“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“Thanks, Bill. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Couture put down the phone and returned to Operations, where he retook his seat across from the president. “Mr. President, sir… I’ve just been informed that ST6/B has already taken one of the al-Rashid brothers into custody. He’ll be ashore on Grosse Ile within thirty minutes, so there won’t be a need to contact the prime minister after all. In light of this new development, it is now my professional opinion, Mr. President, that — purely in the interest of time — our wisest course of action might be to allow ST6/B to continue their mission.”
The president blinked once and sat gaping at him.
47
The Montana Air Guard F-15 landed on Grosse Ile a few minutes before sun-up, just as Speed was being loaded aboard the Life Flight helo. Doc, the team’s Mexican American corpsman, was more concerned over the fact that Speed had gone into shock than he was by the loss of blood.
“It’s gonna be close,” he said to Gil. “Shock can be a bitch.”
Gil had seen men in worse condition pull through many times, and Speed was as tough as they came. He looked at Pope. “I think you probably saved his life, Bob. Thank you.”
“It’s Couture we need to thank,” Pope said. “He expedited the helo.”
“Be right back,” Gil said. He trotted out to the F-15, where the pilot stood waiting on the wing beside the cockpit.
The pilot handed down the laptop. “The passport’s under the lid.”
Gil opened the laptop and stuck the passport into his back pocket. “Much obliged.”
“You bet,” the pilot said, gesturing at the mammoth C-5 Galaxy. “How the hell they gonna get that thing back into the air?”
Gil shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me, Captain. Safe flight back!”
“You bet,” the pilot said again, climbing back into the cockpit of the F-15.
Pope met Gil at the edge of the tarmac, and Gil gave him the passport. Pope examined the passport photo for a long moment, searching his memory to place the face. “Jesus… this is Nikolai Kashkin.”
“That’s the guy Faisal told us to look for.”
“Damn,” Pope muttered, still studying the face. “It’s too bad your wife had to kill him. He’s very likely the mastermind of this entire operation.” He looked up at Gil. “Kashkin’s father was a colonel in the Soviet tank corps. He fought under his father in the Panjshir Valley, where he was taken prisoner by Mujahedeen. He was rumored to be connected to the KGB through an old-school Georgian assassin. His name was… Mulinkov. Daniel Mulinkov.”
Gil shook his head. “How do you remember all that shit?”
“Partial photographic memory — inherited from my father. He worked in the Magic intelligence program during the Second World War; personally deciphered the Japanese code that lead to the shoot-down of Admiral Yamamoto. Anyhow, my memory’s not like his, but it’s similar.”
A Gulfstream V with USAF stenciled on the fuselage touched down on the runway and rolled past them.
Pope smiled. “It’s a fine, well-oiled machine, the US military. Gather your men and their personal weapons. We won’t have room aboard for much else. We’re leaving for Langley immediately. I need to execute a brute-force attack on the laptop.”
A brute-force attack on a computer was an exhaustive key search used against encrypted data that could — in theory, depending on the size of the bit encryption — require a supercomputer capable of generating an amount of energy equivalent to thirty gigawatts of electricity for an entire year.
Gil put the laptop under his arm. “Shouldn’t we have a go at interrogating al-Rashid first?”
“We’ll get to him,” Pope said. “But now I’m sure he doesn’t have the slightest idea where to find the bomb.” He gestured with the passport. “Kashkin masterminded this operation. He was the linchpin, and we needed him alive. If his laptop’s been encrypted with a two-hundred-fifty-six-bit encryption key, we’ll never crack it. So get your team to bring the prisoners aboard the plane. We’re leaving.”
Langley was the last place Gil thought they should be. “Hold up a second.”
Pope stopped midstride. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you telling me this was a waste of time? The al-Rashids are a dead end?”
“The al-Rashids were the money, Gil. That’s what Kashkin was doing at your ranch — returning their favor.” He pointed at the laptop. “That thing’s our last chance. So if we manage to crack it, Marie really will deserve the Medal of Freedom.”
Gil rolled his eyes. “She’ll be thrilled.”
48
By noon, Pope had established that Kashkin’s computer was encrypted with a 180-bit encryption key. He looked across the lab, where Gil sat on a desk waiting with Crosswhite. The rest of the team was still aboard the plane in a CIA hangar watching over Haroun al-Rashid and his sister-in-law Melonie.
“I won’t be able to break into this computer,” he said. “It could take a year or more. You’d better have a go at al-Rashid.”
Gil got up from the table, the frustration evident on his face. “I wish you’d cleared me to do that before.”
“He doesn’t know where the bomb is, Gil. I’m clearing you now only because there’s no other hope.”
Midori Kagawa, a Japanese American woman of thirty-five with short black hair, pushed back from her desk on the far side of the lab. “What about asking Lijuan?” she suggested in perfect English, having been born in Sacramento, California. “Encryption is her field of expertise, after all.”
Pope had told Midori of Lijuan’s arrest by the NSA shortly after his arrival. “You know that’s not possible.”
“It’s possible if the president orders it,” Midori replied. “And given the circumstances, he doesn’t have any other choice. It’s worth a call, Robert. She might think of something you haven’t.”
“There’s nothing to think of. A one-hundred-eighty-bit encryption is virtually uncrackable.”
“Virtually,” Midori said, turning back to her desk. “And under normal circumstances, you’d take that as a challenge. I think you’re just afraid to talk to her after what you did to her.”
Gil knew nothing about Lijuan or what Pope had done to her — nor did he care. “I’ll go have a talk with al-Rashid. I’ll call you if we learn anything useful.”
When he was gone, Pope got on the phone to Edwards AFB. “I need to speak with the president.”
The president was on the line a few moments later. This would be Pope’s second conversation with the commander in chief since ST6/B’s incursion into Canada — though the first conversation had actually been more of a presidential ass chewing.
“Have you broken into the computer, Robert?” The president sounded very worried.
“No, Mr. President. I’m afraid we’ve reached a dead end. Unless there’s something I’ve missed, I won’t be able to beat its security. Shannon is questioning al-Rashid now, but I’m certain he has no idea where to find the bomb.”
“So that’s it then,” the president said wearily. “All that’s left to do is sit and wait for the damn thing to go off.”
“Neither the FBI or NSA have come up with anything, sir?”
“They claim to be chasing leads.”
“There is one last thing I should check, Mr. President — just to be absolutely sure.”
“Which is?”
“By now, sir, I’m sure NSA has informed you that my assistant Lijuan Chow has been arrested for espionage. Code encryption is her specialty, Mr. President. I would like for you to arrange for me to speak with her by phone. It’s a long shot, but she may be able to think of something I haven’t.”