Sea of Lies: An Espionage Thriller (6 page)

Ryder concurred, “That’s affirmative. Let me get some people out of bed.”

Hecker checked his watch. “Travis, let’s have everyone here at Club Avatar for an ETD of 02:00 hours.” Across the room, Ryder tilted the phone from his ear and nodded.

Hecker said to Millie, “If you don’t have anywhere else to be, it would be easiest if you stayed here tonight. It’s after midnight, so most of the good bars are too crowded anyway.”

She said, “Thanks for the offer, but if I’m not coming with you, I have to get home. I’m due back at the annex before seven to collate the intel coming in from Shan and Kachin States.”

“Ah, right. Take my SUV.” Hecker raised his voice and called, “Sally?” The housekeeper stepped through the door so quickly you’d have thought she had her ear pressed against it. “Please take Millie to my car, have Arun drive her home and then tell him to come back here.”

Millie turned to Nolan. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you get some sleep, and return the pickup tomorrow afternoon and get the Hyundai then? That’s not super urgent. You can double up with the DEA, so you’ll have guards as well.”

“My mother always said,
‘
Nothing good ever happens after three in the morning.’ In thirty-plus years in the CIA, Mom’s never been wrong. That’s a good enough reason to go back out there. Maybe I can get another look at the runway while I’m at it.” Nolan put on a brave face, but a bed sounded inviting.

“Alright, just be careful. Come to the annex after you return and we’ll talk.” Millie stood up. Nolan thought she had an even cuter face than when they’d met thirteen hours and one hundred years ago. She sensed the interest, and true to her gender, turned and walked off without another word. Sally followed her out.

Nolan caught the tag end of Ryder’s and Hecker’s overlapping conversation. “So the rules of engagement are that we can’t fire even if fired upon?” Ryder’s tone was disbelieving.

“Travis, you’re an ex-SEAL, but you can’t run with those fragged legs. We’ll have at most five agents potentially up against the Burma Army. Even if it’s a private show, Toffer may have a dozen of his mercs with him. Our goal is to throw some night-vision on the strip, photograph what we see and get the hell out before first light.”

“Well then, we may as well go in unarmed and carry white flags on sticks.”

“Be serious. If we're shot at, we’ll shoot back, but understand that our first shot blows up your career, my career, the DEA in Burma and this investigation. We also tip off that prick Matthews, and ruin what could be our best chance to nail him. If we can show he’s somehow connected to Toffer/Teller, I’ll see that the sonofabitch fries.”

Nolan marveled how, no matter where you were in the world, inter-service rivalries were the reason a whole lot of things happened, and not always for the better. Hecker was a piece of work, his fraternity rush chairman looks belying an intense, vindictive side.

Ryder said, “You coming?”

“Yeah. You and Bob ride with me. Get Dara to drive the farmer’s pickup. How are we doing on headcount?” Hecker asked.

“I spoke with Gonzalez. Kyaw is out of surgery. His left hand is screwed up; two tendons were cut and there’s nerve damage. He’ll need another operation, but he’ll make it. We have a guard on his room, Zeya. He’ll mind the fort until we’re back in town.”

“Pull Zeya off Kyaw’s room,” Hecker said. “Why would Teller kill him? Kyaw saw Teller, but now that Bob’s back in town he’s told others as well. So there’s no way Teller will be able to get that cat back in the bag. I don’t even think Bob’s a target.” 

Nolan slumped. “I see your logic, especially as it relates to a driver who doesn’t know anything anyway. However, Teller is violent and unpredictable. You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s my call. I’m taking Zeya off the room and bringing him with us. I’ll alert Abrahams, and he can have a plainclothes Marine bedside from 8 a.m. Will that be good enough?”

Nolan slowly nodded yes while his brain shouted objections.

Ryder gave them both a thumbs-up and started a new call. He was with the boss on this one: they could use another man who shot straight.

Hecker said, “By my count, that makes eight in total. Even with Zeya, we’re still undermanned, and we’re going in without a proper plan. We’re too rushed, but having Zaw with us swings the deal. I’m not alerting Hong Kong or DC, either. Just remember that we’ll be snooping, not shooting. We’ll stick together on the drive out: two SUVs and the pickup. Before Einme we’ll rendezvous and move Bob into the Toyota.”

