Gilbert chuckled. “A small price to pay for safety.”
“You may not think that in the morning,” said Mallory, laughing.
David stretched back in his seat. “You guys are just jealous of my awesome comedic skills.”
The plane leaned to the left, sending the horizon swinging up past the port windows.
“Okay, team—let’s focus,” said Alton. They spent the remaining minutes of their flight confirming the details of their plan.
In seemingly no time, the aircraft began to descend. After fourteen hours of flight time and a passage through five time zones, the NSA team screeched to a stop on the tarmac at 7:00 a.m., an hour past sunup.
Once landed, Nabi taxied the jet into a private hangar and powered down the turbines. A man wearing a mechanic’s blue overalls moved a ladder into position next to the jet’s exit door. Within minutes, Alton and the others had descended onto the hangar floor.
Alton watched Nabi’s men use a hydraulic lift to unload the wooden crates containing their tactical gear. He turned to the team. “David and Silva, like we talked about…I want you all to make sure everything we loaded onto this plane makes it off.”
“Sticky-finger patrol,” said David. “Got it.”
“Gilbert and Mastana, why don’t you all hang out here in case they need a hand?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Gilbert.
Alton turned to Mallory. “Want to go with me to the hangar door?”
“Sure.”
Alton limped a few paces before Mallory spoke. “Are we checking for something?”
“I want to do a little recon,” he said. “Call me paranoid, but I want to make sure no one’s out there waiting to ambush us.”
“Considering what happened to Creighton—and my dad—I don’t think that’s paranoid. More like prudent.”
The size of the massive door had made it appear closer than it actually was. By the time the Blackwells reached it, Alton’s brow dewed with sweat despite the brisk morning air, and his damaged leg throbbed a bit more than usual.
He took a few steps onto the runway and surveyed the arid landscape surrounding the airport. After swiveling his gaze a full 180 degrees, he shrugged. “I don’t see anything suspicious. What about you?”
“Nope,” said Mallory. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled, but it looks good for now.”
Alton scanned the landscape once more. Desert scrub brush dotted a ruddy landscape, and an intermittent breeze kicked up an occasional eddy of dust.
“No wonder they call this part of Australia the ‘Red Centre.’ You don’t see that kind of iron content in the soil of Afghanistan’s deserts.”
“I’m more concerned about not seeing people trying to kill us—like we had in Afghanistan’s deserts,” said Mallory.
“True,” said Alton. “Let’s get back to the team.”
Mallory matched Alton’s pace as he hobbled back to the plane. After the quiet expanse of desert, the echoes of the cavernous building lent an eerie ambience to their surroundings.
“Everything check out?” asked Alton as he arrived at the unloading zone.
“Yep. It’s all here,” said Silva.
“Good. I’ll pay Nabi the rest of his money. I need you to head over to the ground transportation area and rent us three or four SUVs. We’ll need enough room for us and all of the gear.”
Silva nodded.
Alton turned to the rest of the team. “David, take Mastana and Gilbert to your hotel and book a couple of rooms. Connect with Vega on a secure channel and let him know we’ve arrived. Once you’ve done that, come back here and help Silva load our cargo into the SUVs.” He drummed his fingers for a moment. “We can’t take the risk of someone breaking into our vehicles at night. Once you’re back with Silva, buy the strongest lock you can find, rent a locker at a local storage facility, and stow our gear there.”
“Will do.”
“Hey,” said Silva. “What are you gonna be doing all this time?”
“Mallory and I are going to pay a visit to DTI.”
“Don’t you need the tactical gear for that?”
“Nope,” said Alton. “This time, we’ll be walking right through the front door.”
CHAPTER 42
“Uh…that doesn’t exactly sound stealthy,” said David.
“We’re going for a different kind of stealth this time,” said Alton.
“Meaning what?”
“I hacked into the company’s servers during out flight. Remember how Vega said Safi’s alias in DTI is Deletam Tahir? The only mention of Tahir in all their databases is in the company directory. DTI doesn’t want to create a paper trail of his activities. That means we’re going to have to go on-site, again, to learn anything. But a combat mission won’t work this time. We can’t go shooting up the headquarters of a company located in an allied country just because we have a suspicion. We’ll have to talk our way in.”
Silva looked skeptical. “How you going to do that?”
Mallory smiled. “That’s where I came in. I studied DTI’s public financial records. Their R&D spending is so high for a company their size, they don’t have much left over for marketing. They’re trying to grow their business but are having a tough time, given their puny marketing budget.”
Silva looked at her with a blank stare. “And…?”
“I suggested to Alton that we visit DTI in the guise of a documentary crew, charting the history of poisons used to develop cures for diseases. DTI should jump at the chance for free publicity.”
Silva cracked a smile. “BSing your way into a tech company, huh? I like it. But do you really think it’ll work?”
Alton glanced at his watch. “We’ll know in a few hours. Mallory and I have an eleven o’clock appointment with their VP of marketing.”
