by Jack Bowie
Shahid turned her head in his direction. “Yeah. I hate it when that happens.”
Singer glared at his colleague. “Don’t push it, Sallie. It isn’t healthy. At least he didn’t leave his access credentials lying around. Have they gotten in yet?”
“This morning. I told you it wouldn’t take much longer.”
“Inevitable. Now we’ll see what they do next.”
Then we can pull the net in tighter.
He turned and headed back toward his table.
“Oh, one more thing. You got a message earlier today.”
Singer stopped. “What account?”
“Your contact’s. Seems there’s been a development.”
He went back to Shahid’s desk. She pointed to the rightmost screen which displayed the contents of a Draft message from one of his anonymous Gmail accounts.
Singer read the lines. He was usually not one to show emotion, but he couldn’t help smiling at his good fortune. This was something he could never have hoped for.
“Anything useful?” Shahid asked.
“In more ways than you can imagine. Put a hold on the auction and add a teaser to the site. Something that promises an exciting new addition. We’re about to make a helluva lot more money.”
Shahid nodded and began typing on her keyboard. Singer could not even see the keystrokes her fingers moved so fast.
“And go home and try to find some normal clothes. You’re going on a field trip.”
She stopped typing and looked up with a frown. “Where?”
“Budapest.”
Chapter 23
Cerberus Consulting, Tysons Corner, VA
Friday, 9:00 a.m.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” Braxton asked.
Braxton and Fowler were standing beside Chu’s desk, watching her with the concern of parents seeing their child go off to school for the first time.
“Yes. For the tenth time,” Chu replied. She acted completely normal, but Braxton could see a tentativeness in her eyes. They did not have their usual enthusiasm. “As I told you yesterday, I was resting at home all day. It drove me crazy. I have to get back to work. I’ve got a long list of people I need to call. We’re going to get that lost business back.”
With all she had been through, she wanted to help with his business.
Braxton had finally told her about Corley’s report. She had replied that she already knew. Once she had had access to her home computer, it had taken little time for her to track down the history.
“But I was a little surprised when you said you would be leaving us today for Europe. What’s up?”
Braxton had exchanged messages with Lambkin’s contact using the secure email he had provided. Dieter Hoch had agreed to meet him in Nuremberg, Germany, the next day.
“Ah, some work for a friend of Trevor’s. It should only take a few days.”
“And Sydney is out as well?”
“Yes. A conference on cryptography. She’s had it scheduled for a long time. I sent you both our itineraries.”
Braxton glanced over to Fowler who looked disgusted. He had already expressed his disagreement with keeping Chu out of the loop on the real reason for the travel. Braxton had out-voted him.
“I see,” Chu replied.
He couldn’t even keep eye contact. It was time to change the subject.
“When I found out about the trip, I called Sam to see if he could help you keep a watch on things.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Adam. As much as I enjoy Sam’s company.”
“I know. Think of it as keeping Sam out of trouble.” He turned to Fowler. “I refreshed your stash of Diet Dr. Pepper so you should be all set. Just try not to make too much of a mess of my office.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Fowler replied. “I intend to sit back and watch reruns of American Pickers on your big fancy iMac.”
For all his jokes, Braxton knew Fowler would do anything to keep Chu safe. He was the one who had volunteered to stay in the office, even if Braxton was going to be around.
“Then I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll email updates from Nuremberg over the weekend.”
Braxton turned and walked from the office. He felt like a captain deserting his ship. But it was time to get Singer out of their lives for good.
* * *
“Roger?”
Slattery looked up and saw Lewis standing in his doorway.
“What’s up, Cassie?”
“Eric would like to see you down in the lab. Didn’t say what it was about but it sounded important.”
“Thanks. If he calls back, tell him I’m on my way.”
It only took Slattery six minutes to get down to the lab. He was hoping they had a breakthrough on the auction site. Gillum was sitting at a lab bench staring into an over-sized computer monitor.
“Hi, Eric. Good news I hope?”
Gillum turned to his visitor. “Roger. Thanks for coming down. Our contractor cracked the site this morning. I’ll let you decide whether this is good news or not.”
He turned the monitor so both he and Slattery could see the display. The home page of the Principia Militia filled the screen, but this time the lower section was exposed. What Slattery saw frightened him more than the jihadi crap he was forced to read on a daily basis.
“Jesus. They really are selling secrets,” Slattery exclaimed.
“So it appears. Is all this possible?”
The site described a top secret report that revealed the technical vulnerabilities of the U.S. global positioning system and a set of relatively simple devices that could be used to exploit these weaknesses.
“Unfortunately, yes. You believe this is the work of Scheherazade?”
“That’s what the contractor says. And he’s an expert.”
“It sure does look professional. Better than a lot I see on the public web. Of course, if Singer is behind it, who knows what is true.”
“Unfortunately there’s more. The site changed this morning. The final auction was to be held in two days. But a couple of hours ago, the auction was put on hold and this was added.” Gillum pointed to the section of the site that promised an exciting new addition to the auction.
