The Lazarus Moment (9 page)

“Really?”
Leroux looked at Morrison, surprised. He snapped his fingers, closing his eyes
as he tried to remember the original report. “Wasn’t the purpose of his visit
to share his success story with others?”

“That’s
how I remember it,” agreed Morrison.

Leroux
flipped through his tablet, stopping at the original communique. “Yeah, here it
is, he’s going to Kenya to talk about how his treatment had been a success.
Apparently the Kenyan’s are looking to start their own program.”

“How
long does he have left?” asked Morrison.

“Weeks.”

Leroux’s
chest tightened. “And he has a family.”

“Wife, five
kids.”

Leroux
tapped his lips. “Why does a man with three weeks left to live get on an
airplane to Kenya claiming he’s cured? Wouldn’t he want to spend his final days
with his family?”

“I know
I would,” said Morrison as he leaned back in his chair. “What’s your gut
telling you, Chris?”

Leroux
looked at his boss.

“That
something isn’t right.”

Lower Deck Server Compartment, Air Force One

Senior Airman Cameron Lennox sat at his terminal as the plane took
off. He had chosen a terminal deep in the tech center of the aircraft. The
plane itself might be old, but the equipment inside was state of the art. With
85 phones, 19 televisions and 240 miles of wiring, it had the most modern
communications capabilities in the air; a flying military headquarters capable
of letting the President run a country in time of war. It was equipped with anti-missile
countermeasures, mid-air refueling capabilities, and was even shielded from the
effects of an electromagnetic pulse should a nuclear weapon detonate in the
vicinity.

It was
the most classified, heavily protected airliner in the world.

And it
could still be hacked.

There’s
no protection if the hacker is on the inside and knows the codes.

He
was the man that was supposed to protect the systems from what he
was about to do.

He
reached into his pocket, removing the new memory stick the South African man
had given him, the surreptitious delivery shocking him deeply.

I
guess he’s how they’ll know whether or not I’ve done the job.

Though
he wasn’t sure how the man could know. Regardless of what the virus might do, the
networks he had access to were completely isolated from anything in the cabin
where the passengers were. There was no Wi-Fi to tap, no cable to plug into.
There was no way the man could know if he had done the job.

Maybe
someone on the ground will know then tell him?

It was
possible. It was his theory they were tapping the communications. It wouldn’t
last long, the system automatically scanning for any type of intrusion every
fifteen minutes. During that period the virus might transmit a large volume of
data, though even that might be detected.

By
someone like him.

He stared
down the racks of equipment at Senior Airman Jerry Cornel, typing away at his
keyboard.

Now
or never.

He
inserted the key, a message immediately popping on his display warning him of
the new hardware. He entered the override code. The system immediately
activated the device, it common practice to use USB devices to patch the
software, it one of his duties. And there had been quite a few patches lately
after the latest upgrade. The entire plane had been given a major overhaul, the
replacement aircraft not due to be in the air for the better part of a decade.
She was an old bird, reliable, but so out of date it needed a few tweaks now
and then, and sometimes major work.

This was
only her second flight, the kinks being worked out now minor.

The
screen flashed as something ran for a moment, then the memory stick ejected
itself, the system displaying a message it was safe to remove.

He did,
shoving it back into his pocket.

And
wondered what the hell he had just done.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Here’s something.”

Leroux
and Morrison turned to Sonya Tong. “What?”

“Well, I
figured I’d broaden the search a bit so I ran all the patients who were at the
hospital at the same time as Zokwana. There were quite a few hits against our
databases, there a lot of senior people who go there, but one was red flagged
for recent activity.”

“Who?”

“Igor Khomenko.
He was at the hospital for almost the entire time Zokwana was. Same ward, same
type of cancer, both terminal.”

Morrison
looked at her. “So? Who is he?”

“He’s a
general in the Donetsk People's Republic.”

“Russian
separatists!” hissed Morrison. “Go on.”

“He was
wounded six months ago, taken to hospital for treatment in Russia, which was
when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He was transferred to the Hertzen
Moscow Oncology Research Institute and was discharged on the same day as Zokwana.”

“Interesting.”

Leroux
nodded. “Could be a coincidence, but you know me, I don’t like them.” He nodded
toward Tong. “What else do we know?”

“Transcripts
of some of his conversations seem to suggest he blames the US for killing his
family, apparently they died the same day he was wounded—bomb dropped from a
Ukrainian Air Force jet.” Tong’s eyes widened. “Sir, according to this, he
specifically blames the President and has sworn revenge!”

Morrison
snapped his fingers. “That’s our guy. We need to know what involvement he had
with Zokwana.”

“Shit,
boss, I’ve got something!”

Leroux
swiveled in his chair to face Child. “What?”

“I’ve
got a wire transfer from a known FSB account to Igor Khomenko in the amount of
two million Euros less than a week ago. We picked it up as part of our
monitoring of Ukrainian separatist activities.”

“Okay,
he’s up to something and the Russians are involved.” Leroux’s eyes narrowed.
“Where’s the money now?”

“Still
trying to get access to the account. It might take some time.”

“Do
whatever it takes.”

Child nodded,
returning to his computer.

Leroux
turned to Morrison. “I think you better make a call.”

Morrison
rose. “So do I.”

Conference Room, Air Force One

Approaching Mozambique Airspace

37,000 feet

Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson shook his head. “Are
they sure it’s foul play?”

Secret
Service Agent in Charge McNeely shook his head. “Negative. We just got the
alert because of his current assignment. The MPs are still at the house.”

