“Get out!” Saliha snapped in Czech, clutching her blouse to her breasts.
Jeff looked about the small studio, moved quickly to the bathroom, glanced in, and saw they were alone. “Where’s the woman?” he asked in English.
Saliha wrinkled her brow. American? “What woman?” she answered in English. “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”
“Is Ahmed your husband? Your lover? Where is he?”
She looked at him quizzically. “What do you know about Ahmed? Is he seeing your wife?”
Jeff backed away from the woman so she wouldn’t feel so threatened, taking a careful look as he did. Most women would have already screamed by now. She was a cool one.
“No, no, nothing like that. Ahmed kidnapped my wife,” he said, simplifying his relationship with Daryl. “He’s got her in Prague somewhere. I thought she might be here. I’m sorry to have startled you. But I think he’s going to kill her.”
Saliha stared into his eyes intently, then sat abruptly on the bed. This was terrible—everything she’d feared about Ahmed was true. The man before her was clearly desperate and also obviously not a criminal. “He’s my boyfriend,” she said. “Or was. I’m . . . Anyway, it’s over between us now.”
Jeff drew a deep breath to calm himself. “I have to find him. It’s my only hope.”
“Where did he kidnap your wife?”
“In Geneva.”
“So far? How did you find him? Why aren’t the police here?” She looked at the door as if expecting them to barge in.
“I don’t have much time.”
“Tell me.”
“I used a computer, traced the vehicle he was in, found the forged passport he used, got this address from his student records. Please. Please.” He said the last imploringly, forced to beg as a final resort.
“And the police?”
There was no time for this, but what choice did he have? “They were moving too slowly in Geneva so I got the information myself. I used friends with access and couldn’t share the data with the police without getting them in trouble. I have to do this on my own.”
That made perfect sense to Saliha. The police were slow and, in her experience, corrupt. In Turkey you never went to the police to solve anything. You summoned the men of the family and they took care of it to the extent they could. She looked at Jeff more closely, saw his anguish and his commitment. She wondered if any man would ever love her enough to do what this man was doing.
“I don’t know where he went. He just left. I’m surprised you didn’t see him in the hallway. He’s doing something important.” She paused. “Something I think he doesn’t like very much. He’s not a bad man. But he is”—she searched for the word in English—“devoted, I think.”
Jeff was panicked. He could search the apartment but how long would it take? And in the end would the terrorist have been so foolish as to leave the address he needed here. No. Think. Think!
Karim moved slowly, filling the kitchen, it seemed, to Daryl. With every passing second he was gathering himself and she knew this short altercation was going to end very quickly. She worked along the counter until her hands encountered something hard, which she latched onto, having no idea what it was. She reached the back wall and could go no farther. She tried moving whatever she’d grabbed around to scrape at the binding on her wrists.
Just then the man rushed Daryl, seizing her and encircling her with his arms, then holding her fiercely against him. “Stop it,” he said with a thick accent. “Stop this. Or I will hurt you.”
Daryl squirmed in his grasp, but he held her like a vise, his breath rushing across her face. She twisted and turned, but it did no good. Then she reared her head back, and with all her might butted her head into Karim’s nose. With a yowl Karim released her and pulled away as she fell to the floor. Karim jumped up and down and continued to yowl, his hand pressed against his bleeding nose.
Daryl struggled to get to her feet, her hand holding on to the hard object she’d taken from the counter. She was certain it was a knife. One end was sharp and she realized that she’d cut herself in the fall. Her feet slipped repeatedly on the slick floor as she pushed herself against the wall, trying to edge up, to obtain the leverage she needed to stand erect without the use of her hands.
Karim was cursing in a foreign language. Now he met her eye and said in English, “I will kill you for this, you whore. You hear me? I will kill you slowly, and enjoy every second of it.” He came at her now, more cautiously, one hand to his bleeding nose, blood streaming down his chest.
Daryl was on the floor and realized she’d never get to her feet now. There was no room and no time. Just then he did a belly flop on her, forcing the air from her lungs, his two hands now around her neck.
Daryl twisted away, then back toward the wall, trying to pin him against it so she could keep turning and force his hands away. He was squeezing her so tightly she couldn’t draw a breath through her nose and with the exertion of the fight she was becoming light-headed.
But Karim was having none of it. He released her throat just long enough to grab her shoulders and press her flat to the floor, then moved up to use his body weight and knees to hold her down. Then he deliberately took her neck again in his bloody hands and squeezed, blood dripping from his nose in a near stream, falling on her face, into her eyes.
“What’s this?” Jeff said, pointing to a laptop sitting on the desk beside Ahmed’s computer.
“Ahmed brought it back from his trip. I’ve never seen it before. He was trying to work on it but was frustrated with it.” Her voice became more forceful. “I have to leave. I’m going on a trip and have a plane reservation. Okay?”
Jeff opened the computer. It was Daryl’s. “Sit down,” he said sharply. “This is my wife’s computer! You can leave shortly but right now I need you. My wife’s life is at stake.”
Saliha didn’t sit. She glanced at the door and wondered if she could make it. Perhaps. She started putting on her clothes.
