The Geneva Strategy

by Robert Ludlum

  “How long have you and Officer Russell been…friends?”

  “We met when she was posted in Turkey. We became…closer very recently. I’m very thankful that she was there. To put it frankly, she saved my life. I have no doubt that I’d be dead right now if she hadn’t taken the heroic steps she did. She was the one who alerted me to the intruders and she was the one who fought them off and guided me to safety.”

  “Did she tell you anything about her current assignment?”

  Wyler shook his head. “Nothing at all. She wouldn’t breach any confidentiality, nor would I press her for such information.”

  “Do you intend to see her again?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Brand stood and Wyler did as well. “Thank you for your time. I’ve a scheduled meeting with the police in Paris. I’ll emphasize to them your cooperation with the investigation and will assure them that the woman was not involved with the attackers.”

  Wyler shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  Brand opened the door.

  “Agent Brand?”

  Brand looked back.

  “Do you know Ms. Russell?”

  “I’ve met her, yes.”

  “Will you be speaking to her?”

  “I can’t say. Perhaps.” Brand watched as a bit of hope entered Wyler’s eyes.

  “If you do, please tell her that I did my best to keep her involvement a secret, but that I couldn’t lie to an FBI agent. I wouldn’t like her to think that I don’t keep my promises.”

  Brand nodded. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  Brand closed the door and wondered whether Russell had any idea of the impact she had made on Wyler.

  55

  Howell stood in the conference room at RAF Croughton and listened while Scariano lied to him about the recent drone flights and video leaks emanating from the base. Howell couldn’t fault the man entirely, because Scariano thought that he was talking to an MI5 investigator, not a freelance covert operator in the employ of his own government, but Howell was becoming annoyed at the lack of urgency he sensed in Scariano.

  “Something has gone terribly wrong within your organization and you need to get a handle on it now,” Howell said.

  Scariano gave Howell a pacifying smile. “Please inform your superiors that we are doing all we can to discover the source of these leaks and put an end to them.”

  Howell had had enough condescension for one day. “That’s not good enough. Your program has lost several drones, one that has fired upon individuals not thirty miles from here, and another that may have been implicated in the deaths of an entire troop of U.S. military men in Djibouti. I expect you to open your network to me so that I can track the mole.”

  Scariano stood up. “What in the world are you talking about? What military troop? The one that walked off the cliff after their commanding officer fired on them?”

  “Canelo never fired on his troop. It’s clear to us that someone out of this office is manipulating the drones to test a chemical weapon.”

  Howell was fishing, but he was pleased to see Scariano’s mouth drop open. Most covert operatives were excellent actors, but Howell thought that perhaps Scariano was truly shocked at the accusation. “Tell me if Stateroom has turned up any more suspected hostage situations. There’s still an American official missing who was heavily involved in the drone program.”

  Scariano pursed his lips. “Then why are you here and not a representative of the U.S. government?”

  “I’m here because we don’t need another hostage situation on UK soil, that’s why. Don’t forget that we allow you to use this base for your surveillance program, but that permission can be withdrawn at any time.” Howell put some steel into his voice. The explanation seemed to satisfy Scariano, because he waved Howell over to another man who was wearing a headset and staring at a computer screen.

  “Tresome, you got anything happening out of any embassies?”

  Tresome shook his head. “Just that one I mentioned when the woman was here.”

  “What woman?” Howell asked, though he knew that it had been Russell.

  “She represented American interests,” Scariano said in an offhand manner. “I promise to let UK authorities know if we find anything.”

  “Tell security that I’ll be doing a sweep of the base, taking photos and generally examining it. I don’t want to be disturbed while I do it,” Howell said. He strode out of the office and the building.

  The air was cool but the sun shone and the base was set in a beautiful part of rural England. Howell walked the perimeter, around the massive, looming satellite dishes and several humming electric generators. At the far end of the fenced area, in what looked like a little-used parking lot, he saw a small aluminum shed next to a cluster of thirty-foot-high poles with several smaller satellite dishes arrayed at the top and facing in all directions. A single electric wire ran to it that Howell supposed provided electricity.

  Throughout his stroll Howell had been taking videos on his phone and sending them to Marty to review. He spent a few extra moments recording the shed and the attached pole and was not surprised when Marty called him a few seconds later.

  “Can you take another pass around the shed and send it to me? This time from the other side of the pole?”

  “I thought that shed was interesting,” Howell said.

  “Actually, it’s not the shed. I’m particularly interested in that line of white boxes under the cluster of small satellites. I would like to know if there are some on the other side.”

  Howell returned to the pole but this time took a video from the back of it. There was one box on that side, also white, but alone and in the middle of the pole and Howell zoomed in on it. Seconds after he’d sent it Marty called him back.

  “Do you need more?” Howell asked.

  “No. That’s it. That’s a splitter,” Marty said.

  “Splitter? Explain.”

  “It’s taking the signal and splitting it off. Turn on your Wi-Fi and give me the names or signatures of everything you see displayed.”

  Howell did as Marty asked and read off a list of six networks, all password-protected.

