trying to counter their attack.”
“I could have you shit-canned.”
“And lose my invaluable expertise?” Soraya shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“So what do we have?” Kendall snapped.
“Stalemate.” LaValle passed a hand across his brow. “Do you think it would be
possible for me to see the Typhon intercepts?” His tone had changed completely. He was
now in conciliatory mode. “Believe it or not, we’re not the Evil Empire. We actually
might be able to be of some assistance.”
Soraya considered. “I think that be can arranged.”
“Excellent.”
“It would have to be Eyes Only.”
LaValle agreed at once.
“And in a controlled, highly restricted environment,” Soraya added, following up her
advantage. “The Typhon offices at CI would be perfect.”
LaValle spread his hands. “Why not here?”
Soraya smiled. “I think not.”
“Under the current climate I think you can understand why I’d be reluctant to meet you
there.”
“I take your point.” Soraya thought for a moment. “If I did bring the intercepts here I’d
have to have someone with me.”
LaValle nodded vigorously. “Of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.” He
seemed far more pleased than Kendall, who looked at her as if he had caught sight of her
from a battlefield trench.
“Frankly,” Soraya said, “none of this makes me feel comfortable.” She glanced around
the room again.
“The building is swept three times a day for electronic bugs,” LaValle pointed out.
“Plus, we have all the most sophisticated surveillance systems, basically a computerized
monitoring system that keeps track of the two thousand closed-circuit video cameras
installed throughout the facility and grounds, compares them from second to second for
any anomalies whatsoever. The DARPA software compares any anomalies against a
database of more than a million images, makes real-time decisions in nanoseconds. For
instance, a bird in flight would be ignored, a running figure wouldn’t. Believe me, you
have nothing to worry about.”
“Right now, the only thing I worry about,” Soraya said, “is you, Mr. LaValle.”
“I understand completely.” LaValle finished off his whiskey. “That’s what this
exercise is all about, Director. To engender trust between us. How else could we be
expected to work together?”
General Kendall sent Soraya back to the district with one of his drivers. She had him
drop her where she’d arranged to meet Kendall, outside what had once been the National
Historical Wax Museum on E Street, SW. She waited until the black Ford had been
swallowed up in traffic, then she turned away, walked all the way around the block at a
normal pace. By the end of her circuit she was certain she was free of tags, NSA or
otherwise. At that point, she sent a three-letter text message via her cell. Two minutes
later, a young man on a motorcycle appeared. He wore jeans, a black leather jacket, a
gleaming black helmet with the smoked faceplate lowered. He slowed, stopped just long
enough for her to climb on behind him. Handing her a helmet, he waited for her to don it,
then he zoomed off down the street.
I have several contacts within DARPA,” Deron said. DARPA was an acronym for the
Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, an arm of the Department of Defense. “I
have a working knowledge of the software architecture at the heart of the NSA’s
surveillance system.” He shrugged. “This is one way I keep my edge.”
“We gotta find a way around it or through it,” Tyrone said.
He was still wearing his black leather jacket. His black helmet was on a table alongside
the one he’d given Soraya for the high-speed trip here to Deron’s house-lab. Soraya had
met both Deron and Tyrone when Bourne had brought her to this nondescript olive-
colored house just off 7th Street, NE.
“You must be joking, right?” Deron, a tall, slim, handsome man with skin the color of
light cocoa, looked from one to the other. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“If we were joking we wouldn’t be here.” Soraya rubbed the heel of her hand against
her temple as she sought to ignore the fierce headache that had began after her terrifying
interview with LaValle and Kendall.
“It’s just not possible.” Deron put his hands on his hips. “That software is state-of-the-
art. And two thousand CCTV cameras! Fuck me.”
They sat on canvas chairs in his lab, a double-height room filled with all manner of
monitors, keyboards, electronic systems whose functions were known only to Deron.
Ranged around the wall were a number of paintings-all masterpieces by Titian, Seurat,
Rembrandt, van Gogh. Water Lilies, Green Reflection, Left Part was Soraya’s favorite.
That all of them were painted by Deron in the atelier in the next room had stunned her the
first time she was here. Now they simply filled her with wonder. How he had reproduced
Monet’s exact shade of cobalt blue was beyond her. It was hardly surprising that Bourne
used Deron to forge all his ID documents, when in this day and age it was becoming
increasingly difficult to do. Many forgers had quit, claiming governments had made their
job impossible, but not Deron. It was his stock in trade. Little wonder that he and Bourne
were so close. Birds of a feather, Soraya thought.
“What about mirrors?” Tyrone said.
“That would be simplest,” Deron said. “But one of the reasons they’ve installed so
many cameras is to give the system multiple views of the same area. That negates mirrors
right there.”
“Too bad Bourne killed dat fucker Karim al-Jamil. He could probably write a worm
t’screw with the DARPA software like he did with the CI database.”
Soraya turned to Deron. “Can it be done?” she said. “Could you do it?”
“Hacking’s not my thing. I leave that to my old lady.”
Soraya didn’t know Deron had a girlfriend. “How good is she?”
“Please,” Deron snorted.
“Can we talk to her?”
Deron looked dubious. “This is the NSA we’re talking about. Those fuckers don’t fool
around. To be frank, I don’t think you ought to be messing with them in the first place.”
“Unfortunately, I have no choice,” Soraya said.
“They fuckin’ wid us,” Tyrone said, “and unless we get all medieval on they ass, they
gonna walk all over us an’ own us forever.”
Deron shook his head. “You sure put some interesting notions in this man’s head,
Soraya. Before you came along he was the best street protection I ever had. Now look at
him. Messing with the big boys in the bad world outside the ghetto.” He didn’t hide the
pride he felt for Tyrone, but his voice held a warning, too. “I hope to hell you know what
you’re getting yourself into, Tyrone. If this thing comes apart in any way you’re in the
federal slammer till Gabriel comes calling.”
Tyrone crossed his arms over his chest, stood his ground.
Deron sighed. “All right, then. We’re all adults here.” He reached for his cell. “Kiki’s
upstairs in her lair. She doesn’t like to be interrupted, but in this case I think she’ll be intrigued.” He spoke briefly into the cell, then put it down. Moments later a slim woman
with a beautiful African face and deep chocolate skin appeared. She was as tall as Deron,
with the upright carriage of proud and ancient royalty.
Her face split into a ferocious grin when she saw Tyrone. “Hey,” they said to each
other. That one word seemed all that was needed.
“Kiki, this is Soraya,” Deron said.
Kiki’s smile was wide and dazzling. “My name’s actually Esiankiki. I’m Masai. But in