What to do? “His phone!” Jeff snapped. “He has a cell phone and you have the number.” She nodded. “Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I can find him with it. Hurry.”
She gave him the number and he scribbled on a sheet of paper. There were ways to trace the cell phone’s location, he knew, but he immediately thought of Frank and Bridget. Either or both of them might have or could obtain access to the cell towers in Prague and triangulate the location of the cell phone. The police did it routinely, so did the cell-phone companies to track the areas of greatest demand. Most cell phones even had a GPS component which made finding their location very precise. They might very well be able to go directly into one of those systems but how long would it take? Were either of them available?
“You’re certain you don’t know where he was going?” Jeff demanded.
“I already told you that,” Saliha answered angrily. She was slowly collecting her things. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“No,” Jeff answered, standing and quickly moving to block her way. “I already told you that I need you to stay with me. I need your help and I can’t have you warning Ahmed.”
She laughed. “We’re finished. I won’t warn him. I believe you. I really do.”
“I need you to stay with me and not use your phone. Once I’ve located him you can go. I promise.”
Saliha thought about that a moment, then looked at her wristwatch. She had some time. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lit a cigarette as she watched the man open his own laptop and begin typing.
Frank, he’d decided. The Company could do this fastest. As his fingers raced over the keyboard his entire demeanor changed. He no longer had that haunted, desperate look. Watching him, Saliha could now understand how he’d been able to track Ahmed from Geneva to this apartment. And she believed he’d find him now.
40
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
CIA HEADQUARTERS
CYBERTERRORISM–COMPUTER FORENSICS DEPA
RTMENT
7:56 A.M. EST
Immediately after receiving Jeff’s mIRC message with a name and address of the kidnapper, Frank Renkin opened the Company’s Distant Horizon Cyber Watch [E], or DHCW Europe, database. Another version designated [A] was employed for Asia. Near Horizon was used in North America. He entered the name Ahmed Hossein al-Rashid. Almost at once a page opened with the same address: Taboritska 5, Prague 3, Czech Republic. It was the right man. Then he carefully read just who exactly Jeff had run up against.
The first tier on the man was the Known File. It had a photo and physical description. It gave his age as thirty-five, said he was a registered student, had legal status, and was Iranian. There were no established bank accounts. No wife. No job. The Known File listed only what was regarded as fact. Not much and that in and of itself raised an alert to those in the business.
Frank now moved to the Projected File. This was not speculation or rumor. The information here was the result of careful analysis and in his experience was rarely wrong, as far as it went. He leaned closer to the screen as he absorbed what he was reading. There was a 93 percent chance this Ahmed was an Iranian operative, probably of VEVAK; a 67 percent likelihood he was an organizer.
Jeff had found a big one. The name was a cover but an effective one as there was no information on his true identity. No other intelligence agency would confirm having information on him. He’d been in Frank’s system for just over one year and was not under physical surveillance,
With a smile, Frank noted his own department had an ongoing operation against the man. He opened that file. Now this is interesting, he thought. Cyberterrorism identified one computer he routinely used. He was known as well to have two cell phones.
The man’s phone calls were not being recorded, at least not by the CIA, nor was his computer messaging being read, but the traffic of each was monitored. It was continuously assessed to determine if his threat level should be increased. Given the evaluation of his digital traffic there was no doubt this man was an Iranian intelligence agent and at least a midlevel supervisor. His activities were limited to Central Europe and he’d not been connected to any terrorist event. He was scarcely on the Company’s radar.
This was as far as Frank had gone when he received Jeff’s second message.
Urgent, urgent, urgent Frank. Not a second to waste. Find the physical location of the cell phone with this number in Prague. 243 750 191 Daryl is likely there. Please! Hurry!
Frank grimaced and returned to the cell phones. The number matched one of those Ahmed used. He checked their status and read that the Company had inserted a bit of malware into both cell phones that allowed them to track his location as long as he was within range of a cell tower. This was, if Frank’s memory served, made possible by a zero day vulnerability in the Android system Jeff had identified. Ironic.
So their locations were continuously monitored and when he checked they were moving in unison as he’d expected. Frank typed a response.
Target phone is in motion. Now on Krasova Street. Will advise of address when it stops. Be careful. Call police.
41
PRAGUE-WEST, CZECH REPUBLIC
ROZTOKY
VLTAVA MUNICIPAL AIRPORT
8:01 A.M. CET
Wu Ying eased back on the stick and slowed the engine, maneuvering the SportCruiser into a slow glide at an easy fifty kilometers per hour, just above stall. There was a slight wind from his left and he watched his approach carefully. Li, awake now, sat next to him unconcerned, facing straight ahead as the countryside passed beneath them.
Wu had selected a small airstrip for his landing. Private planes sat in two lines outside modest-size hangers and the terminal itself wasn’t much larger than a house. Though protocol didn’t require it, he’d contacted the airport by cell phone and been told no landings were expected. Takeoffs were under way but were few and well spaced. He was just instructed to watch for them. This was standard for such airstrips.
