by Steve Richer
The waiter was busy picking after the elderly men and Jeff took the opportunity to reach inside his jacket for a Mont Blanc fountain pen. Only it was so much more than just a pen. It had a miniature camera inserted in the tip. He sat it at an angle on top of a copy of Dumas’s Les Trois Mousquetaires, wishing it wouldn’t be discovered for at least twenty-four hours. He hoped the angle was just right.
The maitre D’ approached Jeff as he finished his cognac. “Monsieur, we are closing now.”
“Sure, I understand,” Jeff said, stubbing the rest of his cigar in a nearby ashtray. He noticed the tab in the guy’s hand. “Would you terribly mind if I used the restroom first?”
“Pas du tout,” the man said.
Most eavesdropping operations had three stages. The first was the bug itself. The second was the pickup machine which converted the sound waves into electrical impulses.
But since most of these contraptions needed to be small enough for adequate concealment, they usually didn’t store the information locally. A transmission link needed to be installed nearby to boost the signal, the third stage, so it could reach the listening post.
Had he had more time and especially more experience, Jeff could have hooked the transmitter to a land wire such as the telephone line. Considering the situation, he would have to resort to radio waves. Since the operation was to be short term it was the simplest method. And he was certain that here he wouldn’t have to worry about technical security countermeasures, as they had called it at spy school.
Jeff entered the restroom and selected the closest stall. He reached inside his jacket again and retrieved a transmitter, a device the size of a two-way radio. He screwed the rubber antenna on and concealed the gadget behind the toilet’s tank above his head. Thank God Europe still has those, Jeff thought.
He was a lot less nervous now. All that was left to do was to go back out and pay the bill with the brand new gold card Bellamy had issued him. The fun part was tomorrow.
AUGUST 2
FRIDAY
Chapter 5
Ross Hingle was glad he could travel again. Ever since he had fallen into the realm of early retirement, he had been sedentary. He didn’t even take vacations or cruises.
But now he had something driving him again. He had a mission to accomplish and fortunately it had him traveling. The bad news was that the trip had taken him to the United States, not the most exotic locale.
He had never been to Atlanta before. He’d had the opportunity back in ‘96 for the Olympics but he had turned it down. He’d still been grieving at the time and the idea of people from all over the world cheering in an orgasmic communion of joy had not appealed to him.
Now he had to admit Atlanta wasn’t a bad-looking city. He’d been here for a few days and he’d had the chance to drive around town. It was mostly to recon for possible future missions – old habit – but he still had managed to see a lot of it.
Looking at the clock on the TV set he saw it was eight o’clock. The dealership would soon open its doors and he wanted to be there first. He had been up for a few hours and had started watching a movie on the pay-per-view system. It was fairly good and he would rather have finished it, but his work was vital. He made a mental note to rent the video when he got a chance. He slipped his blazer on and left his hotel room.
It was in a BMW Z8 that Hingle had chosen to drive to the Ferrari dealership in Roswell.
“I’m so glad to see you again, sir!” the salesman said, smelling his commission.
“I tried an Aston Martin yesterday afternoon, DB7 Volante.”
“That’s a sweet ride.”
“Sure is. But now I can’t make up my mind. I like to drive hard and I like to drive fast.”
“Both cars are certainly made for that. But you know the 360 Modena you examined yesterday is a little less expensive, I could make you a good price. And parts are easier to come by if you go the Italian way, cheaper too.”
Hingle scratched his chin like he was trying to figure out a way to launch a man into space using a Popsicle stick and a slingshot.
“I gotta confess, the 360 impressed me. I’ll tell you what, let me take it out for a spin again and if it still leaves me panting we’ll sit in that office of yours.”
Ten minutes later Hingle was speeding back toward Atlanta. One of the clerks at the Greyhound terminal thought it was odd that the same Ferrari had been parked at the same spot three times in two days. But he was glad just to see it; God knew it didn’t happen every day.
Hingle entered the terminal with the key in hand and quickly found the locker; it was him who had chosen it in the first place. He removed the briefcase and left the key in place this time.
He finally had what had taken so much time, money, and planning to acquire. It felt very good in his hands. He thought about ditching the Ferrari since he didn’t need it anymore, but it could bring on trouble. Besides, he loved driving it.
Maybe he’d buy himself one once it was all over.
Jeff had enjoyed a long lunch in his room. He had started with some sautéed salmon bathed in a tangy vinaigrette. He didn’t think it was authentic French cuisine, but what was nowadays? This New World Order had brought on one good thing by eliminating borders; chefs were influenced by the newly celebrated cultural diversity.
For his main course he had ordered some blackened Barbary duck with shrimp. The food was delicious, if a little heavy for lunch. But if it was good Jeff could swallow it, no matter how full he was.
He was watching tennis on TV while always keeping an eye on his laptop which displayed the live video feed from the cigar lounge. The camera was set just right and he had a perfect view of the entire room. He had bothered to learn every facial feature of the men he was waiting for from pictures he had on his CD. The men hadn’t shown up yet.
