“I get it. You can’t just call him because this guy will know.”
“Precisely, my boy. I carry the message to you and you take it back to the Oregon, and nothing’s been put out over the wire. Even the flight we’re arranging for you is being handled by a Navy captain from the Pentagon. He flew to Pensacola yesterday with a presidential decree.”
“Is the president aware of our mission?”
“Obliquely. He knows we’re up to something, but the fewer details getting spread around, the better. We’re keeping the group as tight as possible to avoid an inadvertent slip over the phone or in an e-mail. The staffer from the Joint Chiefs getting you the plane has no idea who’ll be on it or why.
“Tell Juan that he has to locate the computer and destroy it,” Langston continued. “If he doesn’t, I fear for the fate of our great country. In fact, I fear for the fate of the world. This man”—he spat the word—“professes to value life, which is why he hasn’t used his awesome capabilities to destroy us outright, but the Middle East could explode overnight if Israel’s enemies sense she is a weakened state. And without our military help, Pakistan could fall to a Taliban-type regime in months, giving them nuclear capability and the hatred toward us to use it.”
“How will we communicate with you?” MacD asked.
“That’s just it. You can’t. Not directly.”
It was then that MacD realized Overholt’s problem dovetailed with the Corporation’s. It hit him like a ton of bricks and almost made him gasp aloud. “Jee-zus. Gunawan Bahar.”
“Who?”
“The guy behind my daughter’s kidnapping. He was the one who orchestrated my actin’ as his spy aboard the Oregon. He’s afraid of the Corporation for some reason, and Ah think this is it. Damn, Mr. Overholt, you’re the link he never saw comin’.”
A look of confusion crossed the spymaster’s face.
MacD said, “This Bahar guy is behind the quantum computer. It all makes sense now! The computers on the oil rig. That must have been his first attempt to crack all our codes. That must not have worked, so his people built him a better machine.” He wondered if the crystals they recovered played a roll in that development, but didn’t bother mentioning it because it didn’t really matter at this point. “He knew that once he had his computer, there wasn’t anything our government, or any government, could do about it, but he was aware that the Corporation existed and knew we could be a threat if we somehow found out about it. He’d also know if and when we were ever alerted. He could block the ship from ever receivin’ orders from you. Can that computer do that?”
“I imagine it could.”
“But you outfoxed him by reachin’ out to me. We know who and what we’re lookin’ for, and Bahar has no idea we’re comin’. He thought he could keep tabs on us by usin’ me, and he thought he could isolate us too, but that ain’t gonna happen.” An idea suddenly hit him, and his sense of optimism faded. “He’s goin’ to know.”
“What? How?”
“When the kidnappers don’t report in, he’s goin’ to know that Ah rescued Pauline and that Ah’m no longer his stool.”
Langston hadn’t survived for more than fifty years in the CIA without being quick on his feet. “I’ll fly back to New Orleans and have a chat with the chief of police. His investigation is about to lead him to the arrest and confession of a drug dealer who hit the wrong house and killed three men by mistake. I’ll get him to parade an officer in mufti for the cameras. Oh, and the arson investigators are about to discover the body of a little girl in the ashes of their house.”
“Perfect,” MacD said, more than impressed with the octogenarian.
Overholt had a binder, sitting on the bench seat next to him. He handed it over to Lawless. “I’ve been working on this since the secretary of state made me aware of the situation and suggested you guys could help. It’s a list of things you might need from us, with corresponding code numbers. The phone you’re going to call if you need anything on that list is a securities firm on Wall Street so that anyone calling in with long lists of numbers, like quantities of stocks to buy, won’t sound suspicious.”
MacD opened the book and leafed to a random page. If they needed all transatlantic telephone cables to go off-line, that was a number 3282. If they needed a fake media story run, that was a number 6529, with a subset of numbers listing two dozen types of news pieces. If they needed a nuclear strike anywhere on the planet, that was number 7432, with the GPS coordinates tacked on after.
MacD pointed that last one out to the man from Langley. “Yes,” Overholt said to the unasked question, “the situation is that dire. If need be, I can make it happen. I don’t know how much we can do from our end. Big Brother is watching, and if Bahar catches wind of our interest, he’s going to know something’s up. We’ll try to make some discreet, one-on-one inquiries, but I can’t promise much.”
“I understand.”
They talked for the remainder of the flight, but it seemed too soon that the big Sikorsky was flaring over the apron at the sprawling air station. They’d been directed to land next to a row of parked F-18s.
The chopper’s onboard crewman opened the side roller door, and MacD jumped to the tarmac. The rotor’s downdraft was like standing at the eye wall of a hurricane.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, young man,” Overholt said from his seat. He had to shout over the spinning blades and still-lit turbines. “I was the one who gave Juan his superstition about being wished good luck. I will simply say happy hunting, and, not to put too fine of a point on this, but you are our best and only hope.”
“We won’t let you down, Mr. Overholt.” MacD threw him a wave and backed away as the turbine pitch increased and the chopper took to the air once again.
