The Unknown

by Brett Battles

  “I don’t see it anywhere,” Daeng said.

  Neither did Quinn.

  “Maybe they had a mechanical problem and it’s in one of the hangars,” Kincaid suggested.

  Orlando said, “Not according to the tracker. It should be directly in front of the passenger terminal, near the east end.”

  “It’s not there,” Nate said.

  At some point between when Jar’s computer had gone haywire and when Orlando brought the tracking software up on her laptop, one of the bugs had stopped working. The other plane was on the ground at that point, and the assumption was the bug had been disabled during landing.

  Now, it looked like the one working bug wasn’t even attached to the aircraft anymore.

  Their jet proceeded to its assigned stop at the west end of the plane parking area, and was greeted on arrival by an official airport passenger van.

  “Nate, Daeng, you’re with me,” Quinn said. He looked at Orlando and Jar. “You two keep working on leads.”

  “What about me?” Kincaid said as Quinn, Nate, and Daeng moved toward the door.

  Quinn paused long enough to say, “The others may still be around here so you need to keep an eye out for trouble,” before he opened the exit and started down the stairs.

  There were two men in the van. The passenger exited and walked toward Quinn.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said in English. “Welcome to Debrecen. You are coming from Slovakia, yes?”

  “That’s correct,” Quinn said.

  “In that case, no need for immigration. You only must check in with airport management.”

  That was the beauty of traveling between EU countries. “They can also help you arrange for transportation to wherever you want to go.”

  “Thank you, but we would like you to take us to airport security,” Quinn said.

  “Security? Is there a problem?”

  Quinn showed the man his Interpol ID.

  “Oh, um, of course. Come with me.”

  The van drove them along the edge of the parking area, and down the passenger terminal to the far end of the structure. There were currently five passenger planes at the airport—three at the terminal, one taxiing toward the runway, and the last slowing on the runway after landing moments before.

  The guide led Quinn into the building through a keypad-operated door, and down a corridor to the security office.

  Given the airport’s smaller size, Quinn guessed the security department dealt with few real problems. The occasional shoplifter at one of the passenger terminal stores perhaps, or someone who might have had a few too many preflight drinks. From the flurry of activity when he walked into the security office, however, one would think he’d arrived at Heathrow in London, not at an airport in tiny Debrecen.

  The guide walked up to the service counter, which delineated a small waiting area, and tried to get the attention of a uniformed security officer. It took several tries before one of the men glanced at the guide. They talked in Hungarian for a few seconds, then the officer shouted across the room at one of the other men. That guy in turn went and knocked on a door on the east wall, then entered.

  A full minute went by before the guy returned in the company of a middle-aged man, also in uniform. Both officers approached the counter, where a short discussion ensued between them and the guide.

  The older guy then turned to Quinn and said in a gruff voice, “Interpol?”

  “Yes.” Quinn showed the man his ID.

  The officer studied it, grunted, and looked back up. “We are very busy at moment,” he said in a dismissive tone.

  “I see that, Captain…”

  “Commander. Manko.”

  “I apologize, Commander. I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

  “What you want?”

  “We’ve been tracking an aircraft that we believe landed here less than an hour ago. A Dassault Falcon 7X. We were hoping it would still be here when we arrived, but apparently it’s gone already. I was hoping you might—”

  Manko’s eyes narrowed. “What reason you want plane?”

  “The people onboard are wanted by authorities in several countries.”

  “For what?”

  Quinn glanced behind the commander at the activity in the rest of the room. “You’re all busy because something just happened, didn’t it? Something to do with that plane?”

  Manko stared silently at Quinn.

  “What happened?”

  Again, the man said nothing.

  “Commander Manko, we are not on opposite sides here. My colleagues and I are attempting to track them down because”—he changed his voice to a whisper—“because they have killed several people. I am asking for your help. What do you know about the plane?”

  For a second, Quinn thought the stonewalling would continue, but then the commander said, “In my office.”

  Jar rebooted her laptop, wondering if it still worked.

  It wasn’t that she felt any potential sense of loss. The computer was merely a portal. She could easily get another machine to replace it if need be.

  What she was interested in was seeing what Brunner’s stick had done to it. She hoped it might give her insight into the massive data dump—or whatever that was—that had attacked her machine.

  Yes, starting her computer again would come with risks, but she was being smart about it. Her machine wasn’t an off-the-shelf, everyday laptop. It was designed so that certain functions, such as disconnecting networking abilities, could be achieved by the flick of a switch on the back. This particular function was useful in hacking situations gone bad, where getting offline in a hurry could be the difference between being identified or not. She now turned that switch off and pushed the power button.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kincaid asked. He was sitting in Daeng’s seat across the table from her.

  “Are you not supposed to be watching for trouble?”

