Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  He’d not learned anything about the men who’d interfered, yet knew they’d keep hunting. Just not here. Odette assured him of complete encapsulation once here, yet he’d spotted the occasional guard and it elevated his suspicions. Why post guards on an isolated island?

  A servant dressed in white rushed near, offering him a bottle of water so cold it sweat with condensation. “Sir?”

  He took it, frowning when the teenager wouldn’t look him in the eye, then watched as he ran away as fast as he’d approached. He followed, the aroma of spices floating on the air, and saw the teen dart into a building. House staff, he thought. He’d not seen many. Things just appeared. He’d never heard them when they’d delivered a meal after his arrival.

  Rahjan tried investigating, but already complained of being forced back. The guards were undisguised, though he hadn’t seen any weapons since his arrival. When he crossed another sign directing him elsewhere, he considered they were there for him. He didn’t see anyone on the island that didn’t have a job. He turned back toward his bungalow, and he glimpsed a figure in the distance. Awareness pulled through him.

  Odette. She walked between buildings with a determined step, two people hot on her heels and trying to catch up. The woman loved giving orders, he thought and stepped off the path and under a tree to watch her. She stopped near a fountain in the landscaping, gesturing to the tall stone back and the giant lion head spilling water from its mouth. He frowned when she marched left and disappeared down a path under the trees. From the air, he’d seen dense jungle nearly to the white shore, the buildings barely visible for the trees, yet while his bearings were a little off, the sun wasn’t. He was in the middle of the island and though it warranted a search, he’d wait till nightfall. He pushed away from the tree and headed back to the bungalow, anxious to meet the Professor.

  Then he saw him, a trail of children behind him like the pied piper.

  It wasn’t until he neared that recognition dawned and he understood the secrecy and money influencing this deal. He glanced around, wary that this was an elaborate setup, then looked back at the man. He’d brokered a weapons deal with one of the world’s leading scientists. Someone easily recognizable and with enough international influence that he’d never be a suspect. Yet when he smiled and extended his hand, Barasa knew he was the only suspect, and if he wasn’t careful, Hager Thibaut would feed him to the wolves.

  Nolan strode down the halls of the Pentagon. He’d been here exactly three times in the last year, and didn’t care to hang around. Too many opinions to spoil the intelligence. He preferred the isolation of his office, the bank of computers and a list of work. Field duty was interesting, and addictive, but he had a family to consider. He waited for the security to pass him through and stopped outside the war room, waiting again for his clearance inspection. The guard started to take his laptop and he held it out of his reach, shaking his head.

  “Make a call,” he said and when the Sergeant hung up, he nodded Nolan through. He stepped into the war room, and crossed to the front. They were expecting him and the group of men didn’t look all that happy to be gathered. National security never took a break. A mantra that annoyed the hell out of his wife. He greeted Gerardo and Jansen, then opened the silver laptop, linking it with the screen monitors. From Deep Six, David brought Dragon One on line.

  He addressed the brass around the table. “D-1 had the program off Vaghn’s computer. We had the schematics. Neither opened without the password. The graphic had the codes imbedded in the lines and swirls.” He worked the keyboard and demonstrated the steps necessary to open the files. “Vaghn assured no one could get inside unless you had all the pieces and knew how to put them together. It gives him complete control and likely why they mowed people down to protect him.”

  The brass scowled and Nolan explained.

  “You needed all the pieces,” he said. “The graphic is deciphered with the sequence, yet minus the symbol in the password.” He gestured toward the larger screen and brought up the letter, Iota, then demonstrated opening the program and the schematics. “The pieces have always been there in the spam mail. The order of it was in the novel, and the Greek 3D letter, well, you had to know to remove it from the sequence.” Nolan tapped keys. “This is what they were so desperate to conceal.”

  The weapon materialized in three dimensions on the large screen.

  He got the reaction he’d expected, the same one he had.

  The weapon was housed inside the latest web phone.

  Ironically called the Icarus.

