State of the Union

by Brad Thor

  “Yup. It uses one of the early modem cards with a pop-out phone jack. Did you find any telephone adaptor plugs in that bag?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Harvath holding up a small clear plastic box, “I did, but how do you know about all of this?”

  “When I was studying communications and electronic surveillance at the Agency we got to play with one of these. The device was set up to look like one of the early PDAs. It actually was a pretty simple and pretty clever way to camouflage what, in its day, was a cutting edge burst transmitter.”

  “Speaking of camouflage,” interrupted Morrell, who had walked over to see what DeWolfe was looking at. “Where’s that Tabard IR suit I lent you back in DC?”

  “It’s in safe hands,” replied Harvath, his attention still focused on the burst transmitter.

  “Whose hands? I’m responsible for that and those Tabard suits aren’t cheap.”

  “Kate Palmer is holding onto my stuff for me until I get back.”

  “Secret Service Agent Kate Palmer?” asked Carlson. “The one who works at the White House?”

  “Yeah,” said Harvath, motioning for DeWolfe to hand the device back to him. “Why? You know her.”

  “No, but she’s hot. You don’t suppose when we get home you could—”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” replied Harvath, “you’re not her type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Carlson.

  “It means, I know what kind of guys she likes and you’re not it.”

  “Oh yeah? Well maybe you’re wrong. What kind of guys does she like?”

  “Guys like Avigliano—tall, blond, andgood looking.”

  “Oh, so in other words she’s got no taste. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Fuck you,” said Avigliano from across the room.

  Harvath ignored them and turned back to DeWolfe. “The burst transmitters I’ve worked with were in conjunction with field radios, not telephone lines. Plus, they were much smaller. Why would he want to lug something like that around? Why not upgrade and go with something more compact?”

  “From what I understand, the Dark Night operation was established in the eighties and after the Soviet Union fell, the team was retired, so there was no need for it. Don’t get me wrong, though. This thing might be a little out of date, but it’s still good technology.”

  “I’ve never seen one like this masked with all that PDA software. Do you know how it works?” asked Harvath.

  “Sure,” said DeWolfe, ejecting the PDA’s stylus and reaching across Harvath to tap the screen. “Let’s say you were a handler like Gary and had several different operatives you were going to need to communicate sensitive information with. The burst transmitter allows you to type out your message, encrypt it, and then send it in a quick burst over the telephone. To the uninitiated, it sounds just like a fax tone, but if you have one of these little beauties and the proper encryption key, you can unencrypt the information and read the message on the screen here.”

  A fax tone, thought Harvath, recalling the shrill tone he had heard over Gary Lawlor’s home phone when he had redialed the last number Gary had called before disappearing. That must have been what he was hearing,a burst transmission .

  “On any op,” continued DeWolfe, “you would want to compartmentalize as much as possible, so Gary would have had a specific encryption code for each one of his operatives. All he would have to do is select that code program and make sure it was up and running before he spoke, or ‘bursted’ for lack of a better term, with that particular operative.”

  “And those code programs are in that device?” asked Harvath.

  “They should be. The software is not only a type of camouflage, but it also acts as a gateway to the encryption programs.”

  “How so?”

  “On these models, it was as simple as pulling up the calendar function and going to a specific date. The date is the actual gateway for your encryption programs. When you tried to enter an appointment on that date, you would be prompted to enter a security code. Normally, it’s a four-digit numeric code derived from a specific mathematical equation; something that would have relevance for both the operative and his handler. To unlock the encryption program you would have to do a simple math problem and then use the answer as your code. You type it in and the encryption program would then engage and you’d be ready to go. The important thing to remember is that Gary had a lot of operatives.”

  “So?”

  “So the more operatives he had, the more code information he would have had to keep straight. It has been my experience that the more numeric codes you have to assign and memorize, the more likely you are to start assigning them based upon things that are easier and easier for you to remember, but which would have no relevance for any unauthorized persons trying to hack into your system.”

  “That makes sense,” said Scot, remembering one of Gary’s favorite mottos. It was an acronym he was always referring to—KISS, Keep it simple, stupid.

  “But remember, it’s a two-step process. You’d need to know how to access the general domain for the operative, such as a birth date, and then you’d need the numeric code to open the encryption program so the two of you could communicate freely.”

  “I suspect you would also need to know,” added Harvath, “when and where the two of you were supposed to connect.”

  “That goes without saying,” replied DeWolfe. “You could have all the other information, and yet if you were sitting at a payphone at the train station waiting for it to ring, when you should have been at a payphone at the drugstore, you’d be shit out of luck.”

  No kidding, thought Harvath. Even though he now understood the true nature of the burst transmitter, it was of no use to him without knowing how to unlock Frank Leighton’s encryption program or what the emergency contact plan was.

  As the time for their encrypted communication with the president drew near, DeWolfe did a final check of his equipment and then outfitted Harvath with a headset. Morrell pulled one of the overstuffed chairs up to the coffee table and donned a headset as well. Avigliano handed him a briefcase and then slid over three of the large hard shell equipment cases from the other side of the room.

