‘A new cell?’ Kradich brightened, the suggestion prompting a fresh line of thought. ‘Hell, why didn’t you say?’ He hunched over the keyboard. ‘We eliminate all phone numbers first registered on the system more than a week ago . . . And Bingo was his name,’ he exclaimed when all the numbers except one in each box disappeared. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, the number on the left belongs to the phone on Elizabeth Street.’ His fingers continued working. A new window appeared on the laser screen. ‘You have to thank the rules that govern the buying of new cell phones. Before they came along, you didn’t need to provide ID. In some states now it’s easier to buy a gun than a cell.’ A name and an address appeared in a separate box. Saul read it out. ‘The cell that called the one in Key West was recently bought by Tony Park of 3 Zambezi Drive, Pinecrest, Florida. Do you know him?’
Lana frowned. ‘No. There’s no connection for me with that name.’
Kradich picked up his pencil and sat way back in his chair, assuming the position of an astronaut on a launch pad. He tapped out a beat on his thigh with the pencil, his body language saying, ‘Where to from here?’
Lana had never heard of Tony Park, but there had to be some connection with Ben. ‘How many cell phones does this Park guy own?’
Saul Kradich shrugged, reached forward and removed the control panel from its dock. He then reassumed the takeoff position, this time with the panel in his lap. ‘Four,’ he said after a short while. ‘He has one on contract to Verizon, which he’s had for fourteen months . . . Well, look at this. The other three are pre-paid Virgin Mobile, which he bought last week on Thursday, January 19. And look here at one of the allocated phone numbers—it’s another of our little Indians, the number of the cell phone at 49 Elizabeth.’
Lana felt a surge of excitement. She was on to something. ‘Where were the phones purchased?’
It took Kradich only a handful of seconds to come up with the answer. ‘Radio Shack, Homestead.’
Lana smiled. A connection to Tex Mitchell. ‘Let me take a guess that Mr Park is employed at the Homestead Radio Shack.’
Kradich tapped away, searching the tax files of all the store’s employees. And there he was—Tony Park. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Good at guessing,’ she said.
Tex had probably given the money to Park to buy the phones and use his driver’s license or social security card to minimize the chances of detection. She may have been right or wrong about that, but it hardly mattered. The important thing to note was that Ben and Tex were communicating, and trying to keep their communications secret from the NSA.
‘Has either handset dialed the remaining cell?’ A third cell indicated the probability of a mystery third person.
In a moment, Kradich had the answer. ‘Your third cell received a call at around the same time as the Elizabeth Street cell on Key West—at 8:12:32 a.m. on the 20th. And lookee here . . . the call went through an adjacent base transceiver station on Key West. Seems your cell owners are neighbors.’
‘Oh, I almost forgot. Here are your new phones,’ Tex said, pulling a plastic bag out of the Silverado’s center console as he drove.
‘You really think it’s necessary to ditch the other ones?’ Ben asked, taking the Samsung labeled with his name on a Post-it, and passing Akiko’s to her in the back seat.
‘You said the first thing the NSA investigator did was look at her watch when I called you.’ Tex checked the rear-view mirror. ‘She did that for a reason. If the NSA knows the time I called you, I have no doubt the agency could find my cell’s phone number. From there you can bet our network would be compromised. Calling me at work and using a payphone to fill me in on your latest NSA visit tells me you have good instincts, Ben.’
‘Well, maybe my instincts know something I don’t. I can’t help thinking we’re being overly dramatic.’
‘This is not paranoia, this is playing it safe. Those replacement handsets look tired because they’re second-hand units. The SIMs are pre-paid from different carriers, bought for us by different people I know. The same rules apply about not sending texts and so forth. We have to assume we’re now under the NSA’s microscope given the interviews we’ve both had, and especially your hands-on experience with whatshername.’
‘Lana,’ said Ben.
Tex glanced across at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Yeah, Lana.’
Ben looked out the window at the suburban street. The Port Charlotte neighborhood felt small town—not rich, not poor. ‘How’re you doing back there, Kiko?’ he asked.
