"Toni, what have we got?"
"Having a word with Hughes right now is going to be difficult. He's gone on a trip out of town with the senator."
"To Africa?" Michaels asked. "Ethiopia?"
She looked at him. "How do you know that?"
"From his staff guy when he called to schedule me for a committee meeting."
She shook her head. "Yes, well, we've had somebody there check, and while the senator is making the rounds and giving speeches, Hughes isn't with him. We know he got that far, he talked to the press on the flight over and shortly after landing, but nobody has seen him since."
Jay said, "Well, we have his private number here, don't we? Doesn't matter exactly where on the Dark Continent he is. If he's got a virgil, he can't be out of signal range."
Alex said, "The thing is, Jay, we don't really want to talk to him on the virgil. This is the kind of thing you need to do personally."
"You think he might run if he knows we're on to him?"
"Right now, given what we suspect, we're talking about an end to his career and fifteen years in a federal penitentiary—if Platt is working at his direction. He might decide that retreat is the better part of valor. And if he is somewhere in Africa, extradition might be iffy.
"And we have to consider the idea that maybe White is implicated."
"Wishful thinking," Toni said.
"Probably, but you never know. We might get lucky." Alex smiled.
"What I don't understand is what he would have to gain from this," Toni said. "Yeah, he gives his boss a platform to stand on, makes Net Force his whipping boy, but that seems a small payoff for such a big crime."
"I think I have the answer for that," Joanna said from the doorway.
They all turned to look at her.
She waved her flatscreen. "I just got back from the federal money hounds. While we all were running around stamping out little fires on the bank incursion yesterday, somebody snuck in and siphoned off almost two hundred million dollars."
"Now there's a coincidence," Jay said.
"Damn!" Alex said. "Of course! It was misdirection! We thought somebody wanted to take the system down! It wasn't about terrorism at all, it was about money!"
"That lets White out," Alex said. "He's probably got more money than that in his personal checking account."
Joanna continued. "The hounds have traced part of the funds through a Caribbean bank and two Swiss numbered accounts, but they are stonewalled at some Indonesian trust company."
"Part of the funds?" Alex asked
"A hundred and sixty million," Joanna said. "Forty went somewhere else."
Toni said, "That would be a pretty good reason to break into a few computers to raise hell."
"It gets better," Joanna said. She looked at her flatscreen. "Seems an anonymous tip to the FBI has just resulted in the arrest of one Jamal S. Peterson, a former bank employee wanted for a similar kind of sting in South Dakota last month. They recovered the money from that, a couple hundred thousand, but Peterson was not apprehended at the time. The tip claimed that Peterson was responsible for this theft too."
"And he's been picked up?"
"About fifteen minutes ago. I just got off the phone with the special agent in Charge. Peterson had a forged passport, a one-way ticket to Rio, and a new account in Switzerland with forty million dollars in it, transferred in last night."
"So that's all the money," Jay said.
"Not exactly. The hundred and sixty very large went into a bank in Bali, but there's a good chance the money has already left the building. The institution in question has a history of such transactions."
"So Hughes, if he's responsible, has probably already gotten his hands on more money than you and I and everybody in our department will make for the rest of our lives," Alex said.
"That would be a fairly safe bet," Joanna said.
Alex sighed. "Damn."
"I hate to add more rain on the parade," Toni said, "but with that kind of money, there are probably a dozen poor African nations who'd be happy to grant Hughes political asylum. Maybe not the Ethiopians, but some of the third-world presidents would jump at the chance to sell out. For a tenth of that much."
Alex said, "And that might be his plan. He might already be sitting in his new villa in Sierra Leone, sipping some banana-and-rum drink and laughing his head off at us."
"And it gets worse, Boss. We've been backwalking the various penetrations as best we can, and casting about for any side trails, and we think we've uncovered a problem."
Michaels looked at him. "Why am I not surprised? What is it?"
"The way it looks to us, Platt has set it up so that he has to log in to various systems at certain times. If he doesn't, and if he doesn't send the right messages, we think he has several more surprises set to be unleashed on us."
"Dead-man switches," Alex said.
Jay nodded. "That's how it looks. We're tracking them as best we can. Given enough time, we'll get them all, but if anything happens to Platt before we do…"
Alex glanced over at Joanna, then back at Jay. "Stay on it," he said, "and let me know as soon as you've got them all."
"Right, Boss."
"First thing the rest of us have to do is find out where Hughes is. Then we'll worry about how much immunity he thinks he's got."
Alex looked thoughtful. "Toni, see if you can get hold of Colonel Howard at home, would you?"
Joanna said, "He's not at home. He's doing a survival course in Oregon."
Everybody turned and looked at Joanna. She said, "Uh, that's what I heard."
Jay grinned at Joanna, and Toni wondered why.
"Ah," Jay said. "You get that from a certain NCO we all know and love?"
Joanna blushed, her pale complexion flushed a deep pink.
"Of course, some of us apparently know him and love him more than others," Jay said. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
"Go, people, find me a bank thief," Alex said, saving Joanna more embarrassment. "Oh, and good work on what we've done so far. You four are the best, don't let anybody ever tell you different."
