“What development?”
“We’ve discovered who was tracking me, Admiral. He tailed me here to the research center and was spying on us from outside.”
“Who?”
Borger glared at the young man crouched on the floor. His almond-shaped eyes stared back up nervously. “His name is Yong Yang,” Borger said. “But we all know him better as M0ngol.”
Langford blinked, processing his surprise. “The computer hacker?!”
“Yes, sir. From China. The one working for their Ministry of State Security. Hunting Li Na.”
“I thought you said he disappeared. From their whole system.”
“He did. But it wasn’t the government who did it. It was him. Trying to wipe the records clean in an effort to escape.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, sir. And there’s more. He’s been following us all, electronically.”
Clay’s voice sounded cool and unsurprised. “What does he know, Will?”
“Everything. He’s as embedded in our systems as we were in his. Maybe more. And he claims to have something we want.”
“What’s that?”
“Information on who has Neely and Li Na.”
There was a long pause on the call before Langford replied. “Is he for real?”
“I think so.”
“Then spill it. Who did it?!”
“He’s not saying, sir. Not yet. He wants something in return.”
“Of course he does.”
“He claims his government is searching for him. And when they find him, they’ll execute him. Both of which are probably true. Admiral, he wants to defect.”
“Defect?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He could have done that at almost any consulate in the world.”
“That’s true.”
“Then why the hell–”
Clay broke in, “He’s not stupid, Admiral. He knows he has information that we need to keep quiet. And a story that not a lot of people would likely believe. Especially some lackey working the front desk at a consulate. No matter which one he went to.”
Langford countered, “Well, he’d still have enough intel on China’s secret ministry to make him valuable to a lot of countries.”
“True. But he wouldn’t be safe. At least not for long. And I’m guessing he knows that.”
Langford nodded, thinking. “So the kid wants citizenship.”
“Evidently. At least that’s what he says.”
“That would take some time for me to arrange.”
“Admiral,” Clay interjected. “That’s going to take several hours at the very least. And we don’t have that kind of time.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Threaten him.”
Still staring down at M0ngol, Borger frowned uncomfortably. “Huh?”
“I said threaten him.”
“Uh, with what?”
“With his life!” Clay replied.
Borger turned away and lowered his voice. “Uh, Clay, I…don’t know that I’m actually capable of–”
“I’m not telling you to hang him out a window, Will. He’s obviously a sharp kid. But he’s still a kid!”
It took Borger a moment to catch on. “Oh, right. I see.”
“Tell him,” Clay said, “that there is a Chinese consulate less than thirty minutes away, and if he doesn’t answer our questions right now, we’ll tell his country exactly where he is. He’s smart enough to know he should be a lot more afraid of them than of us.”
***
Defense Secretary Miller was almost to his destination when he took the call from Langford. Mere seconds into the briefing, he leaned forward and instructed his driver to pull over.
The black Town Car immediately eased to the side of the road and stopped within sight of the White House, brightly lit in the distance and dwarfed by the several large buildings surrounding it.
Miller’s driver, dressed in a dark uniform, sat patiently with eyes focused through his side mirror on each set of headlights as they passed.
“Say that again,” Miller said. He sat in the back seat, as motionless as the driver, listening to Langford’s voice. His eyes gazing through the car’s front windshield. “Has Borger verified this?” Then another pause. “How partially are we talking?”
He listened further before his eyes abruptly narrowed. “Son of a bitch.”
Merl Miller had heard and seen enough during his long career in politics. Even before his role as Secretary of Defense. He was sure nothing short of seeing Elvis Presley himself would surprise him now.
He was wrong.
It wasn’t exactly The King, but Miller’s jaw dropped nonetheless as Langford finished speaking. He shouldn’t have been surprised, given the present state of the government and the infighting between departments, but he was.
He exhaled slowly, continuing to stare forward. When Langford asked a question, Miller shook his head slowly. “No, you don’t need to find him. I know where he is. I know exactly where he is. I want a security detail at the Marquis Ballroom in thirty minutes. Quietly. Keep them at a safe distance and call me when they’re ready. Make it clear he is not to leave until I say so. Is that understood?”
He listened again. “I understand that, Jim. But at the moment, I can honestly say that I don’t give a damn about jurisdiction.”
85
Less than a mile from the White House, the Washington Marriott Marquis was one of the largest and most prominent hotels in the city, particularly given its connection to the famed Walter E. Washington Convention Center. After a rather tumultuous beginning and construction effort in the early 2000s, the hotel was now considered the District of Columbia’s convention center headquarters hotel, providing over eleven hundred rooms for some of the nation’s wealthiest and most prestigious guests.
It was also the official host to one of Washington’s most esteemed gatherings. The United Service Organization’s annual black-tie gala––a nonprofit event dedicated to the support and recognition of America’s armed services. With over two hundred locations around the world, the USO was a cornerstone of moral support for the country’s military troops. It included recognition of our men and women in uniform for exceptional bravery, loyalty, and heroism.