‘Good. I’m sightseeing,’ she said. ‘None of this is in the brochures.’
‘We’re here,’ said Tex, pulling over past a driveway blocked by a substantial steel gate. A heavy steel-mesh fence and a thick screen of pines secured the rest of the perimeter.
They got out of the Chevrolet and walked to an entrance gate. Tex pressed a button on the security system.
‘Yes?’ said a female voice.
‘It’s Tex.’
There was a buzz and Tex pushed the gate open.
At the head of the pathway stood a large, rambling single-story weatherboard home painted gray with a white trim. A flock of pink flamingos stood on wire legs in the middle of a manicured lawn.
‘Remember what I told you about Lucas. Try not to stare. And don’t let his appearance fool you. Lucas Watts is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known.’
‘Why are all the windows blacked out?’ Ben asked as they approached the house.
‘Lucas has privacy issues.’
‘Really?’ said Ben. ‘Never would have guessed.’
The steps up to the front entrance had been replaced by a ramp. Tex pressed the button beneath a small television screen on the wall then waved at the surveillance camera when a green light glowed.
A few moments later the door opened, held by an extremely attractive tall woman dressed in navy slacks and a light blue shirt. Her straw-blonde hair was worn in a thick plait that ended just above her waist. Ben guessed she would have been in her early thirties.
‘Hey, Vanessa,’ said Tex, giving her a quick hug. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Tex. You?’
‘All good, all good. And the man?’
‘He’s big, he’s bad. Come on in. We were talking about you just the other day. I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘She’s a nurse,’ Tex whispered and, by way of explanation, added a wink.
Inside, the house was gloomy. Vanessa switched on a light as she disappeared around a corner. The floor was pale green and white checked linoleum. The hallway was wide and the doorway also appeared to be far wider than usual. The air smelled of powerful artificial fresheners and something vaguely animal. The sound of electric motors whirred, getting louder, and the largest human being Ben had ever seen came through a doorway down the hall in a motorized wheelchair. The heavy vehicle turned through ninety degrees like a tank, the wheels on one side stopping, then motored forward. Tex had told them not to stare but it was impossible to look anywhere else. Ben estimated the man’s weight at around 700 pounds, and he filled the wheelchair the way a pudding filled a bowl.
‘Hey, Lucas, my man. Wuss happening?’ said Tex.
‘Oh, you know, not much—just sitting around thinking up ways to bring the world to its knees.’
And chomping through enough food to sustain the state of Florida for a month, thought Ben.
Vanessa made an appearance behind Lucas, her shoes squeaking on the floor. ‘Just holler if you need something,’ she said as she walked into another room and closed the door behind her.
Ben could think of a few things, but chose to keep them to himself.
‘So, Tex, who do we have here?’ Lucas asked.
‘This is Akiko.’
‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ said Akiko, bowing.
‘Akiko, delighted,’ Lucas said, giving her a small nod. ‘This is me bowing to the floor, by the way.’
Akiko smiled and
said, ‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But any friends of Tex’s . . .’ Lucas manipulated a joystick and motors whirred, angling the wheelchair at Ben.
‘And this is Ben,’ said Tex.
‘Ben,’ Lucas repeated, holding out his hand.
Ben took it and was surprised at how small the hand was, like a boy’s, except that it was attached to a thick column of white wobbling flesh, the fingers damp with sweat.
‘Well, they passed the test. Very little staring. Tex, you obviously warned them.’
‘Being somewhat larger than life, Lucas, you tend to overwhelm people.’
The wheelchair spun around and began moving down the hall. ‘Can I get Vanessa to fix you folks anything to drink or eat?’
Both Ben and Akiko shook their heads.
‘We’re okay,’ Tex said.
‘Well then, follow me.’
Ben noticed that, walking in Lucas’s wake, the animal smell was stronger. He put it out of his mind.
‘So Ben was asking why all your windows are blacked out,’ said Tex.
‘Have you told my guests what I used to do? What I do now?’
‘Not really.’
