by Tom Clancy
The simulation ended. Jack pulled off his goggles. Dr. Tao and Lian stood in front of him.
“Now you see why video games aren’t the direction we’re most interested in,” Dr. Tao said. “But then again, imagine how fun it would be to play soccer on the pitch with your favorite World Cup team, or a round of golf with your favorite pro teaching you the game.”
Jack looked at Lian. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. This technology is more valuable than all the gold at Fort Knox.”
“There are many ways for thieves to break in to steal.” She nodded at Park, glowering in the corner, his thick arms crossed. “My team is trained to prevent all kinds of corporate espionage.”
Lian turned a withering gaze back at Jack. “Unfortunately, some forms of theft are legal. Those are the ones I am powerless to stop.”
32
It was quitting time, to judge from the number of Dalfan employees gathering their belongings and heading for the exits.
Jack stopped by Lian’s office and tapped on her door. She glanced up from her computer keyboard, a pair of bold neon-orange reading glasses perched on her nose.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if we had any plans for tonight? I mean, the three of us.”
“I thought it best if the two of you had some time to yourselves this evening. If you want to tour the city, I can recommend a few spots.”
Ouch.
Jack shook his head. “No, I think we’re heading back to the barn to try and catch up on some sleep. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night.” Lian returned to her keyboard.
Jack swung by Paul’s office and gathered him up, and the two of them headed back to the guesthouse.
“Any plans for dinner?” Paul asked in the car.
“I saw a couple of steaks in the fridge. I thought I’d fry those up for us. Maybe with some onions and potatoes.”
“I’ll throw together a salad to go with it.”
“Sounds like a plan. How do you like yours cooked?”
“Just wave it over the top of the pan before you drop it on my plate.”
“Rare it is.”
—
A half-hour later, Paul cut into his steak. He watched the bloodred juices sluice into the pile of fried potatoes and onions heaped up on his plate—just the way he liked it. He took his first bite, sweet and peppery.
“You ever slaughter a cow, Jack?”
“No, but I’ve eaten plenty of them. How’s your steak?”
“Perfect. If you ever decide to quit Hendley Associates and open up your own steakhouse, I’ll be your first customer.”
“Thanks. I’m not great in the kitchen, but I’m hell on wheels on a Weber grill.”
“I prefer a kamado grill, myself.”
“Is that what a Big Green Egg is?”
“Yeah. It really locks in the flavor, like a smoker. Keeps everything moist.”
Jack decided to let his hair down tonight and decompress with a glass of Bushmills—not that he was under a lot of stress at Dalfan. In fact, it had been one hell of an exciting day. He was still reeling from the virtual reality demonstration. If America had a couch potato problem now, he couldn’t imagine what would happen when teenagers locked on to VR gaming systems.
“How was the demonstration today?” Paul asked.
“Funny, I was just thinking about that. Pretty freaking awesome. I need to get you up on the third floor to check it out for yourself.”
“I’m not much of a gamer.”
“Me neither. Trust me, you need to see it to believe it. How was your day? Any interesting discoveries?”
“Actually, not much. I was finally able to download some of the Dalfan data sets I needed so I could begin running my screening software. Not a whole lot turned up, except . . .” Paul had also indulged in a glass of the same Irish whiskey Jack was drinking.
“Except what?”
“Well, I hate to cast aspersions, but I found a file that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I ran a ratio analysis for some AR and AP reports on a product line that Dalfan sells to a firm in Shanghai—you know, maximum/minimum pricing over set time periods. The closer the ratio is to one, the happier I am.”
“Why is that?”
“If the ratio between the highest price and the lowest price paid for an item equals around one, that means that the overall price paid for an item is relatively stable. But if suddenly the maximum price paid for an item skyrockets—or if the minimum price suddenly bottoms out—that’s usually a pretty good sign of fraud. What bothers me is that in the last six months the price ratio nearly quadrupled. And the number of units sold doesn’t quite add up.”
Jack took another sip of Bushmills. “What kind of product are we talking about?”
“Cell phones.” Paul took another bite of steak.
“Wait. Dalfan is selling cell phones to China?”
“Disposable cell phones, too, according to the invoices.” Paul was still chewing when he spoke.
“That’s like me selling sand to the Saudis.”
“Like I said. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Where does Dalfan make them?”
“Here, in Singapore. They store and ship them out of a separate warehouse on the west side of the island.”
Jack ran through the list of facilities that Feng had shown him earlier. He didn’t recall a separate warehouse facility owned by Dalfan. “Maybe I should check it out tomorrow.”
“Only if you want to. Like I said, it’s odd, but it’s not really a big deal in terms of the overall financial picture. Probably just a data-entry error.”
“We’re getting paid good money to do our due diligence, so I might as well take a look. It’s that or crack open the books again.” Jack stabbed his salad with a fork.
