Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

54

KNIGHT TAKES F2

Yorktown, Virginia

Andy tapped the computer screen, cursed, yelled, “Matthew, someone’s into our code. We have to hurry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it done in time.”

Matthew always knew they’d have a short time frame to get the bomb into place. His bomb, not Vanessa’s. He was going to turn the heat up higher, make the refinery light up the world. Turning off the lights was only the first step. Now they had to get the truck into the facility. Matthew knew it wouldn’t be a problem—they were dropping off a load of tungsten for the plant, a scheduled delivery. With a lovely surprise inside.

He’d spent days working on the ID cards. The black-coded magnetic strip wouldn’t work, but it didn’t have to. Since the power was down there would be no way to double-check.

But they needed more than ID cards to get into the facility.

He stripped the other unconscious body of his gear and stepped into the blue coveralls. He slapped a new patch on his breast to match the name on his ID.

Andy stood, watching, already in the other worker’s uniform. He’d wanted to kill them, safer that way, but Matthew said no. And why? He’d already killed at Bayway, not to mention Ian and Vanessa. Whatever. So they’d taken the time to tie them well and hide them in the woods.

Matthew looked over at Andy. He was moving his fingers, mentally writing code. He could easily imagine what Andy was thinking, probably how lovely it would be to blow up the world—all those flames shooting up into the sky—he knew him that well. He also knew Andy didn’t have a clue that things could be unraveling, though Matthew felt to his gut something was wrong, the wheels were coming off. But Andy knew only what was dancing in his mad brain.

And yet again, Matthew saw Ian’s face, Vanessa’s face, and wondered for an instant if Darius was right, if this was the way to bring down the terrorist nations. To bring such havoc that the United States would have to act. But President Bradley—Matthew believed he’d kill his own mother before he’d make a move toward the terrorist nations. Matthew smiled. Soon it wouldn’t matter if everything got screwed up. He’d still have time to deliver the ultimate blow.

One big surprise, though. He hadn’t expected any of the computer agents to be on par with Andy and Gunther. It made it interesting, gave him brief periods of excitement to cover the pain and rage at Vanessa and Ian. Would things play out as he and Darius had originally planned? He didn’t know about Darius, but his part would play out perfectly. He was ready, eager. Darius had promised him it was all set up, only a matter of time.

He said to Andy, “Come on. Get in the truck. We have to hurry.”

Matthew drove, Andy navigated. Within five minutes they pulled into the drive that led to the entrance of the plant.

With the power down, every check would be by hand. As expected, there were two guards stationed at the entrance. They looked alarmed, as well they should, since the news was out that the power was down all over Virginia and no one knew why. One of the men stepped forward, stretched out his hand.

Matthew braked the truck and rolled down the window. The guard said, “I can’t believe you still came considering what’s happening. Where do you need to go?”

Matthew unclipped his ID from his shirt pocket, handed it out the window, and checked his manifest. “South Four-G. Got a shipment of tungsten to drop off.”

“With all the power out, it might be a while before they can open the bay doors.” He handed the ID back. He’d barely glanced at it. “This is a pisser. You got any idea what’s going on? Did you see any trucks working on the lines on your way in?”

“Nope, I don’t have a clue what’s going on, been driving forever.”

“Well, keep to the lanes, watch for the Secret Service guys. They’re crawling all over the place getting ready for the president’s big speech here tomorrow. If it happens, that is, and sure it won’t unless they fix this power mess.”

“Got it.” Matthew rolled up the window and reminded himself to breathe.

Andy was flushed with pride. “Imagine, Matthew, everyone’s afraid, isn’t that great? They’re afraid because of me. I like that, I really do. Don’t you think this plant would make a fine burn?”

“Yeah, everyone’s afraid because of you, Andy. Now, keep an eye out. How goes the outage?”

Andy pulled his laptop from back under the seat. “It’s all the way to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It’s slowing down, though. Whoever is into the back doors is good, but we have time. Even if they counteract it now, it would take at least a few hours to get the grids reset and the power back on. Am I good, or what?”

“You and Gunther. Make sure it’s down long enough so we can place the bomb.”

“I’m doing my job. You do yours,” Andy said. “More me than Gunther; you think about it. Hey, everything would be perfect if you hadn’t gotten me shot.”

