Go against Angelo and she’d likely never see her girls again. Go against Müller and she’d be without a job and no way to support the twins.
Müller wanted a deciphered document; Angelo wanted details of some operation in the Mojave that Yvonne knew nothing about. Was there really something else going on besides a convoluted transmission? Was there some link between what Müller and Angelo wanted? Did either of them know what the other knew? How could she possibly be expected to deliver something for which she had absolutely no information? What of Trish LaForgue and her part in all of this?
Yvonne had absolutely nowhere to turn. In the privacy of her home, she collapsed in despair and cried.
That goddamn encrypted transmission.
“So, how was your weekend?” Uri asked, coming through the Level-2 door.
Nathan and Emily looked at each other and shared a brief smile.
“Great,” Nathan said. “I’m glad we took the time off and got to know each other a little better.”
Emily blushed.
“Well, I won’t probe any further,” Uri said.
“Obadiah was telling us at breakfast this morning that he was shown some radical weapons,” Nathan said.
“He certainly had a good time,” Uri responded. “I was impressed with how he handled some of the rifles. He’s a great shot. I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of his aim. The guy didn’t miss, not once, even standing five hundred yards distant from the targets.”
Impressive, Nathan thought.
“YES! Yes, yes, yes!” Emily exclaimed, waving her arms around in exhilaration.
Nathan immediately looked at her with a broad knowing smile. “You’ve cracked it, haven’t you?”
“I just can’t believe how blind I’ve been. You know how Sven asked me what was common about those emails from that annoying user group?”
“Yes. You told him it was a graphic signature and not text.”
“And that got me thinking,” she said. “Do you know what I do to earn my paycheck?”
“You’re deliberately keeping me in suspense, aren’t you? Okay, I’ll play,” he said, still smiling. “What is it that you do?”
“I conceal watermarks into the graphics that we provide with our proprietary and commercial software.”
“Kubacki’s illustrations have watermarks?”
“Yes,” Emily said. “And that’s what’s common to all these individual layers; each has a hidden watermark. Instead of a semi-transparent word such as ‘DRAFT’ superimposed diagonally across the page, the overlay is digitally blended in with the surrounding pixels, making it impossible for the human eye to see.”
“How did you find them?” Nathan asked.
“That’s what I’ve been doing the last two days while you and Obadiah were looking at aircraft and high-tech weapons,” she said.
“You wouldn’t believe what they develop here,” Nathan said. “Some really far-reaching stuff.”
In her enthusiasm, Emily hardly heard his response. “Anyhow, instead of letting my eyes go crazy, I wrote another program that searches for hidden patterns.”
“And that was the watermark?”
“Yes,” she said. “To test it, I used the topmost layer from all the illustrations.”
“You mean the paintings by Munch and Van Gogh?”
“And Da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo. All sorts of famous artists, but none by Dali,” she teased.
“And your program identified Kubacki’s signature as the common factor?”
“Exactly,” she said. “After a few tweaks to the code, I finally got it right.”
“Well done.” He gave her shoulder a firm grip in acknowledgement.
“That got me thinking further,” she went on excitedly. “Instead of looking at the layers of just one illustration, throw them all into the program. There are hundreds of them. Look, I’ve intensified the watermarks to make them more visible.”
Nathan wheeled his chair closer.
“See this first image,” she said pointing. “It’s watermarked with K-01. I then grab layers from all the other illustrations also marked K-01 and combine them in Photoshop.” Emily demonstrated.
Displayed, was a perfectly readable schematic showing what looked like a set of transformers or Tesla coils. Markers were included for reference between the image and accompanying documentation.
Nathan was amazed at her discovery on how Kubacki’s illustrations were scrambled. He leaned over and gave her a big hug.
“What now?” he asked.
“I’m going to do the same with the rest; K-02 with K-02, K-03 with K-03 and so on. Once the layers are all suitably matched and I have the final composite images, I’ll feed them back into their appropriate slot in the document. It will take a few hours.”
“I’ll let JW and Sven know immediately,” Nathan said. “Sven, in particular, has been asking if there’s anything he can do to help.”
“Uri will also be delighted when we see him later,” she said. “Is he back at the gunnery range with Obadiah?”
“I think so,” Nathan said.
“By this evening I’ll be able to Shred-It to James and Sven. The more eyes we have determining the document’s authenticity, the better.”
Since it was still plugged in to Level-2’s network, Nathan sent an email through his laptop. He typed much faster on his keyboard and didn’t have to contend with backspacing over all the screwed-up word predictions his phone usually concocted.
Chapter Forty-Two
Trish LaForgue skimmed through Nathan McIntosh’s email again. It had been intercepted from Level-2’s network on its way to SkyTech and replicated directly to her private Inbox. She was angry. Why had they not informed her immediately? And why had McIntosh sent it through regular email. On closer inspection, she realised that nothing in the email could even remotely be associated with what was going on at Groom Lake. That, at least, was something, but she wondered if the email’s wording was by design or pure fluke.
LaForgue had been feeding Uri and the SkyTech team information in small bits and pieces based on their need to know. She knew it infuriated them, but that’s just the way it had to be, for now. One of her more recent directives was to authenticate the document. She insisted that they present all the facts, having no patience herself for information trickling down to her. Rather, let them finish the job and hand over their conclusions when done. Knowing the data had been cracked would be useless if Kubacki’s document turned out to be a complete fabrication.
Behind closed doors along the winding corridors of NSA’s Fort Meade headquarters, another set of eyes hungrily scanned the same email. He recognised James Clark’s name, but wondered about SkyTech’s Sven Labrowski, and how this new player fitted into all of this. He’d have to find out more. Joseph Müller was, after all, Director of the NSA and had access about everyone and everything. He would have to plan his next move carefully.