Tonight’s gala in Washington D.C. was one of the year’s largest. Bringing together various dignitaries, military leadership, families, and the media to recognize and honor exemplary soldiers from each branch of the Armed Forces.
With an abundance of champagne flowing, the event was large enough to allow Merl Miller to enter through the main entryway with little fanfare. Adorned with gold and marble halls beneath dozens of Baccarat Crystal chandeliers, Miller moved casually through the crowd. He felt slightly underdressed in his traditional blue suit and red tie, at least to anyone sober enough to notice.
Behind him, and on either side, trailed two men dressed in featureless black suits. Both were silent and focused, and sporting high and tight military-style haircuts.
Miller continued deeper into the throng of people packing the main hall before he stopped and thoroughly scanned the crowd. After a full minute, he finally found the man he was looking for at the far end of the room, tucked quietly into a corner and speaking on his phone.
Intently, Miller pushed through the crowd, accidentally bumping several people on his way. The surprised guests included an indignant Speaker of the House and his wife, dressed in an expensive and very flattering blue gown.
The chatter faded modestly as Miller and his men reached the back of the hall. He glanced up briefly at several familiar faces along the rail overhead before stopping in front of the younger man dressed in one of the hall’s several hundred black tuxedos.
“Call them back.”
CIA Director Andrew Hayes paused his phone conversation when he saw Miller emerge.
“Excuse me?”
“I said call them back.”
Hayes’ eyes switched from Miller to the m
en next to him, both wearing faces which could have been made of iron. The opening in the crowd behind them instantly disappeared.
Without saying a word, Hayes glanced at the phone and ended the call before letting out a sarcastic sigh. “What can I do for you, Mr. Secretary?”
“Anything,” Miller seethed. “Anything that would let my men beat the life out of you.”
Amused, a thin smile spread across Hayes’ face. He looked again at the accompanying bodyguards. “Well now, this sounds serious.”
Miller did not reply.
“I hope you brought more than just these two,” Hayes smirked, panning the room and nodding to one of his own men. “I have a security detail too.”
“Good for you. But you’re not leaving until I say.”
Hayes stared back at the older man and lowered his voice, speaking through brooding lips. “What’s wrong, Miller? You upset about losing your men in Trinidad? A soldier and a doctor, I hear?”
Miller’s expression hardened. “There is no word for how I’m feeling right now. Where are the two women?”
“Of course, we can’t forget about them. But a little young for you, I think.”
“I said WHERE…ARE…THEY?!”
Hayes answered by raising his eyebrows at Miller. Looking over his shoulder, he found his own men now standing further back amid a resumption of chatter. He cleared his throat and leaned in. “I think,” he said, “this is where I reply that I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do I look amused to you?” Miller retorted, unflinching. “Two of my men have been killed. Two Navy officers. Murdered. And I know it was you.”
“You know it was me,” Hayes said, repeating the accusation. “Perhaps,” he suggested, raising a glass and sipping his champagne, “you just want it to be me.”
Hayes studied Miller until his expression turned dubious. “It sounds to me like you’re mistaken. We wouldn’t kill your men…because that would be illegal.”
“As far as I’m concerned, each and every thing you do is illegal.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” Hayes laughed. “Especially coming from you.”
“I want the women. And I want them right now.”
The CIA director shrugged. “There’s plenty of other women here,” he said, looking at the crowd, “let’s find you a couple to replace them.”
He looked mockingly at Miller and stepped closer. “Even if I knew what you were talking about, which naturally I don’t, you have no authority over CIA matters, Miller. None at all. But I’ll tell you what...if you would like to submit a formal inquiry, I’ll see what we can find out.”
The defense secretary stared at the younger man for a long time. “Let me tell you something, Hayes. I’ve seen a lot like you in my time. Little men with too much power who think they’re above the law. That they can do whatever they want because no one is willing to stand up and stop them. Well, guess what. You’re not above anything. You’re a boy. And you’ve just stepped over the line. You have called down the thunder of the entire Department of Defense. One that I control.”
“You want a fight?” Miller continued. “I’ll give you a fight. I’ll give you a war that you will wish to God you’d stayed out of. And so help me, if anything, and I mean anything, happens to those women, you will regret it in ways you cannot even imagine.”
Hayes barely batted an eye, instead staring back with amusement. “Wow. That sounds impressive. And ominous. But there’s something I think you’re forgetting. That little covert team of yours. And your secrets. The ones you’ve been keeping from everyone. Including the president. If I were you, I’d spend a little more time worrying about what happens when those secrets get out. And what the word treason really means.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you’re harboring some…grand illusion. Some last great, magnanimous act in your final years. In your final years of…significance. Because if you are, you obviously haven’t thought it through. The blame will not just stop with you and Admiral Langford. It will spread. Like a wildfire. To everyone you’ve even been remotely involved with. And if they’re lucky, I mean really lucky, they’ll just go to jail.”