Turning again to Nolan, he asked, “You’ll be all right with just a driver? We’ll give you a secure radio with at least twenty miles’ range, and the driver has a cell phone that may work as well.”

“I should be fine. I don’t think there will be any trouble. But just in case, can your men handle weapons?”

“They’re range-certified for pistols, and Ryder has shown them how to load and point a SCAR, but they aren’t Green Berets by any stretch. Do you want a weapon?”

“Hell no. I’d probably shoot myself,” Nolan confessed. An instant later, he said, “You know, if Travis could give me a thirty-second refresher on how to aim and shoot a pistol, that might not be a bad idea.”

Ryder’s clap on the back let him know it was as good as done. “Bob, Millie was right. You look like hell. Get your head down for forty-five minutes and I’ll wake you.”

Nolan lied. “I’m feeling fine, though I could use a shower. If I could get clean clothes then all the better.”

“Sally will sort you out.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE STING

SATURDAY, MARCH 8, FORT MEADE, MARYLAND

“Buster, I’m nervous as hell about the briefing on Monday. Thanks for coming in on a Saturday morning.” Tim Weill, NSA program director for Project Acapulco and senior manager in the Tailored Access Operations unit, ushered his colleague into a small conference room littered with coffee cups, fast food wrappers and a messy multicolored white board.

Brian Gregory had expected the breakfast summons from his boss. “I was going to be in here one way or the other. That missing Malaysia airliner has just about filled up the parking lot. Didn’t you notice on the way in?”

“Well, ah, I didn’t actually look. I’ve been here a while.”

“You pulled an all-nighter, didn’t you?”

“Yep. I scrapped the PowerPoint. I hate that damned program.
Death by bullet point
should be stamped on the installation disk. We’re presenting to the frigging head of the CIA, not Mrs. McElroy’s sophomore geography class. Let me walk you through what’s now a verbal briefing, with all the background shoved into a handout.

“The Western Pacific Fleet’s goal is to keep the sea lanes open from Korea down to Philippines, and to the west through the Straits of Malacca. China’s number one objective is to control its coastal zone, the ‘Near Sea,’ out to almost Japan. China’s island claims conflict with the recognized territorial waters of Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Philippines, Vietnam, Indonesia and even Malaysia. In 2012 and again in 2013, China occupied various islands and sent warships to back up the land grab.

“To that end, they spend much of their military budget on developing new and interesting ways to sink US warships via—”

“Tim, speed it up. Admiral Perkins is the most impatient man in government.”

“OK, OK. I understand, but assume that the meeting transcript will end up in his underlings’ in-trays as well, so an overview won’t hurt.”

“Other in-trays?
Acapulco
is completely off-camera. I can think of four people outside the NSA who know about it, including the President.”

“Well, it’ll be five people as of Monday morning at 10:31. Given that Billy is being told two years after the fact, we may see him explode. So let’s walk him down the path before we drop a turd on his noggin.”

Weill referred back to his notes. “In Feb 2012, building on the success of Stuxnet, NSA coerced a Presidential sign-off to try something similar aimed at China and Tailored Access Operations assigned a team of seven to develop the worm."

"OK, but why are you now calling this 'Stuxnet 3.0'? It's got nothing to do with the Stuxnet architecture that crippled Iran's nuclear weapons program."

“Now you’re just being thick. Stuxnet is a brand. It’s the Tiffany of cyberespionage. I called it ‘Stuxnet 3.0’ in the briefing to the President to assure him it would be equally impactful. Back home at NSA it’s just
Acapulco
. No one but us cares whether it's Stuxnet or Duxnet,” said Weill.

“Well, you’d better pick up the pace. Billy Perkins will tear off your balls if you tell him something he already knows after you told him something he didn’t know, but should have.”

“Then let’s get to it. One year ago, the Project Acapulco team finished an intricate software program with several twists never before seen. The worm monitors all comms in China’s backup coastal command and control networks. Mostly radars, both offensive and defensive, but it also taps into their acoustical sub-tracking array. Everything passing through the network gets copied and fed to NSA dark servers. It’s not real-time, but otherwise it’s the keys to the castle. I have all the details in the appendices that the Admiral’s propeller-heads can look at later.”

