 4

  She drove home and without taking off her coat, she fired off an e-mail.

  To: Delphi@orcl.org

  From: Ariadne@orcl.org

  Subject: need help

  Give me everything you have on Chicago, the campaigns, anything the Chicago set might have done previously. Not making a lot of progress through usual channels. Advise.

  Ariadne

  Still wearing her coat, she went to the kitchen, opened a vacuum-packed envelope of tuna and ate it leaning on the counter. From the other room came a soft beep and she walked back.

  To: Ariadne@orcl.org

  From: Delp
hi@orcl.org

  Subject: re:

  -Intelligence from CIA shows infiltration at Chicago UBC television station, CIA might have a man in there.

  -Three moving vans were stolen last week in southern California. Home-move type, not professional.

  -Quote keeps showing up in unrelated material: Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. Surah 4:34

  -Reference to Cristopho in materials CIA intercepted. Columbus? Clue to city or holiday? Check. As always, act independently if necessary. Oracle will back you.

  Delphi

  Kim narrowed her eyes, punched in a thanks. A man at the Chicago UBC affiliate—at least it was a place to start. Her gut was screaming that Chicago was the place, the time not far distant. Not even as far away as Columbus Day, which was Monday, either. The flurry of e-mails was so intense, the deal had to be going down soon.

  And if she couldn’t figure it out, somebody would die. Kim intended to do whatever was necessary to prevent that.

  She picked up the phone, punched in some numbers. “Shepherd,” she said when Scott answered, “I’m going to Chicago. Let the boss know for me.”

  “Whatcha got?”

  “A hunch more than anything else. Not a lot more. Can you cover for me for a day or two?”

  “I don’t like it when you do the maverick thing, Valenti. Too nerve-racking.”

  “I know. But it’s the way I was trained.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with an FBI agent named Tanner, does it?”

  “No. Why?”

  “He left a message.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kim made a noise of annoyance. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

  “‘Checked it all. Everything is A-okay. Don’t worry.’”

  A ripple of something she didn’t stop to identify raced through her—a twitchy mix of longing and regret. He hadn’t taken her seriously, either, and it was far more disappointing coming from him. Her sharp response was a warning.

  She’d do well to leave the man alone. Completely.

  “Nope,” she said. “Tanner is as clueless as all the rest of them. You’re the only one who ever believes in me. This trip is to check out a gut-level idea.”

  “Your mysterious source.” Scott tsked. It wasn’t the first time she’d received information through Oracle. She simply let him think whatever he thought about it. “All right, Valenti, I’ll cover for you, but you keep that pretty ass out of trouble, will ya?”

  “I’ll do my best. If you need me, I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

  “Stay in touch.”

  When she hung up with him, she looked up the number of the Chicago UBC station and called to speak with the personnel manager, a man named John. She identified herself as a member of the NSA, and said she was tracking some information regarding a case—would she be able to check the files tonight? He agreed warmly, said he’d be in that evening to train a new cameraman, and she could stop in at her convenience.

  She changed into jeans and warm boots, but left her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. Into a small duffel, she threw a change of clothes and her makeup bag. From a rack on the back of her closet door, she chose a small shoulder purse, and tucked in her wallet, cell phone, and at the last minute, her NSA security badge. Within an hour, she was at the airport.

  The ticket had been purchased at the last minute, so Kim wasn’t surprised when she was pulled out of the security lines for additional screening—and not just the usual, extra hand-wanding, but a full, focused search of her belongings and the body search by an appropriate female guard. The girl was skinny as a praying mantis, her elbows like knots. Her blond hair was tightly pulled back from her extremely young—and serious—face.

  Kim joked, “All clear? For once, I remembered to not wear an underwire bra.”

  “Wait right here.” The girl picked up a phone, punched in a number.

  Scowling Kim said, “What is—”

  “Better if you just follow directions, ma’am.” She turned away and said something into the phone, looking at the NSA badge with Kim’s picture.

  Kim felt passersby giving her the curious eye. Odd how it made her feel guilty.

  “I’m afraid there’s an additional problem, ma’am,” the girl said. “You’ll have to follow me, please.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “High alert this week and you have a lot of red flags.”

  “Last-minute ticket, I know. It’s just that I work for—”

  The woman flashed Kim’s confiscated badge. “National Security Agency. I know.”

  Kim scowled at the rudeness and rolled her eyes. She looked younger than she was, she knew that. No point in antagonizing the woman further—it would just lead to more delays. “Will this take long? I’m worried about missing my flight.”

