Countdown

Chapter 3

S cott wiped his face with a towel. “What is a virus?”

“That’s what the signature is, a virus mark. It’s using the virus to encode the messages, the same way a virus works to infect computers.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s a lot more confusing to say it than it is in action. When you get a regular e-mail virus, it comes in through your e-mail program, right? Then goes out through the addresses in your address book.”

“Okay.” He lifted the towel to his mouth.

“This is working the same way. The guy writes his message, adds the signature line, and it goes through the e-mail systems, bouncing here and there and everywhere, gaining a layer of corruption—in this case, encryption—with each bounce.”

“Jeez. So how do they decode it?”

“There’s obviously a key at the other end.”

A slow grin broke on his angled face. “Let’s go find it.”

It was the break they’d been looking for. Within twelve hours, Kim and Scott had broken down the e-mails and sorted them into two piles so that they could each run decryption possibilities.

The most logical place to look was the source of the virus itself. Most encryption was “private-key,” that is, it used the same key to encrypt the message as would be used to decrypt it. While there was such a thing as “public-key” encryption, where the encoding key was different from the decoding key, it was very slow and would be too noticeable for an e-mail virus. By examining the virus, they were able to crack the code itself.

Which left another layer: the e-mails had been written in Arabic and had to be translated into English so the bulk of the messages could be read by the team.

Even then, there were missing pieces of information, but pointers clearly indicated there was trouble on the way. It looked as if it would be centered around Chicago.

“We’ve gotta call Dana,” Kim said.

“You want me to make the call?” Scott asked.

Kim gave him a glare. “No way. He can be a bastard all he likes, but he can’t stop me.”

Scott lifted a shoulder. “Why subject yourself to such a jerk? He’s old school, no point in banging your head against the wall.”

“Because dealing with me means he learns, over and over, that women are in this organization to stay.”

“Suit yourself.” He waved a file. “I’ll get this copied.”

Despite her bravado, Kim had to brace herself before she picked up the phone. Dana Milosovich was a fifty-something CIA diehard, who thought women should be secretaries, whores or wives. Not operatives. Not code breakers. He had not forgiven Kim for an incident last spring, when she’d beaten him to the draw on an important case.

Too bad.

On the other end of the line, the phone rang. “Milosovich.” His voice was as gravelly as five miles of bad road, no doubt from decades of smoking contraband Cuban cigars.

“Hello, Dana. It’s Kim Valenti, from NSA. You have a minute?”

“A short one.”

“Thanks for your graciousness.”

“Don’t mention it. What is it?”

“We’ve been following some suspicious e-mail activity related to the Q’rajn. My partner and I broke the code this morning and it appears to be pointing to plans for a terrorist attack in Chicago.”

“Yeah?”

“Looks like a bomb. Maybe a truck, something to do with the bridges over the river or a freighter on the lake. They’ve created a virus code to encrypt the e-mails, which we’ve broken, but on top of that, the cell is using another layer of code substituting one group of activities for another. We haven’t entirely sorted that part out, but we’re pretty sure the site is Chicago.”

“We’re way ahead of you, Valenti. Our operatives have been following the same cell. They’re Berzhaanian rebels, and were planning to stage an event to draw attention to the situation in their county.”

Kim scowled. “Right, but we—”

“Two key members of Q-group were killed in Berzhaan yesterday. We feel certain they’re no longer an immediate threat, and in fact recommended that Homeland Security step down to a level-yellow alert.”

“What were their names?”

“Whose names?”

Kim pressed the eraser end of a pencil into the spot between her eyebrows. “The Berzhaanians who were killed.”

“Oh, let’s see. Ahmed bin Hoshel and Sabrout Al Javid El Thakur.”

Not her guys, but she paused and double-checked her notes before she spoke. No. Not the same names she had received from Oracle, but she couldn’t reveal that source. “Hmm. They may very well have been leaders in Berzhaan, but the e-mails we’ve examined have all originated within the U.S. It’s a different cell.”

“You don’t know that. They could have coded it from anywhere.”

