Takedown

by Brad Thor

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Deputy Director Caldwell is here to conduct an interrogation. I agreed to allow you to be present out of professional courtesy.”

  Not only was Lawlor a fairly good judge of people, he was also better than average at reading between the lines. But Maxwell was very difficult to figure out. In fact, so was Stan Caldwell. They both, in their own fashions, were helping him out, but why? To a certain degree, he could understand Maxwell’s motivations. The man knew that Lawlor had the only team on the ground that was hot on the trail of the group responsible for killing his NSA employees, as well as their marine security details. Caldwell’s motivations, though, were much less clear.

  Lawlor had no choice but to go along for the ride. His only hope was that if any leads were to come of this that they came soon—real soon.

  Seventy-Three

  Before showing Lawlor and Caldwell into the small third-floor conference room chosen for the interrogation, Director Maxwell led them into another room across the hall. “Like a caged tiger,” he remarked as he pointed to a bank of monitors that showed a very agitated Mark Schreiber pacing back and forth. “After Stanton, he had the greatest access to the operation. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. The failed polygraph sealed it.”

  Once he felt the men had seen enough, the lieutenant general said, “Go and work your magic.”

  For some reason, Maxwell just rubbed Lawlor the wrong way. He wanted to tell him what he could do with his “magic,” but instead kept his opinions to himself and followed Caldwell out the door and across the hall.

  When they walked in, Schreiber stopped pacing. He looked the two strangers over as he tried to figure out who they were. Caldwell wasted no time in enlightening him.

  “My name is Agent Stan Caldwell,” he said as he held his credentials straight out from his shoulder in perfect form—a bit of Bureau conditioning he’d never really been able to shake. “I am the deputy director of the FBI. And this gentleman,” he continued as Lawlor did a casual flip-open, flip-closed of his badge and ID, “is Agent Gary Lawlor from the Department of Homeland Security. We’re going to ask you a few questions. Are you okay with that?”

  Schreiber nodded his head.

  “Good,” replied Caldwell as he and Lawlor sat down across the table from him. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  The young man did as he was told while Caldwell flipped open the file folder Maxwell’s assistant had given him and pretended to read through it. He’d already memorized the salient details as they made their way from the director’s office. “I see you’ve been with the NSA for five years.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Schreiber.

  “Do you like your job?”

  “It has good days and bad.”

  “How would you characterize today?” asked Caldwell, not bothering to look up from the file. Lawlor, though, had his eyes locked on the suspect.

  “Today would definitely be a bad day,” the young man answered.

  At that, Caldwell looked up from the file and responded, “I’d be inclined to agree with you. Do you have any idea why we’re here?”

  Schreiber hesitated a moment and then stated, “I would imagine it has something to do with the impromptu polygraph I was given earlier.”

  “And you’d be correct. Listen, Mark, you can save us all a lot of time here. Just tell us why you did it.”

  “I did it because Stanton wouldn’t listen.”

  “Listen to what?” asked Caldwell.

  “To me.”

  With all the computer geeks employed by the NSA, the deputy director of the FBI wasn’t surprised that this case was quickly boiling down to attention. While most of these people could be brilliant at manipulating data or analyzing intel, many of them lacked the rudimentary social skills necessary to properly function in the real world. They’d rather hack sites, write code, or play video games in their off time than go out in the world and interact with other human beings. They served a vital role for the nation, especially with how rapidly technology was changing, but then something like this happened.

  It had long been Caldwell’s belief that a lot of these people were ticking time bombs. It was only a matter of when, not if, they would explode, and then the results were anybody’s guess. Based on Stan’s experience, it happened in one of two ways. Either the violence would manifest itself in a physical form such as a workplace shooting, or it would be more intellectual. The classic I’ll show them how much smarter I am betrayal was exactly what they were witnessing right now. Caldwell was sure of it. It was one of the worst ways an employee who handled sensitive information could lash out, and it could prove just as deadly as if Schreiber had managed to smuggle in an automatic weapon and a backpack full of pipe bombs to take out as many of his superiors and coworkers as possible before turning the gun on himself.

  “So you decided to make Joseph Stanton listen to you. Is that it?” asked Caldwell.

  “In a way.”

  “I don’t blame you. In fact, why stop with Stanton? Why not make all of the NSA listen to you?”

  Schreiber looked confused. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “What do you think? Did you actually believe the rest of the agency wouldn’t find out what you’ve done?”

  “It wasn’t that big of a deal and definitely not something that should involve the FBI and DHS.”

  Caldwell placed his arms on the table, leaned forward, and said, “I’ve got news for you. Treason is a very big deal.”

  “Treason?” replied Schreiber. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about leaking the location of four top secret NSA facilities in New York City to enemies of the United States.”

  “I never leaked anything!”

