Exposure (Jackson Chase Novella Book 1)

by Connor Black

  “You worked together?” Sterba asked.

  “Not directly, no. But we came across each other here and there. Always gave me the feeling he was up to something.”

  “As our present situation has shown,” I said. “What have you both come up with?”

  Chen picked up the baton.

  “The hit we picked up here was accessing a cloud storage site,” she began.

  “Once Slater was identified as the shooter in Afghanistan, his aliases were flagged. This usually means passports and credit cards in cover names. Nothing popped up.

  “But over the past year, the Agency has been going back over aliases to add online identities associated with the cover names. Our best guess is that Slater didn’t know that the Agency was back-filling these data.”

  “Could you get a location?”

  “That’s what we’ve been working on. I was, ah,” she said hesitating, “trying to go through proper channels, and, Mr. Clark had to give me a little help.”

  Clark laughed. “I’ll tell you, the Lieutenant here is smart. But she’s a little too nice. I gave her a hand busting some chops.”

  Chen smiled. “Mr. Clark does have a colorful way about him. And it’s effective.”

  I was beginning to like this guy.

  “So what have you got?” asked Sterba.

  “We were able to get the IP address,” Chen continued. “An Internet café by Wat Pho.”

  “Which one is that?” asked Sterba. Fair enough. Most of us think of the temples by the various poses of Buddha.

  “The one with the reclining Buddha, Joe,” I said.

  “Have you sent someone over?” Sterba asked.

  Clark nodded. “I’ve had someone on the place since the commander figured it out yesterday. No joy.”

  “You guys talk to the owner?” Joe asked.

  “No. Don’t think it would help. Place is mostly automated for the computers, and you could go in and out without ever talking to the staff.”

  “So it’s a waiting game,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Clark said. “More likely he got what he needed and won’t use the card or the café again.”

  I looked over at Sterba, and he looked how I felt. Like someone just served us a shit sandwich.

  “The commander has been working another angle,” he said, turning the stage over to Chen.

  “Mr. Clark explained to me how cover identities are created and used. It occurred to me that there would be unused identities as well.”

  “Do you mean identities he was issued that he hadn’t used?” asked Joe.

  “Those were already in the net, but same idea,” Chen replied. “I abstracted out one degree.” Seeing the confused look on our faces, she put it into simpler terms.

  “Say your own cover IDs were blown,” she said to me. “And Joe is your friend, also in the CIA.”

  “I’d say, ‘Hey Joe, do you have an ID without that big, ugly face of yours on it that I could use?’”

  Sterba shot me the finger.

  Chen carried on, ignoring him. “Exactly. Mr. Clark has been going through all of Slater’s operations since he’s been in Afghanistan. We’ve pulled the names of every agent along with their known cover IDs and added them to the mix.”

  “Nice solution,” I said. “No hits yet?”

  “Plenty of them,” she said. “But none in Thailand. So by all appearances, they’re being used legitimately. That search query is active, though, just in case. We’ll be pinged if the names pop.”

  Clark picked up the conversation. “This morning, I was explaining to the commander that Agency-issued IDs are only part of the search. Us dinosaurs used to have some backups in place,” Clark said.

  “You had your own false identities created without the Agency knowing,” I said.

  He nodded. “Sad fact is your fears about getting burned can get the best of you, and you begin seeing shadows in every corner. There’s a point that every operative reaches when you know you have to look out for number one. So you purchase some paper and create an identity or two that the watchers at Langley don’t know about.”

  Chen continued, “Mr. Clark explained that while readily available, these identities are just that. Passport, credit card good for a short term, and sometimes a social security number. As Mr. Clark explains it, that’s the difference between a legend and an identity. Legends, such as the ones the CIA creates for case officers, have depth and real-world backstops. The phone number on a business card is answered. A search of a university’s database will show name, grades, and even test scores. IDs from the street generally don’t have that depth.”

  “But since they’re bought on the streets, they’re still untraceable, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Chen answered. “For the most part.”

  I leaned forward and put my arms on the table, gesturing with my hands for her to continue.

  “Some have mismatches. The social security number has already been assigned to a different name, typically someone deceased. Sometimes, just a random number. That’s one identifying factor.”

  “Another identifier,” she continued, “is that by their very nature, they’re thin. The name or social has never popped up on a credit check. Or there’s only one credit card. One card is a red flag, since most people in the Western world tend to have at least two.”

  “So,” I recapped, “you have mismatches and ‘thin’ IDs. Even if you could see them all, there would be millions, I would guess.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “But those data points are a start. I’ve been working on writing some queries that map those factors against a narrowed geography and time range. I can then narrow the vectors by eliminating top tourist hotels and attractions.”

  Sterba chimed in, “Commander, I only understood about half of what you said. But it sounds like you’re trying to pull information from a lot different sources.”

  Chen nodded. “Yes, I’m running these strings against several databases that typically don’t interface. It hasn’t been easy.”

  “What can we do to help?” I asked.