“Not exactly,” Kim returned. Patiently, she thought. “There are ways to track addresses, but it’s more a matter of a pattern of exchange. The IP addresses are American. It looks like it’s out of the Chicago area somewhere, as well.”

“Is that so.” He coughed, a rattly, gray sound. “Don’t know how to help you, missy.”

“I’m asking you to check out the possibility of a terrorist attack in Chicago.”

“It’s done. The FBI has been over the city with a fine-tooth comb. Without a lot more information, I don’t see why we need to be wasting more man-hours and causing more unrest.”

Kim could read between the lines: there was a lot riding on this election, and the incumbent Whitlow needed things to appear stable, even if they weren’t. “Look, Milosovich, I know you don’t like me, but how’re you going to feel when a bunch of civilians get blown up because you want to piss in my cornflakes?”

“Give me something a little more substantial, and we’ll get right on it, sister.”

Scott came back, dropped a file on his desk opposite hers and raised an eyebrow. Kim rolled her eyes. “How about I give you names?”

“What names?”

“Two people associated with the terrorist cell we think is planning this attack on Chicago. They’re based just outside of the city.”

“Let me have ’em.”

“Not without a guarantee that I can have some cooperation.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’ve got on these men.”

A short pause. She heard him rattling something. Maybe a canister of pens. “All right. Let me have ’em.”

With some reservations, Kim said, “Fathi bin Amin Mansour and Hafiz abu Malik Abd-Humam.”

Milosovich broke into a ragged, wet chuckle. “That loser? Abd-Humam is running a tire store downtown. He’s been here since his college days. Fathi Mansour…don’t know him.”

“My intelligence says he’s a professor with no known terrorist ties. But we both know that doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ll look into it, see what we’ve got, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’m telling you the cell was castrated when the leaders were killed in Berzhaan.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“You know, Valenti, your arrogance pisses me off. I’ve been doing this since before you were born. You hotshot kids come in here with all your jargon and think you can save the world in five minutes flat, but it doesn’t work like that.”

Kim struggled with an array of answers, from the unprintable to the compassionate. He was an old man on his way out. He knew it and resented it. She could understand that, but not at the risk of human lives. “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mr. Milosovich,” she said finally. “You’ll let me know if you turn anything up.”

“You got lucky once, that’s all,” he said. “You broke a code.”

“Well,” she said slowly, her nostrils flaring, “if it was lucky, then it was three times, because that’s the number of codes I’ve broken since I arrived at the Agency.”

“Whatever.”

“Great comeback. You know, I’m trying to be patient with you, respect what you have to teach me. But you have to respect my knowledge, as well. Computers are here to stay, and just because they scare you, and you’ve got your voice-mail password stuck to your desk and you don’t know how to collect e-mail without somebody setting the program for you, don’t take it out on me. I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Kim hung up and let go of a howl. “He drives me insane!”

Scott chuckled, stapling a sheaf of papers together. “Better call the FBI before he gets to them.”

“I have a better idea.” Kim opened the Instant Messenger box.

WINDTALKER2: Hey, Luthor, are you there?

No answer. After five minutes, Kim reluctantly picked up the phone. She dialed his desk directly, but an electronic voice answered and said simply that her party was away from his desk. “Damn.” She punched in the key to be connected to a central number.

A woman answered. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Margaret speaking.”

“Hi, Margaret. Kim Valenti from the NSA here. Is Lex around anywhere?”

“Not at the moment. You want his voice mail?”

“No, thanks. I need to share some concerns I have over a possible terrorist alert in Chicago. Who’d be my best bet?”

“I think you’re probably all right, Ms. Valenti. We just had a call from the CIA about the same thing.”

“I’m sure you did,” Kim said as evenly as possible. “All the same, I’ll feel better if I talk to somebody on the bomb squad. Who else?”

“I can put you through to Agent O’Brien.”

“Thanks.”

“Hold please.”

