by Jones, Rick
“They’re just dossiers.”
She smiled out of cordiality. “Maybe. But ask yourself this question: why are there encryptions in these dossiers?”
Paxton agreed with her in principle. Encryptions exist solely for highly-sensitive information, and dossiers are open biographical histories of certain subjects—not exactly top-secret material.
“Shari, you need to take a break. I can handle this.”
“I’m sure you can, Billy. But I’m still in charge.” She gathered the files and the disc before heading toward the door. “Call me if something comes up.”
And then she was gone, moving rapidly toward the elevators at the end of the hall.
Paxton immediately got on his cell phone, punched in a speed-dial number, and waited for a response. When the line was picked up on the other end, Paxton spoke in a tone that was flat and emotionless. “We may have a problem,” he said.
“And what would that be?”
“Cohen is starting to think that something’s wrong. She took the files and the encrypted CD from Mossad. She plans to take the disc to DHS for them to break it down.”
“There’s nothing in those files worth worrying about,” the voice said. “And I don’t think there’s anything on the CD to lead her in any specific direction, either. But destroy the backup disc, just in case. If she discovers anything from the CD in her possession that we need to worry about, we’ll deal with her then. Let’s just play this out.”
“Understood.”
“Is she still there?”
“She just left.”
“Then get moving.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Just as Deputy Director George Pappandopolous made his way to the monitoring room, where a guard sat watching a bank of security screens, Shari Cohen was getting into her Lexus. The screens depicted every hallway and door leading in and out of the JEH Building, including every entrance in and out of the garage. After dismissing the guard for a ten-minute break, Pappandopolous searched the monitors observing the garage area until he spied Shari’s car. As she pulled away, Pappandopolous dialed a single digit on his cell phone, waited, then spoke as if his call was expected. “Cohen’s leaving the building.”
“Yeah. So?” Judas sounded apathetic.
“So I want you to keep an eye on her,” he returned sharply. “She’ll be driving a white Lexus through the northwest gate. Do . . . not . . . lose her.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Paxton thinks that Cohen suspects something, which may prompt her to dig into places where she doesn’t belong.”
There was silence on the other end.
“If she does,” added Pappandopolous, “you know what to do. But for now just keep an eye on her. Paxton thinks she’s heading for DHS.”
“What for?”
“More information,” he said. “Paxton mentioned that she’s in possession of an encrypted CD sent by a CIA leak in Mossad. The DHS has the capability to decode those messages, and she has unrestricted access to their decoding terminal.”
Pappandopolous could hear an audible sigh from Judas’ end. “This is already turning into a cluster.”
“That’s because we planned for Paxton to take the helm, not Cohen.”
After listening for a moment longer, Pappandopolous grunted his approval of something Judas had said and hung up.
#
Shari laid the files and the burned CD on the passenger seat of her car. After leaving the garage she checked her appearance in the rearview mirror and noticed the half moons forming beneath her eyes.
Behind her a blue sedan followed but stayed a fair distance behind.
#
Getting into the vault without detection would not be an easy task. There were cameras with facial recognition software, and individualized access codes were required to record employees’ times of entry. Since there was no way to bypass the system, Paxton could only acquire the backup disc by following protocol and hoping not to raise suspicion.
After typing in his PIN, the door opened and Paxton entered the vault, a massive chamber bearing thousands of CDs. From the tiled ceiling, fluorescent lights bathed the room. From every corner of the vault, cameras spied on him, their software deciphering the landmarks of his face.
There was no doubt in his mind that the security tapes would be examined if it was established that the backup file was missing. But with any luck, it would take weeks before the missing disc would be discovered. By then, he would be gone, living in Rio de Janeiro with his ill-gotten commission of seven million dollars.