  “Not much right now,” she said. “Unless you know how to write database queries?” She smiled. I realized that it was the first time I’d seen her smile. It was nice, warm, without being condescending, considering she’d just pointed out that I had little by way of computer skills.

  “Afraid I can’t,” I said.

  “Well, thanks to Mr. Clark, I have the access I need. Now I just need a little more time to finish writing the code.”

  Her eyebrows raised, and we knew she was looking for a little more time to complete her work.

  Clark read the signal, too, “Gentlemen, how about I show you around while we give Commander Chen some time?”

  23

  Outside the embassy, Clark turned to Sterba and I. “I imagine that despite the cold trail, you’d like to see the Internet café?”

  “You read my mind, Mr. Clark,” I said.

  “Call me Landon, please.”

  “Call me hungry,” said Joe.

  Clark laughed. “I’ll take care of you, Chief. There’s a great place for curry across the street from the café.”

  “It’s Joe, Landon. And the last time someone said he would take care of my needs, he took me to see a bunch of little old ladies!”

  I laughed. “Yeah, but you loved it.”

  “I did,” he admitted with a smile. “Let’s eat.”

  We could have taken an embassy car, but elected to pile into a tuk-tuk instead. When in Rome ... .

  Seated at the small restaurant across from the Internet café, it was clear that Slater had chosen the place well. The street was busy, and the odd sizes and shapes of the buildings around the café provided cover and the maze of alleys offered opportunities for counter surveillance. It was also a dump of a place, with an assortment of dirty tourists coming in and out. Dressed the right way, he could easily come and go completely unnoticed.

  “Think he’s staying in this neighborh
ood?” Joe asked.

  “Hmmm,” Clark started, “tradecraft in this sort of a situation varies. You can stay on this side of the street and watch the café for surveillance before or after using the facility. But better, I think, to put a little distance between you and any footprint you may have left.”

  “I think you’re right that he’s not coming back,” I said.

  Clark simply nodded.

  A waitress came to the table and asked to take our order.

  “You mind?” Clark asked.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Clark proceeded to order in rapid Thai. But it quickly became more of a dialog than simply ordering lunch.

  I had passed through here a few times when I was young, and knew only a small amount of the language.

  But enough to gather that only a part of that conversation had to do with food.

  The waitress left. I raised my eyebrows at Clark, not saying a thing.

  Joe looked puzzled, and Clark turned to address him. “The Lieutenant here seems to know a bit of Thai,” he said with a smile.

  He then turned to me. “You’re very observant, Jackson. That was Kong. She is one of the locals that help me out from time to time.”

  “You just happen to have an asset working across the street from that particular café?” Joe asked suspiciously.

  Clark smiled. “No, Joe. Not that convenient, I’m afraid. Kong is a bit of a freelancer. She’s pretty resourceful, and can really be placed anywhere she might be needed. The Thai people are extremely kind and accommodating. She simply asked the owner of the restaurant for a job for a few days. Wanted to earn enough to buy her mum a nice gift, the story may have been. Works more often than you’d think.”

  Joe and I relaxed. I was really starting to like this guy.

  “Did she have an update?” I asked.

  “No joy,” he said. “And to be honest, I told her that she could drop the assignment after today. I think we’ve covered this base.”

  “Agreed.”

  And with that, Kong reappeared with three Singha beers.

  “Korp kun krap, Kong,” I said as she set them on the table.

  With barely an accent she said, “You’re welcome.” She had a nice, hearty smile.

  “Cheers,” Joe said, raising his glass.

  In the warm, humid air of the city, the sweating beer bottle felt almost as good as that first sip tasted.

  “Have you worked with Commander Chen long?” Clark asked.

  I shook my head. “Came across her twice on the Stennis, and then had a few debriefings with her after the mission in Afghanistan. That’s about it, until today.”

  “Well, Jackson, I have to say that I’ve been around military and government employees for the better part of forty years, and my impression from the past day is that she’s quite unique.”

  Sterba, showing himself to be the one with even less tact and discipline than myself, couldn’t help himself. “You mean that unique wrapping of hotness around complete nerdiness? Or the fact that her legs are a mile long?”

  Clark let out a roar of a laugh. “Not exactly what I meant, Joe. She has what one might call ‘command-reluctance’. She’s a little unsure of her place, despite the clearly defined command structure of government service.”

  I nodded. “She does seem a little shy. But when the talk turns to tech, she hits her stride.”

  “Exactly,” Clark said. “I have to tell you that from what I’ve seen over the past day, she would run circles around the analysts at the Agency.”

  Joe and I looked at each other. Given Clark’s experience, that was a pretty big statement.

  Clark went on, “Her conceptual thinking, paired with some amazing technical skills are very impressive. She was hitting some databases that it would take me a week’s worth of requests to get information from - if we could have accessed them at all. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I am really surprised the NSA or a big tech company didn’t grab her out of school.”

  I could tell that Joe was as surprised to hear this as I was.

  “Sounds like our sexy nerd’s got some skills,” Sterba observed.