  “Mark, you failed not one but two polygraphs. And you’ve already admitted that what you did was because Stanton wouldn’t listen to you. So let’s not play any more games. Too many people have died because of this. If you agree to fully cooperate, I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

  Schreiber’s chin was pulled back almost to his chest and his eyes were wide. He looked like a frightened horse whose reins were jerked hard. “People have died? You mean people at the New York facilities?”

  “Yes, Mark. And depending on the depth of your involvement, that means you are also an accessory to the murders of multiple federal employees. I know for a fact that the government will seek the death penalty.”

  Schreiber was panicked and beginning to sweat now. “The only thing I’m guilty of,” he pleaded, “is violating a few server security protocols, not treason, and definitely not murder.”

  “I’m not a computer person,” replied Caldwell, “but if what you’re telling me is that you knowingly violated security protocols and that those violations led to the exposure of four classified locations, then you are in very big trouble.”

  “But I didn’t expose those sites!” Schreiber insisted. “All I exposed were their servers, and even then, it was only for a couple of minutes. Someone would have had to have been waiting right there to have been able to gain anything by it. They would have had to know that I was going to do it, but I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Stanton.”

  Now it was Caldwell’s turn to be confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Part of my job is to monitor the four locations in New York. When two of them started acting funny, I brought it to Stanton’s attention, but he brushed me off. He could be that way, especially if he had other things going on he thought were more important. He told me not to worry about it and to try to help out elsewhere. He said that on account of the terrorist attacks, the NSA was going to have everyone working overtime.”

  “What was funny about the two locations?” asked Gary.

  “Nobody was responding to my e-mails. It didn’t make sense.”

  “Why not? After the attacks, a lot of the infrastructure was overloaded and went down.”

  “I know,”
replied Schreiber. “Like the telephones. But all of our data transfer operates via satellite uplinks and downloads.”

  “Have you seen the news? There’s hell of a lot of smoke and ash in the sky.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Only water molecules can wreak enough havoc to interrupt transmission, and it wasn’t raining in New York. Even if it was, we had contingency systems in place.”

  “So people weren’t responding to your e-mails,” stated Caldwell. “So what? You don’t think people were focused on the attacks?”

  The young NSA employee looked right at him. “That’s the problem. According to the information we were receiving, our people weren’t focused on anything but their computers. Everyone was working. Everyone was processing data just like they should be, but nobody was on the e-mail system.”

  “So what did you do?” asked Lawlor.

  “Nothing. Not until the third location went unresponsive and Stanton blew me off about it again. I had pinged all the servers and everything seemed normal, but it didn’t make sense.”

  “And that’s when you violated the security protocols?”

  Schreiber nodded his head. “I ran a series of remote diagnostics over an unsecured channel.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I didn’t find anything. I wanted to talk to Stanton about it, but he’d left the building. Somebody told me he’d gone somewhere via helicopter and that was the last I heard of him until security came down to my office, asked for my ID, and took me to the polygraphs.”

  “Did you test the fourth location?”

  “Of course I did. It came up the same as the other three—the servers appeared to be working, but I couldn’t establish any human contact.”

  “And that’s all you did?” asked Lawlor.

  “Yes, that’s all I did. I swear to God.”

  Gary gave Schreiber a long, hard stare and then signaled Caldwell to pick up the file and follow him out of the room.

  Seventy-Four

  A few minutes later, Director Maxwell exited the monitoring station across the hall and said, “So what do you think?”

  Lawlor handed the polygraph transcripts back to Caldwell and replied, “I think your polygraphs are inconclusive.”

  “What are you talking about? We asked all the right questions.”

  “Sure, but you asked them in all the wrong ways. Mark Schreiber is guilty, but not of treason.”

  “Then who released those locations?” demanded Maxwell. “Stanton?”

  “It would explain why he wanted to silence Forrester and then tried to take me down.”

  “I don’t believe it. Stanton’s been with the agency a long time.”

  “Believe it,” responded Caldwell. “I think we should have one of our polygraphers out here to retest Schreiber, but if I were you, I’d put my money on him passing. What do you think, Gary?”

  Lawlor nodded his head. “I’d have to agree. If he’s conning us, then he’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. His story makes sense, and it also better explains Stanton’s behavior.”

  Caldwell looked at the NSA director and said, “I think your leak plugged itself, Dick.”

  Maxwell didn’t know who or what to believe. “Until your people polygraph him, I want to keep Schreiber isolated.”

  “That’s fine by me. I can think of about a hundred provisions under the Patriot Act that’ll back you up. You can put some of your own people on him or have him transferred to the base stockade. It’s your call.”

  The director thought about it for a moment and then said, “Until I’m absolutely sure he’s not a security risk, I don’t want him in the building.”

  “Then the stockade it is.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” broke in Lawlor as he thought of something. “But I’d like to talk to Schreiber one last time, if I could.”

  Caldwell shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know what good it’ll do you, but I’ve got no problem with it. What about you, Dick?”

