The Pandora Deception--A Novel

by David Bruns

  His phone buzzed again. A new selfie of Rania behind the steering wheel, throwing a smoldering look at the camera.

  The bank transfer took less than ten minutes to clear. Fifty thousand dollars moved from the Ethiopian Coffee Company to Khartoum Security Services. That would be enough to hold them until Monday.

  He slapped his laptop shut. Uncle Alyan rewarded initiative, Nasir reasoned. He was always saying young men should work hard and show initiative.

  Nasir snatched up his phone and fired off a text to Rania:

  I’m on my way, darling.

  Tysons Corner, Virginia

  Dre set the carton of chicken lo mein next to her computer keyboard and stretched her arms to the ceiling. All she wanted to do was get out of the office and go for a run, or a walk, or maybe just stand on her head for a few minutes. Anything to break the boredom of sitting on her ass all day.

  She did the time-difference calculation between DC and Hawaii. If she were still on the Murphy, she’d just be getting to work. Walking the ship like she used to do every morning, saying hello to real people instead of staring at a computer screen all day.…

  Dre sighed and loaded another screen of financial transactions. Michael’s financial-trap program idea had been wildly successful at generating endless lists of all the transactions related to the Nile River basin shell companies. The problem was that someone still had to sort through them. Janet, Michael, and Dre had gotten pretty good at plowing through the financial transactions quickly, but it still took about three hours a day of combined effort from all three of them, something that Don frequently needled Michael about in their staff meetings.

  And God help you if you skipped a day and got behind the power curve.…

  So far, their search had yielded exactly zero connections between any of the shell companies and not even a whiff of anything to do with the Mahdi. Even more worrying, their report to Don Riley about the advanced Israeli encryption on the Mahdi website had disappeared into a black hole of bureaucracy.

  Dre focused on the first transaction. The equivalent of five hundred dollars in local currency to a business in Eritrea. She rolled her eyes and clicked for more details. Looked like a payment for office furniture.

  With the clarity of hindsight, the digital dragnet that had seemed like such a phenomenal idea in the meeting with Mattias was actually a giant time suck in real life. Most of the transactions were like this one: penny-ante dollar amounts to local businesses or vendors.

  Occasionally one of the shell companies received a large incoming financial transaction, hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars, which the officers tried to track back to the source. Almost always, the source turned out to be a numbered account in a different country and the trail went cold from there. The few times when they got through the first layer of financial routing, they were stopped at the second level. And to further complicate things, the money amounts were completely appropriate for the companies involved—every transaction appeared to be normal business expenses. No anomalies.

  Whoever was behind these shell companies knew how to move money around the world. While that spoke of a financial savviness, it did not mean what they were doing was criminal. For that, they needed to see the data.

  Dre clicked through three more lines on the screen before she allowed herself another bite of her lunch. Still chewing, she opened the next item, a transfer between the Ethiopian Coffee Company based in Addis Ababa and Khartoum Security Services based in Sudan.

  She pursed her lips. Fifty thousand dollars across international borders … this had potential. She clicked on the financial routing details and nearly dropped the carton in her lap. She studied the screen, blinked, then reread the whole transaction carefully to ensure she was not missing anything.

  Dre set down the chicken lo mein. “Guys.”

  No reaction from either Michael or Janet.

  Dre continued, more emphatic this time, “Guys, I think I have something.”

  Janet and Michael swiveled their heads in her direction, their faces illuminated only by the glow of their monitors. Red-rimmed eyes showed a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  Dre snapped her fingers. “Get your asses over here. I said I’ve got something and I mean it.”

  With matching sighs, Michael and Janet trooped over to Dre’s workstation. They’d all been through this drill before. After dozens of false alerts, the sense of excitement about possibly cracking the case had gone stale.

  Dre walked through the cross-border transaction and showed them the routing information. Michael’s eyes widened. “Who authorized the transaction?”

  Dre switched screens to look up the transaction routing. Her voice went up a notch with excitement. “It was authorized by Al-Qahtamni Enterprises in Saudi Arabia.”

  The lethargy of her friends evaporated as they leaned over her shoulder, alternately moving her mouse and punching buttons before she shooed them away.

  “I found this, dammit,” Dre said. “Now let me do my job.”

  But Michael was too excited. He rushed back to his computer and hammered at his keyboard.

  “Al-Qahtamni Enterprises is a holding company based in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.” He cranked the computer screen in their direction to show them the picture of a well-dressed Middle Eastern man with carefully parted dark hair and an engaging smile. “Meet Alyan Sultan al-Qahtamni, founder and CEO. It says he’s focused primarily in green energy and developing countries.”

  Michael leaned back and folded his arms. “With the amount of investment opportunity in the Nile River basin, Saudi money is not a surprise. The question is why would he go to so much trouble to hide all of his other transactions yet not this one?”

  “We need to show this to Don right away,” Janet said. “This is the first real lead we’ve gotten with this project.” She pointed at Michael’s monitor with the picture of the Al-Qahtamni CEO. “Then we’ll do a deep dive on that guy.”

