The back of the van was empty now. This would be Tony’s final trip. Upstairs, Fay Hubley had already gotten the satellite interface up and running. The computer system would be next.
Before he closed the driver’s side door, Tony considered pocketing one of the two Glock C18s hidden in a secret compartment in the floor — then changed his mind. Guns were trouble and the fugitive they hunted wasn’t prone to violence. Tony hoped he could get through this mission without resorting to weapons.
He was almost finished when he suddenly felt his sweat-dampened skin prickle. Someone was observing him. He could feel it. Without looking up, he reset the van’s security system and slammed the door. While adjusting the backpack on his shoulders, Tony casually glanced around. A policeman leaned against a squad car on the opposite side of the street. His gray uniform appeared crisp, despite the melting heat; his face was impassive, unreadable; his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
Tony considered the possibilities. He could be eyeing the van for towing later. Though the vehicle was legally parked, auto extortion was common enough in Tijuana, especially cars with U.S. license plates. Vehicles disappeared only to be returned after a hefty “towing fee” was paid to the policia.
On the other hand, the guy could be watching out of natural curiosity, the need to know what’s happening on his beat. Tony hoped it was the latter. Among other things, the CTU pre-mission briefing reminded him and Fay that criminal gangs did, on occasion, kidnap Americans and hold them for ransom. Corrupt police had been known to get a piece of that action as well.
With a final yank on the strap, Tony circled the van and walked through the doors of La Hacienda. With every step he could feel the cop’s eyes boring into his spine.
Back in room six, things seemed suddenly cluttered. Several laptop computers, interconnected with a small server to form a network, were now spread out across the small desk and one of the two beds. Lights blinked and disk drives whirred, but Fay was nowhere in sight. Tony saw the closed bathroom door and heard water running. He peeled the pack off his shoulder and set it down next to five others just like it — all empty now.
With a tired groan Tony sank into a lumpy chair and pulled off his boots. Leaning into the seat, Tony crossed his arms, propped his legs on the edge of the laptop-covered bed and closed his eyes. The persistent rattle of the air conditioner had nearly lulled him into sleep when he heard the bathroom door open. Fay bounded out in a cloud of steam, swathed in nothing more than a towel. Her hair was pinned up and she smelled of citrus. Tony shifted position to let her pass, uncomfortable with the woman’s choice of attire — or lack thereof.
“Any word on Lesser?” Tony asked.
Fay sat down on the edge of the bed, across from Tony, and crossed her long legs. “He hasn’t logged onto the Internet yet, but we’re watching for him,” she replied. “Of course, Richard Lesser may have some fake identities, servers and accounts we don’t know about, but he can’t launch any attacks without using his signature protocols, and when he does that we’ve got him.”
As she spoke Fay undid her hair. Blond locks tumbled down around her pale shoulders. Though she clutched the towel to her breasts, the terrycloth had dipped low enough for Tony to see the dragonfly tattoo on her lower back. He looked away, his gaze settling on the computers scattered all over the hotel room.
“Back at CTU, your boss Hastings said you required a half-million dollars worth of stuff to find Lesser,” said Tony. “But all I see are a few laptops, a server, a satellite hookup, and some network connections.”
Fay laughed. “Most of the expensive stuff is back at CTU,” she told him. “I’m sure Hastings was talking about the cost of allocating all of CTU’s resources for a single manhunt. This stuff here just interfaces with the systems and protocols running back at CTU’s cyber division.”
Tony leaned forward, glanced at one of the monitors. Data scrolled along the flat screen. Though he was hardly a novice, Tony could make no sense of the information being displayed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Well,” said Fay, sliding across the bed to the largest monitor. “As you know, originally CTU used two separate computer systems to gather intelligence information. One system mined data from unclassified but secure sources — credit card companies, airline logs, banking records, state and federal bureaus, chemical supply stores, stuff like that. Since your average terrorist lives in the real world, they have to do everyday things like eat, buy things, go places, work at jobs and pay the rent. By utilizing an algorithm similar to the mathematical model employed by Able Danger—”
Tony rubbed the black stubble along his jawline, scratched his new goatee. “You’re talking about the clandestine DOD project to hunt al-Qaeda?”
“That’s the one. By using a similar system, algorithms and protocols, CTU has had some success in locating and capturing terrorists within our borders.”
“Using CTU’s random sequencer, right?”
Fay nodded. “We also have a second system which mines data, but this one collects its intelligence from closed, or even classified sources. With it CTU can access private accounts, trace secured transactions, search classified CIA and DOD files, the State Department and Commerce Department files, telephone logs, corporate computers, secure medical data — even Interpol files. In the case of Richard Lesser, we’re running protocols that will even let us know if he phones his bank for a balance. Any electronic activity at all will show up on our radar.”
“That still doesn’t tell me what you’re up to with this setup.”
Fay tossed long blond curls over her shoulder. “Using the random sequencer, I’ve managed to set up a third system. This one mines data from the World Wide Web, all of it — including a lot of stuff once considered secure.”
“What, like a super search engine?”
Fay grinned, her pride evident. “More like a super bloodhound. Once I know who I’m looking for, what computer, server or ISP is being used, then my program and CTU’s mainframe working in tandem with my magic fingers will hunt them down.”
Tony was skeptical. “How close can you get?”
“From this laptop I can trace a subject’s activity to a specific server, then on to a specific phone number or Wi Fi zone. If I’m on top of my game — which is, like, always—no matter how many times Lesser washes his system or tries to cover his tracks, he’s mine. With the warrant we have, I can legally access all kinds of data that the government was barred from collecting before.”
Tony folded his arms. “Funny how extending the RICO Act makes some people crazy. But if we can use these laws to prosecute drug dealers, why not apply the same laws to stopping terrorists, too?”
“Yeah, strange how no one complains about the IRS knowing every single financial transaction a citizen makes in a given year, but knowing what book a suspect borrows from the library is suddenly a problem.”
“It’s the theoretical versus the real world,” said Tony. “Most people aren’t lying awake at night worrying whether the Feds know what book they borrowed from the library. They’re worried red tape is going to prevent the government from failing to stop a terrorist attack like Beslan, or Bali, or London.”
Fay fumbled with one of the laptops, almost losing her towel. “Here, check this out.”
She rose, tiptoed over to Tony and set the portable PC in his lap. Fay moved behind him, leaned over his shoulder to point at the screen. He could feel her breasts pressing against his shoulder, long hair tickling his nose.