The Director: A Novel (21 page)

“So tell me how I can help, my dear Kitten.”

“We lost someone, Walter,” she replied.

“So I’ve heard, my dear. I was going to call you, but you saved me the effort. How can I be of help?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t understand what went wrong. The young man who was killed was in my office a few days before he died. He wanted to help us.”

“Yes. I heard that, too. You mobilized half of Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein trying to find him. You Americans do not move quietly.”

“But we didn’t find anything except a dead body, and a bullet.”

“The BfV and the BND are telling the old boys that it was a Russian Mafia hit. They traced the gun, so they are saying, with much congratulating of themselves. Isn’t that right?”

“Probably. I don’t know, to be honest. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I don’t understand where this man was coming from. He was frightened, I can tell you that. He was shaking when he talked to me, but I don’t know why.”

Kreiser knew Hamburg. He had started his career there and risen to become Hamburg’s chief of police before moving to Munich and then Berlin to run the national spy agency. He’d had a good run at the BND, making many friends and few enemies. When he retired, he had come back home to Hamburg, and after so many years of liaison with the CIA, he wanted to keep his hand in, which Langley was only too happy to facilitate. Sandoval had in fact been sent to brief him, which was how they had first met.

“I thought this was being handled by someone else: your Internet specialists. That’s what the BND chief told me,” he said.

“It is, officially. My visit to you is unofficial. I just want some ground truth about where this Swiss boy was coming from. We need to understand if we are vulnerable.”

Kreiser laughed. The smile transformed his face, from its severe and somber lines to something more supple and playful.

“That’s a good one, Kitten. You want the old man to help you understand hackers. I am flattered, but I think you need a younger adviser.”

Sandoval was too upset to be coy. Kreiser was her best shot, and she didn’t want to blow her chance with the director.

“Help me, Walter. You must have contacts in that underground. Certainly your old service does. Germany has more good hackers than anywhere in Europe. Find me someone to talk to, so I won’t feel so stupid. Just give me a start.”

Kreiser’s smile had vanished. His blue eyes narrowed as he reviewed names and cases in his mind.

“These people don’t like to talk, you know, especially to your government. They hate the CIA. They live to make difficulty for you.”

“Then I’ll be someone else, a businesswoman or a professor. Just find me someone who knows this world.”

He took her hand.

“They pushed you aside, I gather.”

“Yes, and I didn’t like it. This is a second chance.”

“
Braves mädchen
,” said Kreiser.

He rose from the couch and walked to his computer notepad, where he kept his addresses. He scanned it, found what he was looking for and returned.

“I think maybe I have the right person for you. But you will have to be very careful. This one is marked ‘
Vorsicht!
Handle with care.’ He’s a German boy, not a boy now, almost thirty. His name is Grulig. He was very helpful to me once, just before I left Berlin. But he’s confused. Sometimes I think he has seen a ghost.”

Sandoval sat back with a start.

“The Swiss boy had that same look, like he was spooked. What’s going on with these people?”

“I cannot say, Miss Kitten.” Kreiser poured his guest more coffee.

“This boy can help you,” he continued. “But you’ll have to go to Berlin. That’s where he is. And he’ll never meet you in a public place. I’ll have to find something else.”

Sandoval folded her hands. She was getting to the hard part.

“Don’t tell the BND, Walter. Promise me. Keep it off the books. And don’t tell anyone at the agency. I’m freelancing. This could get me fired.”

He reached out again and placed his big hand over hers.

“My dear, this is a very hot wire that you have touched. If you hold it too tight, you will get burned. You must see where it goes, where it originates, where the power comes from. With that I cannot help you. But I will show you how to start.”

Sandoval wanted to be professional. But she could not resist giving the old man a kiss on the cheek.

18

BERLIN

Ms. Kitten Sandoval waited
in an austere conference room in a slate-gray office block at the eastern end of the Unter den Linden. The building housed a foundation run by a German finance company for which Walter Kreiser did occasional consulting work. Out the window was the sublime beauty of the Brandenburg Gate, with its Grecian columns topped by the monumental chariot and its four horses hurtling forward through light and dark.

