“At this point in time, Pete, yeah, you’re correct. That may change very soon.”
Golding saw Jack’s eyes as they didn’t waver from his own. The look wasn’t one of determination as usual, it was a faraway look he had never seen in Collins’s eyes before.
“Good. Now, the names of these two men are Dmitri Sagli and Gregori Deonovich. I ran them through Europa and she kicked back this”—Pete gestured at the blue writing scanning across the screen—“as you can see, they have . . . What is the police jargon? Oh yes, quite a rap sheet. Starting with their days in the old KGB, and what they learned of death in the early years of the Soviet war in Afghanistan. I believe that is where they acquired the taste for the more expensive decorations they probably have in their houses. From there, after their exodus from KGB, they quickly graduated to organized crime, financed principally from their thievery in Afghanistan and other war-torn places where Soviet occupation was in bloom.”
“What about my sister? What is the correlation between them and her?” Collins asked as he read the blue printed letters on the large screen before them. It was as if he was burning the pictures and the words into his mind.
Carl Everett watched Jack and he knew he was doing exactly that—etching the faces into his brain.
“That is what we are about to attempt to find out. This is going to be tricky: If the president has ordered us to stand down, he may have also ordered the CIA to safeguard an attack on their Cray system from Europa. If that is the case, they will not only be able to track the backdoor entry, but cause a security shutdown, not only at Langley, but here also. Then, I dare say, the cat will be out of the proverbial bag.”
“Do it, my authorization, my responsibility,” Jack said as he ripped the gloves from his hands and then tossed them on the floor.
Everett removed his also, and instead of protesting, Pete followed suit.
“Okay, Colonel, here we go. Europa, we are going to ask for a protocol 2267 exception to security rule Langley 111-1. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Golding, bypass security protocol protecting top-secret CIA analysis files, operational files and agency archives. Field agent protection lists are to be excluded under this protocol—is that correct, Doctor?”
“Correct,” Pete said looking over at Jack for confirmation. After all, that was the most guarded secret in American intelligence, the identity of undercover field agents across the globe. “Now Europa, you will use my security clearance for this operation, is that understood?”
“Yes, Doctor, clearance number 78987-2343, Department 5656 override.”
“Wait a minute, Doc, I said this is my responsibility,” Jack said, placing his arm on Golding’s.
“Colonel, you may not be thinking as straight as you usually do under the circumstances. If we are caught entering the CIA Cray system, there are going to be arrests made. No matter how secret we are, we are going against a presidential order. It just so happens we are not secret from him. How are you going to help your sister if a bunch of marines come down here and haul you away on presidential orders?”
Jack looked from Golding to Everett, who was sitting silently watching the exchange as Collins removed his hand from Golding’s arm and nodded his head.
“That’s why Pete gets the big bucks, Jack, he has the ability to step back and look at things logically,” Carl said as he turned in his chair and waited for the enquiry to start again.
“Europa, commence a backdoor entry into Cray system 191987—Blue Dahlia—Langley.”
“Yes, Doctor,” came the calm and ordered reply of Europa in her Marilyn Monroe voice.
The assault on one of the most secure systems in the world was underway. The funny thing was, it was Europa’s little brother at CIA, and they were both assembled only days apart. This backdoor mugging was to be a family affair.
It took Europa close to an hour to break into Dahlia’s mainframe. She was close to timing out on the attempted break-in when a small backdoor was found in the Langley system that ran out-of-date file subroutine revolving around agency retirement records.
After two and a half hours of skirting the main file location inside of intelligence and operations, they had uncovered the full extent of the ambush in Montreal. Besides confirming their number-one targets, Sagli and Deonovich, Golding, Everett, and Collins were starting to piece together what it was the Russians were looking for: The Lattimer Papers and what was being tagged as the Petrov Diary had been mentioned in no less than seventeen agency filings in the past twenty-four hours, filings the agency had received through their own Cray system, Blue Dahlia, and absconded from the CSIS authorities in Ottawa. That information had been filed inside of Europa for use later in tracking that particular subject matter.
“Okay, gentlemen, here is where it gets tricky, and why.” Pete looked at his watch. “I waited until two A.M. to try it. We are going to break into the files of the Intelligence Department, the section where your sister works, Jack. When Europa goes in, she will scan all files using the keywords we have already entered. She will be inside for less than one minute downloading what Miss Simpson’s department knows about the event that occurred in Montreal, and about your sister’s involvement. During that time, if someone happens to log into the system that is currently being scanned, alarms are going to sound from Virginia to Fort Huachuca in Arizona.”
“What will happen then, Pete?” Everett asked.
“That, I really don’t know Captain. Dahlia could send a transformer signal through, tracing the program, or send Europa a tapeworm, destroying her completely.” Pete patted the console before him and then looked inside Europa’s containment room. “But I think she’s too smart for that.” He smiled. “We’ve made a few modifications on her in the time she’s been here.”
“Let’s get started.”
Pete nodded at Jack.