Patience, patience. “Right,” Matthew said, “and you’re the idiot who left the memory sticks behind, you’re the one who ran when the FBI saw you. If you’d played it cool, you would have been fine. But you panicked and got yourself shot.” How many times had he said this already? His hand fisted on the steering wheel to keep from punching Andy, maybe knocking him out of the truck and running over him, the idiot.

The little idiot pouted, no other word for it.

“Matthew, you’re going to have to place the bomb yourself. I can’t limp in there, now, can I? I’d draw attention. The police aren’t stupid; you know they’re looking for us. This place is crawling with Secret Service, too. I’m staying in the truck.”

“Grow a pair, Andy. We’re in this together.” He sounded calm, in control. Wasn’t he the Bishop?

“I don’t know you anymore. I mean, lots of girls screw guys. So Vanessa played you, Matthew. She played all of us. She was really good and she hurt your feelings. You shot her, killed her dead, paid her back, so don’t take it out on me.”

Matthew saw the blood flowing into her hair, turning it stiff and black. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it this time. He struck out with his right fist and punched Andy in the jaw. Andy’s head snapped against the window with a crack.

Andy yelled, “You bastard, you hit me, you hurt me. Without me, you’d be back in Belfast jerking around with Ian.” He began to rock back and forth as he held his jaw.

Matthew whispered through clenched teeth, “Listen to me, you moron. You will do as I say or I will cut out your tongue and leave you bleeding next to the bombs with a sign nailed to your chest saying you planned the whole thing. Then I will drive to your mother’s house and do the same to her. Do you understand?”

Andy didn’t say a word. He turned to stare out the window. Matthew thought he might be crying.

“Answer me,” Matthew repeated quietly. “Do you understand?”

Andy put up his hands to ward off another blow, drew his legs up to his chest. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll do it. Stop threatening me.”

“Then stop trying my patience, Andy. Stop your whining, your mouthing off. There’s too much at stake. We’ve got to focus.”

He pulled the truck to a stop. A man in a black suit hurried over. “Don’t screw it up,” Matthew whispered between clenched teeth. He got out of the cab and said, in a thick Virginian accent, “Hiya.”

“Papers, please. We’ll need to check the truck, too.”

“No worries.” He handed over the clipboard with the bill of lading on it. “Droppin’ the load off.” Matthew cocked his head a bit so the baseball cap hid his face.

I’m a good old boy doing my job. Don’t make me kill you.

The agent was thorough. After five minutes, though, he waved them through.

Matthew got back into the rig, slammed the door, and slapped the rig in gear. He drove toward their spot, careful not to pop the air brakes as they went down a slight hill.

Andy said, “I’m setting the timer, Matthew. I’ll be ready to drop the code.”

55

ROOK TO E1

FBI Headquarters

The attack was deep, moving fast, overloading the grids as they watched, threatening to take down even more power. Nicholas had five guys working on each leg of the code, but no one was making any progress.

Martin said, “We’re not getting it done. Do you have any more ideas how to stop the code from spreading, Nicholas?”

Think. Think. Be the code.

The code was everything. Gunther was the architect. He’d built something new, so new Nicholas had never seen it before, but there was a key to unlock every code. He simply needed to find the way in. Think, think. And then an idea sparked. “I need to get into Gunther’s server, look at his code from the inside out.”

Savich said, “Nicholas, doesn’t Menard have Gunther’s computers? You can access them remotely.”

“Savich, you’ve nailed it. That’s it. Mike, get me Menard. Right now.”

Mike was fast. “It’s on speaker. What else can I do?”

“You can cross all your fingers.”

Menard said, “Nicholas, I have no more news for you. I—”

“Pierre, forgive me for interrupting. I need access to Gunther Ansell’s computers. Can you get me in?”

He blew out a breath and Nicholas could picture his Gallic shrug. “I can try, but it will be trés difficile. Give me some time.”

“We have no time, Pierre. I need in there, right now. Who can I speak to locally? Who’s working the case?”

“Hold a moment, I will conference you in.”

The phone went silent. Martin said from behind him, “What are you thinking?”

“Gunther always wrote a special key to his code. It’s something we all do, in case of catastrophe. If I can hijack his system I might be able to find the key. Without it, we can’t stop the attack quickly enough. It continues to grow, the power outages are spreading. The power could be out for days at this rate, and with no one prepared, the results could be devastating.”

Menard said, “Nicholas, I have on the line the head of Munich’s police technology intervention unit, Lieutenant Elsie Splatz. She is the one who has been working on compiling the information requested in the warrant you provided. She can help you.”