  “I have Goaltender on the line,” said DeWolfe. “We are ready to proceed.”

  “This is Norseman,” said Harvath. “Go ahead, Goaltender.”

  “Is BenchPress on the line?”

  “Yes he is,” replied Harvath who had never cared much for Morrell’s ridiculous code name; a codename he knew Morrell hadn’t received from his superiors or his peers, but rather had chosen for himself.

  Even though Harvath had grown to like Morrell, that still didn’t change the fact that the man could be an arrogant, insufferable prick a lot of the time and his code name seemed to perfectly reflect his inflated sense of self. Though on many occasions Harvath had been tempted to suggest an alternate two-syllable code name that might more suit the man such asdipshit ,dumbass ,dumbfuck , ordickhead , he had miraculously managed to keep his mouth shut and thereby had refrained from doing damage to a friendship that was still very much in its infancy.

  “Norseman,” continued president Rutledge, “you received my message about the condition of the chessboard?”

  “Yes, sir. But I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “Somehow, the other side knew where our devices were hidden. We sent in teams to prep them and get them ready for transport, but they were already gone.”

  “Gone?” said Harvath.

  “Yes, all of them have been stolen.”

  “Do we have any leads?”

  “We’re going back over satellite imagery, but we’re not holding out much hope of getting them back. The Russians would have been very careful in covering their tracks.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’ve developed a plan, which I pray to God will work, called Operation Minotaur,” replied the
president.

  “Operation Minotaur?” repeated Harvath.

  “Yes. BenchPress has the file and he will explain everything to you.”

  “Sir, what about our remaining operative in the field? He still has one last device.”

  “Unfortunately, that man is of no use to us anymore. We need to pull him from the game before he becomes a greater liability. BenchPress will explain that as well.” There was a pause on the line as the president took a deep breath and said, “Things are very tense back here. The time is drawing nigh for us all gentlemen and we have no other options available. This is it. We either win or we lose. The fate of America is in your hands. Don’t let us down.” There was a click followed by a hiss of static as the president terminated the connection.

  Morrell looked at DeWolfe and, referring to the status of the transmission, asked, “Are we clear?”

  “We’re clear,” said DeWolfe.

  “Operation Minotaur?” mouthed Harvath. “What this all about?”

  “The Minotaur is a mythical creature—”

  “From ancient Greece who was half man, half bull, and was confined to a labyrinth on Crete. Yeah, I know that, but what is this new op all about?” said Harvath.

  “This is a little something the president and his team came up with,” responded Morrell. “The focus of this operation is going to be on the bull, and lots of it.”

  Chapter 29

  C an we just back up here for a second?” asked Harvath. “Rick, start this thing from square one for me, would you?”

  “Okay, from square one. The secretary of defense and the president briefed me on Operation Dark Night as well as the situation concerning the man-portable nukes we’re facing at home. Being the tactician he is, the secretary kept making military references to chess. As you probably know, the president—”

  “Doesn’t play chess,” replied Harvath, finishing Morrell’s sentence for him. “He’s a poker man. We played a lot when I was on his protective detail.”

  “And what’s the one thing you can do in poker that you really can’t do in chess?”

  Harvath thought for a moment and then said, “Bluff.”

  “Right again. Though there are some feints and deceptive strategies you can pull in chess, all of your pieces are out in the open for your opponent to see.”

  “But all of our pieces have been knocked off the board, at least that’s what the president has said.”

  “That’s true. The president green-lit a series of tactical teams to go to the European locations where our man-portable nukes were hidden, only to discover that they had all been removed.”

  “By the Russians, of course.”

  “That’s what we’re assuming,” replied Morrell.

  “So, where’s that leave us?”

  “It leaves us with only one operational nuke.”

  “Frank Leighton’s,” said Harvath.

  “Correct.”

  “But if the Russians knew the identities of all of the other Dark Night operatives and the location of their nukes, how’d they miss Leighton?”

  “We don’t think they missed him,” said Morrell.

  “Wait a second. You think they not only know who Leighton is, but where he and his nuke are?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why would they purposely let him slip through the net?”

  “He isn’t all the way through yet.”

  Harvath wasn’t following. “I can understand them wanting to get their hands on Gary. He was in charge of the operation. He had knowledge that could prove valuable to them. They might have even believed he knew about more than just his own op, but Leighton doesn’t make any sense. If they let him get this far only to grab him, then…”

  Morrell almost could see the light bulb go on over Harvath’s head as his voice trailed off.

  “Then?” coaxed Morrell, leaning back in his chair.

  “They would be catching Leighton, an American, in the act of actually trying to smuggle a nuclear device into their country,” said Harvath, the pieces beginning to tumble into place.

  “And they could claim it was a covert attempt at a first strike by the United States.”

