“Can’t we shut down the websites that are holding the files?” asked the President.
The FBI Director wondered if the President had understood anything of what he had just told him. “It’s not only on websites! It’s on people’s personal computers, thousands and thousands of them, hiding in music. And since these files are all just gibberish until they’re combined, there’s no simple way to find them and remove them. At least that’s what I’m being told, but the NSA is studying it…
“These partial files keep changing, they keep recombining and fragmenting and jumping onto new computers that are sharing music files. Antivirus software and firewalls don’t do a thing; these files just hitchhike around the internet, mostly when people are sharing music. It’s hidden in the code somewhere; it uses something called ‘steganography’, whatever that is. It’s worldwide now. The NSA is going to help us with it, but in the meantime anybody can print this thing. It’s called “The Fed List,” and terrorists can locate any FBI or ATF agents who live in these three states, and…” Sheridan didn’t complete the thought; he was rocking back and forth with his palms on his knees.
The President sat in silence, stunned by what he heard. “Is our security that bad? Where did the information come from? Somebody inside of the government? A…traitor? A mole?”
“It’s possible, that’s a theory that’s being explored, and we’re running it down. But it’s starting to look like the list comes from the private health care providers we use; someone could have hacked their databases to collect the information. We’re comparing the list to all known databases, and so far it looks like it came from a few of the national health care providers we use. There’s some out-of-date information on their databases that’s reflected on this Fed List.”
“Jesus… Has anything like this ever happened before? What are your contingency plans?”
“We’ve seen this on a much smaller scale before; we’ve had anti-government hackers who make a hobby out of finding our agents and sending them anonymous emails, personal information, threats, that kind of thing. ‘Bitwalkers’, I think they’re called. But it’s usually on a local level, and we’ve kept it quiet, but this… this is orders of magnitude worse.”
“Can you track down who did it?”
“I’m told that it’s possible to upload the whole thing onto a private corporate network, and then have the program erase its own tracks. Completely erase the evidence of where it started, if the programmer is smart enough. We’re working on it, we might catch a break, but so far… Well, frankly, my cyber war folks are reaching dead ends.”
“If you need more technical support from NSA, you’ll get it.”
“Thank you, sir. They’ve been very cooperative already.”
“Wayne, do you think the militia groups we’re fighting are the ones who put out the list?”
“That’s possible sir. Or it could be Islamic terrorists, or the Chinese, using the opportunity to screw us over and have it blamed on domestic hackers, just to compound our problems. We’re not ruling anything out at this point.”
“One more thing Wayne. Why do you think it’s listing those three states? If they have all the information from the health insurance companies, why not list all fifty states?”
Sheridan had to pause to consider that question. “Well, this is just speculation, understand, but it may be a warning, sort of a shot across our bow. ‘Back off, or we’ll list more agents on the internet.’ And something else makes us think it’s a warning.”
“What’s that?”
“The Senior Executive Service isn’t on the list; it stops at GS-15. The SES was scrubbed out, apparently. Whoever put out this list, he might be warning us to back off, or we’re next. I can’t think of any other reason why the SES isn’t included.”
President Gilmore leaned back in his black leather executive chair and stared at the ceiling, sighed, and then said, “We’re not up against amateurs, are we?”
“No sir, we’re not. This is a major league effort.”
“What are you doing to protect your agents?”
“For now, we’re leaving it up to the discretion of the Special Agents In Charge. Most of our agents in these three states are out in the field on investigations, and now they have to drop everything to go home and get their families moved out. And that’s a problem, because we’re worried about them getting ambushed on the way in or out. It’s a real can of worms… We’re authorizing full per-diem for hotels, and where we can, we’re cutting orders to put them on military bases in BOQs, until we figure out what to do next.
“Mr. President, I’ve got to tell you, this Fed List has thrown us all for a loop. We’ve already had drive-by shootings into houses since the list started showing up last night, and an ATF supervisor in Rockville was killed just this morning on his doorstep, heading out to work. We assume it’s because he was on the list.”
“Wayne,” asked the President, subdued, “how many agents have been killed so far, since all this started? Since the Stadium Massacre?”
“FBI and ATF?”
“Right, all of them.”
“Eighteen FBI Special Agents, most of them on that raid in Reston last week. And I believe eleven ATF Special Agents have been killed, counting the explosion in North Carolina yesterday. But I guess it’s twelve since this morning.”
“Good God! They’re really kicking our asses, aren’t they?”
“Yes sir, I’d say so sir. And now they’ve got a list of most of the Special Agents in three states! Over a thousand! We’re going to have to put our investigations on hold temporarily, to let the agents in the field move their families to safety. We’d bring in agents from other states, but they already have their hands full everywhere, going after these gun nuts.”
The President asked, “But if we keep pushing hard, we might have every agent in America exposed on the internet, isn’t that correct?”
“That’s the clear risk, sir.”
“Should we keep pushing hard, Wayne? Keep pushing, or throttle back?”
“Sir? It’s way too late to back off; we have to push even harder. We can’t let anarchists and terrorists dictate terms to the federal government! No way, not on my watch.”
