“Anything?” asked Kimball.
Leviticus released a long sigh as if to vent fatigue. “Well, there is some damage, and I’ve been at it all night trying not to set off the viruses.”
“Viruses?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen this before from Mossad. They set up their encryptions with pathway viruses. They’re basically a failsafe against hackers who try to appropriate data. If the hacker initiates the virus, then the information is lost.”
“So you know what you’re doing, right?” asked Kimball.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he said, his fingers moving over the keys. “Right now I’m finding openings in the most difficult routes — you know, a gate opening here, a gate opening there — but it’s more of a maze-like path that’s incredibly time consuming to decode by conventional means.”
Kimball rolled his eyes, wishing he wasn’t totally computer illiterate. But he could see Shari wasn’t lost in this communication as her eyes studied the screen without the same look of perplexity as his.
“Are you at least close to bringing this whole thing up?”
“I think so,” he said. “But I do know this. I know whatever is decoded is nothing but photos.”
“How do you know that?” Shari asked.
“Some of the pixel imprints have already come up like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,” he answered plainly.
“I didn’t think photos could be encrypted,” she offered.
“Sure they can. Now the question is: Why would somebody encrypt photos unless they were vital to national security? And if that was true, why attach it to low-level documents such as dossiers?” He continued to type at a rapid pace.
Kimball leaned toward the screen. “Maybe they’re additional photos of the Soldiers of Islam?”
“Not likely,” said Shari. “Why would somebody encrypt some photos and not encrypt others?”
“Well, we’ll soon find out,” Leviticus said, keeping a hovering finger above the ENTER key. “I just want you both to know that one of two things is going to happen. Either the photos will load or the viruses will initiate. With this type of safeguard, I cannot guarantee success.”
“You did the best you could, Leviticus. Go ahead.”
He dropped the finger on the ENTER key and the monitor winked out. A mote of light remained alive in the screen’s center. Just as Leviticus was about to apologize for his failure, the monitor flared up and the pictures began to download. Shari celebrated his success with brief applause. Kimball clapped Leviticus on the shoulder in gratitude of work well done.
The first pictures to load were that of groupings and congregations of men in apparently warm weather climates. No one seemed to be aware their photos were being taken.
In one photograph, the wall in the Gaza Strip could clearly be seen. In another, a tropical beachfront property in which Shari recognized Hector Guerra, who was the leading principal of Venezuela’s leading oil producing conglomerate, the Petróleos de Venezuela or PDVSA, sitting inside the cabana with several foreign dignitaries. The tie between Guerra and the Soldiers of Islam, however, didn’t quite register. So in vague consideration she thought that maybe Obadiah was telling the truth. Perhaps there wasn’t a tie as he suggested. But if that was the case, why send a death squad to get the CD?
She stepped closer to the monitor as the pictures continued to download.
Faces of other dignitaries began to appear on the screen. Vladimir Ostrosky appeared in conversation with Hector Guerra standing along the surf of Guerra’s estate, a drink in each of their hands.
“I don’t get it,” she finally said.
“I don’t either,” said Kimball. “I recognize Vladimir Ostrosky from DUMA, but the other guy—”
“That’s Hector Guerra from the PDVSA.”
“The PDVSA?”
“It’s Venezuela’s oil conglomerate. Mr. Guerra is its minister.”
“So why would a guy from Venezuela’s oil producing giant meet with a man from the Russian Parliament?”
“Good question. But even more so, how does this tie in with the Soldiers of Islam?”
No one had an answer. The pictures continued to load in slow progression.
More recognizable dignitaries from Russia, Venezuela and Israel snapped in congregation. The Israeli principles were from political and military circles. Obadiah was among the gathering seated at a suit-and-tie affair with Ostrosky sitting on one side, Guerra on the other.
The second batch of pictures was that of the Soldiers of Islam in what appeared to be surveillance photos. There were pictures of them coming and going from stores and shops in Ogden, Utah, from their residences, from places of worship, but nothing that shed anything beyond the dossiers.
The third batch was even more intriguing. Maps of Russia, Venezuela, Israel and the Palestinian territories surfaced on the monitor with black amoeba-like shapes that seemed to be overlays spotting the charts.
“Now what is this?” Shari muttered. “We have photos of foreign dignitaries, photos of the terrorists, and maps of — what?”
Leviticus interjected. “I know what they are,” he said. “I’ve seen this before. They’re maps of geological surveys for tracts of oil.”
Kimball and Shari leaned closer to the monitor. “What does this have to do with the Soldiers of Islam?” he asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” she answered.
They waited in silence, watching and hoping that additional photos would provide more insight, but didn’t.
Feeling the pinch of a headache coming on, Shari took a seat and wondered what she was going to tell the president. She had photos that told her little, but in actuality, spoke volumes as to why the pope was kidnapped.
While studying the screen, her cell phone rang. The caller was Alan Thornton. She was to meet with the president and his staff inside the Oval Office within the hour. And this time, Thornton told her, the president wanted answers.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Team Leader walked urgently into Pope Pius’s chamber. And in a deft move that appeared slight-of-hand, produced a key seemingly from thin air and inserted it into the lock of the shackle, undoing the metal cuff. “I want you to watch something,” he said. With little effort Team Leader yanked the pope to his feet and pulled the pontiff so close to him his lips nearly touched the old man’s ear. “Be prepared,” he whispered. “Because you’re not going to like what you’re about to see.”
The pope raised his chin in an act of defiance.
And for the first time, Team Leader noted genuine faith and strength in the man’s eyes. “Good,” he said, and then he led the pope toward the killing chamber.
“That was Alan Thornton,” she said, snapping the cell phone closed. “My presence is needed for an update. Apparently the president is going ‘live’ this afternoon.”
“Be careful,” Kimball said.
She turned to him. “What do I give the president? I can’t give him this,” she said, pointing to the images on the monitor.
“Why not?” said Kimball. “If the president and the Force Elite were trying to get that CD, then there will no longer be a point to further any action against you if you hand it over to the president.”
“But they could also be calling me to the meeting to find out if the data has been interpreted. If they learn it has, then they may send another response team to keep me from delving even deeper.”
“True, but why put you in a position to discover the necessary information only to put you down? It doesn’t make sense.”
“For cosmetics,” she answered. “The president can say that he did his best as an administrator by putting his money player to work. So if my team fails, then the accusing finger points directly at me and not at him. I’ll be the one who’ll end up the scapegoat. But now that I’m getting close, they’re apparently having second thoughts and want to undo what they did. And now that it’s all unraveling, the president needs to cover his tracks before whatever he’s hiding becomes public.”