  “But I’m sure we would disavow any knowledge of Leighton. It would be a tough sell, butone guy withone nukecouldn’t bring down an entire country. It would be somewhat embarrassing for us, but—” Harvath let the sentence hang in the air as he thought about it for a moment and then realizing said, “Shit.”

  “What?” asked Morrell.

  “If the Russians plan to blackmail us failed somehow, they’d have a huge ace up their sleeves. With ten other American-made man-portable nukes in their possession, they could lie and claim they had found them hidden all over their country. It would be no use for us to disavow Leighton. It would just look like he was the only American operative unlucky enough to get caught and that we were denying what everyone else would see as a fact. Add it all up and the Russians would have an overwhelming case against us as being the aggressors. Considering the state of international opinion against us these days, the rest of the world would probably buy the Russian story no matter what they had done to start everything.That’s why they let Leighton live.”

  “That’s what we believe.”

  “Then we’ve got to stop Leighton. The Russians probably have him under surveillance right now and are just waiting for him to sail into their territorial waters so they can pop him.”

  “Well, you’ve uncovered theman part of the Minotaur. Now let’s get to thebull .”

  As Avigliano slid three hard-shell equipment cases out of the closet and opened the lids so Harvath could see what was contained inside, Morrell continued. “Exact working replicas of the American nukes the Russians already have in their possession.”

  “The beauty of it all is that they aren’t even a quarter of the weight of the real deal,” added Carlson. “One person can lift these without even breaking a sweat.”

  “But that’s the thing. They aren’t real,” said Harvath. “You’ve got all the Preparation, but no H.”

  “Yeah, but the Russians don’t know that,” answered DeWolfe.

  “What are we planning to do, plant fake nukes all across Russia?”

  “Not only are we planning to do it, we’re going to do it,” answered Morrell. “Carlson and DeWolfe will be on one team, and Avigliano and I will be on the other. We’re going to conduct a whirlwind photo tour of as much of the country and its critical infrastructure as possible.”

  “They look awesome,” replied Harvath, “but there’s still only two of them.”

  Morrell empty the contents of a padded manila envelope onto the table. “That’s why we have a little something I like to refer to as our force multiplier.”

  Harvath examined the square metal objects. “Interchangeable serial number plates. Good move.”

  “The Russians are going to enhance the photos we send them, just like we did theirs.”

  “Let’s say they do buy it, where’s that put us?”

  “At best, they think America had another ace up her sleeve that they never caught and the board is rebalanced.”

  “And at worst?” asked Harvath.

  “They don’t buy it and you sure as hell better pull off your part of the assignment.”

  “Which is?”

  “Taking down their air defense system.”

  “Well at least I get the easy job,” said Harvath. “Russia’s about how big a country, do you think?”

  “Six million, five hundred fifty-two thousand, seven hundred square miles,” offered Avigliano. “Please make sure you let Agent Kate Palmer know that in addition to being tall, blond, andgood -looking, I also have quite a head for geography.”

  “As I was starting to say,” replied Harvath. “Finding the command and control structure for that air defense system has got to be like looking for a needle in a six million, five hundred fifty-two thousand, seven hundred square mile haystack. Do we have any leads? Do I get any help on th
is at all?”

  Morrell opened his briefcase and handed Harvath a folder. “When this whole thing broke, we conducted a search of our intelligence databases. The search came up with one hit. In the mid-eighties, a Russian KGB officer named Viktor Ivanov was engaged in trading information with the United States from time to time. He was deemed a somewhat reliable source, as far as double agents go, until he presented the CIA with a conspiracy theory so outlandish, they chose to write him off as no longer reliable.”

  “What was his theory?”

  “Ivanov said that he had uncovered a plot by five of the Soviet Union’s top generals to win the Cold War by convincing the USSR to roll over and play dead while they invested in a covert weapons program that would allow them to return stronger than the U.S. At this point, you’ve pretty much seen how the rest of their plan pans out.”

  Harvath was shocked. “No one checked into this guy’s story?”

  “Of course we did. The CIA took it seriously at first. Ivanov had never given them bad information before, but they worried that he might have been setting them up.”

  “Setting them up for what?”

  “Who knows?” answered Morrell. “Back then, everyone was suspicious. They were always on the lookout for not only the double, but the triple cross. The long and the short of it is that the Agency dug real deep, pulled a lot of their Soviet contacts in and tried to corroborate Ivanov’s story, but they couldn’t. So, in the end, they cut him loose and refused to use him any more. They thought he had gone around the bend and didn’t want to waste any more of their time or resources on him.”

  “So where do I find him?” asked Harvath.

  “You can’t. He’s dead.”

  “Then what’s in that file?”

  “Notwhat , but whom. Ivanov’s daughter, Alexandra Ivanova.”

  Morrell opened the folder and handed it to him. Harvath’s eyes were immediately drawn to the picture stapled to the inside. Alexandra Ivanova was gorgeous.

  “Former Russian military, Ivanova was recruited about eight years ago over to Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, known as the—”