Paul watched the younger man eat. Over the last few days he’d gotten to know Jack Ryan and he seemed like a decent fellow and whip-smart, for sure. Everything in him wanted to ask Jack for help in carrying out the mission for Rhodes, especially now that he had hit a wall, but he knew he couldn’t ask him—and not just because Rhodes had forbidden him to do it. Paul was trying to protect the young analyst. If he pulled Jack into this operation and it went sideways, the President’s son could wind up in a world of hurt.
And then again, he still wasn’t sure if he could trust Jack, either. Jack was pleasant enough around the office, but he was obviously in a fight last night, and didn’t want to talk about it. If it was in self-defense, why hide it? Maybe the whole Mr. Nice thing was just an act.
No, he’d have to do this one without Jack, Paul decided, but he knew he couldn’t do it by himself.
He poured himself another whiskey and drained it.
—
After dinner, Jack and Paul loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up, then both headed for bed. Paul was yawning his head off and Jack wanted to finish his Churchill biography.
But before brushing his teeth and heading for bed, Jack grabbed his iPhone and opened the Photo Trap app again. Photo Trap listed the photos he had taken this morning and he pulled the first one up—his clothes-closet picture. The program prompted him, READY FOR PHOTO 2. He crossed over to the clothes closet and tapped the READY prompt, and the camera function on his iPhone pulled up a faint ghosted image of his closet so that he could match his new, live comparison shot to the original, lining up the edge of the closet door, a blue oxford shirt, and a few other markers so that the photos would exactly match. The Photo Trap app also provided directional arrows, telling Jack which way to rotate or tilt the camera on its axis to help match the first and second image. When the directional gauge grayed out all the arrows, he snapped the photo, then he manually flipped back and forth between the first and second photos to compare any diffe
rences, however subtle.
He repeated the process for the photos he took of his dresser drawer and in the bathroom. After he had manually flipped back and forth several times, it was clear to Jack that somebody had been in his room and searching for something. And if they had searched his room, they had probably searched the rest of the house as well.
Jack had an idea about who might have done it and what they were looking for. He thought about telling Paul about it but decided against it. Paul seemed distracted enough as it was, and there wasn’t anything the accountant could do about it. Jack gave his room a thorough inspection for electronic microphones and cameras but didn’t find anything—or so he hoped.
He suddenly felt very exposed.
—
Utterly exhausted, Paul headed upstairs to his bedroom and took a shower. Unlike most Americans, he preferred to shower at night and get the day’s dirt off and climb into bed clean. It was a practice Carmen had taught him.
Beneath the hot, steaming water, Paul’s Dalfan encryption problem occurred to him again. He’d been racking his brain all day, and if he was being honest with himself, the booze wasn’t helping matters. The shower was pushing away the cobwebs. But he needed the booze tonight. Grief had fallen on him again, as unbidden as the plague. The only way to loosen its grip and keep the tears away was the booze. Better numb than despondent. At least he could work that way.
Paul had come up with half of a plan, but he couldn’t figure out a way to finish it. Suddenly it dawned on him that he knew someone who could.
Gavin Biery, Hendley Associates’ IT director, was a man Paul grudgingly acknowledged was damn good at his job, even if he was a total smart-ass.
Paul toweled off, putting the final pieces together. What he needed next was for Gavin to write a piece of software to capture the Dalfan encryption code on the Dalfan USB drive he now had. Gavin’s software had to be written in such a way that when Paul installed the Dalfan USB into his personal laptop, the code would be captured. After capturing the code, he would load it onto the CIA drive, and then he could install the CIA drive directly on the Dalfan desktop.
But none of that would happen if Gavin didn’t write that software, and write it fast. The deadline was only three days away.
Unfortunately, Paul also knew Gavin was up to his eyeballs in IT requests at the busy financial firm. He had to find a way to jump to the front of that line and convince Gavin to drop everything else he was doing and write him that piece of code, ideally within the next twenty-four hours, if that was even possible. Knowing Gavin, it would be a long shot to capture his attention, let alone get him to jump through a major hoop on such short notice.
Paul needed to come up with a compelling reason for Gavin to do this for him without compromising his mission for Rhodes. But how?
Paul pulled on a pair of pajamas, then opened up his laptop’s browser and typed in the private Web address for Hendley Associates. He clicked onto the employee portal and logged in with his Hendley Associates passcode. He searched through the company directory until he found Gavin Biery’s secured message link.
He crafted a short message he hoped would not only grab Gavin by the short hairs but also get him to respond right away so he could explain everything to him. He wouldn’t be able to talk to him at Dalfan with cell service jammed, so he’d have to check the Hendley Associates portal regularly. He needed to find a way to talk to Gavin, though, and not just message him. Talking was much better.
It was easier to lie that way.
