Trust But Verify

by Karna Small Bodman

  “These are much better than the ones we used in Chicago,” Brett said, squinting at the little screw. “Any suggestions for placement?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend heating or air conditioning ducts. Too much rattling and hissing. Kitchens are also too noisy. I’d concentrate on rooms that would give us the most useful intel. Places where people might have meetings or talk on the phone a lot. Offices, living rooms, maybe dining rooms too.”

  “How long does it last?”

  “That’s the beauty of this thing. It’s powered by a self-charging, internal battery.”

  “And you think we can use these in embassy properties?”

  “Yep. We just got a shipment of these, so they’re ready to go whenever we need them.” He moved down the table and picked up a round device with lined edges that fit in the palm of his hand. “This isn’t for embassies, but it’s useful for big cities or stadiums. And for our troops too. That is, if the Pentagon gets its act together, tests, and orders them. It’s a bomb preemptor.”

  “Looks like a hand-grenade,” Brett said, opening his hand as Dom passed it to him.

  “One of the smallest jammers ever made. Weighs about two and a half pounds. It activates when you pull a safety catch, just like a grenade. Then you throw it wherever you think there might be an IED or regular explosive. It uses electrons to disrupt communications channels.”

  “So, an IED or bomb can’t be triggered by a cell phone, toy car, drone, or whatever the hell they try to use these days?” Brett asked, fingering the device.

  “Exactly. Those jamming modules have been miniaturized. They even have antennas printed on internal circuit boards. And the whole thing is cushioned, so the circuitry doesn’t get screwed up when it’s thrown onto something hard.”

  “Amazing,” Brett said. “How many have we got?”

  “Only this one right now. It’s a prototype. The manufacturer is showing it off to us, but it’s still making its way through the development pipeline. Which is great. It already has a lot of impressive features. No one has seen it in action yet, but the manual says it can be reused because it has a heat-absorbing element that saves the internal battery compartment.”

  Brett said, “I’m sure they’d be great for our troops. Not just in Syria or Afghanistan, but wherever ISIS sets up shop next. Last numbers I saw about IEDs were incredible. There were something like seventeen thousand explosions where militants are currently operating. Africa, Malaysia, Somalia—tons of places. Sure hope the vetting process for these is accelerated at the Pentagon.”

  “So do I,” Dom said, moving down the table. “Now this one’s a lot bigger.”

  “Something else to stop an explosion?” Brett said, eyeing what looked like a briefcase.

  Dom opened it. Inside was a square object that resembled a large flashlight with an antenna on one end, a small screen on the side, and a set of buttons along the edge. “This thing is better than a bomb-sniffing dog.”

  “What do you mean?” Brett asked, studying it.

  “It’s got a biologically based sensor. Picks up C-4 and a lot of other bad stuff.”

  “I feel like I’m in the middle of a James Bond movie and your name is Q,” Brett said with a laugh.

  “This is nothing compared to the secretary of defense’s science and technology group. They’ve got bullets that go around corners.”

  “Well, the secretary of defense has a pretty big budget. Ours is miniscule compared to DOD’s.” He picked up the little screw again. “We’re practically a pack of nails compared to the secretary’s whole tool box.”

  “Yeah, but our stuff works. Usually,” Dom said. “Now, back to the bomb sensor. You have to get fairly close for it to work. It sucks in a bit of air and then generates a digital readout once its sensor processes the sample. For example, .90 or .99 means there is a high probability of an explosive, but .50 to .60 is a zone of uncertainty.

  “If we find the bomb, there is a jammer in the case that can stop a cell phone signal,” Dom explained. “At least we hope it can. It hasn’t been tested enough yet for us to be sure. But if it doesn’t and there’s no trip wire or set timer on the explosive, you can pull out the bomb’s trigger so that nobody can set it off.”

  “Pretty dicey stuff,” Brett said.

  “Of course, but think of it this way: better to have sensors that give our people a fair chance, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Brett agreed. “So, when will all of this be tested?”