A woman’s voice came clear on the line, accented, but her English was excellent. “Special Agent Drummond, I have the hard drives of Gunther Ansell’s computers in my office. We have been searching them, but his security is very good. We have not been able to get back his second layer of firewalls.”

“Give me access to your servers, I’ll look myself.”

“I am sorry, Agent Drummond, but that will not be possible. Your warrants have not cleared.”

Mike rolled her eyes at him, and he smiled for the first time in an hour. He said, “We certainly wouldn’t want a little thing like errant paperwork to get in the way of an international cyber-attack.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted. What would you like me to do?”

“Look for a file called ‘Roman.’ It will be in the subfolders of an encrypted drive called ‘Fever.’”

A few taps. “Yes, I see it here. As you say, it is encrypted. We have not been able to get through this firewall.”

“Stop trying. Every bit of code you throw at it is making it tighten down more instead of less. I can access it. Send it to me.”

“You do not know what is in this file. It could launch another virus, another attack.”

Nicholas said, his voice calm, “Lieutenant, it’s Gunther’s key file. Trust me. I know how he works. I know how to get into the drive, into the files, through the encryption, but I need it in front of me to do so. It’s too complex to walk you through over the phone. We’re losing time. Please, send it along now.”

Menard said, “I will take responsibility, Lieutenant, and FedPol will send the appropriate paperwork as soon as possible. Give him what he wants.”

“Yes, sir. I have sent it through our secure network. You will have it momentarily.”

Nicholas’s laptop dinged. “I have it now. Thank you. Please stay on the line for a moment in case this doesn’t work.”

Nicholas clicked on the file, put a fresh thumb drive in, and executed the commands. Everyone in the room watched as the code unspooled, the drive whirring. The screen went black, then began shattering incrementally, breaking in half, then into fourths, then eighths, then sixteenths, then suddenly spiraling into a 3-D cornucopia-shaped web of complex numbers and letters. It was incredible and baffling, and not for the first time, Mike regretted that her background was in psychology, not computer science.

“This blows my mind,” Martin said, and was there a bit of excitement in that calm voice?

Savich grinned. “Mine, too.”

“I’m in,” Nicholas said. “I’m past the firewall.”

The numbers swirled around, spinning so quickly Mike had no idea how he could follow them. Nicholas suddenly slapped the screen. “There you are, you little bugger.” He clicked his mouse and every screen in the room mimicked his.

He said, “Martin, this is the code we need to disrupt to stop the attack. Here’s the protocol that should take it down.”

Martin shouted, “People, go!”

The room began to hum. Nicholas leaned back in the chair and gave Mike a huge upside-down grin.

Savich slapped him on the back. “Good job, Nicholas, Martin, all of you. Let’s hope it works.”

Pierre shouted, “You have it, Nicholas?”

“Yes, we’ve nailed it. We have the code and we’re stopping the attack as we speak. Thank you, Pierre, thank you, Lieutenant, for all your help. Pierre, I’ll send the paperwork along as soon as I’m able.”

Menard gave a charming snort. “Paperwork, from you? I will believe it when I see it. There is still paperwork missing from the Koh-i-Noor case.”

“Not so loud, Pierre. Savich might hear you.”

Menard laugh. “Hello, Agent Savich. Good luck, Nicholas. Michaela, I hope we will see you again very soon. Au revoir.”

Nicholas stared at the screen in front of him. As his finger traced a length of code along the screen, he felt Mike’s hand on his shoulder, felt her lean in, and her hair brushed against his face. Jasmine, he thought. Jasmine.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her breath on his cheek.

Yes, beautiful. Nicholas cleared his throat. He said, “Gunther was an artist. I will miss him.”

Mike smacked his shoulder. “Get a grip, Nicholas, this maniac caused billions of dollars in damage, and nearly gave all of us a heart attack, and you’re admiring his art?”

Savich laughed. “I suppose I will, too. Sorry, Mike.”

Nicholas said, “You have to respect the enemy, first rule of warfare.”

“You’re both nuts.”

Sherlock stepped into the room. “If all is peachy keen again, then why aren’t the lights on?”

Martin called out, “That will take a while. Once we kick the intruders out of the system, the power companies will have to turn the grids back on gradually so they don’t overload the system again.”

Nicholas stood up and stretched. He felt good. It was a major save. He shook Martin’s hand, yelled his thanks to everyone in the room, and let Savich pull them both out of the IT room.