33
Paul had checked the Hendley Associates portal several times last night and early this morning, but Gavin hadn’t yet responded. Even when Gavin wasn’t in the office—which was rare, because the man had no social life—he was known to check his messages frequently. Either he was ill or unable to access his machine. Either explanation was a disaster from Paul’s perspective. He checked again one last time on his smartphone before they arrived at Dalfan, just in case.
And there it was. The text from Gavin he’d been waiting for. Sort of.
I’m in the hospital. This better be as important as you say it is.
At least Gavin was online. Paul messaged, Can you talk?
A second later, Gavin responded:
As soon as I’m discharged. About an hour.
That was good. That gave Paul enough time to find a way to get clear of the Dalfan building and its cell-jamming system to call him. It occurred to him that he should probably show some concern for his colleague. He typed:
Why are you in the hospital? Everything OK?
Without a second’s hesitation, Gavin typed back:
Penis reduction surgery.
Paul sighed.
LOL. Seriously. Nothing major, I hope.
Broken foot. Slipped on the ice outside of my place. Emergency room wait was killer. All good now except for the excruciating pain and the endless requests for IT help from work. But thanks for asking.
I’ll call you as soon as I can. Thanks.
Don’t mention it. Sorry I couldn’t respond earlier. Any hints?
Better if we talk. It’s complicated.
You have my number. Ciao.
“Must be important,” Jack said. “You’re texting a dictionary.”
Paul shrugged, poker face in place. “That project I was working on before? Just a couple follow-up notes.”
“It’s late back home.” Jack checked his watch. “Almost eight o’clock. You’re working whoever’s on the other end of that text pretty hard.”
“That’s the idea,” Paul said, as they pulled into the underground garage at Dalfan headquarters.
—
Jack and Paul entered the Dalfan building, followed the usual security routine, and headed for their offices.
Jack hadn’t slept at all the night before, feeling certain he was under observation even though he had no evidence of it. It was like when someone talked about lice. It didn’t matter that the lice infestation happened across town or even in the previous year; just the thought of the nasty little vermin made him start scratching his scalp.
The idea of his privacy being violated really pissed him off, but the thought that Lian and her team assumed that Jack and Paul were thieves made him even angrier. There wasn’t any question in his mind that Lian was behind the break-in. His anger compounded by his lack of sleep, Jack was livid when he and Paul showed up at Dalfan that morning.
Jack spotted Lian in Yong’s office, the two of them engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation. Jack’s plan was to read her the riot act this morning about the break-in. He was certain it was one of her security people that searched their place. The only reason he could come up with was that they were probably trying to find out if Jack or Paul had stolen any valuable secrets. He still wasn’t convinced they hadn’t planted any surveillance devices, either—and probably for the same reason.
Judging from the energy she and Yong were throwing off behind the closed glass door, Jack decided to postpone his confrontation with Lian for the time being.
Since she was highly distracted at the moment, it was the perfect time for him to go and check out the warehouse that Paul told him about last night.
—
Paul was just sitting down at his desk when Bai appeared, bleary-eyed and yawning.
“Long night?” Paul asked.
“My cousin’s birthday party. I think I drank a little too much, but lots of fun and lots of pretty girls. Lah.”
“Feel free to take a nap. I’m just sitting here, working.”
“I might get a cup of coffee. Do you want something?”
“No, thanks.”
Bai stepped out of the door just as Jack stepped in.
“I’m heading over to the warehous
e now. You want to tag along?”
“I’ve got plenty to do here, but thanks.”
“I’ll call you if I find anything.”
“Be careful, Jack.”
“Careful? Why? We’re talking about a case of bad bookkeeping, not an Al-Qaeda bomb-making factory.”
“Just watch your back.”
“You, too.”
—
Lian was still talking to her brother when Jack walked past her door. They locked eyes for a moment, but she didn’t stop speaking to Yong as Jack marched away. She did, however, pick up a phone.
Jack approached the security desk. Park was on the phone and standing at the security desk, towering over the young woman who manned the station. He glanced up just as Jack was passing through.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Ryan?” Park asked.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Going somewhere?”
Jack flashed a smile. “Aren’t we all?” He pushed against the security door to leave, but it was locked.
Jack turned around. Park was smiling at him, the phone still in his hand.
“Tell your boss I don’t need a babysitter. I’m just taking a drive.”
“I’m happy to drive you to wherever you want to go.”
“I’ve got my own car.”
“It’s not an easy city to navigate.”
Jack’s foul mood suddenly boiled over. He stormed over to Park and got in his face. The ex–ROK marine didn’t flinch. They stared daggers at each other. The young woman they were standing over was afraid they were going to throw punches. “Eh, guys?”
Jack took a deep breath, realizing he’d lost control. He took a step back. He pointed at the phone still in Park’s hand. “Let me talk to your boss.”