“Europa, commence scanning the Langley North American Intelligence files.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
At 2 A.M. in the morning, Nancy Grogan, with fresh new orders from the director himself to stand down for three days, was staring at her computer screen. The file was open on Lynn Simpson. She had read everything she could in that file, trying to find out Lynn’s next of kin. She had decided that regardless of what her superiors said, her family, especially her brother, needed to be told about her possible fate, but she found she was loathe to contact the mother of the siblings because she couldn’t explain why she needed to find her son Jack. Grogan knew that Lynn had been in contact with her brother. She was the only person at CIA who had that little bit of information. She didn’t know how much Lynn had explained to her brother, so she thought it would be helpful to contact him herself if at all possible.
Grogan finally stretched and then started to reach for the monitor’s power supply. She still wanted to pack a few things from her office to take home, but she froze when she saw a small and intense flashing icon in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. USER 5656 LOGGED ON.
“Well, at least they’re still working on finding her,” Grogan mumbled as she pushed the small button, closing down her monitor.
She stood and found a partially filled box and threw some paperwork from her department inside, then she grabbed the Lynn Simpson personnel file and was tempted to throw it in as well, but she knew that little item would never get through security. As she closed the file, she gently laid it on her desk. The file was a standard “secret” file with SIMPSON, LYNN H typed on its front. Below that was her operations number—1121. This was a series of numbers that all agency personnel had been issued. The number was everything from an employee number, a payroll tag, and Blue Dahlia’s computer systems log-in code—the higher the number, the lower the rank and time on the job.
Grogan lifted the cardboard box and then her eyes caught the number on the personnel file once more. 1121. Lynn’s number was one of the lower ones since her transfer from operations two years ago. The director of I
ntelligence let the box slide from her hand as she hurriedly opened her top desk drawer. She found what she was looking for and ran her index finger down the list. It was a directory of log-in numbers for everyone who was authorized to use Blue Dahlia. The numbers ended at 2267.
“Who in the hell is 5656?” she said aloud. As the incredulous thought struck her, she quickly reached for the phone. Someone had hacked what should have been one of the most secure systems in the world. In her haste to punch in security’s number, her hand struck Lynn Simpson’s file and it fell to the floor, along with Grogan’s own notes on Simpson’s family. As security answered the phone on the other end, she saw the name Colonel Jack Collins, United States Army, underlined in red ink several times.
“Security, Adamson speaking. Miss Grogan, are you ready to leave the facility?”
Nancy looked up from the file and thought quickly. The rumors of Lynn’s brother being very resourceful came flooding through her rapidly thinking brain. She hesitated only a moment.
“Yes, in about fifteen minutes. I’ll only be carrying home one box to be inspected.”
“Very good, ma’am, I’ll have two men standing by for escort to your vehicle.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly and then hung up the phone.
She knew that what she was doing was very close to committing treason. She also knew that this could have been the way Sagli and Deonovich came across their information on the Los Angeles raid. However, she knew for a fact that Blue Dahlia was as secure as systems can get. The rumor was that only another Blue Ice system could do what was being done, and even Sagli and Deonovich didn’t have the funding for that little trick.
As she sat back into her large chair, she flipped on the computer monitor again. The small icon was still flashing in the lower left-hand corner of the screen: USER 5656 LOGGED ON. Grogan sat back and watched the green numbers as they glowed in the semidarkness of her office. Then a small smile slowly crept across her features. She knew the log-on numbers had to be an American code for an agency—four numbers, and it seemed Blue Dahlia recognized these call numbers. Her smile broadened as she felt she had an ally somewhere in the world that would help her get Lynn home.
“The mysterious Colonel Jack Collins, I presume,” she said just under her breath.
She would give the hacking computer another sixty seconds before she hit the alarm. After all, there was still a small chance it may be someone not so friendly to her government.
EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
As Europa was scanning agency files at a blinding rate, the phone buzzed and Everett answered it.
“Yes . . . thank you,” he said and hung up.
“That was the director’s assistant. It seems the man that was kidnapped, this Juan Chavez, was found washed up against the pier pylons in Huntington Beach.”
Without saying anything, Jack underlined Chavez’s name on the list he was slowly putting together.
“Colonel, I still think investigating that end of things is as viable as it was before this news. Whatever these Russians are up to, they went through this man for some reason, more than likely a link to those papers, or the journal that was stolen.”
“Okay, what do you suggest?” Jack asked.
Pete pushed his thick glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and thought.
“The man dealt in stolen goods, antiquities, almost anything of value derived from antiquity.”
“Yes, but that could still mean anything,” Everett volunteered.
“Captain, the work we do here, the recovery of history, is a very limited field. There are very few people in the world who are truly good at it. Thieves are not as good as the Group, of course, but they are very adequate when it comes to selling what they steal to private collectors around the world. Our computer is good but there’s only so much we can uncover without leaving this room.”
“You’re suggesting we go into the field, fly to L.A. for a closer look?” Jack asked.
“Well, yes. Look here,” Pete said as he stood and pointed at a line of script on the large monitor in front of them. “Yes, here we are. Langley has run this guy Chavez through Dahlia a thousand times, arrest records and such. The man has never divulged his source, who it is that’s contracting his services. There wasn’t one piece of incriminating evidence to be found in his Elysian Park home. No artwork, no statuary, no antique of any kind. This man sold everything he came into possession of.”