  Marina Bay

  Singapore

  “Oh no he didn’t,” Safia said. Riley sat back in the sofa. “Jaasus.” Safia wouldn’t be still and peered closer, then swung a look at Riley. “It’s the latest gadget, everyone has one or wants one. It’s a hand-held computer capable of sending and receiving in five different methods. And worse, it’s cheap here. How can we track that?”

  “There’s more,” Nolan said and Safia looked at the screen, just learning the NSA agent was a college roommate of Logan’s. “With the programming he’s created, it can be ignited from any phone containing its number.”

  “What’s the bad news?” Logan said.

  Safia snapped a look at him. “If that’s not bad enough for you, you need to seek therapy.”

  He just shrugged. “There is always more, Safia.”

  “The schematics in the stream are CAD capable. Computer Assisted Design,” Nolan explained. “CAD programs in various forms create anything from a footstool to a guided missile. Complete with a shopping list and the construction steps. Vaghn’s program is designed to recreate it.” Nolan pointed out the capsule to hold the explosives. “The only chemical strong enough in that small amount is the RZ10 or maybe nitro and a little C4.”

  Safia spoke up. “What you’re saying is these plans can take an ordinary web phone or a Blackberry and convert it into one of these things?”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I am.”

  “Then we are up a creek because Jason Vaghn sent out a mass email, containing the sequence and the graphic. Thousands could have exactly what we do right now.”

  “They’d have to be very smart to figure it out,” Jansen said, moving up beside Deets.

  Safia folded her arms. “They don’t have to. Bad guys are paying Vaghn for that information. Push button terrorism. Undetectable. Vaghn made this for mass murder, sir. No other reason for it exists. The schematics are his insurance, a secondary deal should the one with Barasa fail.”

  “Agreed. Where do you want to go from here, Agent Troy?”

  “ID on the woman?” Did these people not take notes?

  “She has a passport, but no driver’s license, no education or hospital records, or fingerprints on file. Not even a birth record.”

  That sounded like a NOC to her. “A ghost?” Safia said. “Passport name?”

  “She goes by Odette Thibaut.”

  General Gerardo moved up behind them, startling Jansen. “The name didn’t jog, but she’s his voice.” He leaned over the computer and played it like a master. A photo filled the screen. “Dr. Haeger Thibaut, biochemist, medical doctor. He’s as overdegreed as it gets. He has several patents and he’s worth millions and spreads it around too. That makes him well loved.” Gerardo looked at the camera, directly at her. “If we have anything connecting him, we’d better be dead certain and in triplicate. He’s well connected.”

  Safia frowned, then tapped keys to pull up a CIA dossier. The first was photos of Thibaut with Mandela, the German Chancellor, a Saudi Prince, and three American Presidents. Splendid. Influence as well as millions to back it up. “He owns the island where Barasa landed. They’re all there.”

  “We have no confirmation the RZ10 canister is with them. We’d have to be within twenty feet for sensors to pick it up.”

  “Then we need to get on that island for a look.”

  Gerardo shook his head. “That would take an executive order for an assau
lt on a private citizen who has a clean record and no evidence to connect him to the theft.”

  “Sir—?” She glanced at Riley. “Then you’re tying our hands and frankly, I’ve gone after perps with less evidence. He’s harboring a fugitive and an arms dealer, what more do you want?” Gerardo shook his head, but Safia spoke up. “You people lost this stuff and now that we’re close you’re locking us down because he’s well connected?” Her sour expression told him what she thought of that. “I can get around this.”

  His brows shot up. “Are you threatening me, Agent Troy?”

  Behind her, the team groaned, but she stepped closer. “Time to fish or cut bait, sir. If the RZ10 is your top priority, then get us authorization to go get it.”

  “Safia,” Riley said softly. “You’re biting the hand that feeds.”

  She met his gaze. “You say I was the target, but Sebastian and a few thousand are dead. What would you do?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer and looked at Gerardo, her hands on her hips. “Well sir?”

  Gerardo surprised her by smiling. “Agent Troy’s opinion not withstanding, I’m not one to let political friendships and big money make a difference,” he said. “So who wants to start chipping at this guy?”