Lucas turned his vehicle to the left and they followed him into a large room painted black. It was filled with electrical equipment, computers and monitors, countless LEDs twinkling in the darkness like colored, faraway stars. Lucas docked his wheelchair into the thick of it and the electronics around him seemed to come to life. Screens lit up, music played, various message boards buzzed with activity.
‘I was a Raven in the NSA. Tex and I flew together for a while in the mid-eighties out of a place called Shemya Island. Heard of it?’
‘In the Aleutians,’ Ben said.
‘Ben’s father flew RC-135s,’ said Tex.
‘Ah, well, I think that makes you part of the family.’
‘Lucas went on to become one of the NSA’s best codemakers—if not the best,’ Tex added.
‘Well, alright, if you insist. But after the Cold War came to an end, I couldn’t see the point any more, so I left. I drifted around for a bit, playing at being a genius, developing algorithms for predicting the stock market. I finally got it right, just in time to make a killing during the recession of ’93.’
‘I always wondered why you never sold that algorithm,’ said Tex. ‘You’d have made an even bigger fortune.’
‘Because as soon as a large number of people start using it, the algorithm no longer works. And anyway, how much money does one need? In my case, too much was a curse. I didn’t have to work any more. In fact, I didn’t even have to leave the house—which has had its obvious downside, as you can see. These days I run a high-end webzine for electronic nerds, which keeps me interested.’
‘The NSA has taken Lucas to court several times for breaching national security, but has never managed to make the charges stick.’
‘I sail close to the line, but never over it. It’s a circuitous route to your question, Ben, but that’s why all my windows are darkened. It’s a material that absorbs energy within certain radio frequency and microwave ranges. There are also various sniffers secreted in the walls, ceilings and floors that let me know when Uncle Sugar is tiptoeing around. I do the best I can with my phone lines, but I can’t guarantee the integrity of anything external. Fortunately, I’ve been left alone the last couple of years, so either the NSA has decided I’m no longer a risk, or it’s trying to lull me into the ol’ false sense of security.’
‘Could be you’re just too smart for them,’ said Tex.
‘Tex, one thing I will never do is underestimate my former employers, though they do have weaknesses: the bureaucracy and their political masters. Mine’s KFC. No one’s perfect.’
Something beeped and Lucas switched it off.
‘Now,’ the big man said, ‘down to business. Why are we here?’ His chair pivoted on the spot so that he faced Ben, Akiko and Tex.
Ben glanced at Tex, who gave him a nod, so he reached into his satchel, pulled out the spool and handed it to Lucas.
‘A tape. I’m intrigued. You want to tell me about it?’
Ben and Akiko spent the next twenty minutes briefing the former Raven and NSA code whiz on what they knew, leaving out nothing, starting with the letter Akiko received from Yuudai and the mystery of the 007 safe deposit key left to Ben by Curtis. Lucas listened with a frown, occasionally shaking his head and asking a question or two. In the middle of the story, he reached below the bench top, opened a fridge, and pulled out a two-liter bottle of Pepsi. He drank it all in half a dozen gulps.
When they’d finished, Lucas concluded, ‘So, in a nutshell, you want me to decode it.’
‘If possible,’ said Ben.
Lucas whistled quietly. ‘You don’t think something like this would be best left unresolved?’
‘No,’ said Akiko adamantly.
‘The reason I ask is because once we let this knowledge loose, there’ll be no stuffing it back in the cage. If it’s what you think it is, it’ll probably change your lives forever.’
‘We’re ready,’ said Ben, glancing across at Akiko.
Akiko checked with him and nodded. ‘Ready.’
‘Well, I’d best get on with it then,’ Lucas said, suddenly animated, the intimacy of the mood broken. Motors whirred and he pivoted around to face the banks of black boxes and monitors. ‘You might like to sit. This could take a while.’
Akiko and Ben sat on a black sofa against the back wall.
‘Just as a matter of interest, how are you going to read it?’ asked Tex.