“Listen up. Mr. Maitland called. Iran’s nuclear facilities are online, and Vice President Sloane is, needless to say, closely monitoring everything. We may be called upon to help launch a cyber-attack.”

Nicholas said, “What? What’s this? Aren’t they all in peace talks in Geneva?”

“The talks have been suspended. The president is coming home early. And listen to this. POTUS’s schedule has him and the vice president giving a speech at the former Yorktown Refinery tomorrow.”

Mike cocked her head to one side, said slowly, “The president’s speech tomorrow at Yorktown—it’s all about clean energy, emergency independence, probably more, but that’s the gist and that’s why we took Yorktown off our COE threat matrix after they announced they were changing from refining to being simply a depot. The move is in answer to the president’s green-initiative program. It was bought by a private investor who is bringing all the facilities up to current environmental standards. It’s what he’s announcing tomorrow, and I’ll bet he was going to announce success with the peace accords, too.”

“Probably, though it sounds like that’s off the table. What are you getting at, Mike?”

Nicholas was watching her. He recognized the look on her face—focused inward, brain sorting through scenarios at the speed of light—it was mental leap time. She said, “A lot of people in the oil industry would be invited to this event, correct? The people from ConocoPhillips and the other companies who were part of the cyber-attack last night would be invited?”

Savich said, “You think the cyber-attack was more than sowing chaos in the oil companies, don’t you?”

“Yes. The fact is that COE downloaded a ton of stuff off the servers. They could easily know exactly who’s going to be at Yorktown. They’d also know the president’s exact schedule, and very possibly the vice president’s schedule as well. But you know, I bet what they really wanted was the plant plans.

“If they bombed Yorktown, not only could they take out the oil company leaders, they could take out the president and vice president. Yorktown is their target.”

She grinned maniacally. “And now try this on for size. I think it makes sense—that third unidentified Middle Eastern man seen at the apartment in Brooklyn could very well be the assassin Zahir Damari. I think he’ll be at Yorktown to make sure the vice president is blown to bits, and if she isn’t, he’ll assassinate her himself. Maybe the president as well.”

Savich, like Nicholas, had been watching her. She was right. Nicholas loved her brain.

Savich said, “Mike, it’s the first question we’ll ask at Langley. Come on, let’s go. The CIA is ready for us.”

“I have a feeling,” Mike said as she double-stepped to keep up, “that the CIA already knows this and now they have to admit to us that Damari was part of COE. The bastards.”

56

ROOK TAKES E1

Catoctin Mountains

There’d been rain recently, and that was good luck for him. A thick layer of wet leaves mulched the trail and kept his steps quiet and obscured. Zahir had walked for half a day without seeing another human being, but now, as twilight began to creep in around him, the guards appeared, silent as wraiths, walking alongside him in concert, weapons at the ready, the dogs tight on their leads, one hundred yards away. Separated by space, and a large electrified fence.

He followed the path of the fence, listening to the static hum, like a hive of bees off in the distance. It made his teeth hurt and his jaw clench. He shook his head, trying to get the aggravating sound out of his ears, but he needed it as a guide, needed the buzz to tell him when to move.

He inched closer and closer to the fence, staggering each step forward to coincide with the steps of the guards. He’d covered himself in deer scent, thought he actually smelled like a goat, but these dogs were trained to the scent of man, not beast, so wouldn’t alert unless they saw him moving. He was hungry, but food would have to wait.

He checked his watch and settled against the trunk of a tree. He was ahead of schedule; the walk in had gone easier than planned. He double-checked his GPS, and yes, he was in the right place.

Since he was a control freak, he had to admit he didn’t like having to rely on Matthew and Andy to fulfill their end of the bargain, but he was philosophical, everything was out of his hands for the moment.

I told you to do that but you didn’t!

His father’s voice, sounding now in his head, as it did sometimes over the years. When he’d heard the old man had collapsed of a fatal stroke five years before, he’d rejoiced and gone to his favorite pub in London and bought everyone there pints of Guinness.

Zahir had always been different, unique, that’s what his mother always told him, touching him, kissing him, praising him while his father looked on, disgust on his face.

He remembered he’d done his best to impress the old man, with his gray beard and mustache, his heavy jowls and his gap-toothed smile that wasn’t a smile at all, more a smirk, recognition that he was the only one in this household that was important, the only one with the power and that was because he had money, lots of it, and he ruled. “My darling, you are unique, you will do great things.” His mother, his beautiful fragile mother, who’d died when he was only eight years old.

