by D S Kane
“And I don’t pay if we’re dead.” She sat silent in thought a few seconds. “But your other criticisms of the plan are valid. For us to survive this, we have to act swiftly and take what would otherwise be unacceptable risks.”
He thought for a second and nodded back. “Okay. Might work.” Lee looked up from his cell phone. “I think I know why the mole sold you out. I reviewed all the message traffic that ran out of the Houmaz’s locations in Upper Pachir, Afghanistan. Seems they think you know something no one was supposed to. They threatened to kill the mole and his family because of it.”
“What? What could I know?”
“I don’t know, Cassie, but whatever it is you know, it’s what caused all this.”
Cassie seethed, thinking she had worked three years at the agency and never suspected the depth of their capacity for deceit and treachery. “I guess whoever it is, he’s in his element, the nation’s capital, where he can be with so many others like him.” She paused, trying to refocus. Then she looked into Lee’s eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Lee. That explains a lot.”
She watched his expression morph with satisfaction.
He said, “Oh, and before it gets lost in the shuffle of our plans, I picked up some fingerprints and DNA off the basement terminal, from the mole who blew your cover. Unless there’s someone at the agency who can hack entry to the basement, it’s either one of the Dires or Ass Dires. So when we have the time, we’ll need to find a way to get this stuff processed.” He walked to the closet and pulled the paper pile from his suit jacket. And handed her the page with the Scotch tape pieces gently stuck to it.
“Dire” was the term used by underlings to refer to a director-level manager. “Ass Dire” was the title used in private to refer to the assistant directors. Lee said, “I got there just after whoever it was left.” He used his cell’s infrared connection to send over several more files. “Here’s your proof: his login was active when I copied the keystrokes for his sign-off. We have his user identification and password, but they’re not any I had on record with permissions to enter the basement. So I’m sure they’re hacked. Even if I can get you through the firewall, there’s probably nothing there. But the destination end point of the message appears to be somewhere in the foothill caves near Nangarhar. A long drive from the airport in Jalalabad, Afghanistan.”
Cassie muttered, “Afghanistan? Shit. This means we’ll need two separate black ops teams, not just the one I’ve been planning for Riyadh. The expense and coordination required by the timing of two simultaneous ops complicates things a lot. We’ll have to keep Pesi in Riyadh and Tariq in Nangarhar from knowing about the takedown of whichever one we do first.”
Lee nodded. “We’ll have to close down communications. Black out one of the countries. Right?”
“When I was in Riyadh, I reviewed their electrical systems. The country has a bulletproof system. We’ll have to black out the area of the caves in Afghanistan. How the fuck we gonna do that?” She felt beaten
Lee shrugged. “Not impossible. I’ll may have a solution for that. GNU radio. If we can develop that tech so it works when other telecommunications are down, we’d have a chance to surprise them in both locations.”
“What’s GNU radio?”
Lee read the screen of his cell and then faced Cassie. “When I told you I’d found a solution for the cell phone problem, I was dead serious. I found something better than using an encrypted satellite phone for secure communications. This fix for cell phones is something new from a Silicon Valley engineering genius named Eric Blossom. I found someone who worked with him, developing something called the GNU radio Phone.”
“What do you suggest we do to get this done?”
He examined what he’d written in the notes file. “For a fee to be negotiated between you and Adam Mahee, he’ll contact Eric and get detailed specifications. He’ll build a version functioning on cell phones or smartphones.”
Her face formed the question with a frown. “And how would that help us?”
“It works like an untraceable version of a satellite phone, but in a more compact package. Your friendly Muslim extremists can’t trace this right now. Adam told me if we can design this, coding and testing should take under one month.”
“Does this work like the Warfighter Information Network-Tactical the army used in Afghanistan?”
“Similar. But what we’re paying for is the encryption module that Mahee claims works better than anything DARPA will have for the next five years. It uses extra-large variable-length key sizes and unique voice encoding techniques. WIN-T is good, and Mahee’s design is based on it. But his is better. I met him at a computer security conference and he showed me a beta model.”
“Tell me the rest.”
“He’ll build it out of commodity parts, highly available for cordless phones, and it’ll be cheap for voice communications. The beachball antenna could be so tiny it can fit within the antenna from the PDA. The radio runs in the 900 megahertz, 2.4 gigahertz, or 5.8 gigahertz bands, even when using large amounts of power. So it’s portable and robust. And he can cobble something together with more power than the FCC allows, with ruggedness built in for battlefield use. Here’s Adam’s number.”
He sent her a text message. “Okay. I did what I said I would. Stop being so grouchy.”
She shook her head. “No. And you haven’t. What about the personnel lists you were supposed to have?”
He nodded. “It’s done. Here. The contact info for the hackers and black ops personnel you requested. Except I had to flee before I completed vetting their records. So I’ve hundreds of them and for all I know, many of the retired ones may be dead.” He tapped a few buttons on his cell. “They’re in your phone now.”
She nodded.