“O’Brien here,” said a voice with the edge of a Spanish accent. The juxtaposition made Kim smile. She explained who she was and what her mission of the day was, but before she could finish, O’Brien interrupted her. “Right. I just took a call from the CIA, an agent Milosovich. He said your guys have been killed, so it’s not a problem.”

Kim rubbed her temple. “Not my guys. His guys. My cell is located somewhere in the Chicago area, and they’re planning something big. That is a problem.”

“With all due respect, Agent—”

“Valenti.”

“With all due respect, Agent Valenti, we’ve been over the city like dogs the past couple of weeks, sniffing out every corner.”

“He told you I’m high-strung and prone to exaggerate.”

“Words to that effect.”

“Right. Is Lex Tanner around?”

“Nope. They’re at the airport, going over it one more time, double-checking security standards. It’s unofficially code orange, but we don’t want to alarm the public.”

“Can you have him call me when he gets back?”

“Will do.”

Kim was about to hang up when O’Brien said, “Hold up. Tanner just got here. I’ll put you through.”

“Thanks.”

She listened to the sound of Vivaldi piped through the lines for a minute, then a man said, “Tanner here. What can I do for you?”

Kim had never had a phone conversation with him. All their business had been conducted via instant messaging or e-mail. For five-tenths of a second, she was startled by the unexpected richness of his voice. Humid with the blurred edges of somewhere south. Deep South.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Hey, Lex Luthor,” she said, recovering. “Kim Valenti, at the NSA. How’re you doing?”

“Darlin’!” The genuine pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. “I’m doing just fine now that I’m talking to you. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a problem. Hoping you can help.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“We have intelligence that shows a Q’rajn cell in the burbs of Chicago, and they’re utilizing a virus to encode their e-mails. We broke the code and my partner and I are pretty sure they’re targeting Chicago in some way.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Damn it!” Kim swore. “Not you, too.”

“Hold on. No need to get ugly, now. I just heard from your buddy at the CIA who said they caught your guys.”

Gritting her teeth, Kim said, “First thing you need to know is that Milosovich is so not my buddy. He’d love to see me fall face-first in a mud puddle. Second, they’re not my guys. They’re Milosovich’s guys, and he wants to think my guys were castrated by the fall.”

“And you don’t think they were.”

“No. Those guys were in Berzhaan and they’re undoubtedly all part of the same twisted terrorist sect, but my group is here, on American soil.”

“All right. What’s your intelligence say they’re going to do?”

“It’s not that clear. A bomb. Maybe the airport or an airplane.”

“We’ve been over the airport five thousand times.”

“I know. Believe me, I wouldn’t insist if I weren’t pretty sure.”

He sighed. “Valenti, my hands are tied, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Old habit.” She could hear a tapping sound, fast and tinny. “Look, it sounds like Milosovich and you have some bad blood, all right, but he’s a good agent. And he’s got a lot of seniority.”

“And I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. Look, what if it’s not the airport? What if it’s along the route to the airport, or somewhere one of the candidates is going to speak? Bridges, television stations—” She paused, trying to brainstorm. “Wherever. You know your city.”

He said, “Hmm.” And in spite of her concern and irritation, she felt it on the back of her neck. Velvety, rich. “A question—why target the candidates anyway?”

“Because they can? Because it causes trouble? Terrorists don’t need a clearly defined reason to do things—they just want to create fear and confusion.”

“I see your point.” Again that background noise of quick tapping.

Kim said, “What is that noise?”

“Sorry.” The sound ceased. “I have a bad habit of tapping a pen.”

“No big deal.”

“Look, Valenti, you’ve done me favors, and I’ll see what I can do, all right? But maybe you oughta look at the intelligence in another way, too. Maybe it’s not pointing where you think it is—and that would be tragic, too.”

“You’re right. I’ll go over it again. Let me know what you find out.”

“Will do.” He dropped his voice, and his next words were even richer, darker, like chocolate. Laced with espresso. “We still on for next week in your neighborhood?”

“I’ve gotta tell you, Lex, your voice didn’t hurt the cause any.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

Kim smiled. “Call me if you find anything, Luthor.”

“I’ll be talking to you.”