Earlier he had checked the chain of custody log, noted the number associated with the burned disc, created a bogus label, and attached it to a blank disc. Now, the difficulty would be locating the proper disc in a library of CDs numbering in the tens of thousands. Inspecting the bogus label, he looked for a shelf that contained CDs bearing the proper range of numbers. After a moment, he found what he was looking for. He traced his finger along the CDs until he found the backup disc. He held it next to the bogus one. They were an exact match. Then, placing the bogus disc into the slot, he slid the original into the pocket of his sports jacket.
Refusing to look into the cameras, Paxton exited the vault. He could feel his heart racing, the sweat of his brow beading. He was sure that somebody would inquire what he had hidden in his pocket. But nobody did. After all, he did have clearance to enter the vault. It was simply his own paranoia attacking his nerves.
After removing the disc from his jacket, he looked about the cubicles and aisles. Sensing that no one was suspect, he fed the backup disc to the shredder, the whirring of its grinders much louder than he would have liked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Boston, Massachusetts.
September 24, Early Morning
Team Leader sat against the wall of his chamber, alone, separated from his team. Though he did not fit in with the American-derived band of brothers, he knew they would not question his leadership.
At the onset of his commission as Team Leader, his authority had been immediately tested by a member of the Force Elite who went by the moniker Nomad.
Nomad’s rawboned features appeared more simian than human from steroid use, his forehead sloping from chemical evolution rather than ancestral inheritance. His brutish attitude appointed him the team’s Alpha male, and he considered Team Leader an outsider who was infringing on his right to rule.
At the commencement of training, Team Leader bore the brunt of Nomad’s derisive remarks, the members of the Force Elite following his lead. The men mocked Team Leader, letting him know that Nomad was their true commander.
By the end of the day Team Leader issued a challenge, offering to pass the mantel of leadership to Nomad if he should win.
The challenge was accepted.
Nomad removed his shirt, exposing impossibly large muscles as an exhibition to intimidate his opponent. But Team Leader remained standing at ease, his hands pressed against the small of his back. Team Leader knew Nomad’s size was his liability, diminishing his speed and agility. As the larger man circled and goaded Team Leader, calling him vile names and spitting at his feet, Team Leader remained in his stance, watching Nomad, absorbing every detail of his movements, and waiting for the opportune moment.
Within fifteen seconds of attacking Team Leader, Nomad lay dead on the ground, his neck broken and his eyes staring at nothing in particular. From that point on, no one questioned Team Leader’s authority.
A jingling of chains from the hallway told him that the members of the Holy See were testing their bonds. He stood.
The time was early, not yet dawn, the rooms and hallways still dark. After fitting an NVG monocular around his forehead, he switched it on.
He easily navigated through the darkness, stepping over discarded debris that couldn’t have been seen by the unaided eye. He stood before the bishops and the governor, the captives seeing only a green phosphorous eye hovering over them.
“Good mornin
g, gentlemen,” said Team Leader.
The bishops stopped rattling their chains.
“Your propensity for making noise is quite unsettling.”
Team Leader moved along the mattresses with his hands behind his back, as if studying his prey. “In a moment the sun will come up, and you’ll all be fed,” he told them. “And then one of you will be challenged to a test of faith. Please don’t disappoint me.”
No one dared question him.
A moment later the green phosphorous eye winked out and Team Leader was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Outside, the sun barely crested the horizon.
#
Homeland Security Operations Center, Washington, D.C.
September 24, Mid-Morning
The Department of Homeland Security Center was a series of brick annexes converted from existing military barracks. The building she was looking for was one of several unmarked structures on the government campus, but since the Operations Center was one of Shari’s teaching venues, she knew exactly where to go.
After parking her vehicle, she walked through the entrance, flashed her credentials and signed the LEO log. After politely accepting small talk from the desk personnel, she asked to be escorted to the decoding terminal.
Within moments she was accompanied by two officers to a subterranean room bearing three large TV monitors, a PC the size of a small server, and an ergonomically-shaped chair with a keyboard attached to a pivoting arm that maneuvered from the chair’s side pocket to an upright frontal position. Used exclusively for government decoding, this state-of-the-art machinery had an attached cost of nearly a billion dollars and had the capacity to out-crunch and out-run any super computer in existence. For Shari, this installation was the first line of defense in fighting terrorism.