  He grunted a laugh. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

  “That is not true. I do not know you so I have no feelings one way or the other.”

  “So, after you gather enough data, you’ll make some sort of decision?”

  “Yes.”

  The log-on window appeared on the laptop’s screen. Before she had a chance to input her password, though, it was automatically entered for her and the window vanished. Next, instead of her normal desktop screen, the monitor turned a glowing black.

  “You are…different, aren’t you?” Kincaid said.

  “If you do not mind, I am very busy right now.”

  Another chuckle. “I guess that answers that.” He turned his gaze out the window.

  Jar typed in a command that should have reset the screen, but nothing happened. She tried several other commands. They were just as useless. Even pressing the power key did nothing.

  She sighed. It looked like the machine was going to be a total write-off.

  She flipped the computer on its side to access the battery, but before she could dislodge it, a dialogue box appeared in the middle of the screen. She set the laptop back down.

  The words were in Thai.

  Who are you?

  Grimacing, she turned the computer around and double-checked that she had indeed turned off the network.

  After some consideration, she decided to reboot again. She removed the battery, and let the machine sit unpowered for a full minute before starting it back up.

  Once more, her log-in occurred automatically and the screen went black.

  She waited, counting the seconds, but this time nothing happened.

  She hit a few random keys on her keyboard and sat back, ticking off the seconds again. When she hit ten, the dialogue box reappeared.

  Who are you?

  She typed:

  Who are YOU?

  The dueling questions remained on the screen for only a second before they were replaced by a new box.

  I asked first.

  Jar responded:

&nbs
p; You are on my computer, so you tell me.

  The same pause, then:

  I am not on your computer.

  Jar cocked her head.

  Then where are you?

  Again, the dialogue box went away after one second, but this time another one did not take its place. She tried to type again, but with the dialogue box gone, nothing appeared on the screen.

  She cursed in Thai.

  “You get it working?” Kincaid asked.

  She ignored him and stared at her monitor. Obviously the Wi-Fi disconnect switch on the machine wasn’t working properly, and someone had found their way into her system. She considered killing the power again, but there was little on her hard drive that mattered. Most of the files and programs she used lived in the cloud, and were protected in a way that no one else but Jar could access.

  Kincaid scooted out of his chair and moved around to look at the computer over the back of her seat.

  “That looks dead to me,” he said. “Brunner’s jump drive or whatever that was must have fried—”

  The dialogue box reappeared.

  Who are you?

  “What the hell is that?” Kincaid asked. “Is that writing?”

  “It’s Thai.”

  “So you did get it working.”

  She considered replying You first to the message, but stopped herself. Maybe she shouldn’t be handling this on her own.

  “Get Orlando,” she told Kincaid.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Just get her. Please.”

  While he moved off to do that, Jar watched the screen, wondering if the box would go away due to her lack of response. But it was still sitting there when Kincaid returned with Orlando.

  “What’s going on?” Orlando asked, taking the seat beside Jar.

  Jar turned the computer so Orlando could see the monitor. “Someone is trying to communicate with me.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “‘Who are you?’”

  “Have you tried answering?”

  Jar told her what had happened since restarting her machine the first time.

  “It’s probably a phishing program that was dumped onto your machine when everything went haywire.”

  Jar winced. Though some virus programs were designed to trick people into thinking they were talking to a real person, this didn’t feel like that. “I am not—”

  The dialogue box vanished.

  “Got tired of waiting, I guess,” Kincaid said.

  A new box appeared, only this time the words were in English.

  A phishing program. That is funny. No, I am not a phishing program. Who are you?

  Both Orlando and Jar grabbed for the laptop at the same instant. Jar was closer and nabbed it first. She flipped it over, released the battery again, and dropped the computer on the table.

  Before it even stopped moving, Orlando snatched it up and hurried out of the plane. When she returned, the machine was no longer with her.

  “When we were in the air,” she said, “when your computer was first attacked, you took the battery out then, too, right?” Orlando said.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, okay. Good. And you didn’t put it back in until…?”

  “Until five or six minutes ago.”

  “Right before you received the message for the first time?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you said you pulled the battery out again.”

  “Yes. And then I decided to start it again and see what would happen if I answered.”

  “So, at most, since the attack, your computer has been on for no more than five minutes.”

  “I do not think even that long.”

  “And most of that time was just in the last several minutes, otherwise the battery wasn’t even in.”

  “Correct.”

  Orlando looked from Jar to Kincaid and back. “Did either of you say anything while it was powered up?”

  “She just asked me to go get you,” Kincaid said.

  “That’s it?” Orlando asked.

  “Pretty much. I think I made a comment about her getting the thing working, but nothing else.”

  “Then…then maybe we’re all right.” Orlando turned to Jar, her mouth opening to say something, but she stopped herself. “What’s wrong?”

