by D S Kane
The room was pitch-black when Jon’s cell phone buzzed. Ruth rolled out of bed at light-speed and Jon saw the gun he didn’t even realize she’d had with her. He guessed she’d secreted it under the pillow before he returned from the bathroom after they made love. Her naked body glistened, perspiration on her torso reflected light from the moon and clouds outside the window.
He shook his head. “Easy now. It’s my cell.” Her body went slack as she lowered the gun.
He reached for the nightstand and stared at the bright-lit screen of the phone. The name of the caller shone in the darkness. Avram. He smiled and pushed the Accept Call button.
“What was so important?” Avram stood outside the small village, hidden in a copse of trees.
“I need you for a mission.”
“No way. I’m never working for Mother again. Jon, my cell is an unsecured phone.” Avram’s voice was just above a whisper, full of rage. He ducked down, hearing a truck’s engine and its rattle as it closed the distance along the road toward his hiding place.
“No problem with the phone. I won’t say anything compromising. But as I said, I need you. This one may bring us the closure we both seek.”
“Jon, you’re an idiot if you believe anything Mother says.” Avram heard his friend sigh. He felt anger thinking about his last bit of work for the spymaster. “Don’t. Don’t even go there. Nothing you can say would convince me to work for the old man again. Ever.”
“Well then, tell me. What are you doing now? What work occupies your time that’s so important?”
“Terminating the bomb maker’s friends, one-by-one.” Avram wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Listen, I have to go now. It’ll be getting dangerous for me if I stay here any longer than I have to.” He prepared to terminate the call.
Jon spoke faster, as if he knew Avram had lost patience with him. “Wait. Just come to Munich and we’ll talk. Give me a chance to tell you what’s so important. I can’t tell you over the phone. Don’t you owe me that much?”
Avram sighed. “I can’t believe I’m listening to this crap.” He paused, his lips moving without producing a sound. After a few more seconds he calmed and nodded to himself. “All right. After all, you’re my friend. I’ll call you when I’m closer. But you’ll have to be patient. It might take me a week or more to get there from here.”
He terminated the conversation and punched in another number. “It’s Clearcut. I have ended the sixteen as you requested. I sent them all to a better place. You owe me the remainder of what we agreed to. Wire per my standing instructions.”
The computer-disguised voice on the other end of the line hinted a tone of blatant sarcasm. He mentioned there was a long list of pigeons waiting for Avram’s help in traveling onward.
Avram frowned. “I can’t do them now. I’ll be unavailable for at least a month. Either find someone else, or wait. Your decision. If you choose to wait, when I return I’ll want fifty percent up front as we did this time. But I will not be working alone. I have an idea that may make this work faster and safer.”
The other voice said “Call when you are ready. Until then, Clearcut.” The call terminated.
Avram took the map from his pocket. His boat was hidden in a cove along the coastline, three kilometers northeast of Kismayo in southern Somalia. It would take him a week to walk there. He’d need to be careful, since by now he assumed he’d been noticed, and if so, there would be a price on his head.
He thought about what he could do with the six million in USD he’d earned. He frowned. When he was ready, he’d need both Jon and William to make it all work. And a lot more money. A mercenary army. Yes.
In the sitting room of his London flat, Sir Charles Crane turned on the voice modulator and plugged his secure cell phone into it. He punched in the number. “It’s Sandman. Have you read the material I sent?”
Five hundred miles away, the timid young woman said, “Yes.”
“Good. To make sure you truly understand the stakes, I remind you that we have evidence that will put your brother in a British prison for the rest of his life. Only your cooperation can save him.”
“You bastard. I—”
“No need for nasty language. Just do as I ordered. Find a way to work with Sommers. Become his friend. Or his lover.Or just a trusted associate. But the next time I call, make sure you’ve completed your assignment. I’ll have another for you then. You agree?”
He waited through the inevitable silence while she chewed on his demand. “Okay.”
“Goodnight, Ms. Schlein.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mark McDougal’s office, unnamed US intelligence agency, 9th floor, 28 K Street, Washington, DC
July 2, 2:32 p.m.
Mark McDougal’s office was two floors below Gilbert Greenfield’s. It was just another aging building among the offices of thousands of lobbyists. McDougal admired the early view of high fashion suits who scuttled below his window as he took off his jacket and dropped into the leather chair. Washington, the city all the great pretenders call home.
He sipped from the stainless steel coffee cup he’d brought up the elevator. He unscrewed its bottom to reveal a small space where he’d placed a thumb-drive. He dropped the drive into his shirt pocket. When Greenfield showed him the Bug-Lok spec sheet, he’d memorized every word. It only took him several minutes to break through the firewall guarding the Bug-Lok secured files on their server and decrypt them. A copy of each file was now on the drive.
Gault would be arriving at his door within minutes according to the message from the security guard in the lobby displayed on his desktop computer screen.
McDougal placed the thumb-drive into the USB slot on his computer and loaded the camcorder software, setting it to record when he touched his right mouse button. Now ready for the meeting, he turned the seat to face out the window.
He heard his secretary’s footsteps and her knock. Without turning, he said, “Yes?”