He finished eating his two-chocolate marquise fudge and minutes later he was rummaging through the mini-fridge. It gave a rest to his neck from looking at the TV but it soon began hurting his knees. Jeff figured the carpet wasn’t thick enough. He selected an obscenely overpriced can of cashews and sat back on the bed. It was 2pm and he was getting bored.
He closed his eyes in order to rub them without hurting them. When he put his glasses back on he saw something familiar on the laptop’s screen. One of the men he had learned to recognize was sitting facing the camera. Facing him.
He slid to the edge of the bed and punched some keys as it went faster than using the tiny button that passed for a mouse. Four seconds later, he had the sound recorder working.
Since the man was sitting in the seat Jeff had occupied the night before, the two other microphones were turned off. He was recording in wave format and prayed that the hard drive had enough space.
Because the biggest megabyte eater was by far the video stream, he had plugged an outside recorder that taped the video on cassettes normally used by camcorders. He would have two hours until he would have to change the tape. He was sure the meeting wouldn’t last that long.
It took just enough time for Fabrice Bisson to order a drink to allow for his guest to arrive. Bisson had been France’s Secretary of State for International Trade for three years and this was the first time he had done something like this. He thought for an instant that it was a bad idea and that he should have done what his co-conspirator had done and sent a subordinate.
Then again, he didn’t really have subordinates, not anyone that would have an immediate interest in the project and could be trusted. He was on his own. At least he wouldn’t have to share his cut of the profits like Ledoux would. And he needed the money.
The man Ledoux was sending was Yannick Fouasse, the Councilor-at-Large for Mines. The man was young enough not to have been corrupted by anyone other than his own boss, the Secretary of State for Industry. The appeal of quick cash had been enough to convince him to be a part of it. He sat in front of Bisson and Jeff lost sight of the latter.
“Have you been here long?” Fouasse asked.
&nbs
p; “A minute,” the older man answered.
The sound wasn’t bad but Jeff still wished he’d had the opportunity to install some amplifiers to wash out the static and background noise.
“Come on…”
He tried to tweak the settings to clear up the sound.
The waiter offered the menu to Fouasse, but he declined it. The waiter caught the pissed off look in his eyes and left.
“You should try one of their cigars, they’re to die for.”
“I think we should move this along, I have a meeting in an hour.”
“All right, I was contacted by a man representing an American consortium. They’re interested in digging up a mine near Nice. Ledoux once told me he was looking for such a situation. Is he still interested?”
“How much money are we talking about?” Fouasse whispered.
Jeff frowned to better his hearing, as if it would help. A little editing would be needed to help matters.
Nevertheless, they had his full attention.
“Five million dollars.”
“The city of Nice will be hard to swallow for a lot of them. Very touristic, not industrial.”
“Hey, don’t negotiate with me. They said five, I don’t think they will go any higher. They went up from one million.”
“That’s not what I said. I said The city of Nice will be hard to swallow for a lot of them. It means what it means.”
“That’s where they want to dig, we can’t change that. With your report, Ledoux’s recommendation, and my approbation, the minister will have no choice but to submit it to the Council. The permits will be granted, the land zoned, and we’ll be paid.”
“In the fall…”
“It has to be done right now,” Bisson interrupted. “In mid-September the land won’t be on the market anymore.”
“I still don’t know.”
“It’s not your call. What did Ledoux say?”
“He said to agree to it.”
The meeting lasted another five minutes in which Bisson tried being gracious with questions about Fouasse’s wife and kids. The younger man offered two-word replies for the sake of politeness. He couldn’t wait to see what his share of the money would buy.
Chapter 6
It took less than fifteen minutes to prepare the surveillance material for easy manipulation. He transferred the video feed into DivX format and compressed the sound using an MP3 codec; the entire data was suddenly a lot more compact.
He mixed the video and audio together using some shareware he’d found on the Internet – Jeff had much more expensive professional software available to him, but he found it not as easy to use – and before long he had a perfectly good AVI movie. Using the DVD burner of his laptop he made another copy which allowed for the thing to be read on most computers and DVD players.
It wouldn’t have been terribly disastrous if the employees of La Fumée des Dieux found the bugging devices after the meeting had wrapped up. They would call the police, a few questions would be asked, and they would certainly conclude to some type of industrial espionage.
The equipment was American-made and tracks would end there. Every serial number had been filed off. The worst that would happen is that CSE would lose a few thousand dollars in surveillance gear. And that was the main reason why he had to go back to the cigar lounge.
The place was as busy as he had seen it through the eye of his camera. It took the better part of five seconds for the maitre D’ to recognize Jeff. The latter had judged that he didn’t need to wear his thousand-dollar suit for this venture. He was wearing slacks and a Hawaiian shirt and actually felt good about breaking the dress code.
“How’s it going? Remember me, Mr. Big Spender, the guy that put your grandkids through college?”
“Uh, monsieur…”
The man was at a loss for words. How could such a classy gentleman revert to… this?