“Well, if it isn’t one of the FBI’s biggest slackers,” said Toby Hansen of the DHS computer posse. “And to what do I owe the dubious honor of your presence in my café?”
Shari smiled as she approached him. “Be nice,” she said, and gave him a quick hug. “So how’re you doing, Toby?”
“Now that your pretty little face has graced my laboratory, I’m doing much better.”
Toby Hansen was a portly man who always appeared unkempt. His face was never clean-shaven and never held a full beard, but was always somewhere in between. Often he was gruff and sometimes rude to upper management, but his prowess behind the keyboard was respected and celebrated throughout the agencies. There was nobody faster, better, or more knowledgeable when it came to code deciphering or government hacking. Here, he was king.
“Now I know you’re not here to sweep me off my feet.”
“Well, yeah, you’re right about that.”
“So again, to what do I owe this dubious honor?”
She held up the CD. “This was sent to us by Mossad.”
He took the CD. “What is it?”
“Dossiers.”
“You can download this anywhere.”
“Not this one,” she said. “They’re encrypted.”
“Dossiers?”
“My sentiment exactly. You think you can scan them quickly for me?”
“If it doesn’t take too long.”
“I’d really appreciate it.”
After placing the encrypted CD in the drive, the two side screens immediately lit up. The symbols on the left screen differed from those displayed on the right screen.
LEFT SCREEN:
%PDF1.4%âãÏÓ490obj<>endobjxref4911000000001600000n0000000567700000n000000095400000n000000110800000n000000124800000n000000128700000n000000140400000n000000408100000n000010378200000n0000000660D00000n000000093300000ntrailer<<2762c3250372a1bfbb315983df8285b>]>>startxref0%%EO500obj<>endobj580obj<>strendobj5109obj<>endobj520JJobj<>PHOTO/ExtGState<>/ColorSpace<>>>endobj530obj[/ICCBased550RP)/endbj540obj
RIGHT SCREEN:
2ForGKD6dJzT9QowA%0AhnumrRZUvy%2BLV1DjnylkV0vf7KCdPKwVtq5jsDmg7hHuBWZYcx4clAT%2B%2FNCpEJnWgNsAz6GL10qW%0AjwQ%2BEL4o69Zvwb45I1PyFVXr2nnebQliV53ZDboAv1MiatAv%2Fy%2BFYQTxb9aonEsWDeRHwZBd73Jf%0AoCgOklgcitM90M1iVifu%2BftvpJhQkVRRuLascUEzrgGz5F%2B34EibZQZUoUkfaVrmvcPcHIXbq12D%0ATrq5d6WlPRDDsmxV8uE%2ByS%2BfBJpg3QAXxriip%2B2Qmmrs%2F41i9bsaFvVMTBm6ZKQwOkHFnT2DrhNM%0AF0FBrv2AzAS%2B6lptOnP5Q2RGQDPfLFnAzafwKeNI0Aixcn12twrk7baXja7dDEJpBO9tbsl2QI3b%0AtHbbABZgmRBBGk44an02VRlhcv%2FFWNg7jum1%2BXrLsmkKy%2BON2sERIyla55%2FVp%2BvH2VX368%2F7M5nf%0AGYQ3LnJAxdjLRp%2BEYSknuWFOTwt%2B1qg28Nd7dQRCrf3Q6EiCY8ben3KQFdvb9LvzngX%2FoEAEulY3%0AEIiJlcE1qDs7xf4l5paoI%2BZJJ2wgJT8bA3n97bgFG%2Fu1pwyG%2Bj3D5uu69ee4QB0xAzdLQctkIf8X%0Aj4HZuiGuxrsn9CbliKMSOecwUEiNs5Z4pV4sM0%2Bk%2Bg%2Bt%2FaY3T5qc8%2FpaGPRitLV1QZFx4Bu5Ta4Z%0AjmYlUWQt2Sg8fGbMiB3Wu7aGS3MSnsCETQ1u6TkMfoWK2RNybls23d5RK7YEdJHt7MzyCgf48rgI%0APlwfdZTHQiWnWji1beBt18RiJYYJFdIRYg5%2FyETojJr33t%2FqkDMQbdUFZiJvEZSIrRU8OPg%2FXPgm%0Ax50TAUhWpn4v3epCVw4jCMJcAu8yHsuRoJqaaAf1%2Bk2xGcQ72dpsLxvTQWysbV%2QIBHØ00000n000000093300000ntrailer<<2762c3250372a1bfbb315983df8285b>]>>FlateDecode>>streamVDecodeDecodeDecodeDecodeDec%//20hyohKK00002jgrgj//@^//lm3250372a1bfbb315983df8285b>]>>FlateDecode>>pk00612792]/Rotate0>>endobj520‘MediaBox[00612792]/CropBox[00612792]/Rotate0>>endobj520JJobj<>PHOTO/ExtGState<>/ColorSpace<>>>endobj530obj[/ICCBased550RP)/endbj540obj