  She’s also got something that isn’t quite adding up. But my thoughts were cut short by our food arriving.

  Of all the places I’ve been over the course of a life spent in sailing and in war, the food in Thailand will always hold a place at the top. If the culture here is centered first around Buddhism, the second thing held closest to the Thai heart is the food.

  Our lunch showed just that. Clark had ordered well, and while the dishes were simple, the flavors were beautifully complex. Before us were a papaya salad, a green ginger chicken curry, and a red prawn curry. And while each of us knew that we should keep an eye on the café across the street, I don’t think Joe’s left the table for a second.

  As Clark and I watched him deftly scoop out the last of the red curry with a spoonful of rice, my cell phone buzzed. A number I didn’t recognize, but showing the Thai country code.

  “Chase.”

  “Lieutenant, it’s Commander Chen.”

  “How are things going, Commander?” I asked.

  “Things are going well. I have a decent data set. I should be able to narrow it to just a few by the time you get back.”

  “Excellent. Want us to bring you anything?”

  “No, thank you. Embassy service took care of me. Hope you tried the papaya salad there.”

  “It was fantastic. How did you ... ”

  “See you here shortly, Lieutenant,” she said and disconnected the call.

  24

  Back in the embassy conference room, Chen sat as she was before. Only now there were a few dirty dishes and three empty bottles of Krating Daeng on the table. The potent drink that had more recently become Red Bull in the West.

  “That stuff’ll kill you, Commander,” observed Sterba.

  “Working so far, Chief,” Chen said. “I’ve run my queries. The results gave me a set of mismatch plus thin pairings, and I did a vector comparison of ... ”

  I cut her off before we once again strayed beyond my depth. “Commander, I am really not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Sorry. Ok, I have narrowed the data down to what looks like a high quality hit. German passport, mismatched credit card tied to the ID, but no other cards. Found the card separately. It wasn’t used for the lease. Dates are good, and location puts it in the same general area as the café.”

  “Nice work, Commander.”

  “Thanks. The place is called Saladaeng Terrace in Silom. They do long term leases. Seems to be for Western professionals moving here for the tourism industry.”

  “So a white face won’t stand out,” I observed.

  Clark nodded. “And a transient population gets little scrutiny.”

  “The complex is small. Four units, one building. Unfortunately, it’s so small that there’s no database of unit assignments. Probably handled on paper. I can’t tell you what unit he's in.”

  “If they don’t use a computer, how’d you find the name?” asked Sterba.

  Chen replied, “The Thai tourism bureau requires all lodging vendors to submit the names and passport numbers for visitors. I think the idea is to check against visas.”

  Clark raised his eyebrows. “Usually takes us a long time for an information request like that. And we have to make a query for a specific name. They don’t give the whole list.”

  Chen looked down at her laptop and gave a “Hmmm” sound. Well, it wasn’t exactly a question.

  Sterba came to her aide by changing the subject. “So what’s our best plan?”

  Without any law enforcement credentials behind us, we couldn’t just barge into the office - even if there was one - and get Slater’s room number. We’d have to visually check if he was indeed there.

  Since the Commander was amped on her caffeine fix, and I was feeling impatient, we decided to do a little reconnaissance before the sun went down.

  She and I
would find a good place to set up, and Sterba and Clark would relieve us later.

  25

  We had an embassy car drop us several blocks away so that we could see the lay of the land on foot. I asked Chen to change into something that stood out a little less than the business suit she had been wearing.

  Chen’s ancestry was Chinese. Clearly not Thai, but she would blend in better in the more casual clothes she wore now. Sandals, simple jeans, and a rust-colored long sleeve T-shirt. It was rather form-fitting, and I could see what Joe was going on about.

  But importantly, it helped her fit in. She would match many of the Thai women, who tend not to show expanses of skin out of respect to Buddha.

  Well, at least outside of the red light district, Patpong.

  I stayed as I was. A hearty pair of boots, cargo pants, and a brown T-shirt. Despite my dark hair and olive skin, I’d never pass as Thai. But I’m dead on for the wayward world traveler.

  Probably because it’s not far from the truth.

  We took a roundabout way through the Silom village shopping center. Birds dove down from the trees in the courtyard, scavenging for wayward crumbs. In the open kitchen of the central restaurant, a cook was hanging roasted ducks from a series of bars above the counter.

  We passed one of the many shops selling silk goods as we made our way to a small alley that would put us back on the main street, Thanon Silom.

  Motorbikes, tuk-tuks, passenger cars, and small lorries zipped passed us as we walked along the wide main road. Slater’s street was ahead of us, and would soon be on our right.

  As we approached, I could see that going down the street would be a mistake. I kept moving straight ahead, deflecting Chen as she went to turn.

  “Keep moving,” I said quietly.

  To her credit, she allowed us to go ahead 30 meters or so before asking why.

  “The street he’s chosen is ideal for counter surveillance. It’s tiny, and the buildings start right at the edge of street. No shops, no awnings, no trees, no junk. Zero cover.”