Sandoval was dressed in a black pants suit, carrying a notebook marked “Scylla Security Solutions,” which was the name of a proprietary company whose records listed her as a systems analyst. She was wearing glasses and an auburn wig, and at a quick glance she would not be recognized as the woman who worked in the American Consulate in Hamburg. Her papers said she was “Valerie Tennant.” She took sips from a glass of mineral water and eventually refilled it from the bottle.

She glanced at her watch. He was late. Walter Kreiser had given her the name of a young man named Stefan Grulig and promised to send him with an escort. Germans were never late. Perhaps Grulig had panicked and refused to come.

Ten more minutes passed, and then there was a knock and the door opened to reveal a young man in a peacoat, wearing a fuzzy turtleneck. His brown hair was dirty, swept back from his face in the manner of the German actor Klaus Kinski. He looked to be in his late twenties, overweight, baggy-eyed, wondering from the look on his face what he was doing in this gleaming building on the Pariser Platz. Behind him was a thinner man, short hair, ear studs for show, but obviously Kreiser’s man, who had been sent along as minder.

“I’m Valerie Tennant,” said Sandoval, thrusting a hand toward the young man in the turtleneck. “You must be Mr. Grulig.”

The German stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to advance or retreat. Sandoval walked toward him, arm still extended.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. She gestured toward the table where she had been sitting. “Please have a seat.”

Grulig walked uneasily toward the table. His minder stood by the door. Grulig spoke fluent English, the product of a lifetime on the Internet, but the minder spoke to him in German, saying he would wait downstairs.

“Ich werde jetzt gehen, Stefan, Sie sprechen zu lassen. Ich werde im Erdgeschoss, wenn Sie etwas brauchen. Ich erwarte Sie in über, was, eine Stunde?”

Grulig looked uncomfortable at the thought that his companion was leaving him alone with this strange woman. He shook his head at the mention of an hour with her.

The minder shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said in English, and then retreated out the door.

Grulig sat down uneasily at the table across from Sandoval. She put a business card before him. He studied it, but didn’t pick it up.

“I work for a computer security firm called Scylla Security Solutions,” she said. “We do penetration testing, security consulting, custom software patches. One of our German clients has a problem, and we were told you were the best. We can pay you very well.”

Grulig gave a little snort at the notion that she would pay him for his artistry.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “If I wanted to be paid for what I know, I could make more in a week than your company earns in a year.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but we make more money than you might think. You may not have heard much about us, but we are very successful.”

He snorted again. She obviously didn’t really understand who he was or what he did.

“If I wanted to sell a zero-day exploit, you know how much I could get? A million dollars, maybe more if it’s an iPhone exploit. Do I sell it? No. Why not?”

He studied her, through eyes that were black beads of alienation.

“Because I don’t take a shit on the church floor, that’s why, and the Internet is my church.”

“Wow. Okay, got it. But can I tell you my client’s problem? You can decide if you want to help later, when I’m done.”

“I don’t want to help,” he answered flatly. “I am here only because my friend Henning, who is downstairs, asked me as a special favor. And I owe him so many things. But I can tell you now, your problem is not my problem.”

Sandoval nodded in agreement, and then went ahead with her pitch anyway, as if she hadn’t heard a word.

“My client’s problem is that there is a hacker underground in Russia that is hiring people as mercenaries.”

Grulig stuck out his tongue.

“Duh,” he said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Yes, but these mercenaries have gotten so good that my client thinks they can penetrate any network. Even the networks of governments.”

He eyed her warily. He had a soft face, now that he was close. He was frightened. That was the look in his eye. Not arrogance, but fear.

“Which government are you talking about?”

She paused as she weighed her answer. He was ready to bolt. She might only have a few more minutes with him. There was no reason not to say it.

“The United States.”

He bit his lip, and then rapped the table with his knuckles.