Since he was the fourth son, he always knew he was worth less than spit to his father. And when he was eighteen, he realized his mother had been right. He was unique. He was chosen. God had given him a gift. He was clever, more clever and shrewd than his crude, peasant elder brothers, more cunning and more sly than his weak, whimpering sisters. Certainly more brilliant than his venal, grasping father, with his love of money and custom planes. Was he more astute than even his quiet, beautiful British mother, who’d given up her world to come live in the pit of Hell? He didn’t know. Sometimes he’d suspected she could have ruled the world, if only she’d been given the chance. He found himself thanking her again, as he had so many times throughout his life. She’d taught him perfect English, since he was, after all, an English citizen, and taught him pride and freedom. He’d joined the coalition forces, knowing, somehow, it was where he belonged. They trained him, they taught him to kill, to blow up people, to shoot from a distance. With his gift, they soon made him a perfect killing machine.

He was unique, and now he knew what it all meant.

It didn’t take long to develop a reputation. And with it came the money.

It never ceased to amaze him how many people wanted other people dead. And how rich he could get taking care of their problems for them.

And now this, surely the pinnacle of his life’s work. He had to admit he was still amazed at the complexity of Rahbar and Hadawi’s plan. So many moving parts, all the pieces having to dovetail at exactly the right time. He wondered how many more men in Iran wanted to lay waste to the world, consequences be damned. Centuries-deep hatred made them blind and deaf to all but death to their enemies.

That nutter Iranian colonel Rahbar had texted him that the gold coin Zahir had sent the month before had been turned over to his hand-picked scientist, brilliant and trustworthy. He was loyal to Rahbar. The Iranian scientist was in awe of Matthew’s genius, the way he’d combined certain elements, deleted and adjusting others to produce a payload to cause extraordinary damage. And the formula was really quite simple, but his genius in imagining this work of art had left him in awe.

And the colonel had laughed, said the stage was set and the Americans were doubtless scrambling around, unsure what to do, everyone on edge and just wait. Just wait. And the timing was perfect. As planned, the president of the United States had left Geneva in a huff aboard Air Force One to return to Washington.

Everything was on track and Zahir could see the colonel rubbing his hands.

Zahir found it delicious that the brilliant ideologue Matthew Spenser, hate-filled, yet so very naïve, would be the lynchpin. He’d given Zahir—Darius—a coin bomb for a souvenir, now being disassembled in Iran, and Zahir had stolen a second one, currently residing in his pocket. Even though the coin he’d sent to Rahbar hadn’t as yet been tested, Zahir had known to his soul it would work, and he’d made doubly sure at Bayway, and when he’d texted colonel Rahbar with the result, he’d been elated.

Zahir fingered the coin in his pocket, smiled, and thought of Matthew’s finger pressing the button that would signal the beginning of the end of the earth as anyone knew it.

Yes, all his bases were covered, all contingencies dealt with, as the Americans said, and because the FBI could close in on Matthew before he could act, Zahir had his backup plan firmly in place. In fact, he rather hoped he would have to use it. More drama, more impact, the killing blow.

He sat back against an oak tree and closed his eyes, listening to the guards’ footsteps, their low voices, the dogs. Not much longer to wait.

He heard a dull thwap, then the buzzing stopped. Matthew had succeeded. The fence was down.

Shouts from the guards, movement all around. Now was the time. He had to move.

He knew their protocols: the guards would leave the fence in this quadrant. The left flank guard would cover the area of two while the guard closest to the camp turned on the generators. He watched him walk away, gun cradled in his arms, the dog following, tail wagging, liking the change of pace.

Three steps, two, one.

The guard was one hundred feet away now, the dog lunging toward the path.

Zahir ran out of the woods, went up and over the fence.

He lost his footing, landed hard on the other side, scrambled away as quietly as possible. He’d knocked out his breath, but the guard hadn’t seen him.

He was inside the perimeter.

When he could breathe easily again, he moved carefully, slowly, always out of sight. When he got close to the farthermost cabin, he put the earwig in, and sure enough, as Matthew had promised, the voices came through clear as a bell.

The door was unlocked, and he eased inside. No one would be out this far, they’d already done a sweep earlier. According to the notes he had, this area was checked only twice a day. He adjusted the earwig. He’d have plenty of time to move, since he could hear them coming now.

He reset his watch, started the timer.

Forty-eight hours and counting.