“Okay, Wayne, okay. I concur. Authorize all the per-diem you need. We’ll put in a supplemental if we need to…just keep your people safe. Let me know if you need help from the DoD on temporary housing, and if you need the NSA to bump this thing up their priority list.”
“Thank you sir.”
****
Brad said, “We should go back inside, it’s already afternoon. We could miss our pickup.” They were lying together face to face in a sun-dappled clearing on a soft blanket they’d found in the cabin. Dried grass beneath the blanket cushioned them. They had rummaged through a bureau and a trunk in the cabin and were both wearing borrowed t-shirts and shorts. Ranya’s .45 pistol was on a corner of the blanket next to Carson’s silent .22, both were in easy reach. After finding boxes of .22 rimfire ammunition in the cabin they had practiced firing the pistol; it made a hollow metallic “tank” sound that was only as loud as a strong hand clap.
Ranya said, “I don’t want to go inside yet; it’s too hot in there with the shutters down. Anyway, I’m not leaving here until my clothes are dry, really crispy dry. I’m not getting back into clammy jeans again.” Her denim pants and jacket and black t-shirt and underwear were spread across the tops of myrtle bushes, around the tiny clearing they’d found a short distance behind the cabin. Ranya had hand-washed her clothes in the old-fashioned bathtub with lemon dishwashing liquid, and then slipped out to find a discreet place to sun-dry them. Brad had followed her with the blanket… Even after their night of ardent lovemaking they were still eager for one another, and the cozy little glen beckoned them to its sun-lit floor.
The harsh noonday sun had driven the biting insects to seek cover; only a few random dragon flies buzzed above them, while cicadas trilled unseen from beneath the myrtles and boxwood.
The sun also helped to dry and to heal their numerous insect bites, cuts, scratches and sores from Monday’s ordeals. Earlier, they had treated one another with aloe, calamine lotion and lanocaine from the bathroom medicine cabinet.
Now they lay together on their sides, pressed together, with their arms under their heads for pillows, sharing their breaths and staring into each other’s eyes. Ranya’s brown hair was unrestrained; it flowed across her shoulders and curled around her chin, shining in the sun.
“Your clothes have been dry for an hour,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“They look dry. They’re dry.”
“I’m not getting up; I want to stay here forever… You know, my mother had blue eyes like yours.”
“She was Lebanese?”
“Maronite-Catholic Lebanese. It’s not so unusual…maybe it’s a legacy from the Crusaders. Anyway, Lebanon was always a sea trading country, people came there from everywhere. You can find all kinds of people in Lebanon, not just what you think of as typical Arabs.”
“Well, I just love your eyes, Ranya. I see amber flecks in them, shining like gold dust in the sunlight. My eyes are just plain blue; your eyes are much more interesting. Sometimes they’re green, sometimes they’re hazel. They’re always different, always changing.”
“Your eyes are the color of the ocean and the sky, they’re not just ‘plain blue.’ I want to stare into them forever; I never want to lose you again,” she said.
“I’d love that too, if it’s really what you want.”
“It’s really what I want, Brad,” she said softly, and then she moved her lips over his for another small round of teasing kisses. She squeezed him more tightly around his neck and waist, and said “Let’s not split up any more. Anything we do, let’s do it together.”
“Yesterday…yesterday was the worst. But you know, it was the best too, isn’t that strange? I’ll always remember how terrible it was, and how unbelievably fantastic it was when you came for me.”
Ranya said, “See what happens when you go off on your own? You need me to keep you out of trouble.”
“I noticed. Thanks again for rescuing me. But how did you find a private army?”
“Not me. Phil Carson; he did it all. He was a friend of my father…”
“Your father must have had a lot of friends.”
“He did have a lot of friends. And some enemies…like the ATF. They always treated him like he was selling crack or heroin or something; they just couldn’t stand us selling guns, just regular legal guns. They did everything they could for years to try to put him out of business. But they couldn’t, and finally they just killed him.”
“Do you think George Hammet is the right guy? I mean, the one who actually pulled the trigger?”
“Maybe. Probably. I guess so,” she answered.
“So, if we can get to Guajira and take off, I mean, as soon as we can get off this island…”
“If it’s still there, and not under surveillance,” Ranya said.
“She’s still there. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be.”
“But what if she isn’t? Or what if she’s being watched? What if we can’t take Guajira, what then?”
Brad smiled at her. “Then I’ll steal another sailboat.”
“Steal one? Really? Just like that?”
“Sure, why not? We’re already down for killing one fed and kidnapping another, so what’s stealing a boat on top of that? Marinas are full of sailboats that never go out. You can take a boat and the owner probably won’t notice for days, or even weeks. And I can tell which boats nobody’s paying attention to, and which ones can cross an ocean right out of the marina.”
“Is it that easy? Don’t you need a key?”
“Oh, please! I just installed a new diesel engine by myself. Do you really think I need a key to start one?”
Ranya laughed, and he kissed her cheeks while she smiled. “So what stops thieves from stealing sailboats?”