23
ABDUL MOHAMMAD, AKA JOHN SMITH, HAD NEVER SEEN his employer in such a towering rage. The American president hadn’t made any speeches about his giving in to Bahar’s demands, as he’d expected. He didn’t think that the president would admit to being blackmailed, but surely he would have appeared on television and contritely explained the shift in U.S. foreign policy.
Bahar had spent the previous day watching repeated coverage of the train crash he’d caused outside Philadelphia, staring raptly at the giant plasma television set, as news choppers shot hours of film of the carnage and reporters on the ground interviewed dazed and bloody survivors.
Mohammad hadn’t known his boss had a capacity to kill. Sure, he’d ordered killings, but on this occasion he had pushed the proverbial button that had snuffed out two hundred and thirteen lives. Bahar had taken a taste of the ultimate power, the power of life and death, and he’d enjoyed it. Abdul saw it on his face and in his glassy eyes.
Now, though, he ranted like a child denied his favorite toy.
“He saw what I could do and still he defies me!” Abdul knew his superior was speaking of the American president. “And sending the Guantánamo prisoners to the World Court? He knew I meant they were to be released back to their home countries. If they wanted to prosecute, that would have been their business.”
The two men were in Bahar’s office at the quantum computer facility. The windows looked out over a bleak and abandoned industrial area, with oil-stained ground and buildings losing their battles with rust. A tall derrick presided over the scene. Unlike the other equipment, it had been refurbished so that it was in working order. Below it was a cement bunker that could withstand any weapon in the Air Force’s arsenal except for a nuke.
What was invisible were all the motion detectors, thermalimaging and standard cameras, and a not-so-small army of guards ready to lay down their lives for the cause. Unlike hired mercenaries, these men were fanatically devoted and had already proven themselves in either Iraq or Afghanistan. They’d been smuggled into the country, once the bunker was in place. It had been built off-site over the past few months by an outside contractor, who thought they were pouring concrete bridge piers, and assembled once the facility had been procured. The
computer had been installed at the same time.
As the computer network on the oil rig had calculated, the crystals, once cut to size, were the final pieces to bring the quantum device to life. The machine itself was the size of a suburban living room and was packed with exotic electronics, and, when viewed through a polarizing lens, gave off a red, pulsing aura as though it had a beating heart.
Neither man understood how it worked, how the way the atoms aligned in the crystals was the key to the computer’s ability to deal with quantum fluctuations and counter atomic-scale interference. It had taken years, and the harnessing of the computer farm aboard the J-61, to make it a reality.
When they had turned it on, the machine seemed inert for the first thirty seconds. The scientists weren’t sure if they had succeeded until a disembodied female voice had emanated from the speakers placed in Bahar’s office, saying simply, “Ready.”
The first test had been to switch all the interactive traffic lights in Prague from red to green or vice versa. The computer hacked into the traffic-control system instantaneously and did as instructed, before turning control back over to city authorities. Eerily, it asked, “Why?”
“Because you were told to,” Bahar had replied to the microphones also hidden in his office. His answer had taken a moment because no one had thought the computer would question him. When asked, the computer scientists who’d assembled the computer had no explanation.
They did more elaborate tests, finding better-encrypted systems to infiltrate, until they were convinced that no network on the planet was impervious to their machine and that no database could remain secret.
That is when they launched the assault on the NSA to obtain the nuclear codes. It was rumored that the computers at the National Security Agency weren’t measured in teraflops or petaflops, which is the number ten to the fifteenth power, but rather were measured by the acre. It had taken Bahar’s machine a half second to penetrate the firewalls and access the code.
So with success piled atop success, Gunawan Bahar had been a happy man until he saw that the American response to his demands had been a tepid article buried at the back of a Washington newspaper.
“I was too easy on them the first time,” he railed. “I tried to show my compassion, my humanity, and he spits in my face. I am not some insane fanatic bent on murdering infidels until the very last one is dead, but if that is what he wants of me, then that is what I will become.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” came the calm voice.
“Send this message to the White House: You will give a live speech from the Oval Office or they will all die of thirst, and then I want you to shut down all fifty-one pumping stations that feed water into Las Vegas, Nevada, and don’t turn them back on until I say so.” He’d learned earlier that he needed to be very specific with place-names.
“Task complete,” the computerized voice said tonelessly.
“Let’s see how long he’ll let those people bake in the desert heat before he tells the world that he no longer controls his nation’s destiny. What do you think, Abdul? Clever, yes?”
“Yes, very,” Mohammad said, but he didn’t agree. If it were up to him, every reactor in America would have gone critical days ago. He didn’t understand why his superior was toying with the Americans.
“That was hardly convincing, my friend. You think we should destroy the Great Satan and be done with it.”
Bahar never asked his opinion, so it came as a surprise now. Unsure, Mohammad finally nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You don’t enjoy the irony of us meddling in their policies the way they have meddled in ours. For two generations the Americans have said which regimes rise and fall, and used that capability with little regard for the people it affects. Now we can do the same to them, to tell them their place in the world, to make them feel what it is like to be under someone else’s thumb for a change.
