by Vince Flynn
“If you wouldn’t have caught it, I’m confident no one else would have, either. Now, tell me this. Did this person get the information they were after?”
He shook his head. “All the files were off-line because of the diagnostic.”
“And I assume they still are?”
“Very off-line. I actually disconnected some hardware. You’d have to have a wrench and physical access to the server to get to them.”
“Now that we know what’s happening, can we track this person if they try again?”
“I doubt it,” he said uncomfortably. “The way the system’s designed—”
Again, she silenced him with a wave of the hand. What she didn’t need was an hours-long explanation of circuit boards and encryption algorithms.
“So, no.”
“That’s correct, ma’am. I can set things up so we know if there are any more attacks, but the way they’re being done makes it impossible to trace back to the person behind the keyboard.”
“You’re saying our system is just wide open to this person for the foreseeable future? That’s not acceptable.”
“No, ma’am. I can reprogram the system to shut them out, but it’s not going to be a smooth transition. Everyone at the Agency will get locked out and have to redo their log-ins.”
“Can I assume that our perpetrator will know we’re onto him or her if we do that?”
“Definitely.”
She leaned back and pondered the problem for a moment. “If we bring the system back online soon, am I correct in saying that it’ll just look like you’re finished with the diagnostic? That our mole would have no reason to be suspicious and would feel free to try again?”
“Yes. If we just go back online without a major security update, then, frankly, we can’t keep them out.”
“Can I make changes to Ward’s file before we go back online?”
“Absolutely,” he said, clearly following her thought process. If tracing this person electronically was impossible, there was another option. She could introduce subtle errors into the CIA’s information on Ward. Then, if those errors were acted upon, they might lead to the person who had so skillfully penetrated their defenses.
“Can you send me the files in question?”
He pulled a thumb drive from his pocket, having anticipated the request. “I can’t send them because they’re air-gapped. So, I put them on here.” After placing the storage device on her desk, he immediately started retreating toward the door. “I’m really, really sorry about this, Dr. Kennedy. Don’t worry, though. I’ll figure out a way to fix it. When you’re ready, just tell me, okay?”
She conjured up her warmest smile. Dumond didn’t do well under pressure and she needed him operating at one hundred percent. “I have complete confidence in you, Marcus. If anyone else had been at the helm, I doubt we would have ever known about this. So, thank you.”
His expression melted into something between a smile and a wince as he continued backing toward the door. “When you’re done making the changes, save them to that thumb drive and let me know. I’ll come get it and upload the files to the server. Sooner is better than later, though. The longer the system stays down—”
“You’ll have it by tonight.”
He turned to finish his escape but was forced to pause when she spoke again.
“Does anyone else know about this, Marcus?”
“No one.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
After she’d finished skimming the CIA’s file on Nicholas Ward, Irene Kennedy took off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. She’d learned a few details she hadn’t known before but nothing that changed her opinion of the man.
There was no superlative that didn’t trivialize what he’d managed to accomplish in a single lifetime. The wealth was what everyone saw but it made up only a small part of who he really was. His motivations at this point appeared to be entirely altruistic. Clearly, he couldn’t be bought. He had no definable political or religious ideology. His only goal seemed to be to use the resources he’d accumulated to lift humanity out of the mire.
Unfortunately, it was those same resources that were making him an increasingly prominent target. For competing commercial interests. For politicians. Even for the people he wanted to help.
Ironically, it might be that latter category that would prove most dangerous in the long run. The average person had no hope of understanding the depths of someone like Nicholas Ward. His motivations. How a mind like his perceived the world. The effortlessness with which he manipulated the technologies he’d created. And what people didn’t understand they distrusted—a tendency that had been amplified a thousand times over by the Internet. It was getting hard to keep up with all the conspiracy theories that swirled around him. That he was using his medical research to track patients. That he was Q of the imaginary QAnon organization. Even that he was, in fact, some kind of lizard-human hybrid. The last one in particular would have been easy to laugh off if it weren’t for the startling number of people who subscribed to it. The belief in witches had been ridiculous, too, but that hadn’t been much comfort to the innocent people watching the flames rise around them.
Having said that, it would be very much a mistake to paint Ward as either innocent or a victim. Like the introduction to the old Star Trek television program, he was attempting to go where no man had gone before. There were risks to that kind of action. To him. And, frankly, to everyone else.
If she were to make a list of the most powerful entities in the world—the ones that would shape the next one hundred years of human existence—how would it be ordered? The United States and China would be on top, she imagined. But after that, was it possible that she’d write the name Nicholas Ward?
It was incredible that she was even asking that question. The first two entries encompassed the better part of two billion people. The last was a single man. A single man who still didn’t fully understand the power he had. One day he would, though, and she wasn’t sure what the consequences would be.