Scott, sitting at his desk, raised his head when she hung up. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye, Valenti.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and stood up. “I’m going to take some personal time. I’ll be back later.”

Chapter 4

S he drove home and without taking off her coat, she fired off an e-mail.

To: Delphi@orcl.org

From: Ariadne@orcl.org

Subject: need help

Give me everything you have on Chicago, the campaigns, anything the Chicago set might have done previously. Not making a lot of progress through usual channels. Advise.

Ariadne

Still wearing her coat, she went to the kitchen, opened a vacuum-packed envelope of tuna and ate it leaning on the counter. From the other room came a soft beep and she walked back.

To: Ariadne@orcl.org

From: Delphi@orcl.org

Subject: re:

-Intelligence from CIA shows infiltration at Chicago UBC television station, CIA might have a man in there.

-Three moving vans were stolen last week in southern California. Home-move type, not professional.

-Quote keeps showing up in unrelated material: Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. Surah 4:34

-Reference to Cristopho in materials CIA intercepted. Columbus? Clue to city or holiday? Check. As always, act independently if necessary. Oracle will back you.

Delphi

Kim narrowed her eyes, punched in a thanks. A man at the Chicago UBC affiliate—at least it was a place to start. Her gut was screaming that Chicago was the place, the time not far distant. Not even as far away as Columbus Day, which was Monday, either. The flurry of e-mails was so intense, the deal had to be going down soon.

And if she couldn’t figure it out, somebody would die. Kim intended to do whatever was necessary to prevent that.

She picked up the phone, punched in some numbers. “Shepherd,” she said when Scott answered, “I’m going to Chicago. Let the boss know for me.”

“Whatcha got?”

“A hunch more than anything else. Not a lot more. Can you cover for me for a day or two?”

“I don’t like it when you do the maverick thing, Valenti. Too nerve-racking.”

“I know. But it’s the way I was trained.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with an FBI agent named Tanner, does it?”

“No. Why?”

“He left a message.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Kim made a noise of annoyance. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

“‘Checked it all. Everything is A-okay. Don’t worry.’”

A ripple of something she didn’t stop to identify raced through her—a twitchy mix of longing and regret. He hadn’t taken her seriously, either, and it was far more disappointing coming from him. Her sharp response was a warning.

She’d do well to leave the man alone. Completely.

“Nope,” she said. “Tanner is as clueless as all the rest of them. You’re the only one who ever believes in me. This trip is to check out a gut-level idea.”

“Your mysterious source.” Scott tsked. It wasn’t the first time she’d received information through Oracle. She simply let him think whatever he thought about it. “All right, Valenti, I’ll cover for you, but you keep that pretty ass out of trouble, will ya?”

“I’ll do my best. If you need me, I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

“Stay in touch.”

When she hung up with him, she looked up the number of the Chicago UBC station and called to speak with the personnel manager, a man named John. She identified herself as a member of the NSA, and said she was tracking some information regarding a case—would she be able to check the files tonight? He agreed warmly, said he’d be in that evening to train a new cameraman, and she could stop in at her convenience.

She changed into jeans and warm boots, but left her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. Into a small duffel, she threw a change of clothes and her makeup bag. From a rack on the back of her closet door, she chose a small shoulder purse, and tucked in her wallet, cell phone, and at the last minute, her NSA security badge. Within an hour, she was at the airport.

The ticket had been purchased at the last minute, so Kim wasn’t surprised when she was pulled out of the security lines for additional screening—and not just the usual, extra hand-wanding, but a full, focused search of her belongings and the body search by an appropriate female guard. The girl was skinny as a praying mantis, her elbows like knots. Her blond hair was tightly pulled back from her extremely young—and serious—face.

Kim joked, “All clear? For once, I remembered to not wear an underwire bra.”

“Wait right here.” The girl picked up a phone, punched in a number.

Scowling Kim said, “What is—”

“Better if you just follow directions, ma’am.” She turned away and said something into the phone, looking at the NSA badge with Kim’s picture.