  Dre started to put the screen grabs into an email, then stopped. “Why don’t you tell Don what we found, Michael?”

  Minutes later, they were in Don’s office, where he was just ending a phone call. “Perfect timing,” he said. “Your report on the Mahdi website cryptography has ruffled some feathers in high places. We’ve been invited to a personal briefing.”

  “NSA?” Janet asked.

  Don frowned. “Uh … Not exactly. The Israelis. They want to talk to us in person—all of us. Go home and pack. We have a flight out of Dulles tonight.”

  “They want all three of us to go?” Janet asked. “Isn’t that overkill?”

  Don shook his head. “They were very specific about the request. They want to see all three of you and they want to know exactly how you figured this out. I told them, but I’m not sure they believe me. I’m leaving a note with my lawyer in case I don’t come back.” He gave them a weak smile. “I’m kidding, of course.”

  Dre shot a glance at Janet. No one laughed at the joke.

  Don made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go! I’ll see you in a few hours at Dulles.”

  “But wait,” Dre said. “We found something from Michael’s financial-trap program.”

  Don’s head snapped up. “Tell me.”

  Dre and Janet let Michael walk Don through the suspicious financial transaction. Their boss let out a low whistle when he saw the connection to the holding company in Riyadh.

  “Looks like somebody finally made a mistake,” he said. “And we get the benefit of it. Good work. All of you, I mean it.” He held Michael’s gaze for a second longer than was necessary.

  “Well, do you still want all three of us to go?” Janet asked. “Don’t you want someone to stay here and run this lead down?”

  Don shook his head. “Pass this off to someone else in the group. Our orders are explicit. I am to bring all three of you to Israel with me. No exceptions.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Project Deliverance, undisclosed location in Sudan

  JP slipped out
of bed and stood in the chill of the darkened bedroom. His body told him it was dawn even if the underground bunker deprived him of any external clues. Although the scientists didn’t seem to mind the lack of natural light, it bothered him.

  Talia shifted under the bedcovers. With her hair splayed out across the pillow and her lips parted, she looked young and innocent.

  JP padded across the carpeted room and carefully opened the door to the en-suite. He slid it closed before he flipped on the light switch. He blinked in the harsh overhead light reflecting off the white surfaces of the bathroom.

  When he designed the Project Deliverance living quarters, he’d made some accommodation for creature comforts in the bedrooms. High-quality mattresses and bedclothes, carpeted floors, and warm colors on the walls. His thinking had not extended to the bathroom design. They were functional spaces: a toilet, a large walk-in shower, a sink and counter, and a large mirror on the wall. All blinding white, and the only source of illumination came from a single overhead light.

  He thought back on the years of planning this venture. If all he had to regret when this was done was the bathroom design, he’d consider himself lucky.

  JP turned on the shower and let it run, then returned to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He studied his reflection in the wide mirror.

  This job, the lifestyle, and age had all taken their toll on his body. Constant travel between time zones interrupted his sleep patterns, and poor diet had added a few pounds to his midsection. He looked and felt older, slower.

  Steam billowed out of the shower. He felt a twinge in his calf and bent down to peel the bandage off his leg. The wound was a nasty two-inch cut from Winslow’s ice ax.

  Exhibit A, he thought to himself. You got stabbed by a college professor. You’re losing a step, old man.

  But soon, the job would be complete. He and Talia would fade into the kind of obscurity that can only be accessed via fabulous wealth. No more underground bunkers and deadly viruses, just beaches and endless days of leisure.

  He heard the door slide open.

  “What happened?” Talia’s voice was still husky with sleep. Her tousled hair spilled over her shoulders and she hugged herself against the chill of the air-conditioned room. Gooseflesh prickled the soft skin of her upper body.

  “You said you got a little cut when you collected the paleo samples,” Talia said. “There’s a gouge out of your leg, JP.”

  “Just a scratch,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. She pressed her curves against him. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

  That was a lie. It hurt like hell, and the shower was not going to help the pain, either. But he wasn’t about to tell Talia the truth.

  Talia slapped him on the backside. “Into the shower,” she ordered. “We need to get that cleaned properly.”

  JP grinned at her. “If you want to play doctor, I have a few ideas…”

  “Prick,” she said, laughing.

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  Talia stepped into the steaming shower, letting the hot water soften her curves and warm her skin. She grabbed JP’s hand and pulled him close. “Get in here.”

  JP gritted his teeth as the hot water touched the cut on his leg. He kissed Talia to distract himself, and she responded by slipping her arms around his waist.

  In idle moments, he wondered what he had done to deserve this woman. She’d come into his life at a time when nothing else made sense—and she helped calm the chaos.

  At that point in his life, he despaired for the world and his place in it. His time with the French DGSE left him empty and distrustful.

  But Talia had been different, unlike any person he’d ever met before.

  She saw the world clearly and without pretense. There were no shades of gray in the mind of Talia Tahir—that’s what drew JP to her. Her certainty kept him going.

  There would be casualties, and JP regretted that, but it was for a greater good.