“He has to have a buyer,” Everett said.
“Not only that, but someone had to fund the world travel the agency uncovered. According to overseas records, this man, Chavez, was worth only two and half million dollars.”
Jack looked at Pete and slowly nodded. “In other words, whoever was buying his stuff may have some clue as to what Sagli and Deonovich were seeking and why.”
“Exactly, Colonel.”
Pete was about to expand on his thoughts when the last line of script was entered onto the Europa main screen from the CIA mainframe. He grew silent as he watched the sentence run its course. Then he slowly removed his glasses and lightly touched Collins on the shoulder.
“Oh, God,” was all Pete said.
Jack looked up at what was written on the screen and his heart fell to the bottom of his chest.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Everett said as he closed his eyes and shook his head.
As Europa finally came to a stop, the sentence pronounced their search may be over before it started.
RECOVERED RIGHT INDEX FINGER AT 2230 HOURS, POSITIVELY IDENTIFIED AS THAT SEVERED FROM THE AGENCY EMPLOYEE, SIMPSON, LYNN, H., DNA POSITIVE—FINGERPRINT ANALYSIS—POSITIVE.
“What did they do to her?” Jack asked as his eyes closed and his head sank to his chest.
“Doctor Golding, my entrance into the Blue Dahlia mainframe has been discovered; a trace is currently in process,” Europa said calmly.
“Shut down, damn it, shut it down!” Pete said as he stood, pushing his chair back so hard it slammed into the far wall.
“Shutdown complete, trace was lost.” Europa said in a calm voice.
Jack hurriedly put his notes in order and stood.
“Colonel?” Pete asked.
“I’m still going to L.A.”
“Jack, I guess this is a good time to tell you: The director ordered me to stop you if you tried to leave the complex.”
Jack looked from Everett and then to the monitor in front of him, and then returned his determined look to Carl.
“Right, I’ll get us a plane,” Everett said, shrugging out of his white electrostatic coat.
“Do that, Captain, and alert Mendenhall and Ryan. Tell them their weekend duties are canceled.”
Everett watched as Jack left the clean room.
“Doc, correlate what you’ve recovered; there may be something in there that can help.”
Pete Golding watched Everett follow Collins out of the clean room, and then he sat down and almost reached for the phone, but stopped. He almost shouted aloud when the phone startled him when it buzzed. He swallowed and then picked it up.
“Clean room,” he said meekly.
“Pete, I just received a call from the White House. The president was informed that we hacked into the CIA mainframe.”
“Niles, there’s no way they can know that; Europa cut the trace before it took hold.”
“Pete, I’ve had a few drinks here, but even I could figure out who did the hacking if I knew what agencies had the Cray system, and the president, in case you haven’t noticed, isn’t a fool. Where is Jack?”
“Uh . . . well . . . he and Captain Everett—”
“Have they left the complex?” Niles asked.
“Well, no, they haven’t had the time; they just left the clean room.”
“Do they have a lead on Jack’s sister?”
“Niles, the damn Russians cut that little girl’s finger off.”
“Do they have a lead?”
“Yes
, sir. Los Angeles.”
“And they are still inside the complex?”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said, feeling like he was betraying Jack and Carl.
There was silence on Niles’s end of the phone. Then he finally spoke. “Okay, give them another thirty minutes to clear Nellis, and then issue an order for any Event personnel to detain Captain Everett and Colonel Collins.”
“Sir?” Pete asked, not believing Niles was letting them go.
“Hell, you may as well include their little sidekicks in that order, too. Detain Mendenhall and Ryan. No wait,” Compton said thinking as fast as Europa. “Get to Lieutenant Mendenhall, pry him away from Ryan and the others, and have him and Sarah McIntire report to me before the colonel can get to him, do it ASAP, Pete, you hear me?”
“But—”
“If Jack thinks there’s a chance of him finding his sister, we’ll give him the time he needs, but I also know for a fact that everyone from the FBI to Virginia farm boys will be out to stop him from doing so. I need McIntire and Mendenhall in my office; they are not to accompany Collins, Everett, and Ryan.”
The phone went dead and Pete just shook his head in wonder.
“It would be nice if someone asked me along for the ride sometime,” Pete said to himself.
After Niles hung up, he slowly kicked his shoes off and then lay down on his couch, a place where he had spent most of the last month sleeping, and where he would now try to dream through the dark storm that was about to hit. He pushed his glasses onto his balding head and then closed his eyes. He was wondering just how long it would take Langley to scream bloody murder all the way to the White House about the Group’s assault on CIA’s Blue Dahlia.
Just as Niles felt the onslaught of whiskey-induced sleep, his assistant stepped into his office and quickly walked to the couch and shook Niles. He came awake like a man falling from a cliff—that unsettling feeling of falling and not being able to stop yourself. Then he opened his eyes and realized he couldn’t focus on the face in front of him. His assistant reached out her slim hand and pulled his glasses back down to cover his eyes.
Primeval: An Event Group Thriller Page 15