Hayes took another sip from his crystal flute. “Now I know, already having a foot in the grave, that risking your own life doesn’t mean a hell of a lot. But are you willing to risk the lives of everyone else? Not just your boys Clay and Caesare, but Alison and her team? Even the great DeeAnn Draper? Emerson and everyone on his ship will be court-martialed. If they’re lucky. Hayes leveled his gaze, perversely. “You look surprised. You didn’t think you’d kept it all secret from us, did you? That no one knew what you were really hiding?” Hayes shook his head. “You have an awful lot of secrets, Merl. And I suspect none of them will turn out quite the way you think.”
86
The sudden termination of Hayes’ call did not phase John Ambrose. The CIA Deputy, and subordinate of the Director himself, stood with his arms folded, focused on a computer monitor on the table before him. Seated directly in front of Ambrose was thirty-two-year-old Matt Millican, Chief of the CIA’s Cyber Security Unit and the sharpest cyber expert the agency had. At six-foot-even with strong Anglo-Saxon features, he was also the man responsible for finally locating John Clay and Steve Caesare on Trinidad Island.
It wasn’t easy, but Millican had done it. In record time, aided by the rest of his cyber unit. Truth be told, Millican was nothing short of an anomaly in the field. At times, doing things that surprised even his own department, which was particularly impressive given the team’s deep understanding of what he was actually doing. The man, it seemed, had an intuition that sometimes defied logic itself. An ability that somehow allowed him to think like his adversary.
Appreciation of his colleague’s gift was not entirely lost on the older Ambrose, even if he couldn’t understand what Millican was doing on the computer. Instead, he watched quietly, peering over the shoulder of Millican, who was dressed in a cheap short-sleeve button-up shirt and brown tie.
Sitting in his chair, Millican nodded softly as if speaking to himself. “Here they come.”
Ambrose squinted and stared at the screen. “Where?”
“Here.” The younger Millican leaned forward and pointed to a small area on the large network map filling his monitor. On it, a complex hub and spoke configuration was displayed. Near the middle, a small set of four-letter characters turned red and began blinking.
“What is that?”
“One of our firewalls, showing a connection that was just established from the outside. The blinking characters represent a digital ID assigned to it. It looks like they’re using the line from the research center in Puerto Rico.”
“They?”
“Will Borger.”
“Isn’t that a little foolish?”
Millican smiled without looking away. “It would be if he knew we were monitoring that particular line. And if he knew we were waiting for him.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t know?”
“Yep. For him to be coming in straight like that means he doesn’t think anyone knows where he’s hiding. If he did, he would be bouncing off different systems to disguise his connection. But his weakness,” Millican explained smugly, “is that he doesn’t have much time.”
Together both men watched as the tiny flashing characters jumped to the next device on the giant computerized map.
“What’s that device?”
“They’ve tunneled into one of our security servers. The second protective wall in our system.”
It took less than thirty seconds to travel to the next system, leaving Millican to grin. “He’s good.”
Ambrose looked at him. “How good?”
“Really good. And fast. He knows what he’s doing. And what he’s looking for.” At that, Millican leaned forward and began typing in another window. “Now we just need to make sure he ends up where we want him to.”
“The fake server.”
“Well, it’s not a fake server per se. It�
�s a real server that’s had its data modified. And not all of it. Most of the data is genuine. Enough for this guy Borger to think it’s the real thing.”
“Is there anything sensitive on there?”
Millican looked up at Ambrose and nodded. “Oh yeah. A ton.”
“What?”
“There’s a huge amount of secret information on it. We had to leave it on there. If we didn’t, he’d know something was wrong.”
“Are you telling me he can just download a bunch of highly classified data?”
“He could. But he won’t. Downloading more than a megabyte through an unverified connection would automatically trigger a security event called a breach. Which locks down the system and immediately disconnects him.”
Ambrose frowned. “So, he knows better.”
“He sure does. What this guy Borger is looking for are much smaller, specific pieces of information. Probably starting with phone records.”
“I thought our phones were encrypted.”
“The phones are, but the numbers aren’t. Only the actual communication and data that travels over them are scrambled. The numbers themselves have to be readable to the outside, or no one could call each other.”
“Right,” Ambrose nodded at the clarification. “Then what?”
“Once he has a list of numbers, he’ll compare that against the phone company’s logs to find out if any were used in Puerto Rico. And from there, he’ll begin checking against a certain date and time. Standard procedure. But,” Millican made clear, “he’s going to have to disconnect from us first.” He looked at his watch. “Within the next thirty seconds or so. Otherwise, our system will flag it as another possible breach.” He paused, clearing his throat.
“So, once he disconnects, he’ll try to match and identify phone numbers. Then when he comes back, he’ll try to break into the database holding profiles on our agents.”
Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5) Page 25