What she was sure of was that he needed to be protected. His involvement in telecom, space exploration, energy, and artificial intelligence was critical to America’s national security and economy. The rest of it—the existential danger and hope he represented—was something for another day.
21
SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA
ANOTHER perfect Ugandan day. Another helicopter ride. Another dense forest streaking by beneath Rapp’s boots. Unfortunately, it had also been a perfect day in South Africa, where he had managed to spend less than two weeks before Irene Kennedy’s courier had appeared at his gate.
The hand-delivered message was unusual enough to get his full attention. Modern technology provided endless options for encrypted comms and the fact that she’d chosen not to use one was notable. Instead, he’d been handed a sealed USB drive designed to fit only into a laptop he’d been provided years ago. It would be the first—and last—time it was used.
Upon reading the document it contained, the reason for avoiding normal CIA communications protocols was understandable. The threat, though, wasn’t what he’d expected in such a dramatic communiqué. Not to him or Kennedy or America, but to Nicholas Ward.
And so here he was, heading back to a job he’d just quit. But less to solve Ward’s problem than Kennedy’s. Marcus Dumond had run into a dead end identifying the person digging around in the CIA’s mainframe. That meant they were going to have to go low-tech: using disinformation she’d introduced into Ward’s file to trick the perpetrator into revealing himself. An old-fashioned mole hunt.
And, if he was being completely honest, it wasn’t the worst time to get out of the Cape. The day before, he’d taken Anna on a little ride outside the wall and there had been a minor incident involving a tree. And a ditch. And maybe a few spiny plants.
Despite the fact that there hadn’t been all that much blood, the top of Cl
audia’s head had nearly blown off. He was alive today only because there had been no sharp objects within reach when he and Anna had pushed their bikes back through the gate.
He smiled into the wind coming through the chopper’s open door. Anna had really been drilling it when she went down. And while there had been a few tears, they hadn’t been accompanied by any sniveling. His smile faded. If she ended up with her father’s ruthless determination and her mother’s brains, she’d become one dangerous woman. And an impossible-to-control teenager.
As they overflew Ward’s compound, Rapp noted that the berms reinforcing the fence were all but done. So were various chain gun mounts and a number of other defensive measures. All reasonably subtle but, when combined with the strategic location, also deceptively formidable. Coleman had once again proved that he was the best in the business.
“Looks like the place is in pretty good shape,” Rapp shouted to the former SEAL as he jumped out of the aircraft and jogged from beneath its rotors.
“Yeah. We finally took delivery of the green razor wire, but we can’t set it up until we install ultrasonic bullhorns to keep animals from walking into it. That’ll all be done today, though.”
“And the mines?”
“Even more behind schedule. Ward’s absolutely forbidden them, so we have to lay them at night when he’s asleep. Complete pain in the ass. Between the foliage and the dark, mapping them is a nightmare.”
“But you’re almost there?”
“Two nights out,” he said, frowning. “What are you doing here, Mitch? Are those kids slapping you around on the bike? Maybe you should get one of those three-wheeled ones. You’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore.”
“Younger than you, asshole.”
“But nowhere near as beautifully preserved,” Coleman said as they entered the tent that acted as a command center.
Rapp walked to a map detailing the security measures that had been put into place and those yet to come.
“Seriously, Mitch. What are you doing here? I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”
“Somebody’s got to,” Rapp joked, dropping into a folding chair and stretching his legs out. “So, you’re comfortable with what you’ve been able to accomplish here?”
“Yeah,” Coleman responded after a few seconds of silence. “We’ve talked about this. You can always do more, but we’re in good shape. There are no roads in or out, so any attacking force would have a tough slog through the jungle just to get here. That also prevents them bringing in anything much heavier than a few shoulder-fired missiles. We’ve got sensors set up that are going to give us good lead time on any attack and drones in the sky twenty-four/seven. Ward would be long gone before anyone even got close.”
“So, no weaknesses.”
“A significant force coming in from the air would be a problem. We’ve got some SAMs but we’re not really set up for that. My assumption is that I’m not going to have to deal with the 82nd Airborne.”
Rapp scanned the map across from him and pointed to the eastern slope that descended from the compound. “What about that? Looks thin.”
Coleman shook his head. “The terrain is working for us there. It’s really steep and funnels into a gully that terminates in a twenty-foot-high cliff maybe a hundred yards from the perimeter wall. Anybody smart enough to get this far wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk into that death trap. We decided it wasn’t a good use of limited resources to focus on it.”
“Actually, that’s exactly where you need to focus your resources.”
Coleman just stared at him for a moment. “Did you trip over your dogs and hit your head? No one’s attacking from that direction.”
Rapp stood and tapped a point on the map about halfway up the gully. “I also want you to run an underground wire here. North to south. Make it span the entire depression.”
“A wire? Attached to what?”