Dawson
blew air between his lips. His radar was already pinging with concerns over
their last minute passenger, a man who looked to him like death warmed over,
rather than a man free of cancer. It wasn’t for him to judge, though, it the
President’s prerogative to invite whomever he wanted. But now a report had just
arrived that the family of one of the Air Force members staffing the plane was
missing and foul play was suspected. Whenever something like this happened it
was always a concern, though when it was a member of the military dealing directly
with the President, it raised all kinds of red flags.

“What
evidence is there?”

“Mrs.
Lennox didn’t show up for a baby shower and missed a meet-and-greet with her daughter
the night before. Her purse and cellphone were found in the house, and a neighbor
reported seeing a black SUV in the driveway the day before that they didn’t
recognize.”

“So they
might have been missing for over twenty-four hours.”

McNeely
nodded. “Which means they might be halfway around the world by now.”

“More
likely close by.”

“Agreed.”

“But
more than enough time to have made contact with the Airman if it were a ransom
situation.”

“Again
agreed.”

“Any
evidence he’s been contacted?”

McNeely
shook his head. “Not yet. Homeland is pulling his cellphone records and beyond
a room service call to his hotel room, there’s no record of any calls.”

“What’s
his roommate have to say?”

“He’s
sitting next to Airman Lennox so we haven’t been able to question him yet.”

Dawson
didn’t like the sound of what he was hearing. A man’s family is taken for only
three reasons that he could think of. One, a random act having nothing to do
with the specific family; two, a specific act of violence, perhaps revenge with
no end game other than harming or killing the family; or three, as leverage
over another member of the family.

His
money was on number three.

“What
does he have access to?”

“Everything.”

Dawson
cursed. “I recommend we isolate him immediately. If they’ve already made
contact with him, there’s no telling what he might do. The President’s life
could be at risk.”

McNeely’s
shoulders squared. “You’re right, delaying is too risky. I’ll go down, make it
look like a routine security sweep, then pull him away from his terminal.” He
nodded toward two of his men. “You two come in when you hear me yell. Our aim
is to keep him away from that keyboard before he has a chance to do anything.”

Dawson
stepped toward McNeely, lowering his voice. “I’d like to volunteer my men.
We’ve got a little more experience in this area.”

McNeely
looked at the two men he had chosen, one of them shrugging his shoulders. “Okay
with me, boss, we both know who these guys are.”

“I don’t
mind piss in my cornflakes,” said the other, everyone chuckling.

“Okay.
But just two of you. I’ll still go in, it will look less suspicious.”

“Roger
that.” Dawson motioned for Niner to join him.

“Whassup?”

“Time to
get to work.”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Chief, priority call for you.”

Morrison
hadn’t even left the cubicles before Marc Therrien flagged him down, holding up
a phone. He debated taking the held up phone or heading back to his office.

Priority
call.

He
pointed to Leroux’s enclosed office. “I’ll take it in Chris’ office.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Morrison
strode toward Leroux’s office then closed the door, dropping into the high back
chair behind the desk. He lifted the receiver and hit the blinking Line 1
light. “Morrison here.”

“Director,
is this line secure?”

He
didn’t recognize the voice, though the accent was unmistakable.

Russian.

He hit a
button on the phone, checking the status. “On this end, yes.”

“Good.
This is Katya Dudnik. We met in London once, a couple of years ago.”

Morrison
searched his memory then smiled as he remembered the unhappy couple of FSB
officers he had met at a reception after a security conference dealing with
Islamic terrorism. The sight of the husband and wife duo had been enough to
make him thankful his wife had never wanted to work for the CIA.

I
wonder if Chris and Sherrie will make it.

“Yes,
Mrs. Dudnik, I remember you. How are you?”

“Please,
Director, call me Katya, I can’t stand the sound of my last name.”

Morrison
detected trouble in paradise. It didn’t surprise him, the man was a drunk and
an embarrassment. He had looked up the file when he returned home just out of
curiosity. It wasn’t impressive, though hers was. “Katya. How can I help you?”

“I have
troubling information that I felt you should be made aware of.”

Morrison
felt his stomach tighten as he fished out his phone, quickly sending a text to
Leroux.

Get
in here

“What is
it?”

“You of
course remember my ex-husband?”

Ex. I
called that one.

“Of
course.”

“It has
come to my attention that he initiated an operation, completely unauthorized,
that may target your president.”

The door
opened and Leroux stepped inside, his eyes questioning Morrison. He covered his
mouthpiece. “Get me Air Force One, now!”

Leroux’s
eyes widened then he disappeared.

Morrison
removed his hand. “Go on.”

“My
husband, through his own volition, transferred a sizeable amount of money to a
Ukrainian freedom fighter named Igor Khomenko. This man blames your President
for the death of his family.”

“Continue.”

“We have
reason to believe that he intends to crash Air Force One.”

Morrison
leapt from the chair, sending it smashing against the wall. “I need specifics.
How?”

“My
ex-husband provided Mr. Khomenko with a virus capable of infecting Air Force
One’s computer system and crashing the aircraft. He has apparently kidnapped
the family of one of your Air Force personnel and already delivered the virus.
You need to ground Air Force One before it’s too late.”

“Jesus
Christ! How long have you known this?”

“Several
hours.”

“And you
waited this long?”

“This
was the first opp—”

“Forget
it. I’ll call you back. Don’t you dare leave your desk!” He hung up the phone
and Leroux rushed back inside. “Line Two!”

Morrison
hit the button. “This is National Clandestine Services Chief Morrison. There is
a verified threat to Air Force One. You need to land immediately!”

Lower Deck Server Compartment, Air Force One

Over Mozambique

37,000 feet

Lennox ran a routine scan of the comm system and found nothing out
of the ordinary. He wasn’t sure what to expect. They had been in the air for
quite some time and nothing had happened yet, at least nothing that he had
noticed. If the virus were indeed simply monitoring and relaying
communications, there might actually be nothing for him to see.