  Off to the side, Beckham smiled. “I’d be happy to learn his lingerie size.” The general scowled at him, but Safia just smiled. Beckham liked stirring up controversy. “Oh yeah, and that’s really his daughter.” He scoffed and went somewhere off screen.

  Gerardo looked at Safia and frowned. “You’re not satisfied?”

  “No. That takes time we don’t have. They have all the components they need,” she reminded. “I request this Op go Delta classified, sir.” It would sever all communication outside the operation.

  He scowled blackly. “You don’t have a lot of faith in us, do you, Agent Troy?”

  Images and painful memories flashed through her mind. “Experience has taught me otherwise, sir.”

  “Then I’ll see what I can do to restore it.”

  She nodded, signed off, then faced the team. They stared at her, sort of dumbfounded. “What?”

  “You don’t play well with others, do you?” Sam added and Riley winced.

  Safia lifted her top and showed Sam the thin whip scars that curled her spine. “Not when my own people did this to test my trust.”

  His eyes widened and he glanced at Riley. “I don’t need anymore, do you?”

  Riley met her gaze and Safia felt his compassion from across the room. “I never did.”

  Deep Six

  David felt like a mole in a dark corner as he worked the computer of a dead man. It gave him the creeps, but he’d already learned why the man put a gun in his mouth. He’s committed treason for Vaghn. The fragment Marianna Island post picked up had the same encryption as the hard drive. Now they were learning the steps to open it, but Agent Deets was on top of that. David’s assignment was to learn where the transmissions landed and in whose hands. Black’s NRI records were in Department of Defense possession now and while the NRI president, Cannel, tried protesting, a call from the National Security Advisor shut him up. Threatening to broadcast a charge of treason had that effect on some people.

  He’d deciphered Black’s authorization, and NRI’s list of transmissions in the Marianna time zone. Black received several emails with attachments from one address. A quick IP search confirmed it was Vaghn’s computer. The hard drive programs were encrypted, the computer itself was not. David’s curiousity made him work faster. A debrief was already scheduled and the JCS waited for no one.

  He filtered the transmission but didn’t need to know what was in it to do his job. The final send came from another computer, a laptop probably to avoid detection. The collected data was delivered in one single feed transmission through the NRI satellite network that rivaled the CIA’s.

  He leaned back in the chair and watched the coordinates of the transmission hop to the places he’d tracked so far. The satellite screen to his left digitized with his previous tracking and linked with the pattern from Black’s send for Vaghn. When it hit Zaire, his pulse quickened. Zaire, Johannesburg, Sri Lanka—“Bingo.”

  David pushed off from the counter and spun his chair to face Beckham. “Transmission landed in Kolkata, India.”

  “Excellent.”

  David turned back and tapped keys, trying to access the server. “One problem.”

  Beckham made that hand rolling motion.

  “Even if we had the transmission open, we can’t erase it from here. Vaghn insured it with a back bomb virus. If we try to erase it, it will launch.” Crazy smart, Donovan had said.

  “Then we have to physically destroy it,” Beckham said with a glance at Colonel Jansen. “Now, I’m happy to volunteer, but D-1 is already in the area.”

  Jansen agreed and Beckham contacted Dragon One. Max Renfield came on the line and Jansen explained.

  “I’m on it,” Max said. “David, set up a focus trace for that server, and be my navigator once I land. Colonel? Dragon Six is too obvious and frankly, you aren’t paying for the fuel, sir. I need a jet and a pilot.” Jansen turned to do just that.

  “With all the cautions they’ve implemented,” David said quickly before the connection ended. “There’s a good chance it’s rigged to blow.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “When you find it, contact me. I’ve got your back.”

  Max bent and smiled into the video camera. “Now there’s a change.”

  Jason soldered a wire, then sat back and removed his goggles. He’d gone right to work assembling the first device. Odette had brought him dinner, to check on his progress he supposed. Barasa was still waiting for his payment because he was still on the island. Thibaut wouldn’t allow him to leave. Bet that pissed his ass off. Odette had made it clear Thibaut’s plans came first, and though he had not revealed them, it wasn’t part of the bargain to know. No questions for ten million. How Thibaut knew about and stole the explosive fuel still baffled him.