  Talia took a washcloth and a bar of soap and knelt on the floor of the shower to clean the wound on his calf. She carefully dabbed at the gash. JP tried not to wince, but it really did hurt.

  “You should have cleaned this much more carefully,” she said. “You know the risks of getting an infection.”

  JP grumbled, but it was mostly for show. Her ministrations showed how much she cared for him. “You’re right, dear.”

  “Don’t be patronizing.” She snapped him on the thigh with the wet washcloth.

  She finished dressing the wound, then looked up at him, grinning. “As long as we’re playing doctor, what else hurts?”

  * * *

  JP pulled on his dress shirt. He caught Talia’s reflection in the mirror as she pulled on a pair of jeans. He watched the blue denim slide up her slender thighs.

  Talia caught him looking and smiled. “Haven’t you had enough, old man?”

  “Never.” He finished buttoning the shirt and threw a tie around his collar. Like the rest of the lab staff, Talia dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, but JP was leaving today and needed to be in business attire. He started a double Windsor knot.

  “I’ve been thinking about you getting hurt,” she said. “I think we should look into security for you.”

  “We have security,” JP began.

  Talia’s cold stare stopped him. “I’m not talking about the militia types around here,” she said. “I’m talking about personal security. Someone who can travel with you, blend in.”

  JP concentrated on his tie. He knew she was right, but that did not make it easier. The former Sudanese Janjaweed militia at the site were fearsome fighters, hard men. They were ideal for providing security for a place like this, but to bring them to a corporate venue would only invite stares—and questions.

  To get personal security would be an acknowledgment that he couldn’t handle himself any longer. Had he really reached that point?

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Talia came up behind him and slid her arms around his midsection, peeking over his shoulder seductively. “I want you to do more than think about it. I want you to promise me. I mean it, or the next time you show up here, I’m cutting you off. Cold turkey.”

  JP assumed a look of mock horror in the mirror. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Talia held his gaze in the mirror.

  “There’s more?” JP asked.

  Talia stepped in front of him and adjusted his tie. He let her fuss over him.

  “I think I should do the next test,” she said. Talia put her hand on his chest to stop him from protesting. “I know how things are done in Yemen. I can get in and out of the country easily.”

  “You’re dead, remember?” JP said gently, taking her hands in his. “Besides, you’re needed here. Only you can make sure the paleoviruses that I brought back are being used to best effect. You know this.”

  JP tilted her chin up. “You know I’m right. I’ll be in and out of Yemen in a day or less. And I promise as soon as I get back, I’ll look into personal security.”

  Talia pressed her lips together, then nodded reluctantly. From her dresser, she picked up a small cylindrical padded bag. She slipped a silver canister about the size of a can of soda out of the bag and unscrewed the top. Underneath was a nozzle and a small black readout.

  “This is the latest aerosol device. The sample inside is completely contained. Remove the top, use these buttons to set the timer, and leave it anywhere in a confined space. The virus has been amplified. All you need to do is infect one person in the population. The virus does the rest.”

  She screwed the cap back on the bottle and slipped it inside the padded pouch.

  “And then you hire a bodyguard.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  “Don!” The man seated behind the massive wooden desk stood as Don and the three young officers were ushered through the door.

  “Binya,” Don replied in a much less boisterous tone. Benyam
in Albedano’s dark eyes, arching eyebrows, and carefully trimmed goatee lent an air of aristocracy to his look, but behind the refined appearance was a sharp mind that Don had come to know well during the years-long international manhunt for the terrorist Rafiq Roshed.

  The Mossad director of operations stepped from behind his desk and moved across the room with light, quick steps. He wrapped his arms around Don and kissed him on both cheeks. Don blushed at the show of affection and patted his longtime friend on the back.

  “Always good to see you, Binya.” Don introduced his three officers one by one.

  Binya took Janet’s hand in both of his own, looking her in the eyes with his penetrating gaze, and said his name again. He did the same with Dre, but he paused when he came to Michael and cocked his head.

  “Michael Goodwin. A pleasure.” Binya shot a look back at Don. “This is the one you were telling me about?”

  “Michael is the one who figured out what we were dealing with,” Don said, choosing his words carefully.

  The young man blushed as he shook Binya’s hand. “It was a team effort, sir.”

  Binya stepped back and stroked his goatee. “Hmmm. I don’t think so.”

  He studied Michael for another moment; then his face lit up with a bright smile. “You all have traveled such a long way, and here I am being an uncivilized host.”

  He ushered them across the room to a small conference table. A quick phone call later and a young man entered with a tray containing coffee, tea, and a plate of sandwiches. When the refreshments arrived, so did a young woman, who took a seat next to Binya at the table.

  She had dark hair that she wore in a thick braid down her back. She had high cheekbones, sharp features, and quick, birdlike movements. She said nothing as she studied the Americans, especially Michael.

  “This is Shira Fishbein,” Binya said. “She works for me.”

  He introduced Don, Janet, and Dre, but when he came to Michael, he said to Shira, “This is the one.”