"Yeah, but—who gets the trip to Hawaii?" Jay said.
"Go, Jay. We aren't done yet. And while you're looking, get me everything you can on Hughes. Let's find out what we're dealing with here."
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sunday, January 16th, 6:15 a.m. Eastern Oregon
John Howard was nearly a mile into the morning's trek when his virgil cheeped at him.
Uh-oh. Nobody was supposed to call unless it was an emergency. He unclipped the device from his belt—he'd learned that lesson, thank you very much—and looked at the ID flashing on the screen.
Assistant Commander of Net Force Toni Fiorella.
He pressed the connect button. "Howard," he said.
"Colonel, I'm afraid you're going to have to cut your survival trip short. We've got a situation here, and Alex—Commander Michaels—wants you back at HQ to put your teams on standby alert."
"Copy that."
"Find a flat spot, sir, and a copter will be there to pick up as soon as possible."
"Affirmative, AC. What's up, can you say?"
"We may be doing an extraction, Colonel, though it's a little early to tell. If we can locate the quarry, it's likely you won't need to pack your cold-weather clothes."
"Copy. I'm looking for a landing site now."
"Drop by when you get back, Colonel, and we'll fill you in. Discom."
"Discom." After the link was sundered, Howard began looking for a place for the copter to land. They'd home in on his virgil, and if a bird lifted from the nearest local military base, his ride should be there within the hour. Giving up his survival trip for a real assignment was not in the least bit distressing to him. War games and camping trips were only the maps, not the territory.
Sunday, January 16th, 2:15 p.m. Bissau, Guinea-Bissau
The web covered the world, even a backwater like this one, and
it was but the work of a few minutes with a portable flatscreen to uplink via shielded modem pipe to a passing telecom sat. Another minute, a coded password, and 160 million electronic dollars flew from Bali to Bissau, into the government-owned Banco Primero de Bissau, where it was now as safe from the U.S. authorities' grasp as was the surface of Saturn.
In his room, seated cross-legged on his bed, Hughes took a deep breath and let it slowly escape. He smiled. It hadn't even been that difficult to do, to steal more money than most people could ever hope to see in their lifetimes. To most people, 160 million dollars was a fantasy—the only chance they'd ever have at such a sum was winning the lottery. For him, the money was but an intermediate step. A tool, nothing more. He was home free. He had the money, and they didn't have any idea who had taken it. He could go back to the States with White, wrap up a few loose ends, make a few calls, and he was on his way. Even if all of this somehow blew up in his face, he still would have forty million, after he paid El Presidente. Not a bad little nest egg. That was including, of course, the twenty million Platt was supposed to get—but wouldn't need where he was going.
So easy. Amazing.
The room's phone rang.
"Yes?"
It was the President's secretary. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hughes. President Domingos sends his regards and wonders if it might be convenient for you to join him for a drink in the Blue Room in perhaps half an hour?"
"That would be fine," Hughes said. "Half an hour."
Hughes smiled again. His Excellency wasn't wasting any time.
Time for a shower and fresh clothes before he went.
Sunday, January 16th, 10 a.m. Quantico. Virginia
"Guinea-Bissau?" Alex said. "I hope you don't think any less of me for not knowing, but where the hell is that?"
"West Africa," Toni said, "between Senegal and Guinea."
"Oh, that helps."
They were in his office, alone, and she had just presented him with the intelligence on Thomas Hughes's whereabouts.
Toni said, "On the North Atlantic coast. Trust me, it's there."
"Okay, so how do we know Hughes is there?"
"I have a contact at the CIA who checked it out for me. They actually have an operative in the country, and she filed a report."
"Why would the CIA have an op there? I don't even see any of the Company's maps in here. How important a place can it be if they didn't bother to map it?"
Toni shrugged. "Who knows why the spooks do anything?"
He glanced at the material. "Doesn't look like a real hot vacation spot either. Why is he there?"
"The spooks aren't being real forthcoming. My source says there is some kind of deal cooking between the country's President and Hughes, but that's all they know. Or more likely, all they are willing to say."
Alex leaned back in his chair and fiddled with a light pen.
There came a knock at the door. Joanna stood there.
"Good news, I hope?" Alex said.
"Well, good that we found out the bad news," she said.
"Swell. Go ahead."
"The federal hounds paid the entry fee—that's a bribe to you and me—to bank officials in Bali and got into the account where the money was."
Alex blew out a sigh. "Was. I take it that word is key here?"
"Correct. The account was emptied less than an hour ago. Went to something called the Banco Primero de Bissau. That's in—"
"Guinea-Bissau," Alex finished.
"I'm impressed, sir. I'd never heard of the place before."
"Commanders see all and know all, Jo," he said. He gave her a rueful smile. "So, our white-collar thief and his stolen millions are in a country with whom we probably don't have an extradition treaty, no crooks from here ever having figured out how to flee there before now, right? Or if we do have a treaty, whatever deal Hughes and the local head honcho are cooking up will no doubt stall any such proceedings we might attempt? Anybody want to jump in here and reassure me how wrong I am?"