Alton passed the guard shack and slid his rented Ford Explorer into a space marked “visitor parking.” Mallory adjusted her hair while Alton straightened his tie. From the parking lot, the couple had to traverse a long sidewalk bisecting grounds of lush grass and colorful, pink-and-white flowers. They approached a sleek building with a first-floor exterior constructed entirely of polarized, floor-to-ceiling glass.
Alton held open a large glass door for Mallory. They entered a lobby of granite floors, modern art, and a long reception desk fashioned from light oak. On the rear wall hung a metallic sculpture depicting the form of a viper in an abstract style.
They approached the desk. An unsmiling man with light auburn hair and a navy-blue uniform stared at them without speaking.
Alton cleared his throat. “We have an appointment with Mr. Lau.”
The guard studied them with narrowed eyes before turning to a computer monitor. He grunted in surprise, then picked up the phone and dialed a number. “A couple of people here to see you.” He listened for a moment, then looked at Alton. “Name?”
“Ben Beerman. This is my associate Laura Sanders.”
The guard spoke into his phone. “Guy’s name is Beerman.” He listened and nodded, then hung up the phone. “This way.” He gestured to a locked double door at the rear of the lobby.
The guard ushered Alton and Mallory into a plush office. A youthful man of Chinese ancestry sat behind a cherrywood desk. He rose to shake their hands. “Mr. Beerman, Ms. Sanders, nice to meet you.”
“Thanks for making time for us, Mr. Lau.”
“No problem. Always happy to help a pair of young filmmakers trying to make a name for themselves. Speaking of that…what company did you say you’re with?”
“It’s a startup—Allegro Productions. This will be our second independent documentary. Maybe you saw the first one: ‘The Wandering Bovines of Wisconsin’?”
“Sorry, I must have missed it.” Lau lowered himself into his chair and motioned Alton and Mallory to a matching pair of burgundy leather seats facing his desk. “So, how exactly can I help you?”
“We just started work on a documentary on the history of medicines derived from poisons. As
soon as we began researching this field, DTI’s name popped up as an industry leader. We’re hoping to feature your company prominently to illustrate the use of potentially dangerous substances for healing purposes.”
“We’d love to help,” said Lau, his eyes sparkling at the prospect of free publicity. “But if that’s the case, where’s your film crew?”
“Oh, it’s much too early to bring them in,” said Alton. “This meeting will be used to present the idea. If you approve, we’ll also get the general idea of the shoot. We don’t want to bring in the film crew until we have a shooting schedule, so we’ll probably need to meet a few more times to iron out all the details.”
Lau nodded. “I understand. It helps none of us if the production qualities are amateurish.”
“Exactly,” said Alton. “Now, with your permission, Mr. Lau, I’d like to record your summary of DTI’s history—how it started up, and what it’s done since then. This won’t be the one we’ll use in the film, but it’ll help us plan the filming sequence.”
The marketer crossed one leg over the other. “Certainly.” He spent the better part of the next thirty minutes describing the company’s beginning in 1982 to its current role as a leader in the development of toxicological-based medicines. As he concluded, he asked, “Would you like to see the grounds? Perhaps it’ll give you some ideas for filming locales.”
“Love to,” said Mallory. “I promised the camera crew I’d come back with some prospects.”
Lau led the Blackwells on a circuit of the company’s property, beginning with the main building, which contained the lobby, executive offices, and employee cafeteria. He then completed a tour of the rest of the site, weaving in and out of four smaller, identical brick buildings.
From time to time, Mallory would stop. “This is a good location. If we shoot in the morning, towards the R&D building, the interviewee won’t be backlit. Let me take a photo so I have something to take back to the guys.” In this manner, she snapped several dozen photographs of the site.
As they traveled through the corridors of the R&D building, Lau stopped at an office and knocked. A lanky fellow wearing a white lab coat over blue jeans emerged and glanced at the party with inquiring eyes.
“Dr. Phillips,” called Lau. “I’d like you to meet my guests.”
The scientist gave a hearty welcome. “Pete Phillips—good to meet you.” The distinct quality of the scientist’s melodic voice confirmed he had not left his homeland.
Lau explained the ostensible purpose of Alton and Mallory’s visit, then turned to Alton. “Dr. Phillips is Vice President of R&D—the number two guy in that organization.”
“I imagine we’ll want to include you in our feature,” said Mallory. “Can you tell us about your role here?”
“We’re primarily a research-oriented company. That means we usually have a number of projects in progress at any given time. I coordinate human and IT resources between those projects. I also review the milestone reports from each project to see if there are learnings we can apply to the others.”
“Sort of like a conductor who directs the orchestra, huh?”
Phillips grinned. “You could say that—and staffs it, too.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Phillips,” said Alton. “We’ll be in touch.”
The scientist smiled, and Lau led his charges away. Within another twenty minutes, he concluded the tour and led Alton and Mallory back to his office. He leaned against the edge of his desk. “Anything else I can help you with today?”
“No, sir,” said Alton. “I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small device, and handed it to Lau. “I’ve put my phone number and e-mail on here…and a link to my company’s website, if you want to check it out. You can keep the flash drive—just a way of saying thanks for all your help.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I’ll use it to store any ideas I have for your shoot.”