Wu lowered the flaps and slowed the plane even more. The runway came toward him and then they were over it. As the craft eased down, it encountered the ground effect and seemed to hover until after a long moment it dropped through, then touched in a near perfect landing. Once the plane had slowed to the speed of a walk Wu gunned the engine and made his way to the parked airplanes. He pulled his into line and killed the engine.
He and Li opened their doors and stepped out. Wu was grateful to stretch in fresh air after the long flight. A small truck came up and Wu gave instructions to have the plane refueled and serviced. He handed the man more cash than necessary to see it was done immediately. With cash there’d be no record. He had no idea how soon he’d need the plane.
The men walked into the terminal and went to the counter. “Taxi?” he asked.
“I will call,” the young woman said. “It should only be a short wait. There is a canteen you can use.”
Down the hall was a room with various food dispensers. Wu and Li bought hot tea and croissants. They sat in silence as they ate and waited.
“Krasova Street,” Jeff read out loud. “Take me there,” he said. “It will be faster. You know the city.” And he could be certain she didn’t warn her boyfriend.
Saliha punched out her cigarette. “All right, if you insist. It’s not far. I’ll take you to the street but then I go, all right? I will promise not to call him. You will have to trust me. That is our deal.”
Jeff nodded, then said, “That’s what I said. Let’s go.”
A dark fog passed across Daryl’s eyes and for a moment she drifted away. She willed herself back, then fought against the man, trying to twist out from under him. He held her even more forcefully, blood all but streaming on her.
Finally, knowing she had only seconds she turned with all her power and almost managed to squirm out from under him though his hands never left her throat. She’d been working her wrists continuously all this time, never giving it a thought, instinctively seeking to free her hands. As she lay nearly on her side, the binds suddenly broke. With the last of her strength she moved her arm free, maneuvered the knife, then struck blindly at Karim, her stab feeling more like a blow. She had no idea how deadly the knife was so she pulled it back and stabbed again, then again, then again.
Karim released her and screamed, clutching his side. With his other hand he struck her across the face and Daryl blacked out.
Saliha knew where Krasova Street was but had never been to it. The man urged her along and they moved at a near run. He kept slightly back but beside her. She considered if she should even go through with this. Out of the apartment, in the open, she reconsidered the situation. She didn’t know this man. He claimed his wife had been kidnapped by Ahmed yet he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
True, she had her suspicions about Ahmed but she was surprised she’d been so quick to believe the worst about him. Maybe it was true, after all he’d been very rough and threatening with her, but for all she knew this man was even worse. Because his story had the force of conviction didn’t mean he was telling her the truth. Men rarely did.
Then a thought crossed her mind: What if he was a CIA agent? What if the Americans were after Ahmed and had concocted this story to get to him when they’d not found him at his apartment?
As quickly as the thought came it vanished. The CIA would have enough agents to do the job; they wouldn’t send just one man. She’d looked. No one was following them. The Americans would have known Ahmed was not home and would already have his phone number. They had the resources. No, she decided, he wasn’t an American agent.
She looked back quickly at him over her left shoulder. Maybe he was an Israeli, a Jew. She shuddered at the thought.
“This is it,” she said at the corner. “Krasova.”
It was a narrow street. Foot traffic only. “Here,” Jeff said, taking her arm. He moved them to a doorway where he could open his laptop.
Saliha glanced about, confirming the man had no operatives with him. She needed to get
away. She had a plane to catch. She looked at the pedestrians on the busier street they’d been on, examining each carefully.
There was a text message from Frank.
Krasova 702/34
Jeff pasted the address in Google Maps. “Just down this street, I think.” He closed the laptop. “This way.”
“Tell me,” Saliha said, not moving, “are you a Jew?”
“What?”
“A Jew. Are you a Jew?”
Jeff laughed. “No, I’m a fallen Catholic.”
“Ah. Like me. Only I’m a fallen Muslim.”
As they turned the corner Saliha saw an opening and without giving it any more thought suddenly bolted away, running into the traffic, making her way quickly to the taxi stand across and down the street. She was gambling that the man was really looking for Ahmed. He wouldn’t risk chasing her with so many people around and risk attracting the police.
Just as she reached the taxi stand she glanced back and couldn’t see him. She looked farther along the street and there he was moving quickly, staring intently at every building as if searching for an address. She stepped into the taxi and gave the driver her address.
Saliha hesitated, then pulled out her cell phone. If something happened to Ahmed she’d never get the rest of her money. She pressed the speed-dial number.
Daryl slowly came awake as if climbing out of a dark and very deep well. It was utterly quiet in the apartment. She had no idea how much time had passed. She looked at the angle of the sun and decided it had only been a short while. She moved her hands to her face and with some effort, worked the tape, then pushed the gag from her mouth. She lay there breathing the rich air, grateful to be alive.
When she finally moved she realized she was wet with something sticky. Then it came back to her. Blood. Still on the floor she turned her head. Across the linoleum kitchen floor was a long, broad crimson streak. At the end lay Karim, unmoving. Slowly, cautiously, Daryl rose to her feet. The cut across her right palm hurt like hell.
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