No, it wasn’t that he was worried about being overheard. But the words that the Doctor had spoken so matter-of-factly? They had chilled Cox right to the bone.
The Turks had given Net Force a computer disk to decode. Thus far, the organization had been successful in finding at least some of the information hidden on the disk. They had uncovered a list of agents who had worked for the former Soviet Union in the Middle East forty years ago.
Cox had merely shrugged at that part of the news. It meant nothing to him.
Ah, the Doctor had said, but there could be more, much more — including a list of Soviet spies elsewhere in the world.
When Cox heard that, he felt his belly go cold. That meant something to him.
Where else in the world? he had asked.
The irritatingly calm Doctor had spoken of it as he might the weather or a football score: Among others, he said, the United States. We think. We cannot be sure. No one seems to know how the information came to be in the hands of the Iranians, or how the Turks got it from them.
At that, the cold in Cox’s belly had turned into a lump of dry ice.
He could almost hear the Russian’s pragmatic shrug over the no-pix connection. There is nothing to be done. Either they will decode it or they will not. We will deny all, of course, but done is done. You should know. Perhaps you might consider buying an island in some friendly country, and moving your money there.
Cox disconnected without another word and sagged back in his chair.
So much for being a valuable, protected asset. The Russians would be sorry to lose him, but they weren’t going to help him, Cox was sure of that.
Was he to be outed as a former spy? His good works since those foolish days would be ruined; he would be made into a villain, maybe even put in prison. It would kill his family. His wife would probably have a stroke. His children and grandchildren would be shamed. His friends would be astonished. But even if he held the government at bay and beat the charge, the taint would never leave him. Sam Cox? The billionaire? A Russian spy, did you hear? Hard to believe somebody with all that wealth and power could be so stupid, isn’t it?
He stared at the desk and shook his head. He was a powerful man. He had access to a giant fortune, he had the ears of presidents and kings. That was a long way to fall. A terrifyingly long way.
It couldn’t happen. Couldn’t. He would not allow it!
But — what could he do about it? They hadn’t uncovered anything yet, so he had some time, but how to stop it?
It was unlikely in the extreme that he could just send somebody into Net Force HQ in Quantico to steal the incriminating information. All men had their price, but finding out what it was could be tricky. For some, it was easy, money would do it. For others, it might be something complex, not easily determined. Attempt to corrupt the wrong person, the almost-mythical honest man, and that would point a nasty finger at you in a hurry. Why was somebody offering a low-level government employee ten or twenty million dollars to give up a computer disk? What could possibly be on it that was worth that much? Who could afford to make such an offer?
No, that could be a bad misstep.
He frowned. Perhaps they might not be able to break the remaining code. Perhaps the disk would lie in the Net Force vaults for fifty years or a hundred, long after Cox had gone to his reward, and he would be beyond caring.
He shook his head. He could not stake his future, his past, his life and legacy on that. If they had broken part of it, they could uncover the rest. He had to stop that, no matter what the cost.
Think, Sam, think!
But the desk offered no solutions, and his worry stood there grinning at him. Gotcha! it seemed to say. Gotcha!
He sighed. This was not his forte. He had people who knew how to manage such things. He touched the intercom control.
“Have Eduard drop by, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” his secretary said.
Natadze would have some ideas. He always did.
Jay was, he had to admit, stumped. Worse, he was a little worried that brute force, his method of last resort, wasn’t going to work, either. He wasn’t ready to try it quite yet, but he was approaching that point, and if it didn’t work, then what?
He had tried fifty variations, coming at the code from every direction he could think of, and nothing else had clicked.
“Hey, Smokin’ Jay.”
He blinked and looked at the door. “Toni! How are you?”
Toni Fiorella Michaels stepped into his office. “Doing great. How about you?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, frowning. He gestured at his desk. “Home is fine. Saji’s fine. But here…”
Toni smiled. “Hasn’t it always been that way? And won’t it always be?”
Jay shook his head. “Thanks. Just what I need to hear. You and the boss about ready to push off?”
“Yep. Got the van mostly packed, and we’re on the road first thing in the morning.”
“It’s a long way to Colorado.”
“You’re welcome to drop by anytime,” she said. “You should be able to hook a ride on some Net Force or military jet going that way pretty much anytime you want.”
He nodded. “We’ll still miss you,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. We’ll miss you, too. But things change when you have a child to look out for, Jay. With my silat, I always felt as if I could handle myself in most situations when push came to shove, but after that situation at the house, with Tyrone and that psychotic, I realized I couldn’t stay in this business. You don’t call trouble to your family.”
“I hear you.”
“So, how’s the new guy?”
Jay shrugged. “Okay, I guess. You ever met him?”
“No.”
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“You’ll dazzle him, once he gets to know you.”
“Maybe. Guy is richer than Fort Knox, he invented all kinds of computer stuff I grew up using, and is pretty much the smartest person in any room he walks into — and knows it. I don’t think he will dazzle easily.”
She smiled. “What are you working on?”
He returned her grin. “Can I tell you? Are you still cleared?”
She looked at her watch. “If you hurry. My resignation starts officially in about twenty minutes.”
Jay explained about the Turks and the Iranian disk.
“I’m still hacking at the rest of it,” he finished. “I’ve got the Middle Eastern part down, and some of the South African parts, but what I think will probably turn out to be North and South America is still closed. It’s like the guy who wrote the code had a personality change and went off in an entirely different direction. I can’t get a pattern.”
“Maybe the NSA crackers might help?”
“I’d cut out my tongue before I asked them, especially after that thing with the California druggie. They don’t much like us anyhow. They’d love to show us up, and frankly, I don’t think they’ve got the chops. But just our asking for help would have them grinning from ear to ear, even if they couldn’t break it.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“I have the CIA, the regular feebs, and the Turkish ambassador all looking over my shoulder. Plus the new boss, of course.” He shrugged and gave her a weak grin. “The usual.”
She grinned back. “I have to run,” she said. “I just wanted to come by and say good-bye in person. Stand up.”