  “Yeah, it’s not there. They’ve hidden the SSID.”

  “Hidden the signature? Is that hard to do?”

  He heard Marty snort. “It’s a simple click on a router. Anyone can do it and it’s essentially meaningless because a good Wi-Fi scanner can pick up the signal. You can hide visibility, but you can’t hide the signal itself. It continues to broadcast.”

  “Can you track where this one is going?”

  “I’m already trying, but right now all I can tell you is that it’s being split off, not what’s traveling over it. I’ll need some time to work on cracking the password. Has anyone there bothered to walk the perimeter and do a simple Wi-Fi scan? Do they even know that their signal is being split?”

  “They said they’ve checked them all. They gave me a list of the networks and cleared each one.”

  “Read the list to me.”

  Howell retrieved the document that he’d folded and put in his pocket and scanned the list. He read them all to Marty.

  “So there are ten active signals listed?”

  “Yes,” Howell said.

  “But that unidentified signal is eleven. They haven’t cleared it.”

  “All right. I’ll handle this from here. You’ve been exceedingly helpful, Marty, thank you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Put a gun to someone’s head and force them to do their job.”

  He heard Marty chuckle over the phone. “Wish I was there to see that. Good luck.”

  Howell headed back to the base at a brisk walk. When he reached the office it reeked of the heavy smell of fried oil and salt and he found Scariano eating a hamburger with a bag of french fries at his desk. Howell dropped the network list next to the open paper that had wrapped the hamburger.

  “This list is incomplete,” Howell
said.

  Scariano shot him an annoyed look, put down the burger, wiped his hands on a napkin, and picked up the paper.

  “This list is complete. Ten networks, all cleared.” He tossed the paper aside. “Tell MI5 we’ve got this covered.”

  Howell removed a gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at Scariano’s head. He watched as all the blood drained from the man’s face.

  “Now, I’m only going to ask this once,” Howell said. “And if you give me an answer that later proves to be wrong I am going to return here and you will never give another answer again, do you understand?”

  Scariano nodded.

  “Who compiled this list and ran the check? Tresome?”

  Scariano shook his head. “An officer named Natalie Detmar. She’s from the Berlin office and was assigned here temporarily.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Down the hall. Third office on the left.”

  Howell jerked the gun. “Let’s go.”

  Scariano began to slide his hand under the desk and Howell moved in closer and pressed the gun’s muzzle against the other man’s skull.

  “Press the panic button and you’ll be the first casualty of the covert wars.”

  “This is outrageous! You can’t come in here waving guns around and threatening people. I’ll have you arrested.”

  “No, you won’t. Whole swaths of your program aren’t supposed to exist. You complain and I’ll be sure that your activities at this cyber nest will be plastered on the cover of the Guardian the next day. NSA leaks round two.”

  Scariano removed his hand and stood. He turned and headed out the door. Howell grabbed a jacket that was slung over the back of a chair and threw it over the gun to hide it. Scariano raised a hand to knock at Detmar’s door, but Howell reached around him and opened it, swinging it wide and pushing Scariano through.

  The office was small and utilitarian. A metal desk held a computer, a letter sorter, and a plastic filing system. The stacked system was labeled; In, Out and Pending. Detmar sat behind the desk facing them. She was a young woman with dirty-blond hair and pale skin and eyes. Howell guessed she was from the north of Germany. She was typing furiously at a keyboard, but stopped when she saw Howell and Scariano.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Howell circled Scariano, keeping the gun under the coat aimed in his direction, and tossed the paper in front of her.

  “Did you compile this list?” Howell asked.

  “Who are you?” she asked Howell.

  “He’s MI5. Answer him, please,” Scariano said.

  Detmar glanced between them again. “I did.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Alone?” Howell asked.

  She shook her head. “With the help of Blaine Trigard.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Temporary posting out of Washington.”

  “Did you do a scan on the wireless networks?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “And this was the result?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you walk the entire compound?”

  “Trigard did. He was in charge of the perimeter sweep.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s gone. Been reposted to Geneva.”

  “Can you prove that he actually swept as he said he did?”

  Detmar nodded. “Yes. It would be on video. The entire base is monitored.”

  Howell jerked his chin at her computer. “Show me the portion when he scans the poles by the shed at the far end of the field.”

  Detmar hesitated and glanced at Scariano. He nodded his agreement and she turned her attention to the computer.

  “Here it is.” She turned the monitor to face them. Howell saw a distance shot of a man walking along the fence line holding a device. He reached the pole and stopped to type.

  “Zoom in as deep as you can. I want to see what it is he’s typing,” Howell said.

  Detmar hit some buttons and the screen zoomed.

  “Freeze it there,” Howell said. He stared at the screen, not quite believing what he was seeing.

  “Well?” Scariano said.

  Howell tossed the coat on a nearby chair, put the safety back on his gun, and returned it to the holster under his jacket. Detmar raised her eyebrows at the sight of the gun, but remained quiet. Scariano sighed in relief.