“Nothing.”
The former SEAL’s eyes narrowed. “You know something I don’t.”
It was interesting—and a bit pathetic—that the blond man standing in front of him was one of only two people in the world Rapp completely trusted. And as such, he would join him, Kennedy, and Dumond as the last person who knew what was happening.
“What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this tent.”
The short nod from his friend was all that was necessary.
“There was a high-level computer breach at Langley. The only thing we really know beyond the fact that it happened is that whoever’s responsible was interested in Ward.”
Coleman smirked. “Probably some CIA exec trying to get insider stock information. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Maybe. But we need to know for sure. And until we do, we can’t trust any of the Agency’s technology.”
“Or any of its people. But what’s that got to do with the eastern slope of the compound?”
“Whoever wanted to get Ward’s file failed the first time. But Irene let them in the second.”
Coleman pondered that for a moment and then a light dawned. “There was information on this place. And she changed it.”
“Yeah. And her revised map shows the east being the best bet for an attack.”
“What’s up with the wire you want buried?”
“Irene included a bogus diagram of all the compound’s electronic defenses that showed one weakness. Not obvious, but a specialist would be able to find it.”
“That wire.”
“Exactly. She made it look like cutting it would disrupt the whole system.”
Coleman scanned the map for a few seconds. “So, you think this is a credible threat?”
Rapp returned to the chair and stretched out again. “No. I think you’re probably right that it’s someone on the seventh floor looking to pad out their retirement portfolio. But I’ve learned to take Irene’s hunches seriously.”
“It’s hard to ignore the fact that you’re using Ward as bait.”
Rapp didn’t react.
“He’s not going to like that, Mitch. And frankly I don’t either. He’s my client and now I have information suggesting he’s in danger.”
“But he’s not, right? You said this place is secure.”
“Don’t throw my words back at me. You know as well as I do that there are no guarantees.”
“What’s that mean to me?”
Coleman’s jaw tightened. “Nothing. You already know that. But just because I agree to do something doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
* * *
“I’m surprised to see you here, Mitch.”
Nicholas Ward seemed to have an aversion to his expensive furniture and this time was sitting on the steps that led to the pool.
“I had a change of heart,” Rapp said as he approached. “Probably a brief one.”
“A change of heart… Can I assume Irene had something to do with that?”
“Things are looking shipshape,” Rapp said, changing the subject. “Scott’s gotten a lot done in a week and a half.”
“If you mean he’s changed my home into Fort Ward, I agree. And don’t think I don’t know about the mines.”
Rapp smiled. “These aren’t World War II surplus, Nick. They can be turned on and off remotely.”
“Oh, I know all about them. In fact, I’ve spent a fair amount of time and money trying to get that entire class of technology wiped from the face of the earth. And now here I am surrounded by them. Ironic. And hypocritical.”
“Desperate times…”
“Are they, though, Mitch? I admit that I underestimated Gideon Auma, but isn’t it possible that you’re overestimating him? There’s a big difference between an opportunistic attack on a hospital and trying to get up here.”
“Irene thinks there might be someone out there who wants to make a move against you.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. It’s just chatter at this point. But it makes sense to be cautious. You can afford it.”
&nb
sp; He looked skeptical but unwilling to entirely discount what Rapp was telling him. “Maybe it’s time for me and my people to go stateside for a little while. I feel like my presence here is creating a lot of drama.”
“I’m not sure you’d be any safer there.”
“That’s a specific enough statement to suggest that the threat to me is more than just chatter. Would you care to elaborate?”
“No.”
Ward’s smile carried a hint of frustration as he stood and walked back inside. When he reappeared, there were a couple of beers in his hand. He gave one to Rapp.
“I can’t shake the feeling that you have some hidden agenda here, Mitch.”
“Really?”
“Really. But what is it? Gideon Auma? Maybe he’s getting a little too close to Islamic terrorist groups and you want to use me to get to him? Or maybe your operation to save David went so well that it made Anthony Cook look bad. Could you be here to stab me in the back as penance?”
“Maybe I just like you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well then you just keep thinking on it. Maybe you’ll come up with something.”
“I always do.”
Even having known the man for only a short time, Rapp didn’t doubt it.
“What do you say we change the subject to something a little less depressing,” Ward continued. “Matteo’s back on his feet and I know that he, David, and Jing would love to thank you personally. They’re in cabins just down the way. Why don’t we walk over?”
“Not necessary,” Rapp said before taking a pull from his beer.
Ward picked up on the finality in his statement. “You prefer anonymity to gratitude. Understood. But they’d also like to know when they can start their work again. The facility’s gone, but their test subjects—and some patients who need them—are still in the surrounding villages.”
“That’s not something we want to rush into.”
“They’d disagree. This is an ongoing study and they’re losing critical data.”