“They call the American president the most powerful man in the world. Well, tonight he will do my bidding, making me the most powerful man. We couldn’t defeat them on the field of battle or break their will with suicide attacks, but now we have used their dependence on technology to cow them.
“Soon I will decree that American Christians must begin to study the Koran in their schools so that, over time, they will convert to the one true faith. Why destroy them, Abdul, when we can enfold them into Islam?”
Emboldened, Mohammad said, “That will never work.”
“At one time there was only one Muslim, the Prophet Muhammad, blessings be upon him, but from that single seed the faith spread through conversion after conversion. It is still happening today, as Arabs move into Europe and begin to make converts of the people. True, it happens mostly in prisons, but when these new Muslims are released, they tell their families of their wonderful conversions, and maybe one or two join as well. By exposing Americans to the Koran at a young age, we will accelerate the process. In fifty years America will be an Islamist state. The rest of the Western world will follow suit, mark my word. And I won’t even have to threaten them.”
Bahar placed his hands on each side of Mohammad’s face as though he were about to kiss him, and, for a moment, Abdul feared he might. “Let go of your hatred, my friend. The struggle between the Muslims and Christians has endured for more than a thousand years. So what if it takes fifty or a hundred more? We have guaranteed that our side shall be victorious.”
Abdul Mohammad knew his superior’s plan was doomed to fail for the simple reason that somehow, and not that far in the future, the Americans would figure out where they had constructed the computer and find a way to isolate it or, more likely, destroy it. Their window of opportunity was a short one, and Bahar had delusions of becoming like the Prophet himself. They should strike the U.S. now, he thought, and tear her apart at the seams. Playing games and planning for a future that would never come to pass were a waste of the only opportunity they’d ever had to conquer their sworn enemy.
He hadn’t been privy to Bahar’s plans for the quantum computer and wished they had discussed it previously. Maybe he could have changed his mind. But looking into Bahar’s eyes and seeing the spark of megalomania that lurked in their depths, Abdul knew it was too late. They were committed to his fantasy that he was to become the Madhi of Islamic prophecy, and it wasn’t in Abdul to go against his superior’s wishes.
24
THEY MET THE FOLLOWING MORNING IN THE OREGON’S sleek conference room. Juan wanted to keep the group small, so it was just him, Eric Stone, Soleil, and, because they were becoming good friends, Linda Ross. Up on the monitors Eric had the financial information pertaining to all of Roland Croissard’s recent business deals. The man had his finger in a lot of pies, and, because she was not part of his life in recent years, Soleil knew little of it.
Juan believed that whatever Bahar wanted from Roland Croissard, the deal would have happened shortly after her kidnapping, but, to be thorough, they went back six months. The material was so dry that dust seemed to fall from the plasma screens. This was work only an accountant could love, and, by the beginning of the second hour, he could tell Soleil was becoming frustrated.
“Non, I did not know my father bought into an Indian steel mill,” she said when Eric pointed out the three-million-euro deal. This happened just a day before she was abducted. “Why should I?”
“No reason,” Juan assured her. “Okay, what about this? Two days after you were taken, he sold his stake in a Brazilian appliance company. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No. Nothing.”
“And here, he leased out something called Albatross to what looks like a shell company. Eric, who or what is Hibernia Partners?”
“Hold one second. I know I went through this stuff before.” He worked his laptop for a moment. “Okay, here they are. It’s an Irish company, chartered four years ago. They were going to import salt for roads, but they never made it off the ground. Six months ago they were given a large loan through
a New Hebrides bank, but the money’s never been touched.”
“That is it!” Soleil cried.
“What?”
“Salt. My father bought a salt mine before having an outside expert look at it for him. It was only after the deal was done that he called someone in. He was American, like yourselves, and when he told my father that the mine was unstable, he fired him on the spot and hired another. I never met the second one because—”
“The reason’s not important,” Juan said. “Tell us about this mine.”
“It’s in eastern France, near the Italian border and very close to a river.”
“That’s a lucky break,” Eric said. The ship was fast approaching France’s southern coast.
“The river was the problem,” Soleil went on. “He said it was dangerous. I think the term is ‘seepish.’ ”
“Seepage,” Juan corrected.
“Yes. That is what he said. Seepage. Anyway, it was the worst deal my father ever made, but he said it taught him humility. He said he would never sell it but would keep it, like an albatross around his neck, so he would never forgot. That is why he named the company Albatross, like from the poem.”
Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner was about the only poem Cabrillo knew. “ ‘Instead of the cross, the Albatross /About my neck was hung.’ ”
“My father would never even lease the mine,” Soleil added. “You wanted me to find something unusual. I think this is it.”
“Okay, let’s set this aside for now. There’s still a lot more to go through. We need to be certain.”
“Oui, mon capitaine.”
It took another hour, but in the end they circled back to the Albatross Mine. Juan had suggested that Mark Murphy dig deeper into Hibernia Partners while they worked in the boardroom, but Eric said that wouldn’t be a good idea. If the company was one of Bahar’s fronts, then hacking into its system would alert the quantum computer and give away their investigation.
The Jungle Page 31
