The Last Spymaster (33 page)

Palmer nodded. “With that, we were back in business. The goal was a major news incident, so our people passed the intel to the German authorities and the international press. When al-Ahrar showed at the warehouse, our people were hiding. As soon as the kids started loading their trucks, we tried to arrest them. Instead, the dummies opened fire. We shot back. They wouldn’t give up. Suddenly we had a bloodbath on our hands. In the end, most of their leaders died, which effectively killed the whole al-Ahrar network. A big win for us in that way alone.”

Frank’s eyes shone through his horn-rimmed bifocals. “We got everything. They had some brand-new weapons straight out of Soviet factories that we’d never even heard of. When we told Ramstein what we were sending, they drooled on themselves.”

“We also got a sack filled with nine million dollars in cash—al-Ahrar’s last payment to their dealer. Whoever he was, he must’ve choked on the loss.” Palmer’s leathery face spread in a grin. “The incident made headlines for a month. Langley was ecstatic.”

“They promoted Palmer to ADDO,” Jay told her. “He thought he might like the job, and by God, Langley delivered.”

“They did right by Jay, too,” Ben said. “A newspaper blew his cover by printing his photo, which meant his days as a NOC were over. So Langley made him Berlin chief. Then he shot up the food chain even higher than Palmer and became DDO.”

“And the Commies got the big wet kiss-off.” Elijah chuckled.

Around the room, the men broke into relieved laughter. They caught one another’s eyes and laughed harder. The kitchen rocked. It had been a terrifying time when they lost nearly half their team to treachery, and yet
not only did they persevere, but they triumphed completely. They reveled in the impossible accomplishment.

But then the laughter died. A chill seemed to settle over the room. They had crucial business to address. They stared at Elaine.

Before Jay could say a word, Elaine picked up her shoulder bag. “Let’s see what I found in the BMW.”

As Palmer, Elijah, and Frank leaned close, and Jay and Ben hovered, she dropped items onto the table—AAA maps, two books of Camel’s matches, a crushed paper cigar ring, a recent issue of
Briare’s Military and Intelligence Magazine,
sticky candy wrappers, a cracked plastic CD case without a label, three gel pens, assorted pencils, and a little Bubble Wrapped bundle. There was no car registration.

The operatives pushed through the plunder. Looking for notes, Jay checked the paper cigar ring, and Palmer inspected the matchbooks. Frank picked up the magazine and turned pages.

Elijah grabbed the Bubble Wrapped bundle. He ripped it open and dumped out little packets and peeled one open. “I’ll be damned.” His swarthy face darkened as he spilled out what appeared to be a fat grain of sand. “It’s a StarDust computer!”

“A computer that miniaturized?” Jay said instantly. “What does it do?”

“
Submicro
miniaturized,” Elijah corrected. “Shit! This is cutting-edge technology! How in hell did Jerry get it? The military’s been experimenting with StarDusts secretly. So have we. They’re not going to be on the market for years!” Worriedly, he glanced at Elaine. “I’m the only one here not retired. Still in the DO.” He opened another packet, his expression grim. “These little babies are amazing. Tiny solar batteries fuel them. You program them to record two or three simple jobs like monitoring motion and temperature. They talk to each other and send their intel to a central computer that coordinates all of it. StarDust networks are powerful—they can blanket miles!”

“You say you’ve used them in operations?” Jay asked.

“A month ago we dropped some from a plane into an Afghanistan canyon and were able to track Taliban on horseback where we’d always lost them. We found their hidden tunnel, and that led us to a cell of al-Qaeda
dug into a cave complex. Hell, we’d been trying to break that cell for a year!”

“Frank, you’ve got the
Briare’s,
” Jay said sharply. “Anything marked?”

He shook his head. “Not a damn thing.”

Jay grabbed the magazine. “Okay, everyone, we’re onto something. See what else you can find.”

They examined the rest of the items closely for words, scribbles, numbers, anything. A new pile grew on the other end of the table where they tossed what they discarded.