‘First I have to know what language it was written in. On the basis of what you’ve told me, I agree with you that this is most likely radar tape. Therefore, a good starting point would be to find out what kind of radar system the Chosa Besshitsu operated at Wakkanai back in ’83. I’m guessing a forerunner to the Raytheon AN/SPS-49 long-range air surveillance radar. We’ll see . . .’
Half an hour later, Lucas took a break. ‘You know, I initially thought decoding something like this would be like asking a Ferrari engine builder to tune a weedwhacker, but this is tough. 1983 saw out the last days of analog, which was a bit before my time. It turns out that the mathematical architecture of the encryption algorithms back then was spectacular, like skyscrapers built from sticks. Pull the wrong ones and the whole structure comes tumbling down and you have to start all over again. I’ll get there, but it’ll take some time. You might like to come back later, but you’re also welcome to hang around.’
‘We’ll stay,’ said Akiko, before Ben or Tex could answer.
Tex agreed. ‘I don’t think driving back and forth is a good idea.’
‘Me, either, given what you think is on this tape and that the NSA may be wise to it,’ said Lucas. ‘Make yourselves at home. I’ve got plenty of food.’
Lana waited for the session to finish before going in, squeezing past a couple of analysts on their way out.
‘Hey, Saul,’ she said.
‘Hey yourself,’ replied Kradich, stifling a yawn as he cleaned up his desktop after the session.
‘I know it’s been a long day but just quickly, have we got any bites on those lines?’
‘I’ll take a look. Don’t let your section head in on it, but I set up a surveillance nodule over all three cells.’
‘Silence or death,’ she said with a smile.
This was a low-priority enquiry. Her boss and chief-pain-in-the-ass Sam Whittle wouldn’t appreciate having NSA resources tied up in it. She leaned forward with her elbows on the bench while Kradich fed codes into his control screen.
‘Nope, nothing,’ he said eventually. ‘None of the cells have logged on to the network, which means they haven’t even been turned on.’
Lana hid her disappointment.
‘But there is some good news.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m free for that coffee.’
‘Okay, gather round,’ s
aid Lucas. ‘I think I’ve just about cracked it. The tape runs for twenty-eight minutes and six seconds. There’s no sound.’
‘Have you seen what’s on it?’ Ben asked.
‘Only the first few seconds. You both ready for this?’
Ben and Akiko glanced at each other and then nodded.
‘It’ll come up on that monitor,’ Lucas said, gesturing at a large flat-screen sitting on a bank of black electronic boxes. He tapped at the keyboard. An image suddenly jumped onto the monitor. Ben instantly recognized the green outline of the claw-like shape of the southern part of Sakhalin Island, and the northernmost tip of Hokkaido where the Wakkanai radar facility was located. There were seven blips visible over Sakhalin, each representing an aircraft. Six squawks had transponder settings with Cyrillic letters against them—Soviet fighters. Out on its own in front of the fighters was a blip tagged with the code 1300. The numbers attached to this radar return indicated that it was at 33,000 feet on a course of 240 degrees with an airspeed of 488 knots.
‘Well, I’ll be damned . . .’ said Tex into the silence.
There were numerous boxes of information around the screen, most of which meant nothing to Ben, except for the date: 1983/09/01; and time: 18:10:54 GMT.
Lucas tapped a key and things began to move. The seconds reeled off and the blips progressed across the screen in small jumps, heading generally southwest.
‘1300?’ asked Lucas.
‘That’s the transponder setting 007 used when it got to Sakhalin,’ said Ben. ‘No one knew why. It didn’t mean anything. One of many anomalies.’
Akiko gave him a fleeting smile, acknowledging that he’d come a long way from their first meeting.
The returns representing the fighters closed on 1300. Ben put his arm around Akiko’s shoulders. As one of the fighters pulled almost level with the 747, the airliner slowed dramatically and began to climb. The fighter overshot the 747 and was forced to loop back around behind its quarry. And, as every agonizing second passed, 1300 edged closer to the safety of international airspace beyond the outline of Sakhalin Island. The cat and mouse game was mesmerizing.
The Zero Option Page 21