He transmitted several more files. “As for the last file, it’s a collection of arms dealers the agency uses for black ops when we want materiel that can’t be traced to us. But I don’t believe they’ll be able to get us ammo traceable back to the agency. Unfortunately, I left too soon to be able to source the ammo within the agency. Sorry.” Lee shrugged.
Cassie sighed. “Lee, I apologize. You did great.”
He suddenly bolted upright. “Damn! I just thought of a solution to the timeline problem. Let’s just hire a mercenary army, one complete army, instead of raising one. It would cut at least two months off the time to completion on the plan. Not to mention reducing the costs. We could train them and be ready in less than a month.”
Cassie sat ramrod straight, her eyes blinking. “Of course. What a great idea, Lee! But how do we find a private army for hire?”
He stared at the cell phone and punched a few keys on the thumb board. “There’s Xe. Used to call themselves Blackwater. I could contact them easily.” He pointed to the tiny screen: http://www.blackwaterusa.com. “But they’ve made the television world news so if we used them word would probably leak.”
He entered another web address. “Here. Look.”
The site at http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/ para/mercenary.htm showed a list of them. There were over sixty mercenary companies. He clicked on one of the links. “Two of them look especially promising: beni-tal.co.il/ and www.krav-gruppe.com, both from Israel. I’ll send out requests for proposals to a few. We can choose one that’s small enough to serve our needs and not attract attention to our plan.”
Cassie considered this. “Good. Send the RFPs.”
He couldn’t conceal his fear about what he was becoming party to. “So, if we do this, what’s the first thing we have to do now?”
She said, “Get out of Dodge. This hotel is nice, but every time we leave the room we’re visible on their videocams and sooner or later, bad things will happen if we stay. We’ll need to disguise ourselves to lower the probability someone will notice us.”
She paced the room. “I think we should move somewhere far away and very rural. Then I’ll need two or three hackers to begin coding and testing the GNU radio cell phone software w
hile you hire a merc army and direct black ops training.”
She knew Lee had never planned a black operation.
But neither had she.
Before she could speak, he did, asking the question most troubling to her. “Yes, a location with very low population density. No prying eyes. So, go where?”
Cassie sat in silence for seconds. She scanned the paintings in their room as if they might provide something coded into one of them. One was an arid scene. “We need someplace replicating a section of Middle Eastern desert so our black ops mercs can train there. I think Nevada or the California desert might work best. Mountainous terrain and far away from any towns.”
At this, Lee frowned. “How about the Santa Lucia Mountains ten miles east of the ocean, in the Fort Hunter Liggett area. The Ventana Wilderness, near Camp Roberts. Altitudes up over five thousand feet. Our military trains troops bound for Afghanistan there. It’s vast. We can easily remain hidden.” He smiled, happy, like a puppy.
Her expression widened in evident surprise. “Lee, how do you know about this place?”
“I was brought up near Santa Barbara. When I was a teen, Mom and Dad took me on camping trips near the Nacimiento-Fergusson Road in the mountains southeast of Lucia Point at Big Sur.”
She realized that until now, they’d never spoken to each other about their lives from before they’d met. She thought about her own teenage years, at Half Moon Bay High School, and her family’s trips to Big Sur. She remembered majestic mountains crashing into narrow fringe beaches at the Pacific Ocean. It was a gorgeous place, her favorite place on earth. Excited she and Lee had grown up so nearby each other, she was also surprised neither of them had known this.
“Just happens. I grew up on the San Mateo coastside, and I know the place you’re talking about very well. I’ve spent entire days in the area but never camped there. Mom insisted we stay at a hotel. We usually stayed at Lucia Lodge. The rooms had a queen bed for my parents and they brought a sleeping bag for me. There wasn’t any television or radio, but I went on hikes around the area with my mom and dad.”
She thought for just a second, thinking about whether they could find the privacy they’d need there to train her mercenaries. “It’s always quiet there and except for Highway One, few cars come by down the road. There’s a road leading from Highway One up into the mountains. Very remote.” Lee’s suggestions, once again, were spot on. “Yes, let’s do it there.”
He nodded, pacing the room. “Okay. Another thing settled. Let’s get out of here as fast as possible.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
August 19, 4:21 p.m.
Room 312, Mandarin Oriental, 1330 Maryland Avenue SW, Washington, DC
Cassie dug into her attaché case, pulling out articles of clothing, including a well-stained and ripped raincoat, a black ski cap, and other discards. Her first disguise. She tossed these to Lee, along with items she’d bought yesterday. “When we’re done, no one will recognize you. To start, strip off all your clothing and go to the bathroom.”
Lee did as asked.
She filled the bathtub and dropped three bottles of brown shoe polish into it. “Step into the tub, please. First, I’m going to change the color of your skin. Lie down, take a deep breath and use your fingertips to cover the openings of your nose. Let yourself sink totally under the bath water for as long as you can.”
He held fingertips to his nostrils and splashed under, staying submerged for thirty seconds.
The smells of hair dyes, shoe polish, and unwashed old clothing mixed with the stale odors already in their room. She remembered how she’d felt the last time she’d done this and relished leaving as soon as they could.