“Good idea,” said Alton. “We’ll be in touch in a week or two.”
Thirty minutes later, the Blackwells pulled into the parking lot of Quest Alice Springs, the hotel in which David had booked their room. A variety of desert brush species framed a small parking lot and a two-story building of gray stucco that had a pleasing, art-deco feel.
Alton and Mallory met the rest of the NSA team in their room.
“How’d it go?” asked David.
“Perfect,” replied Alton. “We’re all set.”
Mallory cocked her head. “Sweetie, it’s good that we got our foot in the door, but how is knowing DTI’s history is going to help us track down what they’re up to right now?”
Alton grinned. “Remember that flash drive I gave Lau?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I made some special modifications to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I added a program with self-installing code.”
“‘Self-installing code’?” said David. “You mean a virus?”
Alton smiled again and stretched out his leg. “Calling it a virus implies malicious intent. Our intentions are as benevolent as they come.”
“Uh-huh. What exactly does this benevolent code do?”
Alton grew serious. “Once Lau plugs in the flash drive, the program on it will create a hidden folder on his hard drive and install itself there. After that, it’ll copy all keystrokes and send them as an information packet to my e-mail.”
David rubbed his ear. “Lau’s a marketing guy. What are the odds he’s going to know what Safi is up to?”
“Not good. That’s why I designed the program to propagate to everyone in the user’s e-mail program with an ‘@DTI’ suffix. By this time tomorrow, every computer in DTI will have this program running in the background.”
“That means you’ll be getting a list of all activity of everyone in the company,” said Mallory. “Won’t that be thousands of information packets? How are we going to sift through it all?”
“Good question,” said Alton. “The first and obvious step is to run a keyword search on ‘Farid,’ ‘Safi,’ ‘Deletam,’ ‘Tahir’, and ‘Tears of God.’ Given how closely DTI has guarded Safi’s name, that search probably won’t turn up anything. If that’s the case, we’ll need to search using more general keywords, like ‘project.’ We’ll also need to focus on the activity of R&D employees.”
“Won’t that still be a lot of information to sift through?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be manageable. If we all take a portion, we should be able to make it work. Honestly, I don’t think it’ll be that hard. In most cases, it’ll be obvious in the first thirty seconds if an information packet might contain relevant information. If I see an e-mail about the company picnic, for example, I know I can move on to the next one.”
“So for now we sit tight?” asked Mallory.
“Yeah—and hope Lau uses that flash drive I gave him. Otherwise, this whole plan will never get off the ground.”
CHAPTER 43
A light tapping on the door prompted the Director to glance up from the computer terminal on which he had been entering test results for the last ten minutes.
Vaziri stepped through and stopped before her manager. Shafts of early morning sunlight stabbed through a panel of wide glass windows on the back wall, bathing the second-in-command in an ethereal glow.
“You sent for me?”
“Yes,” said the Director, straightening his back into a stretch. “Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestured to a lab stool opposite his own.
Vaziri lowered herself onto it. The latent energy of her physique lent the appearance of a jaguar preparing to strike.
“Killjoy sent a message. He says there’s trouble brewing. The Americans are starting to sniff around.”
“What do we do?” asked Vaziri.
The Director removed a cloth from a front pocket of his lab coat and began to clean his glasses. “There’s no need to panic, but we should keep the Carmichael deal moving along. The
more product we move, and the more we communicate with them—even over secure channels—the more vulnerable we become. Let’s wrap this up as soon as possible, then we’ll lay low for a while.”
“Understood.”
“And Vaziri…let’s keep Killjoy’s warning between you and me, shall we?”
“Of course, sir. Will that be all?”
“Yes. Keep me apprised of your progress in securing the contract.”
Vaziri nodded and exited the room in silence.
The Director watched her go. What a figure! Vaziri didn’t walk…she glided. But even from his position of power, the Director didn’t fancy the idea of propositioning his second-in-command. The woman examined the world through eyes of reptilian indifference, measuring all decisions against the yardstick of self-interest. She’d kill a person as quickly as she’d walk by them, with no more remorse than if she had flattened an insect. Certainly her description of Finley’s gruesome demise confirmed this assessment.
The Director nodded to himself. Better to keep their relationship strictly professional—and keep himself alive.
CHAPTER 44
The next day, the NSA team found themselves scattered about Alton and Mallory’s hotel room. Each sat hunched over a laptop, studying file after file of DTI information.
Mallory sat up and pulled her shoulder blades backwards. “It didn’t take Lau long to use the flash drive, did it?”
“Nope,” said Alton. “Once I mentioned our ‘company’ website was on it, I figured he’d use it to make sure we were legit.”
“How’d you manage that? There is no Allegro Productions.”
Alton chuckled. “Easy. When I was in college, I had an internship designing user interfaces for encryption software—pretty much the same thing as website design. Buy a domain name, then add a company history, a few fake accolades, and some pictures courtesy of a quick internet search, and voila—instant company. I finished it during the flight over.”
Mallory shook her head and laughed. “I should have guessed. Did Lau check out the site?”
Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7) Page 15