  “There’s another one at 3 p.m. if you miss this one,” the woman said without looking at Kim.

  “Great.” It wasn’t. It would mean getting to Chicago after dark, maybe not to the television station until the evening news. With an effort, she breathed in. Out. No point in getting upset. It wouldn’t hurry anything.

  At an office with a window overlooking the concourse, the woman stopped and shoved open the door. “Here we are. Have a seat, ma’am.”

  A tall, bearded black man in a Transportation Security Administration uniform waved Kim into the chair. The woman escort handed over Kim’s bags and badge, then exited.

  “I’m sorry about the delay,” the man said. “I need to verify your identity.”

  “No big deal.”

  As the man dialed the telephone, Kim fidgeted, irritably wiggling her foot until she realized it would make her appear to be nervous. Which she was, though not because she wanted to blow up the airport.

  The airport. Why had the FBI in Chicago paid so much attention to the airport? Airports were so heavily guarded since 9/11 that there had to be an easier way for a terrorist to accomplish goals of instilling fear. Why bother? Narrowing her eyes in thought, Kim decided the FBI must have had some intelligence they weren’t sharing.

  The man hung up the phone. “I’m afraid we have to hold you for twenty minutes, just until they can fax a photo to your boss.”

  “I’ll miss my flight.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. When it goes to orange, it gets a lot tighter around here.”

  Tamping down her annoyance, Kim folded her hands around her knees. “I appreciate that, but I’m bewildered. Why the trouble today? I’ve flown a dozen times under similar circumstances recently.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “If I get through the security clearance will you tell me?”

  He nodded. “That’d be all right, I guess.”

  The fax went through with a series of beeps and bleeps. Kim stared through the window over the concourse at the streams of humanity bustling through the hallways. She puzzled over the challenge of clearing millions and millions of passengers every day. Millions.

  And it wasn’t as if criminals hadn’t proven they were willing to do anything to reach their objectives. Q’rajn wanted to punish the U.S. for its involvement in Berzhaan. Other rebels wanted other things, and anyone with an ax to grind, a pound or two of plastic explosives and a death wish could do it. For terrorists of the ilk they were all trying to fight, life was as thin and cheap as paper.

  Watching the crowds, she tried to imagine she was the one trying to decide who was a terrorist and who was an ordinary citizen. A tall man in a business suit looked like a physician, hurrying toward an important surgery. The turban on his head marked him as a Sikh, something Kim knew from her studies at Athena Academy. Exotic, but likely not dangerous.

  But how would the ill-educated girl who’d carted Kim up here know that?

  Odd, but sitting in the plastic chair in the office of the head of security made Kim feel guilty.

  “It’s a pretty rough job, the security of airports,
” she offered.

  The man, his hands steepled in front of his mouth, raised weary brows. “That’s understating the situation, I’d say.”

  “It’s impossible, really, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Never give up.” The fax machine spit out a piece of paper and the man leaned forward to swipe it off the tray. “Looks like you’re good to go, Ms. Valenti. Sorry for the delay.”

  Kim shrugged and took the things he held out to her. “So, I assume it was the late booking that caused so much trouble, but what else? I’ll try to avoid it next time.”

  He scratched his nose. “Not sure you’ll be able to do anything about it. The girl—er—thought you looked Arabic.”

  “Ah.” She met his eyes.

  He held her gaze for a second, then lifted a phone. “I’ll call your gate to have them hold your flight.”

  Kim hitched the bag over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  On the concourse, she headed for her gate, glancing up over her shoulder at the two-way window. Something niggled—there was something they weren’t telling her. What could it be? What information had gone out that she’d not yet seen?

  As she walked, she took the cell out of her bag and punched in the numbers to Scott’s desk. The phone rang at the other end as she reached the deserted gate.

  An impatient flight attendant stood irritably at the door to the flight. Kim handed the woman her boarding pass. “Sorry. Got stuck at security.”

  “Not your fault.” The woman gave her back the small piece of pass. “Have a good flight.”

  Scott’s voice mail picked up. “Shepherd,” Kim said, hurrying down the ramp, “run the files again and see if there are any references to women, then get back to me. I’m getting on the plane right now, so I have to turn off my phone, but leave a message.”

  Chapter 5

  By the time she dropped her bag on the bed in her Chicago hotel room, Kim was famished, grumpy and grimy. After a quick shower, she tucked her badge into her purse, bought a sandwich from the small deli in the hotel lobby and sat down to eat it with a cup of coffee by the windows.