Kim felt passersby giving her the curious eye. Odd how it made her feel guilty.

“I’m afraid there’s an additional problem, ma’am,” the girl said. “You’ll have to follow me, please.”

“Sure, but—”

“High alert this week and you have a lot of red flags.”

“Last-minute ticket, I know. It’s just that I work for—”

The woman flashed Kim’s confiscated badge. “National Security Agency. I know.”

Kim scowled at the rudeness and rolled her eyes. She looked younger than she was, she knew that. No point in antagonizing the woman further—it would just lead to more delays. “Will this take long? I’m worried about missing my flight.”

“There’s another one at 3 p.m. if you miss this one,” the woman said without looking at Kim.

“Great.” It wasn’t. It would mean getting to Chicago after dark, maybe not to the television station until the evening news. With an effort, she breathed in. Out. No point in getting upset. It wouldn’t hurry anything.

At an office with a window overlooking the concourse, the woman stopped and shoved open the door. “Here we are. Have a seat, ma’am.”

A tall, bearded black man in a Transportation Security Administration uniform waved Kim into the chair. The woman escort handed over Kim’s bags and badge, then exited.

“I’m sorry about the delay,” the man said. “I need to verify your identity.”

“No big deal.”

As the man dialed the telephone, Kim fidgeted, irritably wiggling her foot until she realized it would make her appear to be nervous. Which she was, though not because she wanted to blow up the airport.

The airport. Why had the FBI in Chicago paid so much attention to the airport? Airports were so heavily guarded since 9/11 that there had to be an easier way for a terrorist to accomplish goals of instilling fear. Why bother? Narrowing her eyes in thought, Kim decided the FBI must have had some intelligence they weren’t sharing.

The man hung up the phone. “I’m afraid we have to hold you for twenty minutes, just until they can fax a photo to your boss.”

“I’ll miss my flight.”

“Sorry, ma’am. When it goes to orange, it gets a lot tighter around here.”

Tamping down her annoyance, Kim folded her hands around her knees. “I appreciate that, but I’m bewildered. Why the trouble today? I’ve flown a dozen times under similar circumstances recently.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“If I get through the security clearance will you tell me?”

He nodded. “That’d be all right, I guess.”

The fax went through with a series of beeps and bleeps. Kim stared through the window over the concourse at the streams of humanity bustling through the hallways. She puzzled over the challenge of clearing millions and millions of passengers every day. Millions.

And it wasn’t as if criminals hadn’t proven they were willing to do anything to reach their objectives. Q’rajn wanted to punish the U.S. for its involvement in Berzhaan. Other rebels wanted other things, and anyone with an ax to grind, a pound or two of plastic explosives and a death wish could do it. For terrorists of the ilk they were all trying to fight, life was as thin and cheap as paper.

Watching the crowds, she tried to imagine she was the one trying to decide who was a terrorist and who was an ordinary citizen. A tall man in a business suit looked like a physician, hurrying toward an important surgery. The turban on his head marked him as a Sikh, something Kim knew from her studies at Athena Academy. Exotic, but likely not dangerous.

But how would the ill-educated girl who’d carted Kim up here know that?

Odd, but sitting in the plastic chair in the office of the head of security made Kim feel guilty.

“It’s a pretty rough job, the security of airports,” she offered.

The man, his hands steepled in front of his mouth, raised weary brows. “That’s understating the situation, I’d say.”

“It’s impossible, really, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “Never give up.” The fax machine spit out a piece of paper and the man leaned forward to swipe it off the tray. “Looks like you’re good to go, Ms. Valenti. Sorry for the delay.”

Kim shrugged and took the things he held out to her. “So, I assume it was the late booking that caused so much trouble, but what else? I’ll try to avoid it next time.”

He scratched his nose. “Not sure you’ll be able to do anything about it. The girl—er—thought you looked Arabic.”

“Ah.” She met his eyes.

He held her gaze for a second, then lifted a phone. “I’ll call your gate to have them hold your flight.”

Kim hitched the bag over her shoulder. “Thanks.”