“Robert Gault is here. Shall I show him in?”
“Of course.” As he waited, he turned away from the office doorway. He heard Bob’s shuffling gait. “Close the door and take a seat on the couch, Bob.” He heard his covert agent sink into the cushions. “How long before Tariq Houmaz is ready?”
“A week, maybe. Not longer.”
McDougal nodded and turned to face his agent. “I guess even three slugs in his chest couldn’t end him.” Both men laughed. “Good. Good work.”
He shuffled a stack of papers to hide his fingers as they pressed the left mouse button to initiate recording from the vid-cam on the desktop. Gault seemed not to notice. “The toy I told you about? It’ll arrive soon, from Stillwater Technology in San Jose. A package of beta test models of ‘Bug-Lok.’” He stared into Gault’s eyes. “Have you heard anything about this through the office grapevine?”
Gault shook his head, but he blinked while his left hand clenched and unclenched. McDougal could tell his subordinate was lying. Except for the distinctive “tell,” the man had always been good at lying, and that was one of the skills McDougal appreciated most in a covert.
Mark nodded. “I have something to show you.” He turned the computer monitor so both he and Gault could watch.
The video showed someone in a cell. There was an interrogator standing just outside, holding a remote of some kind. The screen split into the above-cell camera and a view that was obviously through the prisoner’s eyes. That second view was shaky, moving with a tiny delay in time to the movements of the prisoner’s head. The sound shifted from the microphone embedded in the above-cell’s cam to that through the prisoner’s eyes, and with each shift in view, that side of the screen was highlighted. Both the audio and the video in the in-cell camera were significantly better, and the transmission lag in the in-cell version was shorter than in the earlier version.
Gault’s eyes were riveted on the screen. He remained silent. McDougal smiled. It was obvious the agent was surprised. Maybe he hadn’t lied after all.
/> “Well, Bob, as you can see, this device will change the nature of the intelligence industry more than ECHELON has. It enables us to know not only what the target sees and hears, real-time, but also exactly where he is located. Magnificent little tool.”
Gault’s jaw had fallen open. “I see.” He closed his mouth fast and nodded.
McDougal thought about showing his agent the man’s death, administered using Bug-Lok. But did Bob really need to know Bug-Lok was an assassin’s tool? He focused on the keyboard to his computer, unable to decide. When he shifted his gaze back to Gault, the agent shifted in his seat. McDougal could see the operative was uncomfortable with what he’d seen.
McDougal smiled, his decision made. “Now, watch this.” McDougal picked up the remote from his desk. “This is a live feed from one of our Eastern European allies. The prisoner you are seeing, real-time, was convicted of a capital crime. I will complete his sentence.” He pressed a button on the remote.
Gault watched, his entire body stiffening. The prisoner’s head bolted as if he’d been shocked with a high-voltage line. The video on the in-prisoner cam slowly dissolved into static. The prisoner’s entire body went slack. Then his head sagged.
McDougal inclined his head toward Gault. “Give one of these to Houmaz, and tell him to ‘infect’ the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood in the Gaza Strip. And I want you to track him while he completes the assignment.” McDougal waited for the inevitable question.
“Track him? How?” A moment later, Gault’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Yeah. You want me to put one in his food. Right?”
McDougal nodded. “Just monitor his actions. The one you administer to him won’t have the termination feature. If it did, when the handler presses a remote kill switch, the new ricin variant kills in about a minute. The one you give Houmaz will be rendered inert after about six weeks. His body will eliminate the device. Go now. Use a backstopped ID and take a commercial jet from Dulles. I don’t want an official record of your return to Istanbul. Especially a military record.”
“It’ll take longer.”
“You have three days. I want Houmaz back in the field by next week. And no record of you at the military base. Use a washed passport. A different one.” McDougal stood and handed Bob a letter-sized envelope. “Here are two beta-test version Bug-Lok units, and instructions for their administration. The one for Houmaz has his name on the container. I’ll monitor Houmaz from here. After you get him released from the hospital, make arrangements for him to stay in contact. Even though it isn’t necessary, instructing him to do so will make him think we haven’t infected him. Clear?”
Gault took the envelope and nodded. As McDougal turned to face out the window, Gault rose and walked into the gray sterile hallway.
As he marched through the maze of cubicles, Gault examined the sealed plastic bags that held the two beta unit containers. The units were encased in tiny gel-capsules.
While he waited for an elevator to arrive, he read the instructions for Bug-Lok and scowled. He whispered to himself, “These are gonna cause a major problem for everyone, not just our enemies.” He shook his head. He thought of resigning right then. But of course, it was no longer possible. He knew too much to be permitted to retire. “Fuck this.” He entered the empty elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. Gault stared into the elevator’s back panel, a mirror, then closed his eyes as he descended.
Nothing ages you like covert ops, he thought.
A red sky’s afterglow masked the cloud layer above the sun as Cassandra Sashakovich opened the door to leave the abortion clinic on Third Avenue in San Mateo, California. They were closing up, and staff followed her out. She froze for just a second, bathed in floodlights. The protesters were still there, but now they were accompanied by news crews from national television stations. One of the slick-coiffed announcers held a microphone in front of her face as she sped away.