“I’ll be damned!” Jay flipped the magazine around and pointed to a dog-eared page. “Take a look at this.” It was a photo of a small winged drone.

“How the hell did I miss that?” Frank frowned. “What’s a GyroBird?”

“A brand-new miniature drone—state-of-the-art,” Jay told them. “Each weighs only seven ounces, and the wings fold back so soldiers can carry them in backpacks or hanging off their belts. The drones take still photos and stream live video day or night. That’s standard. But two things make these particularly useful—they use ducted fan propulsion so they fly not only like a fixed-wing aircraft but hover and land like a helicopter, and each is loaded with a special high-blast explosive that’ll take the top off a building.”

Ben let out a long stream of air. “And this and the StarDusts are from the car Mr. G’s janitors are using!”

“Neither’s available to the public.” Jay’s face was grim as he pointed out, “And the only customer for both is the U.S. government. That means Mr. G’s deal is not only big—it’s dangerous as hell. An illegal arms transaction of this size can only mean one thing—terrorists.”

Miami, Florida

Whispering prayers to himself, Faisal al-Hadi carried his gym bag along the Miami sidewalk, while in his mind he was in the sacred Damascus of his boyhood. He could almost hear cymbals clanging and water sellers calling,
“Atchan, taa Saubi!”
If you thirst, come to me! He imagined slipping into the great Umayyad Mosque and kneeling amid the cool marble tiles.
Thanks be to Allah.

With a slow intake of breath, al-Hadi returned to the present and peered around. People strolled past without a second look, but then he appeared to be one of them, with his fashionable hair, smooth-shaved face, and Western clothes. As traffic flowed like a dirty river, he pushed in through Kinko’s door. The artificial lights made his eyes ache. Squinting, he sat at a computer and inserted a credit card under an assumed name.

He retyped Martin Ghranditti’s printout, translating it into Arabic, then went online to
PhotoHeat.com
, an abomination of X-rated pictures. In the past, he had concealed text and photos and maps on Western sites promoting books, toys, cars, and sports. He had even penetrated eBay. But although spy agencies prowled the ether with detection software, they found only a fraction of the secret messages hidden in the Web’s billions of Web sites and images.

With a dark smile, al-Hadi used a CD containing new encryption software to convert Ghranditti’s manifest into ciphertext that looked like garbage—a mixture of symbols, numbers, and letters. Then he activated the CD’s steganography program. All computer files—text, images, sound recordings—had unused or insignificant data areas where the program could hide material.

A series of Arabic-labeled buttons flashed onto his screen. Working quickly, he inputted the file path and added the location of his encrypted text. The program prompted him for a pass phrase. He typed in
iHna hena
—“we are here”—and clicked FINISH. Within seconds the data was invisibly
integrated into the tenth photo on the obscene Web site. He activated the Internet trace destructor and exited.

Confident, he removed his credit card and CD and dropped them into his long gym bag, next to his M-4 and pistol. He stood erect, a silent man of moral rectitude, a warrior for Allah. Gym bag in hand, he drifted back outside into the godless crowds of glittering Miami, remembering the last time one of his messages had been discovered by the infidels.

They had been so baffled they’d had to send it to the National Security Agency, where their best mathematicians needed a supercomputer and a year of work to decode it. They did not have the luxury of a year now. He would own the shipment in hours.

Outside Herndon, Virginia

In Ben Kuhnert’s country kitchen, the fire in the stone fireplace had burned down to nervous flames. Everyone was focused on Jay. Almost imperceptibly, the flesh of his face tightened against his bones just as Elaine had seen on the video. Jay looked aristocratic, radiating a confidence that made her want to believe anything he said, accept anything he decided. Even Palmer seemed riveted.

As if anointing them, Jay’s eyes swept the team: “We need to uncover exactly what’s in the deal, who’s behind it, who’s getting it, what it’s intended for, and when and where it’s going to change hands. And we need to do it fast—remember, it’s happening today.” As they nodded soberly, he looked at Elijah. “You know about the StarDusts. They were probably stolen somewhere along the line. Check into them.”