  “No problem here,” replied Maxwell, “as long as Deputy Director Caldwell accompanies you. I want this done by the book, just in case. As long as that works with you, then be my guest. I’m going to go back to my office and get ahold of the base CO to arrange for Schreiber’s transfer. If you learn anything new, I want to know about it.”

  “Of course,” said Gary as he thanked the director for his time, reluctantly shook his hand, and watched with relief as he disappeared down the hallway.

  Back in the conference room and with Stan Caldwell’s permission, Gary shifted from interrogation mode to questioning what might be the only witness they had.

  “Mr. Schreiber, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about Joseph Stanton.”

  “Am I under arrest?” the young man asked.

  “No,” replied Lawlor. “You’re not.”

  “So I’m free to leave this room and return to my office, then?”

  “Not exactly,” stated Caldwell. “Listen, as far as we’re concerned, your story seems to make sense. Director Maxwell, though, needs to be absolutely certain before he reinstates you. I am sure you can appreciate that.”

  “I guess so,” said Schreiber.

  “Good,” replied Lawlor as he continued. “The first thing I need to tell you is that Joseph Stanton is dead.”

  The young man couldn’t believe it. “Dead? How? What happened?”

  “I shot him this afternoon.”

  Schreiber couldn’t believe it.

  “Was there anything unusual about him? Anything that someone could use as leverage against him? For instance did he gamble? Did he like women a bit too much? Drinking? Drugs?”

  “Wait a second,” responded the young man as he put two and two together. “You think it was Joe Stanton who exposed the New York locations?”

  “It’s a possibility we’re considering. Is there anything you saw or heard in the office which might be relevant?”

  Schreiber was quiet as he thought about the question.

  “Anything at all,” said Gary. “Anything that might put us on the trail of who he could have been working with. It doesn’t matter how small or inconsequential you think the detail might be.”

  The young man glanced at his watch.

  “Are we keeping you from something?” asked Caldwell.

  “No, sir,” replied Schreiber. “I’m just trying to get a fix on the date.”

  “What date?” said Gary.

  “A few weeks ago, Stanton gave me a pretty weird assignment. He said it was a loose string the NSA was running down. He dropped it on my desk, told me to get on it right away and not to talk about it with anyone else.”

  “What was it?”

  “He wanted me to track all sales over the last few months of a very high-end dialysis machine.”

  “Did he tell you why, or what it was in reference to?”

  “No, just that it had to do with a case involving national security, and then he reminded me again not to talk about it with anyone.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “I found out that the machine was one of the most expensive of its kind anywhere in the world and that it was the number one choice for the premier hospitals involved with treating very particular forms of advanced kidney disease.”

  “Why the hell would he want information like that?” asked Caldwell.

  “I don’t know,” responded Schreiber. “He wouldn’t say. He wanted me to provide him with a list of individuals or organizations who had taken delivery of the machine in the last three months.”

  “And what did you find out?” asked Lawlor.

  “Nothing at first. The company that makes the machines is called Nova Medical Systems. They’re extremely tight-lipped about everything they do.”

  Lawlor paused. There was something about that company name that he recognized, but couldn’t place. Synapses were firing all across his brain as he tried to connect the dots and jump ahead to some sort of conclusion. Why was the company name so familia
r?

  Hoping the young analyst could knock the answer loose, Lawlor beckoned Schreiber to keep going.

  “I was finally able to hack their private sales information and discovered that they’d sold only one of these super-high-end machines in the last three months,” the young man said.

  “Who bought it?” asked Lawlor.

  “The Libyans.”

  The Libyans? It had to be a dead end.

  Lawlor was ready to write the entire thing off until Schreiber said, “But that’s not the weird part. The weird thing is that the machine wasn’t sent to Libya.”

  “It wasn’t? Where was it sent?”

  Schreiber leaned forward over the table and replied, “To their United Nations mission in New York.”

  Seventy-Five

  NEW YORK CITY

  How much time is that going to give us?” asked Harvath when Tracy gave him the update and told him her plan.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “All you have to do is jump off the platform and make a run for it. I’m the one who has to get out from underneath.”

  “How much time?” he repeated.

  “Probably not enough.”

  “That’s no good, Tracy. It’s unacceptable.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m in control.”

  “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  Hastings eased over and looked up at him through the removed floor panel. “You’re going to have to accept the fact that you’re not the boss here. Not this time, Mr. Harvath.”

  “That’s Agent Harvath to you lady,” he chided, “and this is still my operation.”

  “But this is my bomb.”

  She was right, and he knew that no matter how hard he tried to dissuade her she wasn’t going to change her mind. This was how Tracy had been called to face down her demons. If the bomb did go off and take her with it, at least it would do so on her terms. She wasn’t running away, not anymore. She was sick of hiding her scars, sick of people trying to make her feel better about her appearance, and sick of feeling afraid—afraid of what had happened and how things might have been different if she’d just been able to defuse that last IED.