Rage surged through her. “Fuck all of you!” Maybe her use of obscenity would force them to edit her from their footage.
If her image made it to the evening news, she’d no longer be able to travel incognito. Her former employer used facial recognition software to track its targets, and she expected the mole working there to have set the software to scan for her. Would the plastic surgery she’d had to disguise herself three months ago deceive the software? If not, whoever had sold her identity to the terrorists would alert them. She’d have to leave town fast to ensure she was one step ahead of both the Islamic hitters and Homeland Security’s cams, now that they’d caught her image.
Ever since the rape, she’d felt cursed. All she could hope for now was to make some money hacking secrets freelance. And hope no one discovered her true identity. She needed a plan to recover her life, and none of those she’d conjured so far promised to work.
It seemed like another lifetime, when she worked as an NOC for Mark McDougal at Gilbert Greenfield’s unnamed American intelligence agency. When Mark McDougal discovered her cover had been blown, he’d fired her. His reason was that her description had been revealed to America’s enemies and she was no longer useful. She’d been on the run since.
Manhattan was the place she now called home, where she hid in the open, moving from one cheap hotel to the next while she trolled for clients. She knew where every ECHELON video cam was in Manhattan, and could easily avoid them.
Travel by bus was the safest, since fewer cams were in the bus stations. She planned to head back to Manhattan via a series of Greyhound buses.
Thinking about the agency always helped. She could forget all about her abortion if she just concentrated on the hatred she had for her former employer. But with every step away from the clinic, she felt growing anguish.
William Wing had a bitter taste in his mouth as he drafted an email on his secure Hushmail account with an embedded PGP key and sent it on its way. Now, all he could do was wait.
He was sure the Butterfly would reply. Elizabeth Rochelle Brown. William knew he was probably the only living person who knew the real name of Betsy the Butterfly. Ever since he received Jon’s email, and their conversation later in the day, he’d decided his skills might not be adequate for the task he’d been assigned. Find Cassandra Sashakovich.
It had been nearly six months since the Butterfly had worked with him. He still owed her for that round of her hacking work. Often he repaid her with phone sex. But she’d mentioned she wanted to meet him face-to-face. Real sex. He’d never seen her before, only heard her voice and seen a photograph she’d sent to him. He’d sent one of him to her, and his was of a handsome, tall, thin Asian. He’d found it on a website advertising men’s underwear. He was sure the one she’d sent was also not really her.
Six months was a long time. He remembered he’d already packed a suitcase and was about to leave his apartment when she called him on an unsecured line and told him not to bother. She told him she thought him dangerous.
But by then, he knew her real address. If he was ever interrogated she was one of the most valuable secrets they’d uncover. She’d never be safe again. He’d promised never to contact her again.
A half hour passed. Nothing. He gave up, accepting he’d be on his own, when the cell chirped.
“Okay, Wing, you have my attention. You broke your promise. This better be good.”
He found himself grinning and aroused. “I have a challenge for you. Not what you’re thinking in your dirty little mind. Something else. Something no one in the world can do except possibly you.”
She sighed and he heard it end with a chuckle. “I forgot how convincing you can be. Okay, I’m listening, but no promises. ’Kay?”
“Good.” He steeled himself. “There’s a hacker who used to work for the government of the United States. They fired her. I need to find her.”
“Oh, crap, Willy. This is dangerous, isn’t it?”
He still wondered just how dangerous it might be. “Not if you’re careful. There are terrorists looking to end her. The govies don’t care and won�
�t help her. You’re all that stands between her and being tortured to death.” Of course, he didn’t know if any of this was really true, but that wasn’t his problem.
“Name?”
He smiled. Just maybe… “Cassandra Sashakovich.” He spelled it for her. “How soon can you do it?”
“Not so fast. I didn’t say yes or no yet. Can you meet my terms?”
This would be the easy part. “Name them.”
“Fifty big and two hours of you caressing me on the phone.”
“Fifty thou USD? Isn’t that a lot for a simple seek and find?”
She terminated the call.
He sent her an email, with one word in it: “OKAY.”
Two hours later, he received a crypto key. The next morning he received a PGP coded file sent from noone@ nowhere.com. In minutes he knew Cassandra Sashakovich was on a Greyhound bus traveling east through northern Utah. William shook his head. Butterfly really was the best hacker. He grimaced. She was better than him. He wondered how she’d done it. Had Sashakovich been sloppy? Had she used a credit card? No. She was better trained than this. Had Butterfly found a way to hack into ECHELON? Nearly impossible. He knew he could, but it was risky to try. And that seemed to be the only way he could think of. They had an extensive vid-cam network monitoring system. He smiled and whispered, “Thanks, Butterfly.”
He believed she was the best hacker on Earth. He paced the room as cooking odors from the apartments adjacent to his snaked their way into his nostrils. Pork with oyster sauce. Ginger chicken. William sat at the desk off the kitchen window and watched boats slink by in Hong Kong harbor.
He sent Betsy another encrypted email with the details of his funds transfer into her holding account, a proposed schedule of his availability for phone sex, and a proposal for another fifty thousand if she continued to track their target.