  Yet simply handling the RZ10 made him jumpy. It was too volatile, and he’d reproduced only a 4 gram solution for the prototype. It didn’t have the capability of RZ10, but it was close. However, keeping the mix separated was delicate work and the containers inside the device he created were fragile enough to be easily breakable on ignition. He’d almost blown himself and half the island up, he shook so bad.

  Grabbing his cane, he stood, stretched, then went to the small fridge for a soda. He strolled around the facility, working the stiffness out of his leg. Untouched sleeping quarters were adjacent to a small kitchen. He didn’t concern himself with it. Thibaut had people waiting on him like a king. Yet oddly, not one servant had spoken a word, only nods and hand gestures to communicate. Deaf, dumb, he didn’t know, but Thibaut had adopted the unadoptable, he’d read once, insisting every child needed a home.

  He stepped onto the veranda shielding him from the hot sun, the breeze pushing at his loose clothes. He walked down the porch, humming a Jimmy Buffet tune as he strolled toward the other buildings. He was nearly at the door of one when he heard his name. Dr. Thibaut crossed the yard to him, smiling.

  “Jason. I didn’t know you were taking a break. I’d have given you a tour.”

  “I’m sorry, I was just curious. How many houses do you have here?”

  “Several, and that’s a dormitory for the staff and the children.” He pointed at the pair of two-story buildings with a tree shaded courtyard between. They walked and to the right of the dorms, he saw a colorful playground, children swarming like bugs on a burger. Money wasn’t a problem, he thought, noticing the large pool before they stepped inside the coolness of the dorms.

  There were individual rooms each child had decorated themselves, the colors bright, cheery. A bell rang, the halls filling with children, and Jason’s throat burned with envy when the kids surrounded Thibaut. He called each by name and asked about their day, their homework, yet they answered in a lan
guage that sounded like Malay. Thibaut brushed his knuckles across a smooth cheek, bent to kiss the top of a downy head. The children completely ignored Jason, and he stepped back. Finally, Thibaut untangled himself from the group when an older girl called out and the children quickly dispersed into the rooms. A little dark haired girl paused at a doorway, waved at Thibaut, then disappeared into the room. Jason glanced. Thibaut’s face was lit up like Christmas. He ignored the prick of jealousy and followed him out, then crossed the yard to a laundry where several workers were pulling white sheets from lines and snapping them with crisp folds.

  “How many people are here?”

  “Under a hundred, but that still generates a lot of care.” He pointed out a dining hall near the dorms, and his own private labs tucked under trees near the fence. “Feel free to investigate, Jason. But please obey any signs you see. And I suggest you not enter the jungle for any reason. It’s not safe.”

  He looked at the forest beyond tall fencing he suspected was wired with electricity. “Safe from what?”

  “Pirates have landed here a few times, and the wildlife is dangerous.”

  Jason strained to see anything. The island was isolated, and he wondered what Thibaut was really keeping out of his compound. There should be nothing on it except maybe birds and monkeys. He was surprised people survived this far out in the ocean.

  As if reading his thoughts, Thibaut added, “For the sake of your life, don’t test it.”

  Thibaut pushed back his sleeve to show old scars, three claw marks that nearly wrapped his entire arm. While he wondered what did that, Thibaut didn’t offer. Jason had a good thing going. He wasn’t about to blow it by being nosey. He respected Thibaut too much to press it. Thibaut would tell him if it was necessary, he assured himself. Yet with the RZ10 here, Jason knew U.S. authorities wouldn’t stop until they found it, and him. He was trapped and way out of his league, yet questions lingered. Why would a man of Thibaut’s caliber want any bomb and what was the target? He couldn’t think of a single reason for the rage behind it, but then, all he knew about Thibaut came from the media. Thibaut walked with him back to the lab, escorting him to the door. The simple act felt restrictive, shrinking the tropical island around him.