“Yeah, but the problem was that we injected the
Acapulco
worm into their
backup
C2 network, not the main one. We couldn’t break into the big fella. So long as the main system was online, we were outta luck.”

“Precisely. In early 2013, the FBI discovered Mark Watermen copying everything and anything classified
Top Secret
and above that he could get his hands on. Presumably the Admiral wasn’t in on the decision to salt Watermen’s trove with fabricated files of our own design.

“There were three problems. First, Watermen had to believe that he was stealing authentic docs. We had to spread them far and wide in the hope that the little traitor would find them on his own. Second, we had to ensure he ended up in China’s custody so that they would take his data. This angle cost us two million dollars to buy off one of the journalists in Watermen’s cabal. Third, the false docs had to be subtle. China’s Ministry of State Security is as clever as we are, and twice as suspicious. If they thought they were being fed misinformation, we would have given away a lot of legit NSA secrets, let a traitor escape and made ourselves out to be villains in the global press for nothing in return.

“There’s real artistry behind the presentations and papers we worked up. Late last night, I pulled a handful samples we can show to Perkins. In combination, the Chinese could reasonably conclude that we had compromised their primary defense C2 network. If so, the logical next step would be to switch to the backup.”

Weill grinned. “And then we’d have them.”

“Earlier this year the information started trickling in, meaning a switchover had taken place. NSA is now processing far more information than ever. I’m told we’ve discovered a couple of nuggets already. Our friends at the Pentagon are jumping for joy.”

“Yeah, but since the Agency didn’t know the source of the new Intel, after two months of stalling, the Director of Central Intelligence went ballistic and we are on the carpet Monday morning,” Weill said with a hint of dread.

“Provided the Admiral doesn’t walk out when he realizes we’ve given the Information Operations Center at the Agency the mushroom treatment since early 2012, we’ll ask him to devote IOC resources to create smoke around
Acapulco
. We need China’s counterintelligence distracted if our worm will remain undetected for long.”

“And we ask Perkins to put Watermen up for a medal for making it all possible.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Twenty minutes to present, and ten for Q&A,” Weill said.

“I wish we had Bob Nolan helping us out here. He’s a good big picture man—”

Weill laughed. “Remember Nolan’s briefing of that tight-ass Head of the Mossad and DCI Hayden? He was supposed to take fifteen minutes—”

“And he went on for over an hour,” Gregory finished. “The DCI was so pissed off, he was going to have Nolan parking cars at the Langley Multiplex. Then the Mossad’s top man called Hayden and said, ‘Thanks to your man’s excellent briefing, we’re in.’”

“And Nolan got a medal, a promotion and ended up in cushy Singapore. Oh, man, what a crazy world. Why doesn’t good stuff like that ever happen to the NSA?”

Gregory shook his head in disbelief. “Bob Nolan, the luckiest son of a bitch I ever met.”

CHAPTER SIX

BACK AND BLACK

SUNDAY, MARCH 9, RANGOON AND EINME, BURMA

The lukewarm shower sputtered. No matter: It still felt great to wash away the dirt and blood. Water couldn’t wash away the family photos in Teller’s pocket, however. At Double Llama Trading, the ex-Ranger had flipped between bluster and swift brutality. Perhaps Teller’s lethal days were over. And maybe Hell had frozen over. Out of the shower, Nolan brushed his wet hair and looked in the mirror. A salt-and-pepper mane, bushy gray mustache and a face that looked a few years younger than the number on his odometer. He still had well-defined muscles, but also love handles. Hard mountain biking rides had battled copious red wine consumption to a draw.

Nolan planned to find Sally for clean clothes, but decided instead to lie down for five minutes to clear his head. Forty minutes later, Ryder shook him awake. “Get dressed, big guy. You’ve got a refresher course out back in five.”

He stumbled downstairs where sidearms were waiting. After a few tries Nolan was back in touch with the basics. He hoped the first seventeen rounds would be enough. Yet Ryder was insistent: “Take this spare mag. I’m bringing five with me, so you can manage the extra one.”

The Glock nestled into a belt holster that jutted off Nolan’s hip. “I feel like the new deputy just before Indio’s gang rides into town.”

Ryder shared his affinity for Clint Eastwood Westerns and said, “When you go into the saloon, be sure to strike a match on the hunchback’s stubble.” Nolan smiled in the dark.