  “Now do you believe me?” he asked. “We’ve got this under control.”

  “You supercilious bastard, you’ve got nothing under control,” Howell said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Howell pointed at the screen. “That man’s name isn’t Blaine Trigard. His name is Nicholas Rendel.”

  56

  President Castilla sat in a chair in his private chambers watching the sun rise and marshaling his thoughts and strength for the coming day. The phone rang and he saw the name of the Anacostia Yacht Club scroll across the caller ID screen.

  “Klein, you’re up early,” Castilla said. “Please tell me this is good news.”

  “We found Rendel. Or at least we think we know where he is,” Klein said.

  “Our last victim. Where is he?”

  “He’s not a victim but a perpetrator, and he’s somewhere in Geneva, Switzerland.” Castilla listened while Klein explained Howell’s findings.

  “I want to know how Rendel was able to hide in plain sight,” Castilla said.

  “They claim that he’d kept to himself and holed up in a spare office that they keep for visiting contract personnel. He’d changed his hair and added a beard and Scariano said that they had no reason to doubt his credentials. Also, while they received a memo about Rendel’s alleged kidnapping, they hadn’t received a photo of him along with it. Turns out they had, but Rendel managed to delete it before it hit anyone’s desk. We have to assume this is a deliberate piece of sabotage on Rendel’s part.”

  Castilla tried to tamp down his anger and think logically, but he was having a difficult time of it. His fury at the thought of the damage this man had caused was making his heart race and the blood rise to his head. And the fact that the saboteur was still out there was horrendous.

  “He’s a Stanton Reese contractor, isn’t he?” Castilla was surprised at how normal he sounded as he asked the question.

  “Yes. Assigned to the drone program out of Nevada, but he’s also had access to the Croughton facility for some time now. I think it’s safe to say that he’s accumulated quite a bit of inside knowledge of how our drone program functions, both here and abroad, not to mention the coding aspect of the software. He has an extensive computer background. I won’t be surprised if we find that he arranged for the drones to go missing in Djibouti. He was assigned there before being transferred to Washington.”

  First Snowden and now Rendel, Castilla thought. That yet another private contractor working within classified government programs had compromised those departments also stoked Castilla’s fury. But even Snowden hadn’t deliberately manipulated a high-level drone attack fleet to his own ends, as it appeared that Rendel had.

  “Tell me where the Covert-One team is right now,” Castilla said.

  “In Geneva. Smith’s there to avoid extradition under the Interpol notice and Russell’s with him. Rendel told his colleagues at Croughton that he was headed to Geneva. I don’t like it. Half the pharmaceutical industry is converging on that city and it’s too odd that he was headed there. That’s not a coincidence.”

  “I agree. We need to be prepared for something. How tight is security?”

  “Tight. It always was because there are high-level governmental officials of several countries headed to the meeting.”

  “Let’s get Smith, Russell, and anyone else we have available into that conference. In the meantime I’m going to find out who among the attendees has a shot at figuring out if the chemical used against the village was Taylor’s. I’ve asked for tissue samples to be taken and transported to the WHO for an
alysis, but I already told Perdue to get as many chemists, biologists, and whoever else might solve this puzzle actively working on it. I don’t care if they’re governmental scientists or pharmaceutical employees in the private sector, I just want some answers. Fast.”

  Twenty minutes later, a tired-looking Perdue joined Castilla in his office.

  “I’ve put every available agent in Europe on the search for Rendel,” he said. “Our real problem is that he could be anywhere in the world and still manipulating the drones. We fly them in Afghanistan while the pilot sits on a base in Nevada, for God’s sake.”

  “What about radar? If one takes off it should ping something. Correct?”

  Perdue shook his head. “They’re designed to avoid all radar until they reach very low levels.”

  “And the pharmaceutical angle?”

  “At the Department of Defense’s request there was a call placed to Berendt Darkanin, CEO of Bancor Pharmaceuticals. Bancor is the company that maintains various contracts to provide drugs and devices required by the military. Vaccines, diabetes sharps, things like that. Darkanin is attending the conference and the word is that his company has been pushing an off-label use for a cognitive enhancement drug they’ve been developing. The DOD thought the parallels between his drug and Taylor’s were so striking that Bancor might have research already completed that might help.”

  “I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place it,” Castilla said.

  “It’s been in the news because the Justice Department has been gunning for them on a matter. They were preparing to charge them with illegal marketing of the cognitive drug.”

  “And now we’re suggesting that they use it? Why?”

  “When they were told about Taylor’s research Bancor insisted that it will have a positive effect on cognitive impairments. It’s all we’ve got right now.”

  “All right. And the missing drones?”

  Perdue rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Still not located. We think they’ve been dismantled for transport and taken somewhere to be reconstructed. That way the parts can be placed in freight trucks. They could be anywhere. I’m leaning toward Iran being the culprit. Two of the missing drones are the same type as the one they brought down in their airspace. Maybe by now they’ve been able to successfully reverse-engineer the software. They could be setting us up to take the fall while they attack their adversary with impunity and then pretend outrage.”