The left and right screens communicated with one another to formulate and display the true message, which would appear on the center screen. Numbers, letters and symbols finally began to scroll on the center screen. When the decoder deciphered a character, that character remained on the center screen until a full message in English was displayed.
Shari carefully read the screen. The data gleaned from the CD actually gave little information beyond the initial dossiers. This disappointed her greatly, but after scrolling down to the final three pages, she discovered that the data remained partially encrypted, despite the software’s attempt to break the cryptograms. For some reason, Mossad had decided to keep the final elements hidden, even from their foreign associates, the Americans.
But why?
Toby continued to scroll through the text, illuminating further transcripts. And Shari noted two things. First, at the end of each coded page was a name: Abraham Obadiah/Restriction Chief Operator for the Defense & Armed Forces Attaché/Embassy of Israel/WDC. The second was a typed anomaly placed just above the encryptions, a phrase that seemed out of place: MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE!
Shari cocked her head like a puppy trying to grasp the meaning of something odd.
After powering down, Toby removed the CD. “Sorry, but this CD needs to be decoded through hours of manual labor, which I don’t have time for, Missy.” He tried to give the CD back to Shari.
“Please, Toby, it’s important.”
“It’s always important,” he said with a brusque air. “But right now I’m working twenty-four-seven on encryptions from every agency across the globe regarding the kidnapping of the pope. Dossiers, little lady, are at the bottom of the priority pool.”
“Toby, please, I know these documents appear low priority, but I believe they may be connected. After all, the subjects are the Soldiers of Islam.”
“Sweetie, look, if you want me to decode this CD when I have time, fine. I’d be happy to. Just leave it behind.”
“When can you get to it?”
“When I’m finished with everything else on my plate.”
“And how long will that take?”
“As long as it takes—days, weeks. Who knows?”
Shari sighed. Even a day may prove to be too long. She had to acquire the data immediately. Taking the CD from Toby, she held it toward the light as if to glean something from it. And perhaps she did. At least she had a starting point. She had the name of Abraham Obadiah.
She would contact Obadiah at the Israeli Embassy in Washington. Perhaps he could enlighten her as to why certain segments remained encrypted after both nations had readily agreed to share all information regarding terrorist activity.
She said a quick goodbye to Toby and placed the CD back into its jewel case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Judas waited for the Lexus to exit the DHS parking lot, often checking his watch. It had been more than thirty-six hours since he had any sleep, going on adrenaline since being instrumental in the deaths of the president’s Security Detail at the Governor’s Mansion. He had considered them his friends, having bellied up to the bar with some and dined at the houses of others. But since Judas was about to benefit financially beyond his imagination, he had no remorse about diverting their attention as Team Leader’s men systematically killed them. After all, money always seems to lessen the effects of a tragedy. If anything, he wanted to smoke a cigar in celebration.