  Jar’s skin had gone cold, the blood draining from her face. Kincaid was right. They had talked very little when the laptop was on, but Jar had said one thing that could be a big problem.

  “When I told Kincaid to get you, I mentioned you by name.”

  For a half second, Jar could see concern in her friend’s eyes, but Orlando said, “It’s okay. What’s done is done. I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

  But Jar knew the words were only meant to soothe her. “I should not have said it. I was not…thinking. I am sorry.”

  “Jar, it’s fine. Even if whoever they are figure out who I am—which I highly doubt they can—it’s not going to be a problem. The stick came from Brunner’s office. He’s not our enemy. We’re trying to save him. Which means anyone on the other end should not be our enemy, and we’re not their enemy, either.”

  In the larger picture, Jar knew Orlando was right. But…

  “But they do not know who we are, so we do not know that,” Jar said.

  Orlando smiled grimly. “True.”

  “Um, why don’t you just answer the question?” Kincaid said.

  Jar and Orlando turned to him.

  “What are you talking about?” Jar asked.

  “The question. You know, ‘who are you?’”

  “Are you making a joke? If yes, I do not understand it.”

  “Look, maybe this is a radical suggestion,” he said. “But you guys are supposed to be looking for information about Brunner, right? It was his computer thingy that triggered these people to message you, which means they must’ve known him. I’m just saying, they probably have the information we need. Am I wrong?”

  Jar and Orlando looked at each other.

  “He is not wrong,” Jar said.

  “No. But we can’t chance them listening in to whatever happens here.” Orlando paused. “Do you think you can—”

  “Yes.”

  Jar pulled open the large pocket of her backpack, removed her portable computer tool kit, and scooted out from behind the table.

  “Go with her,” Orlando told Kincaid.

  “With her where?” Kincaid said.

  Jar pushed open the door to the plane and started down the steps, not hearing whether or not Orlando responded to Kincaid.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Like most airports that serviced commercial flights, Debrecen International Airport was awash with security cameras.

  Mounted in a cabinet in Commander Manko’s office were four, side-by-side monitors. On three of the screens were rotating feeds from elsewhere at the airport. On the fourth screen was a paused image of a private jet in mid-takeoff.

  “That’s them,” Quinn said. “So they did leave.”

  “Yes,” Manko said.

  “Why do you have the image paused?” Nate asked.

  Manko looked uncomfortable.

  “Commander, if they’ve done something else, we need to know,” Quinn said.

  Manko took a breath, then said, “They pretend problem with engine so can emergency land, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “When they down, they say was mistake, problem with warning light. My people tell them need inspection before can leave again and they must wait. But they not wait. They go, no clearance. Nothing. Leave thirty-five minute ago.”

  It was exactly what Quinn had feared most.

  “Did you send up any jets to bring it back down?” Nate asked.

  “I not responsible for this. Air Force only. We ask, but by time they reply, plane already in Romania.”

  “Do you know if they continued heading south?”

  “I do not. No longer my problem.”

  Quinn glanced over his sho
ulder toward the other room. “It doesn’t seem like it’s not your problem.”

  “There are reports to be made. And questions from those…higher up.”

  “Do you have any footage from when they were parked?” Nate asked.

  Manko turned to him. “Yes, but is from distance.”

  “That’s okay. Can we see it?”

  Quinn’s inclination was to race back to the jet without another word, but chasing another aircraft was not like following a car. They wouldn’t be able to just pick it out of the sky. Their best bet would be finding it through radar data in Romania. So, while the commander searched for the requested footage, Quinn texted Orlando, briefly telling her what he’d learned and asking her to start searching.

  “Ah, here,” Manko said.

  New footage appeared on the monitor where the paused takeoff had been, only now the aircraft was sitting on a taxiway, not far from the runway. A few cars and a couple of fire trucks were parked near it. From inside the aircraft emerged two men. As they walked over to the waiting cars, a third person exited. A woman.

  Instead of joining her colleagues, she slipped under the plane and inspected first the hull and then the rear landing gear.

  Neither Quinn, Nate, nor Daeng made any outward expression, though Quinn was sure they were thinking the same thing he was.

  Son of a bitch.

  The camera’s distance from the plane, plus the shadows under the craft, made it difficult to discern many details, but Quinn was all but positive she had removed one of the tracking bugs by the time a security officer forced her back onto the plane.

  “They took off after this?” Quinn asked.

  “I can show you.”

  The footage started playing at high speed. Right before Manko slowed it to normal, a snippet of the woman popped on the screen.

  “Go back to where she comes out,” Quinn said.

  Manko reversed the recording, then let it play.

  The woman exited alone and approached the security car. She stood there in apparent conversation, then ducked down out of sight for a few seconds before heading back to the plane. Soon after, the jet began making its escape.