“That’s easy. Thieves can’t sail. They think it’s some kind of magic. Except for the French, but that’s another story.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Ranya, laughing.
“You’ll find out, when we get down island. But I’m not going to need to steal a boat; Guajira’s still waiting for us, I know she is.”
“Is she ready? Can we just sail her out the way she is?”
“Oh hell yes! We could take off tonight and be fifty miles offshore by dawn, and make it to the Bahamas in a week.”
“Will the Bahamas let us in? Won’t we be fugitives?”
“I don’t know, maybe not. I was never actually arrested, not officially, not by real police. But we won’t clear into the Bahamas like regular tourists. Did you know that there’s over a thousand islands in the Bahamas, and only about fifty of them even have one policeman? Clearing customs in the islands on a sailboat is a joke; it’s actually all on the honor system, believe it or not. It’s not like an airport; on a sailboat you have to go and find the customs officer and tell him you’ve arrived! But if you don’t tell them, they don’t know. We’ll just show up in the Out Islands and make ourselves at home, and that’s all there is to it.”
“So we’ll be illegal aliens?”
“Damn right we will. But we’ll pay cash, and it’ll be ‘no problem, mon!’ Ranya, the water’s so clear, it looks like your boat is floating on turquoise-colored air over the coral reefs; you just won’t believe it. We’ll skin-dive and catch lobster every day for lunch and grouper for dinner. The water’s so warm, we’ll just live in our bathing suits. And most of the time, we’ll have anchorages completely to ourselves. We won’t even need bathing suits. We’ll just swim and dive and play and get all-over tans, like real Caribbean sailors.”
“Oh Brad, you make it sound so wonderful, just like a dream. Oh, I can’t wait; I wish we were there already!”
“Once we’re there, I’ll repaint Guajira’s hull. Blue maybe. And we’ll have to change her name… Then after the islands, we’ll head for South America, maybe Brazil or Venezuela, or Colombia.”
“What about our passports? What if the government’s after us? We’ll be fugitives, won’t we?”
“Ranya, you only need passports at airports. With sailboats, it’s a whole different world out there.”
“Just pay your way in cash, and don’t make problems?”
“You’ve got it. Keep a low profile, and keep moving. It’s called being a ‘PT.’ It means you’re just passing through, you’re a permanent tourist, and you’re practically transparent. For lots of people it means prior taxpayer…and if you want to keep it that way, you have to be privacy trained. That’s being a ‘PT.’ We can buy papers and new vessel documents when we get to some islands I know in the Caribbean. Citizenship is cheap some places, you can pick any name you want.”
Ranya laughed again. “So, we’re going to wind up in a Colombian prison is what you’re saying. Some place like Devil’s Island.”
“I’ll take my chances. Anyway it beats taking a BATF bullet, or being tied to a door and water-boarded, or crammed into a metal locker.”
“Brad, don’t worry, I’m with you all the way, I just need to know what to expect. Even if we’re going to hell…I’ll go with you gladly. And I don’t care if we’re heading for hurricanes or shipwrecks or jail, I’m not leaving you again, not ever.” She pressed as tightly to him as she could and squeezed him even more tightly.
“I love you Ranya Bardiwell, do you know that? I fell in love with you the first day that I met you.”
“That day, that day was the worst day of my life…”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“…Except for finding you.”
“Ranya, I’m so sorry for what happened to your father, but I’m so glad I found you, I’m just sorry about…how.”
“What a day that was, what a day. The worst day in my life, except that I found you. But now it’s so strange, it’s all mixed up together.”
“A
t least we have each other.”
“I know… I know. We have each other, and we always will. But Brad, I’ve got to tell you something. I’ve got to tell you, I just don’t want to keep any secrets from you any more, I just can’t keep it inside me.”
“What secrets?”
“Big secrets. Really bad ones.”
“What?”
“I…” Ranya closed her eyes, and turned her face into the blanket. “I shot Eric Sanderson. That’s why they grabbed you.”
Brad felt her shudder, felt a wave of trembling pass through her that made him dizzy. “You?”
“Me.”
After a moment he said, “Damn… You know, they thought I shot him? They had it all figured out! They thought you scouted him out for me, and I shot him. They were trying to make me confess, and I didn’t know what they were talking about! Now it all makes sense.”
“I’m so sorry Brad, I’m so sorry. They tortured you…because of what I did, because of me. And they shot that poor man in the black truck because of me too.”
He gently lifted her face from the blanket with his hand beneath her teary cheek, and looked into her wet eyes as she opened them. “Don’t worry Ranya, Mr. Checkpoint had it coming. And the man in the truck, well, that just happened. That was the FBI; it had nothing to do with you.”
“Sanderson was dancing on my father’s grave, it felt like he was spitting in my face! I had to kill him.” She half-laughed bitterly. “Maybe it’s an Arab thing. I might be a Christian, but I’m still an Arab. I mean, I’m an American, but my blood is pure Arab. I guess that makes me crazy; everybody knows Arabs are crazy, right? Isn’t that what everybody says?”
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