Stuxnet was a devastating computer worm that had secretly infected thirty thousand Iranian PCs, including those running uranium enrichment processes at the Bashir and Natanz facilities. The worm caused centrifuges (machines that spun and separated Uranium-235 weapons-grade) to increase their normal operating speeds of 1,064 hertz to 1,410 hertz for fifteen minutes before returning to normal frequency. Twenty-seven days later, the worm slowed the centrifuges down to a few hundred hertz for a full fifty minutes. The stresses from the faster, then slower speeds effectively destroyed one thousand machines. The United States and Israel denied any responsibility.
“You’re sure Baltis is on our side?” Riley quipped.
“Ask him yourself,” Cheng responded. “You’ll get along great. He’s no-nonsense and very direct. Almost bordering on rude, but I guess it’s expected. His mind doesn’t think like yours or mine. The laptop has become the focal point of the investigation. He’s analyzing the hard drive as we speak. If there’s anything there, he’ll find it. And if I might make a suggestion… I don’t think we should give any of this to that Fox woman.”
Tom Ross entered the room and caught the end of the conversation. He glared at Cheng. “Are you talking about Neela?”
“I was just saying that I’m uncomfortable sharing too much information, especially from Al-Aran’s computer. I think some things should be kept confidential.” He turned to Riley. “As far as names, first you need a list of suspects, and right now that’s impossible. All we’ve got is raw data. There are no suspects.”
“Then I want numbers,” Riley demanded. “How many?”
Cheng exhaled and reached for a stack of papers.
“Mitchell International has a ten-mile perimeter bordering 118 military, civilian, and commercial structures. So far, our agents have interviewed everyone who lived, ate, worked, or touched those structures — truck drivers, delivery personnel, transients, renters, and old and new homeowners. We even tracked down customers who were filmed by restaurant security cameras, just like you requested. Any one of them could have had access to a rooftop or vantage point from which to maneuver and guide a drone onto a runway. Take your pick. There are over two thousand names.”
Riley turned to Ross. “Okay, Mr. NTSB, start thinking of how we can use Neela to our advantage. Perhaps even a little disinformation?” He approached a magnetic dry-erase whiteboard and lifted a thick black marker. He drew five columns.
“Mr. Cheng, do we know how many businesses around Mitchell’s perimeter are foreign-owned?” Cheng shrugged. Riley labeled that as column one. He labeled column two as High Vantage Points. “I want names of anyone who had access to an area that overlooked a runway. Does anyone fit that?”
“We never looked at it from the perspective of a flying drone.”
“Number three, a link to the military. I want a sorted list of people we interviewed who are currently or have been in the service. Number four is”—he turned and wrote Unusual Circumstances—“strange behavior, a practical joke, an accident, or an injury. Anything that could be attributed to a terrorist training mishap. Even a suspicious or untimely death.”
Cheng dug through his notes. “A Milwaukee detective reported some commando activity in the woods south of here.”
“Say again?” Riley perked up.
“A paintball tournament,” Cheng said straight-faced. Riley was not amused. “I’m sorry, Jack, but I’m punchy, and this is impossible. We need at least two or three input days so we can do some system searches. Poring through all this paper will just bog things down. Where do we even start?”
“We start with Mitchell International,” Riley said. “Our perpetrator was in the vicinity somewhere, and then he vanished. Something tells me that the observation area on the north side of the airport is hot. That Professor Robertson said his drone operated from a laptop. Maybe our suspect just sat there and controlled the whole thing from a vehicle right out in the open.”
“No way,” Ross observed. “He would’ve been spotted by security cameras.”
“Who covered the north side perimeter and associated buildings?”
Cheng straightened in his chair. “I told you that one of my agents ran into some disgruntled military personnel at an American Legion Post, so I went back there myself.”
“And?”
“Nothing. They’re disgruntled, all right, but other than a bad case of racism, it was clean. One of their employees did pass away recently on the premises. I guess you could consider that an ‘unusual circumstance.’ His name was Chief… er, Watts. Jerry Watts. A Vietnam veteran who managed the place. He was well liked. His friends said he drank too much even when he wasn’t celebrating his birthday. They found him behind the bar on the morning of the eighteenth. He’s suffered a massive heart attack.”
“His birthday?”
“Uh-huh. He turned sixty. Talk about bad luck. It was his own party. He and his buddies played cards until around 5:30 a.m. He died just before the Delta crash.”
“Hmph,” Riley said, drumming his fingers. “Anything else?”
“Not really. We interviewed all the regulars except for some kid who lives above the bar in an efficiency apartment — a Marquette dental student. Their admissions staff is running him down. He was out of town.”
“What’s his name?”
Cheng rifled his notes. “Waleu. Mike Waleu.”
Riley wrote the name under High Vantage Points.
“That’s one. Who else?”
“Jack, don’t do this,” Cheng pleaded. “We’re talking two thousand names attached to the Milwaukee investigation alone. The follow-ups could take weeks.”
“We don’t have weeks,” Riley said angrily. “I need a conspirator, and I need my fish. I think better with my fish.”
Riley retrieved his stuffed toy and noticed Cheng’s eyelids drooping slightly. He launched Shaitan across the room. It sailed past Cheng’s head and skipped off the whiteboard, erasing the I in Mike Waleu’s first name.
“David, wake up. When’s the last time you had any rest?”
“Not since I got back from Lanzarote,” Cheng admitted sheepishly. “I can’t sleep on a plane, especially over water.”
“Go get some. We’ll finish up here. Mr. NTSB and I will run out to New York and meet with this Baltis character. Where is he exactly?”
“The Manhattan field office,” Cheng responded. He collected his materials and started for his room.
Tom Ross picked Shaitan up off the floor and set him on the conference table. He uncapped a marker and rewrote the missing letter I on the whiteboard. He walked toward his seat and then suddenly froze in mid-step. He turned back to the board and used his finger as an eraser.
HIGH VANTAGE POINTS
M KE WALEU
Ross easily recognized MKE as Mitchell International’s three-letter FAA airport designation code for Milwaukee. He put the I back on the board and wrote another word below, matching letters to Waleu’s name like some federal Wheel of Fortune.
“Uh, Jack? You might want to look at this. Can I go back to my old job now?”
HIGH VANTAGE POINTS
MIKE WALEU
MILWAUKEE
Riley took a moment to compose himself.
He turned to Ross. “I want you to call your reporter friend and tell her to meet us at the Javits Building, 26 Federal Plaza in New York City. Mr. Cheng? I’m afraid you’re not going to get any sleep in the foreseeable future. Find this Waleu kid, fast. Have all Milwaukee, O’Hare, and San Diego personnel lock down any airport perimeter building space that has recently been rented or has reported a missing person or a fatality of any kind. Top priority. Seal off entire blocks if necessary. Go.”