  “Don’t know. The contractors keep sending us prototypes to get our opinion. Our bomb guys are still going over everything and preparing to send them a report. I just thought you’d like to see them. By the way, have you seen that real estate lady the boss has been ranting about?”

  “Yep,” Brett said. “Met her a little while ago. Name’s Eleanor Clay. Fairly new in town, so I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know the routine about being, well, helpful to the FBI.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Let’s just say she comes off like a predator. Or a drone looking for a target.”

  “I’m sure you can handle her,” Dom said. “You’re single, right?” he added with a grin.

  “Have been for a while. But I didn’t know spending private time with informants was part of our job description. Not the kind she seems to want anyway,” Brett said. “She’s already sent me a follow-up text suggesting dinner tomorrow. Of course, she said it was so we could discuss some properties she thinks I might buy.”

  “You think you can turn her?” Dom asked. His grin widened as he added, “I said, ‘turn her,’ not turn her on.”

  “I better be able to. Trevor is already driving me up the wall. But you know how he is about getting the advance on any building that changes hands around here.”

  “I do. Well, I gotta get back to my own investigation.”

  “You’re heading up the bank robbery team, right?

  “Bitch of a problem,” Dom said, nodding his head. “Trying to coordinate with the local police, marshall’s office, and park service is like herding cats. There are just too damn many enforcement agencies in this town. Have you had the same problem dealing with the Naples blast?”

  “Not really.”

  “Anything new on that front?”

  “Nothing yet. We’ve had some calls from people who think they saw the waiter in our drawing, but none of those leads have panned out. And we haven’t gotten any hits on any of our databases. Foreign or domestic,” Brett said.

  “Whoever he is, must be a clever little bastard,” Dom said, turning to his desk. “Or maybe his handlers are the clever ones.”

  THIRTEEN

  WEDNESDAY MORNING;

  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  “STAS. LUBOV. YOU MADE IT,” Vadim said, giving each man a bear hug. “Come in and let me show you the view. You’ll see right away why there’s no better place to invest some of our profits. And we need more of those,” he muttered.

  The two guests hauled in their luggage. They looked around the room with its contemporary furnishings and well-stocked bar. Then they gazed out the windows where a bright sun illuminated an expanse of white buildings and blue waters.

  “Very impressive,” Stas said, tossing his black leather jacket over one of the side chairs.

  Lubov slumped down on the couch and asked, “Got any good food around here? Stuff on the plane was awful. Vodka was about all I could take.”

  “I called for takeout. We’ll have it in a little while. But first, will you join me in another vodka?” Vadim asked.

  “Of course,” Lubov said. “Now why are we here? Couldn’t you have told us something over the phone? After all, how many times have we done deals together?”

  Vadim sauntered over to the bar and took a bottle of his finest vodka out of the fridge along with four chilled glasses and began to pour. “I don’t trust phones any more. Not here, what with all the surveillance the Americans are so famous for.” He glanced around. “Misha will be out in a minute. H
e’s just changing.” Vadim poured the drinks and handed them to his guests. “He and I have been working out the details of this new plan. Ah, here he comes now.”

  Maksim walked in from a bedroom and hugged each man. “Great to see you! No worse for wear, I see. Your businesses must be treating you well,” he said in a jovial tone. He sat in the side chair without Stas’s coat on it.

  “We do all right,” Stas said, joining Lubov on the couch. “Recently had to get rid of some competition, though.”

  “Yah,” Lubov said. “A few well-placed tips, and the guys heading most of the Trincher gangs were history. The jerks were moving in on our territories and running millions through some shell companies in Cyprus. And look at what happened to those accounts.”

  “Don’t forget we also lost a lot in that Cyprus shakedown,” Vadim said.

  “We know,” Lubov said. “But you never get raided by the FBI or anybody else. And neither do we. We’re too careful to get caught, and no one has been stupid enough to rat us out to any feds.”