“I’ll find out who manufactured them and take it from there,” Elijah said instantly.

Jay slid the
Briare’s
across the table to Palmer. Palmer stopped it with a quick motion. “Same assignment, Palmer. You take on the drones.”

Palmer’s nod was so curt that Elaine was reminded he was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them—even from Jay.

“Today it’s mostly Islamic or Arab terrorists who are buying illegally,” Jay continued.

Ben interrupted, “Consider it handled.”

“What about me?” Frank, the consummate gray operative with the bland countenance, had an eager glow to him.

“You still have sources among international traffickers?” Jay asked.

“I do. Some had such intimate relationships with Washington that they bought estates around here.”

“Okay, your job is to find a Mr. G who employs a Jerry and a Rink. He’d have insider intel about Whippet and the power to pull in Larry Litchfield and put together a shipment that includes StarDusts and Gyro-Birds. Jerry said Mr. G’s ‘been doing this for years. He’s at the top. He’s the best in the business.’ ” He paused. “I remember several significant players whose last names began with G—Manucher Gorbanifar, Werner Glatt, Mark Allen Grady, Tim Gutterman.”

“There’s a whole new crop since 9/11,” Elijah assured him.

Jay nodded. “Before you go off, there are two more details. First, I told you Milieu Software hired Kristoph and that Milieu was a Whippet front. I don’t know for sure why they chose him, but my guess is it was because he was something of a hotshot programmer.”

“He could’ve created some kind of special software to keep track of Mr. G’s deal,” Elijah said.

“Exactly,” Jay agreed. “Raina’s set up three alternate meets for today. If anything happens to me, someone has to find out what she knows and help her.” He related the times and locations.

“We’ll take care of her,” Palmer assured him. “What’s the second detail?”

“Moses. Since he came up in the story about DEADAIM—have any of you heard anything about him? Is he still working?”

Palmer peered over his reading glasses at the others. “I told Jay it’s been at least five years since anyone even mentioned the name to me.”

“Sounds right,” Elijah agreed. “I figured he’d retired. But then, I never got any of his famous calls promising intel in exchange for big bucks. He phone any of you?”

As they shook their heads, Jay asked, “Does anyone know his true identity?”

Again the men around the table shook their heads.

Ben looked puzzled. “What’s this about, Jay? Have
you
heard from Moses?”

“Never. My interest’s personal.” Jay’s face was a mask. He reached back and snared his backpack and changed the subject. “The people we’re up against are more than good, and maybe not just because of the help Larry Litchfield’s giving them. They fooled Elaine and me three times.” He took out five new disposable cell phones and handed them out. “We can’t take the risk you’ll be tracked through your personal cells. I used a fake identity to buy these. Each phone has a hundred prepaid hours, and we can hold six-person conference calls.”

“What’s my assignment?” Elaine wanted to know.

“Too many people are looking for you, so you’ll be low-key. You’ll drive me.”

“And I can watch your back,” she said.

Ben looked up from examining his new cell phone. “I’ll leave Houri here while you and Elaine get some sleep. If anyone moves out there, she’ll let you know.”

“We appreciate that. Turn on the cells,” Jay ordered. “Figure out what your number is. We’re going to have to memorize all of them, but they’re sequential. I know I don’t need to say it, but just to make sure we’re clear—I’m relying on each of you to keep everything that’s been said among ourselves. I’ll sleep with my cell phone. Call as soon as you learn anything or you run into trouble.”

“Just like the old days.” Ben’s eyes glittered with anticipation.

She watched as Jay looked at them with pride. In seconds they were on their feet, picking up their pieces of the medallion and exchanging numbers.

Jay slid his gold triangle into his pocket. “Our turn.”

But she was already walking away, weary to the bone. Their rooms were adjacent on the second floor. As he followed her up the long staircase, their steps fell into rhythm. Beneath them, the voices of the operatives faded. The front door closed as Ben left to contact his Muslim source.