“Listen, I think I left my pen in here last night. You mind if I come in to look for it?” Jeff didn’t allow him time to respond and walked past him, tapping on his shoulder. “Thanks, appreciate it.”
The patrons fell silent as they witnessed the young man enter. Surely, the lad had taken a wrong turn looking for Burger King. Jeff paid them no mind and went to the tables where he had stuck the microphones, retrieving them while pretending he was searching for his pen.
“No, not here,” he said after pocketing the last of them. He turned to the maitre D’ who hadn’t let him out of his sight. “I think I’ll take a peek in the throne room.”
He found the transmitter where he had left it the night before, behind the water tank. He clipped it to his belt and concealed it with the shirttail. As he came out of the water closet, as the French referred to it, he shrugged for the benefit of the crowd. “Wasn’t there.”
The maitre D’ had regained his senses and walked up to Jeff. “Monsieur, perhaps if you give me your address I can mail your pen to you when we find it.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Nah,” Jeff said in a loud voice. “I couldn’t let you do that. The postage, the insurance you’ll have to take on it – did I tell you this is a two thousand-dollar pen? It was given to me by the Mexican President, no less. Holds a dear, dear place in my heart. I signed my first multi-million dollar check with it.”
He was laying it thick and enjoyed it tremendously.
The folks who had first looked at him like he was a bum now had respect in their eyes. A minute ago he was a reject from the lowest caste, and after a few lies he was an international tycoon. Jeff was still the same, but the hypocritical snobs saw a different man. He hated them and loved socking it to them.
“There it is!” He walked to the bookcase and picked up the camera.
He raised it above his head so everyone could see.
“Very good, monsieur. Could I offer you a drink?”
Jeff couldn’t help himself and sneered. This guy was just as bad as the others. Without uttering another word, he left the lounge.
After dropping by the hotel to pick up his laptop, gadget case, and most importantly the DVD he had just made, Jeff took a cab to the Canadian embassy on Avenue Montaigne.
Having passed through the security checkpoints, he was met by Terry Raper, the Counselor in Research and Development. A civilian scientist working in the Defense division of the embassy, she was the CSE’s contact in Paris.
She was on the short side of forty and had an expanding midsection, but Jeff caught an inkling of past beauty in her face. He shook off the thoughts, barely believing he was contemplating her in this light. He needed a girlfriend, fast.
“Did you find everything you needed in the case?” she asked as they walked to her office.
“I looked hard but didn’t find any Smarties.”
Last night he’d fallen asleep eating M&Ms, Smarties’ skinnier cousins. He’d cursed them for it.
“Yeah, I miss that too. At least when I get some vacation time I can take a drive into Belgium or Switzerland for some real good chocolate.”
“But it ain’t Smarties.”
They walked past a senior NCO on administrative duties and entered her office. It was modest but homey.
“I suspect you need access to my phone line?” she asked.
“Yeah, and I would need some envelopes. Eight by eleven, nine by twelve, something like that. One of each would be better.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up. Here’s the key for the STU.”
She put the crypto-ignition key on the desk and left. It looked like a car key but it contained an electronically erasable programmable read-only memory chip that turned the STU-III – third generation secure telephone unit – into an undecipherable coding machine.
Using 128-bit encryption, this phone system was impregnable. The keys’ program aligned and allowed the conversation to use a specific code. What made the system so safe was that each code was used only once; breaking the code was virtually useless because it would never be used again.
J
eff dialed Bellamy’s number in Ottawa and it took a minute until he came on the line. He took the opportunity to close the door.
“How are you, Jeff?”
“Go secure.”
He knew that the STU-III’s biggest vulnerability was what was said before the encryption system was turned on. Jeff didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He inserted the key and waited fifteen seconds, until the LED changed color.
“How did it go?”
“Like cotton candy on a wet tongue,” Jeff replied.
He turned to Terry’s computer and could see that it was hooked to the Internet. He typed an FTP address in the upper field and then punched in a user name and password. He was glad to access the FTP site; he was doing it all from memory since he didn’t want to waste time going into his laptop.
“Was anything interesting spoken?”
“You’re about to find out.”
Sure, he was doing something for a foreign government but it didn’t mean that those who did the favor had to remain in the dark. It was expected.
Jeff loaded the DVD onto the tray and using a copy-paste clicking combo he moved the large file to the FTP site. Emailing it would have taken too much space and he even doubted it would have fit into a mailbox.
When it was done he said, “It’s on the FTP site now.”
“Wonderful, I can’t wait to see it.”
Jeff backed up Terry’s browser to where it was and removed the DVD. “Do I come back home now?”
“Stay for another day. We’ll study the file and send you orders accordingly. You might have to get involved in this. It always concerns us somehow. But send me the DVD, I’ll forward it to the French, that way they won’t know you’re still there.”
Terry entered yet remained near the door. She wasn’t sure she should stay since she noticed the key in the STU-III, but Jeff motioned for her to stay.
“Put me down for a Roger.”