  “Which is exactly why I asked both of you to come,” Vadim said, handing each man a large cocktail glass. “I see you obviously didn’t have any trouble getting into the country.”

  “Of course not. We have enough passports and visas to get almost anywhere.” Lubov took a swig of his drink.

  Vadim pulled up a chair and focused on the two mafya leaders. Stas with his sloping forehead and Lubov with the long, beaked nose. “To start. As I said, we lost a lot of money in Cyprus. Then the sanctions kicked in. Our fortunes go up and down as yours do. But now, Misha and I have put together a plan that will change that. It’s nothing like our other operations, which have relied on shipping arms where they are needed most.”

  “Go on,” Stas said.

  “That money is from militants in tough regions. We’ve switched our focus and started looking at the world’s financial centers where the real money is made or lost. That prompted a question: if something were to happen to most of the major central bankers and financial leaders, what would happen to the markets?”

  Lubov and Stas suddenly began to stumble over each other with rapid-fire questions.

  “What do you mean happen?”

  “What central bankers are you talking about?”

  “How could something happen to most of them?”

  “You’re not talking about mass murder, are you?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Vadim sat back and took another drink. He let them simmer down and then said, “You didn’t answer my question. What would happen to the markets?”

  Stas and Lubov both stared at their host.

  “They would tank,” Stas shouted.

  “Stock market would take a huge hit,” Lubov echoed.

  “Market here cratered after 9/11, not to mention other corrections now and then. But after that attack, they said the American economy lost a ton in just days,” Stas said.

  Vadim set his glass down and folded his arms. “Exactly. And how did certain people protect their investments from that crash before 9/11?”

  Lubov thought for a moment. “I heard they shorted the market.”

  “So, what would you do before an event that would wipe out a lot of top bankers and others like them if you knew it was going to happen?” Vadim asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’d preserve our investments. I’d short the dollar. I’d . . . I’d do all sorts of things to protect our businesses,” Stas answered.

  “So, if you could help set up this event you knew would happen well in advance, what would that be worth to you?”

  “Wait a minute,” Lubov said, jumping to his feet and pacing in front of the window. “Are you saying you want us to do a massive hit that crashes the market and lets us all make money on the deal? How in hell would we do that?”

  “Relax, Lubov, come on. Sit down, and let’s discuss this idea like the good businessmen we all are,” Vadim said.

  “I don’t know,” Stas said. “Lubov’s right. What kind of crazy scheme have you come up with?”

  “Have you ever heard about the Federal Reserve Conference at Jackson Hole?”

  “Jackson Hole?” Lubov asked, looking bewildered. “Are you talking about the ski place?”

  “Precisely,” Vadim said. “Every year the American Federal Reserve Governors get together for a conference in Wyoming at that ski resort. But it’s also a summer resort.”

  “So? You think you’re going to put a hit on a dozen of those guys in a meeting?” Stas asked, raising his voice. “That’s nuts.”

  “Not a dozen of those guys,” Vadim mimicked. “There will be over a hundred top bankers, finance ministers, and CEOs from all over the world. All in one place having meetings, lunches, dinners. All in the mountains with minimum security.” He sat back and let that thought settle in.

  Stas looked at Lubov and then over at Maksim. “And you think it’s a good idea to attack one of those meetings?”

  Maksim took a deep breath. “Vadim and I have been all over this plan. The more we look at the possibilities, the more we think it’s absolutely brilliant. We would all work together to set up the hit, but we would arrange our finances ahead of time in separate small trades so that no one could possibly connect any of us to the attack. Then when it’s over—and they’re trying to figure out how to replace their top people and repair all the damage—we take our profits and lay low for a while.”

  There was silence in the room, except for some occasional sounds emanating from a bedroom where Otto was playing a video game.

  “Who’s in there?” Lubov asked pointing to a door.

  “That’s our nephew, Otto. He’s learning the business,” Maksim said. “Still a little green, but I think he’s got the right instincts. At least for money. I’m not sure yet whether he really has an appetite for the more extensive problems that sometimes need to be handled.”