“I knew it.”

He pointed to her “Scylla” notebook.

“You work for one of the agencies.”

She stared him dead in the eye. There was no answering this question, ever. She pressed ahead.

“My client is interested in an organization called Friends of Cerberus, and another one called the Exchange. You must know about them, or you can help me find out. That’s why I wanted to see you.”

Grulig swept his stringy hair back from his face. His hands seemed to tremble for a moment. His face, pallid from days and nights staring at computer screens, seemed to have lost any color it had.

“Lady, whoever you are, you are going to get yourself killed, and me, too. These are names that don’t exist.”

“Yes, but they do. We heard them. And do you know who we heard them from?

Grulig didn’t answer, but his eyes showed that he was interested. Scared, yes, but also unable to resist listening to what this American woman was saying.

Sandoval fixed him in the eye again. She could be tough and unyielding in dealing with sources. That was her gift: She looked soft, but she wasn’t.

“I’ll tell you, Stefan. We heard those names from a Swiss named Rudolf Biel. Do you know who he is?”

Grulig nodded.

“Poor kid,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s what I think. And I’d like to do something about the people who thought he was so disposable.”

Grulig shook his head. But he was in her space now. He could have gotten up and walked away five minutes ago, but not any longer.

“So let me ask you again, Stefan. Can you help me understand this Exchange and the Friends of Cerberus?”

“Who am I talking to?” asked Grulig. There was a slight tremor in his voice. It was as if he had been pulled toward a precipice and forced to look over the edge.

“Just me. I’m an American. That’s enough. Nobody from my country knows I’m here. Nobody knows I’m meeting with you, except the man who set it up with your friend Henning, and I’m not telling you who that is. I know this is dangerous. That’s why I haven’t told any of the people I work with. I just need to know what the
fuck
is going on.”

Her profanity seemed to startle him. It was incongruous. He looked at the door. He looked out the window at the Brandenburg Gate, lighter than air for all its immensity, the stone glowing in the morning light. He looked at her and then began to speak, his voice shaky at first, but then steadying.

“You must be very stupid, or very smart, I can’t tell which,” he said.

“I’m just ordinary, but I’m worried, and I need help.”

“Me, too,” he answered.

“That’s a start. Tell me about Cerberus and the Exchange.”

Grulig shook his head at the mention of these names again.

“You don’t understand anything, do you?”

“Probably not. So help me out.”

“You think this hacker underground is a bunch of criminals. Sleazy guys from Sochi and Kiev who are selling shit and killing people who get in their way. Right?”

“Yes. I guess so. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s true. But who do you think are the buyers in this market? Do you think it’s some kind of hacker godfather, who buys up all the exploits and sells them in a thieves’ den?”

“I don’t know. Tell me. Who are the buyers?”

“The buyers are
governments
. Good governments and bad governments. Sometimes the buyers are companies, so they can fix the vulnerabilities. But more often they are governments that want to use them to get inside networks and systems.”

“The U.S. government is a buyer?”

He snorted again, and then laughed out loud.

“You
are
stupid. Of course the U.S. government is a buyer, when it needs to be. But really, that is not the point.”

“No? What’s the point, then?”

“The point is that the buyers and sellers are inside each other. It’s not enough to buy exploits. The governments want to buy the people who create them. There are no more black hats and white hats. It’s all the same hat. They’re all working together.”

“What’s the Exchange?”

“A name for something that doesn’t have a name.”

“Meaning what?”

“It’s a market. The boys who pretend to take these systems down are also the ones who help build them back up. They are all traders in the same market. The people who are doing the defense are also doing the offense. You see what I mean? Sometimes they want to give this show a name, so they call it the Exchange, or they call it Carderplanet, or Stuxnet, or Flame. I don’t care. They are shitting in my church, all of them. They shit on the altar. I hate them. Do you hear me? I hate them.”

She wanted to hug the German, with his fuzzy turtleneck sweater and his dirty hair. Yes, she was beginning to understand.