“What is that about?” Slattery asked.
“No idea. Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s likely not anything good.”
“Can we shut the site down?”
“Not yet. But we’re still working on it. If we do blow it up, though, Scheherazade will just clone it to a new server farm. We’d have to find out where it is all over again.”
Slattery needed to think. There wasn’t going to be an easy solution to this dilemma.
“Thanks, Eric. I appreciate everything your team is doing. I’ll keep pushing on the Singer connection. Maybe he can lead us to Scheherazade.”
“No worries, Roger. We’ll keep digging. But I thought you’d want to see what we’re up against.”
Slattery walked out of the lab, heading back to his office. There had to be a way to find Singer. What had he missed?
* * *
Unlike the trip to the lab, it took Slattery over half an hour to get back to his office. How was Singer getting his information? Was Jason really involved? If so, how? He had wandered the familiar halls of the Agency hoping for some flash of insight. When he arrived back, there were no flashes, but maybe some glimmer in the distance.
“Everything okay, Roger?” Lewis had gotten as good as his wife at reading his moods.
“Fine, Cassie. But I’ve got a couple of things I need you to do.” Lewis grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. “First, get me a meeting with the Jason Program Manager at MITRE. This afternoon if possible. Promise her anything.
“Second, I’d like you to do a little digging in the archives. Alfred Whitehead Singer. I want to know anyone with a technology background he has ever worked with. Teachers at the Farm, contacts in S&T, informants, members of his teams, even targets. Can you do that?”
Lewis finish
ed her notes. “Absolutely. The archeology will take a while, though. I’ll call MITRE now.”
Slattery walked into his office feeling more optimistic than he had in months.
* * *
His driver dropped Slattery off at MITRE headquarters. Cutler’s name got him through security with impressive efficiency. When he arrived at her office, she was heads down going through a thick stack of papers.
“Ms. Cutler?”
Cutler’s head rose as she heard the voice. Then a well-practiced smile appeared on her face. “Ah, Mr. Slattery. Good to see you again. Please sit down. And call me Candice.” She motioned to a chair next to her desk and slid the documents out of his line of sight. “I hope there was not any problem with our last engagement?”
Slattery took the seat. “No. Not at all. The report was quite, ah, interesting.”
Cutler smiled. “Yes, we get that description from many of our sponsors. That’s one of the pleasures of working with Jason. Their results are often ‘interesting’. If you’re not here about that report, how can I help you?”
“We’re thinking of another engagement.” Slattery had developed the outline of this approach on the way to McLean. He hoped he could pull it off. “The Chinese space program is getting increasing attention at the Agency. They are moving forward very quickly. One of the major thrusts of the program is the Chinese global positioning system, BeiDou. It is still regional, but we expect it to have global coverage in a few years. This represents both an opportunity and a challenge. We would like to know more about its prospective capabilities and any military uses that are, let’s say, less publicly known.
“So I suppose our first question is whether Jason has any experience in GPS systems, and if so, would a study of BeiDou, and perhaps other similar global systems, be something Jason could perform.”
Slattery watched Cutler as she evaluated the request. The smile had disappeared, replaced by a mask of concentration. She fidgeted in her seat, only slightly, and clasped her hands on her desk.
“Well, without divulging any confidential details, I can say that we recently completed an analysis of GPS for the Army. Not exactly of the same breadth as your request, but it demonstrated a deep understanding of the technology. I think a proposal of the nature you describe would be viewed favorably by the Steering Committee.”
Slattery nodded. He remembered the procedure necessary to get the bioterrorism request approved. It was a strange way to do business, but then everything was strange when you dealt with Jason.
“Excellent.” He paused as if something had just come into his head. “I’m wondering, if … I might speak to the Army sponsor? I’m sure it would help to alleviate any concerns on the part of the DDI. I certainly don’t expect you to describe the engagement in any more detail, but he may feel it appropriate. We might even be able to share the sponsorship.” There was nothing like additional contract value that got the attention of MITRE executives.
“Of course, Mr. Slattery. I can see nothing wrong in that. Let me find the contact.” She turned to her PC and began typing.
Slattery stood up and walked over to Cutler’s bookcase, marveling in the breadth of the volumes, from nuclear physics to genomics and meteorology.
“This is quite a collection, ah, Candice. Are you a scientist? And please call me Roger.”
Cutler looked up from her investigation and smiled. “Oh, no. Just a poor political science major. I think I spend half of my life just trying to keep up with my wards.”
“Wards” was an interesting way to describe her clients. But then they weren’t really her clients. Slattery was. How would he describe the Jasons? Besides ‘jerks’.
“Here you go.” She handed him a piece of paper. I’m sure General Kennedy will be more than happy to cooperate.”
Slattery took the paper. “Thank you, again, Candice. I think I have enough information to go back and complete that engagement request. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re very welcome, Roger. I look forward to working with you again.” She stood and extended her hand.
Slattery shook it, then left.
There was now no doubt in his mind that Jason had a leak. But who was the traitor? And how did Singer get in the middle? Hopefully, Lewis could find some answers.
