“About damn time,” whispered Miller under his breath.
Savas smiled wanly. “Be careful what you ask for, Frank. Ignorance can be bliss.”
38
Savas and Cohen sat in the back of one of the old Crown Vics as it sped toward Manhattan on I-80. The sun arced over the factories and former swamplands, pouring a bronze coating over the buildings and waterways. Savas found it increasingly difficult to keep track of the days, one rolling into another on minimal sleep and maximal stress. But now, finally, there were some real breaks in the case.
They had insisted that the car be swept for digital technology, and screened their drivers, allowing only those who agreed to leave their smart phones and similar equipment behind. There was no point in spending the time to explain why. The turn to luddites had hampered them severely, however, as the attempt to establish a conference call with Fred Simon had demonstrated. They had tried to have two phones on speaker, Lightfoote on Cohen’s phone, Simon on Savas’ cheap model. But it had proved unworkable, the sound quality rendering much of the dialogue incomprehensible. They had settled on speaking to Simon alone.
The CIA agent’s voice was energized. “Our mutual contact at the NSA has managed to make rapid progress. All the calls and texts from the numbers you gave were grabbed over the last week. There wasn’t much to go on. They were careful, but not careful enough. Two of the phones had sent text messages to the same number. I don’t think it was because they were brothers and contacting mom.”
“What was that number?” asked Savas.
“An unregistered phone. Likely a burner. But we don’t need a name to track it.”
“GPS?”
“No. They weren’t that careless. But with enough activity, we can triangulate from the cell towers. They didn’t check the fine print on this model. It checks with the home company a lot for service performance. Pinging back on an hourly basis. They might as well be flashing a light.”
Savas sat up in the seat. He turned to Cohen. “Do you think it could be Fawkes?”
“I doubt it, John.” She swept the crutches from between them and leaned them against the window. “You never know, but my guess is a mid-level operator. But he could lead us to the boss.”
The speaker crackled. “My thoughts exactly.”
Savas nodded. “So where is this phone?”
“Long Island Sound near Glen Cove.”
“In the water? They ditched it?”
“Unlikely,” said Simon. “It’s moving. Speed and direction consistent with a maritime vessel following the coastline.”
Savas and Cohen exchanged glances as she spoke. “Well, that isn’t likely for some low level grunt. Maybe we have something interesting.”
“Want real time footage?”
“Are you serious?”
“Soon as we had the coordinates, we dispatched a chopper.”
“An agency chopper in the US? Where from?”
“Need-to-know basis, John.”
“I thought the CIA didn’t operate within US borders.”
“Clinton said it best: it all depends on the definitions of words like ‘is’ or ‘operate’.”
“Mmm-hmmm. You bet your ass I want footage, but we’re pre-smartphone era here, Fred. When the AI in our car tried to kill us, we decided to go Amish.”
Simon barked a laugh. “I understand. NSA has found a way to firewall the damn worm. Slowing them the hell down to fence everything off, but they’ve got server farms now with serious prophylactics. I’m watching real time. It’s a nice boat.”
“I bet it is.”
“With a bunch of folks on it. Hard to make out high-res detail — the bird is at a distance and altitude that won’t give it away. But I can tell you they aren’t milling about socially. Positioned strategically.”
“Bodyguards,” said Cohen.
“Who needs a ship full of muscle?” chipped Simon.
Savas felt the adrenaline kick in. “Fawkes.” He turned to Cohen. “We need a rapid response team. They’ll lose that phone or the owner soon.”
She nodded. “That means air. We’re out of choppers. Too busy flying the VIPs out of the city still.”
“Dammit!”
Simon cut in. “Well, remember those contractors that the CIA doesn’t hire under aliases for work inside the country? Well, why have one chopper when you can have three for ten times the price? The fact that they don’t exist creates some budget magic.”
“You’ve got a spare bird?”
“Already routed toward you.”
Savas punched the seat in front of him, startling the driver. “I owe you big, Fred.”
“Don’t think so, John. I’ve got a ways to go on that other debt I owe you. Speaking of which, how are my kids?”
“They’re good. Spooking my team with their ninja-assassin program. Even Frank was impressed. But they’re delivering big time.” He glanced at Cohen. “We’re a bit busted up and we’ve got a full plate of hackers in the City. I think I know who I’d send for a rendezvous with the boat.”
“I agree,” said Simon, “but we’re pushing them. They’re human, whatever they seem to accomplish.”
Savas sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. “I know, Fred. But right now we all need to be a little superhuman. There’s a monster to fight. I don’t have manpower to do this. Maybe Frank, but he’s one. And there are some important people we need to question as of several hours ago.”
“I’m with you. Tell them the chopper’s been loaded with some useful gear. But getting on that boat and surviving isn’t going to be as easy as the warehouse.”
“Easy. Right. I’ll tell them. I’m glad you’re with us, Fred.”
“I’m not the only one, John. The Watchmen still have some kick left. Until soon.”
The connection was closed. Savas dialed and held the phone to his ear.
“Yeah, Mary? This is John. That bag of phones? Well, they might have bagged some big game. The guards called a number. Fred Simon traced it. It’s zipping along the Long Island Sound as we talk. We need you two to intercept a boat.”
A muffled voice sounded through the other end. Savas nodded.
“Not to worry. Give me your current position. We’ve got that covered.”
RIDEOUT Deposition 3
CBD: I want to read for you some documentation from the archives of the NSA. Prepared specifically for this inquiry.
MR. RIDEOUT: This should be fun.
CBD: As of 30 October, more than a third of the agency’s computers were wiped and placed behind a newly designed firewall, code-named ROUNDUP. This firewall successfully prevented further infections and those machines took on the bulk of NSA computing tasks, both internally and externally. This was not a “cure” of any kind. It served as a preventive measure for infection and allowed the agency to resume increasingly normal levels of operations. However, due to national security concerns, it was decided not to share this information with outside agencies, private or public institutions, or the personal computing world for fear that release of the code would allow Anonymous to develop countermeasures.