  Lubov shrugged. “That’s the thing with the younger ones. They feel entitled to the profits but don’t want any of the dirty work. If we’re going to work together on any of this, we have to stick with experienced people. Not some nephew along for the ride.”

  “We know,” Vadim said. “Don’t worry about Otto. He won’t be included in the Jackson op. In fact, we’re sending him to Washington tonight so that he can take care of one particularly difficult individual. It’ll give him a chance to prove that he actually can deal with an extensive problem.”

  Lubov got up and walked to the windows. He looked out toward the Golden Gate Bridge. “If we pull off that conference stunt,” he paused and then continued, “I might like to buy a place here too. Not a bad view.”

  The corners of Vadim’s mouth turned up slightly. “You are beginning to see the possibilities of my idea.”

  “The trouble is,” Stas said, “We all sell weapons, but none of us actually has experience using them at this scale. You’re talking about a lot of important people. I have to think about this.”

  “And how many people get killed by the arms we sell? I’m talking about taking out a few dozen. Hell, they murder more than that in a week in Chicago or Los Angeles. Yes, these people are some of the most important in the world when it comes to managing money. But many of them are the very people who put sanctions together, not just against North Korea and Iran, but against us.” Vadim said as his knuckles turned white against his cocktail glass.

  “I guess you have a point there,” Lubov said.

  “And just how do you propose to take out a few dozen of these important people?” Stas asked.

  “We’ll discuss the strategy and develop a plan we can all agree to. In fact, we already practiced taking out a whole room full of people. So, we have a lot of insight that will give us a head start.”

  “You took out a room full of people?” Lubov called out. “We never heard anything about that.”

  Vadim held up his hand in a calming gesture. “No. What I meant was that we staged an experiment to target an individual. We weren’t concerne
d about collateral damage. It didn’t come off as planned, but we did learn a lot about tactics, explosives, and timers. I’ll explain all of that later. The important thing now is for all of us to agree to focus on this Wyoming event and figure out how to make it profitable.”

  “I don’t know,” Stas said, rubbing his forehead.

  “To win big, you have to think big,” Vadim said.

  “But we’ve never been to Jackson,” Lubov said. “All of our operations have been in familiar territory in Russia. We wouldn’t know where to begin in Wyoming.”

  Vadim stood up and walked over to a large black desk by the window. He scooped up a fist full of papers and maps and handed them to Lubov and Stas. “Take a look at these. They’ll give you a sense of the Jackson area, let you scope it out, and get some ideas about where to stay. You’ll be heading out there right away.” He turned and walked toward his bedroom. “Excuse us for a few minutes. Misha and I have some calls to make.”

  Maksim joined his brother as the mafya men held the papers and exchanged questioning looks.

  FOURTEEN

  WEDNESDAY NOON;

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  “RIGHT THIS WAY, MISS REID. Miss Marconi is waiting for you,” said the maître d’ of one of the most exclusive eateries in the world. He stepped away from his mahogany rostrum in the basement of the West Wing and led Samantha down a short hall. They passed a replica of the USS Constitution encased in Plexiglas and then entered the White House Mess.

  They walked past a large round table just inside the door. Everyone called it the Staff Table. If senior staff members didn’t have a reservation or plans to sit with a particular colleague, they could take an open chair at this table. It was the best spot to pick up news and gossip from other directorates.

  Samantha nodded to the head of legislative affairs who was evidently sharing a joke with the Associate Director of the Office of Management and Budget. She wondered how he was handling the new Congress’s latest round of budget cuts. Later, she’d have to find out if they were going to reduce the Homeland Security budget. She hoped not. There were better places to cut money than from departments protecting the country, like the White House Barber Shop. Or the fund for presidential cuff links and tie clips. Or the alphabet soup of commissions. Or, better yet, some of the examiners and staff specialists ensconced in the new executive office building. No one had any idea what those people did.