She worked on his appearance for almost an hour, putting him through many of the same changes she had undergone when she’d fled DC so many months ago. Her work made Lee look wild. He’d stand out in a crowd, something no one in an undercover operation would ordinarily want, but he wouldn’t look in the least like Lee Ainsley, and that might be enough.
“Okay, Lee, put these clothes on.” While he dressed, she became an old and cheap call girl, with thick makeup and bright red lipstick. “We carry everything in our attaché cases, and we put them into brown paper shopping bags. We top the bags off with food and water bottles from the room’s bar, leave without paying the bill via the service entrance, and hoof it to the bus terminal.” She checked her makeup to make sure it looked disgusting.
“You will be my pimp, but don’t worry. Snoop cameras aren’t programmed to pick up anyone that looks like this and that’s what we have to worry about. As for any johns I might attract, they’ll run away when they imagine my personal hygiene from seeing this disguise. I look frightful.” She grinned into the mirror. Then she gazed at Lee and burst out laughing.
It took three hours to walk to the bus station. On the way there she bought some needed items at a costume store. Her fear was so strong her palms slicked with perspiration. Lee seemed oblivious to their danger. Once he got “into role,” Cassie had to keep reminding him not to attract attention to them. They purchased two bus tickets using counterfeit cash.
It wasn’t until the bus crossed out of Washington’s city limits she relaxed and no longer heard the blood rushing through the arteries in her skull. She watched Lee startle every time the bus slowed, but the voice in her head remained silent.
Their first leg of the journey took them to Dubuque, Iowa. They exited the bus and entered the station’s restrooms where each donned upscale casual outfits before they made their overnight arrangements. They spent their first night at the Lighthouse Valley Bed and Breakfast.
On each part of their trip, for their safety’s sake, they sat as far away from everyone else as they could. The next day she became a bounty hunter and he was a bail jumper in handcuffs, then on to Austin, Texas, where they stayed at The Brook House.
While there, she dragged Lee to Antone’s on Fifth to hear Marcia Ball play blues piano and sing. They stood in the back near the bar and drank beer. Lee asked Cassie to dance, and she was clumsy. Ball sang swamp boogie blues, and Cassie hummed these tunes as they walked back to the Brook House.
Two stops and two costume changes later, they finally arrived at the Greyhound bus station in San Jose.
When they paid for their taxicab and checked into the Doubletree Hotel close to the San Jose Airport, they appeared as two Silicon Valley technogeeks at a business conference.
The clerk at the registration desk, a young properly-coiffed woman in her early thirties, tried not to look at them as she asked, “Two adjacent rooms?”
Lee smiled. “Ah, yes.”
The clerk grinned back discreetly. She recorded their names from two credit cards Cassie had manufactured with other people’s identities.
They both moved into one of the rooms and unpacked their clothes. Without stopping for any communication between them, each sat in chairs around the hotel room’s desk in the common area and used wireless access to send recruitment emails, receive responses, and follow-up questions from possible team members.
To Cassie’s great surprise and satisfaction, two days later she found several FedEx envelopes slipped under their door containing signed non-disclosure agreements—NDAs—from several potential hacker recruits.
She hummed “Sunday Street,” a Dave Van Ronk blues tune, while she stood in line to rent a car under the false identity she’d used to register at the hotel. Cassie drove the neighborhood until she’d rented a Post Office box for subsequent mail from potential recruits. She felt blissful. Their plans were coming together.
Within a week she had NDAs from six skilled hackers begging for a chance to work this project, which she code-named “Project Kahuna.”
Each hacker thought they worked for a startup company that hadn’t been named or funded yet, and “Kahuna” was the precursor name to a commercial software product. She sent each hacker $6,000 via a Fedwire funds transfer into their checking account as a signing bonus. She told them, since the s
tartup hadn’t rented office space yet, they would all have to work at home.
She planted news items on Internet blogs and in some of the alt.binaries newsgroups about the nonexistent company. She tagged and coded the news items so they became big news on Internet websites specializing in startup companies. The resulting “buzz” made it easier for her to attract the talent she needed.
One person, who sent an email to the nonexistent company claimed the call-sign “CryptoMonger,” and he seemed to know more about the type of work she did as a hacker than he did about programming. Cassie stared at his name. She thought she’d heard of W. Wing before, but she was too tired to remember details. Cassie filed his contact email address away, just in case she ever needed another person with her skill set, but she didn’t hire him for the project.
Cassie bought all the hardware she thought they’d need from Fry’s Electronics. Using an Epson printer, she created identities for two cofounders, Lee and herself. These included identity badges and business cards, just in case they needed to meet any of the hackers.
She crafted specifications for each piece of code they would create and test. All the modules were designed to fit together so each piece could be coded by a single hacker with none of the others knowing enough to guess the real purpose of the final product. This took her almost a week.
They changed hotels every three days, and in under a week she had the GNU radio phone specifications ready for the hackers. Three weeks later, she had received the last of the tested modules and combined them all into a “system.”
