'We think it was deliberate.'
'We?'
'The Head of Administration and myself. And the chief of internal security who came to us in the first place. Nobody else is involved yet.'
'Explain.'
'The room where the fire took place was rarely visited. But, due to the sensitive nature of some of the archives, those from the end of the War until 1956 dealing with counter-intelligence information, the area was sealed off with high security locks and alarms. All the keys and alarm codes were kept in a safe in my office. There were also duplicates kept securely in the Administration Section. When the fire was discovered, fortunately by chance when a cypher clerk had to visit a nearby room for some information, our people reacted quickly in gaining access to the room and quelling the fire. Afterwards, when things returned to normal, they attempted to determine what the cause was. It was an electric heater, of the open kind with filament bars running across, which had shorted and caught fire.'
'Why is that suspicious?'
'Because it wasn't a room we normally heated, certainly not with a single electric fire.'
'Had someone been working there, wanted to keep warm?'
'Nobody has asked for a key to that room for over two months.'
‘Sabotage?’
'The consensus is that someone left the fire on and draped a wet cloth over it. That would have given them time to re-lock the doors, set the alarms and leave the area before the cloth caught fire. It was an old method we used to…'
'I know the methods we used,' growled Rostov. 'But even that would have only given whoever it was ten minutes at the most. Did the cypher clerk see or hear anything unusual?'
'No.'
'Is he above suspicion?'
'She, sir. We think so. She's an old lady, in her sixties. Due to retire soon. She was an intelligence officer at the end of the war, a language expert who went with our troops into Germany. Was part of our occupation until 1975. Anyway, if she had started the fire, then she would have let it burn, not reported it before it got going.'
'Investigate her. The cabinets near the heater. I presume they were the ones that were destroyed. Do we know what was in them?'
'Some were totally destroyed. But others, of German manufacture, were designed to be fireproof. We managed to salvage most of their contents. They're at the back, over here, sir.'
He led Rostov to the rear of the room, where were some twenty scorched metal cabinets had been gathered.
'Much of the contents are singed, sir. The flames got through the metal joints and hinges. And of course, the water and fire spray got everywhere. Ruined most of it.'
'I need a list of all those documents. And what they referred to.'
'It's being prepared now.'
'How long?'
'A week, sir.'
'Too long.'
'A lot of the paper is stuck together. We have to let them dry naturally, we can't force that process.'
'Then get me an index of what you have already identified. Within the hour.'
As Rostov returned to his office, an Aeroflot Ilyushin 62M with four Soloviev D 30KU jet engines strapped to the rear fuselage took off from Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport.
On board were a group of Russian space scientists, some forty of them. They would change planes at Kennedy to an American Airlines Boeing 757 which would transport them to the first joint manned space conference between the USA and the USSR.
The final destination of the Boeing was New Orleans.
Ch. 26
The DDA went through the list that had just been placed in front of him, an index of the files that had been contaminated by the computer virus.
The list, ninety three pages in all, gave little away. It was no more than a list of single line headings that related to events and personnel that the counter-intelligence agencies had been involved in in the European theatre from 1945 to 1958. There were one hundred and twenty lines to the page, over eleven thousand subjects to choose from. Each heading could have between one hundred and five thousand files dealing with that subject. That meant there were between thirty and forty million single items on that segment of the computer being systematically wiped out every time someone switched on the machine.
He put the list down. He'd been through the list four times in the last few days with no idea of what he was looking for.
It was time to open up the game.
He decided not to tell the DDI. He'd object anyway.
He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to get him Phil Nowak on the phone.
'I want to open up to the Russians,' he told Nowak. 'How far will they go?'
'I think they want this resolved as much as we do.'
'Okay, I'm convinced that there is a direct link between the problem on the computers and this attack on our asset base. The fact that Russian agents are also getting hit means we're on the same side. Unless they're pulling a fast one on us.'
'I can't see what they'd gain.'
'Neither can I. I have a list here. Headings of the various files that have been contaminated on the computer. I think we should show them that list.' He heard Nowak draw his breath. 'I know, but I don't think we've an alternative. I would like that list to go through you and your contact. There may just be something that is common to us both, something we can't see without the other half of the puzzle.'
'Is this cleared with the Agency?' Nowak meant the Executive Director.
'Yes.' The DDA didn't add that the Exec had told him he was on his own on this one. But then, if it produced the goods, the DDA wouldn’t give a damn.
'Okay. I'll arrange that.'
'I'll get it sent over. Tell your man, Sorge, what you're going to show him. Give him time to contact Moscow and see if they've got anything to share with us. I want to see how open they are before we're committed.'
'I'll get on to it now.'
The phone went dead and the DDA put his own receiver down, gently placing it on the cradle. Before he had removed his hand it rang sharply. He picked it up once again.
'Yes,' he said.
'Any news?' asked the DDI.
'Nothing,' he lied.
'Where's Dirty Harry?' It was his nickname for the Englishman.
'About to leave for New Orleans.'
'Call me if anything breaks.'
'Of course.'
He put the phone down again. He picked up the list and flicked through the pages.
The answer was in the computer. He suddenly regretted sending Tucker to look after Trimmler. Tucker was a computer man, would have the nose to dig into this thing and get an answer. But it was too late now. What they needed now was a sliver of luck.
Maybe the Russians would provide that.
Or maybe they could just blow the whole thing up in his face.
The phone rang again. It was the Executive Director.
'You better come on up,' said his superior's voice. 'We've got to discuss the President's trip. The one to Berlin.'
BOOK THREE
Ch. 27
The desert landscape had changed and Adam saw rivers now, running like twisted ribbons through the green earth, the sand and water reflecting each other as the sun bounced upwards and glistened in blinding brilliance.
'Very poetic,' he thought as he looked down out of the aircraft window. 'Very bloody poetic.'