Chapter 24
CIA Headquarters, Langley, VA
Friday, 3:15 p.m.
On the way back to his office, Slattery had made a decision. He had to find out what Braxton knew. The likelihood of a leak in Jason, and Braxton’s involvement, was too great a complication.
When he was settled back at his desk, he grabbed his phone.
“Cerberus Consulting.” It was Chu’s voice. She was back at work. But her tone was flat, missing the friendly lilt he was used to. Another of Singer’s casualties.
He considered offering his apologies but knew it would fall on deaf ears.
“May I speak to Mr. Braxton?”
“Who is calling please?’
“Ah, this is Mr. Smith. We’ve spoken before.”
Chu didn’t respond. He knew what she thought of the CIA and Slattery’s influence on her boss. “Mrs. Chu? Are you there?”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here at the moment.”
“Could you tell where he is? It’s very important I speak with him.”
“Mr. Smith, I really can’t …” Her voice broke. The line went silent.
“Dammit, Roger. Why can’t you leave us alone?” Fowler’s gruff voice was unmistakable.
“Sam? What are you doing there?”
“Protecting the people I care about. From psychopaths that you don’t seem to be able to stop.”
Slattery rubbed his forehead with the fingers of his free hand. This is not the way he had wanted the conversation to go. But he needed to find out what Braxton knew. Would he have told Fowler?
“I understand, Sam. And I feel awful about Mrs. Chu. No one thought he would ever return. But I’m worried about Adam. This may be a lot bigger than just one man.”
“So I hear.”
“Sam? What does that mean? Where is Adam?”
“I … I can’t say, Roger. I just can’t.” Slattery could hear the equivocation in the ex-cop’s voice. He knew he had slipped. But Fowler was stubborn as a mule and wouldn’t say anything more. At least without more inducement.
“Okay, Sam. I understand. But Adam could be in trouble. And we both know that I can make one call and have his cell tracked. Help me.”
The line was silent. Slattery held his breath. “He’s in Europe. I can’t say where.”
“Europe? Why?”
“That you can’t find out from a phone call, Roger. You’re the spook. Find out for yourself.”
Slattery was getting worried. He had to get more information.
“What about Walker? Can I speak with her?”
“That’s it, Roger. I think it’s time you left us alone.”
”Sam, wait. One more question. Does this have anything to do with Jason?”
Slattery doubted Fowler had ever heard about Jason, but the answer to his probe would tell a lot.
“What’s Jason? That’s it, Roger. Go on and make all your goddamn calls.
Fowler hung up.
Damn. Not “who’s Jason” but “what’s Jason”. They know.
* * *
Fowler pulled himself away from the video streaming on the screen. He swore he had seen that same red cast iron rooster ten times today.
Slattery had really set him off. After all the spook knew about Singer, he hadn’t thought it was important to tell them? The arrogant sonuvabitch.
Still, Fowler had been tempted to explain what they were doing, but would it have done any good? The CIA hadn’t been able to find Singer up to now. And any “help” from Slattery would probably make it worse for his friends.
Screw Roger and the rest of the feds.
Chu had been true to her word. She had spent the whole day on the telephone, asking, cajoling, and pleading
, if necessary, for canceled contracts to be reinstated. Fowler couldn’t help but hear the conversations. Her list of contacts was truly impressive: from lowly contract administrators to lofty vice-presidents. She had treated everyone respectfully, but argued her case logically and forcefully. And from what Fowler could discern from her side of the exchanges, she had been pretty successful.
He, however, was feeling quite the opposite. He had been happy to give Chu support while she was in the hospital, and even keep watch here in the office, but that had meant he hadn’t made any progress on figuring out whether Turner was the traitor. Both Braxton and Walker were in Europe doing their part to uncover the turncoat Jason. What was he doing?
White had forwarded the surveillance reports every day, but they all read the same way: Turner gets up, goes to work, comes home and stays put.
So why did he have a storage locker full of clothes and makeup? Why did he feel the need to disguise himself? And when did he use them?
Fowler didn’t have any answers and it was eating at him. He was a part of the team but he wasn’t contributing. He needed to pull his weight.
If Turner was going to act, it would likely be over the weekend. Fowler decided that he needed to be there when he did.
He grabbed his phone and sent White a message. The surveillance team was going to have some company.
* * *
After receiving the text, White had told Fowler to drive to the Safeway parking lot on Braddock Road. That was their staging area. He had been picked up at 6:30 by Jamal Hendricks, one of White’s surveillance team. Hendricks had just come off his shift but had gone back to their stakeout location to drop Fowler off.
Hendricks had driven to Woodland Drive and pointed to a white cargo van sitting in a driveway. Fowler had walked to the vehicle, tossed his small duffel bag in the back and climbed into the passenger’s seat.
He had forgotten how much he hated stakeouts. The horrible seats, the awful coffee, the worse burritos, and the complete lack of toilets. He was seriously rethinking his need to participate in this project.