Both Joanna and Toni shook their heads.
Alex stood, put the light pen down, and paced back and forth behind his desk. After a few seconds he said, "All right. Is there any point in me calling State and telling them we want this guy back here?"
Toni shook her head again. "If Hughes thinks he is going to be arrested as soon as he steps off a plane, probably not. State can't make him come home if he's got the country's President in his pocket."
Toni continued. "Of course, he is the COS for a United States senator. He can likely throw some heavy artillery at us. Political types will owe him favors. Maybe he comes back and White steps up to bat for him."
"Maybe," Alex said. "But national-class politicos don't get to the top of the heap without knowing which bugs to step on and which ones to step around. This isn't a political gaffe, it's grand theft. Not an ant, but a stink beetle. Hughes will play hell trying to blame this on the opposition party trying to make him look bad. I'd bet White will drop Hughes like he's a lit bomb."
"All of which means what, Commander?" Joanna asked.
"I think it means if we want him, we are going to have to go and get him," Alex said.
"Hold up a second," Toni said. "He doesn't know we know he's the thief. White is due to return to the country next week. Wouldn't Hughes just come back with the senator? I mean, maybe not, but he's got a seat on White's charter. Why wouldn't he return? As far as he is concerned, he's gotten away with it. That would make things a lot easier. We wait until he lands right at Dulles and collect him, no fuss."
Alex looked at her and smiled. "You're right. Of course. He doesn't know we are looking at him. And now that the theft is a done deal, I would suspect there won't be any more attacks on the net by his pet thug. No emergency. We can wait a few days. That would keep me from having to explain to the Director why I invaded a third-world country and kidnapped somebody. Brilliant, Toni."
Toni smiled. Any time she could get that kind of response from him, she was happy.
"Of course, it might be a good idea if the CIA gave us a little help keeping an eye on this character, just in case he decides to go elsewhere."
"They'd be happy to," Toni said. "They lost people when that spy list hit the web. They want this guy. I'd guess if we don't get him pretty soon, he might have a fatal accident."
"That would be bad," Alex said. "We need him alive at least until Jay and Joanna have tracked down and defused his little time bombs."
"I know," she said. "I mentioned that we want him alive."
Sunday, January 16th, 10 a.m. Chicago, Illinois
Platt had booked a commercial flight from O'Hare to Heathrow, where he'd switch airlines for the hop to North Africa, before transferring to a local crop-duster flight to Oogaboogah. Starting out on a nice big Mil, then going to a DC-9, and finally a DeHavilland prop plane. Since he was flying tourist class all the way, the seats weren't gonna be that comfortable, but pretty soon he wouldn't have to be fooling with this crap anymore, and he could fly first class if he felt like it.
The plane didn't leave until the afternoon, though, and he had more than six hours to kill. He thought about checking into a room and getting a few hours sleep, but he could sleep on planes, if he could get them to give him two or three pillows, and he didn't want to take any chance he'd miss his flight, so he decided to wait at the airport. He could dick around, pick up copies of this month's Flex, Muscular Development, and MuscleMag, eat a good lunch, all like that. He only had the one carry-on bag, and he could rent a locker for that. What the hell.
Since he was so early, he wasn't in any hurry to check in. He got some breakfast, hit the magazine racks, went to the John, then found a place to sit and read near where his gate was.
He spotted the two feds when they came in. They were looking for somebody, and he didn't think that much about it, other than the usual wolf-aware-of-the-hunter kind of thing. But then he saw them see him, saw them recognize him, then pretend it wasn't him they were interested in.
Oh
, shit!
The two feds walked off, moving quick, ignoring him, but it was too late. He was sure. They had come here looking for him, specifically for him. They were early, checking the place out for spots to set up, and they hadn't expected him to be here yet.
How had they tracked him? If they came to this international gate, then they must know he was booked on a flight with this carrier. If they knew that, they knew what name he was traveling under, his main passport, and all. And there was only one way they could possibly know that, because he had told only one person.
Hughes. And Hughes had given him up.
Just like Platt had given up Peterson.
Shit. He had underestimated Hughes. He should have been more alert. The bastard.
He put the magazine down. He had to get the hell out of here. The two feds would be calling for backup, and the airport was going to be a stoppered bottle in a few minutes, if it wasn't already.
Maybe the feds didn't know he'd spotted them. That might buy him a couple of minutes. But he couldn't chance trying to leave by the front door. There could already be local cops heading that way.
He stood and walked toward the exit that led to the gates. It was the fastest way out of the building.
There was a keypad lock by the door, but nobody was looking right at him, so he figured he could put his shoulder against the door and pop it, but when he looked, damned if the door didn't open inward. Wasn't gonna shove that one open. Crap!
He looked around. A couple of women were opening up a computer station at one of the nearby gates. He headed that way.
"Ma'am? I'm sorry to bother you, but I just saw somebody go into that door over there." He pointed.
The airline clerks looked at him. One was tall and bottle-blond, the other was short and kind of plump, with red hair probably out of a bottle too. "Sir?"
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