Deathbyte, p.6
DeathByte, page 6
part #2 of Spies Lie Series
Jon leaned closer. “So? What has that got to do with me?”
She shook her head. “You’re being dense. I need to know what else Willie knows. If he won’t play we may have to end him.”
“No. William is my friend. He’s trustworthy. How far along is the Mossad on the decision to terminate him?” Jon’s voice sounded louder than he’d intended.
She looked away, to the left. He knew she was about to lie. “Look it’s just a threat. We need to know everything William Wing knows. We need to know what she took from him. If he is to live—”
The waiter came with their tumblers of straight-up Lagavulin. They waited until he’d disappeared again. Jon watched her take a deep breath. She looked straight into his eyes, her face close. “Can you find out what he knows? Get him to agree to keep our secrets? Maybe save his life?”
He knew she was manipulating him. The threat couldn’t be real. Or could it? He grimaced as he pondered his next move. “William is my friend. Don’t even try ending him or I’ll be a bigger problem than you think he is. Clear?”
She seemed to reel back in her seat. “Oh? Are you threatening me?”
Jon took a deep breath to clear his head. No, this wasn’t the way to convince her. “Look, I’ll do what I can.” He examined her face as she smiled, relaxing back in her seat.
He seethed and struggled to keep it from showing on his face. He wondered if there was a better way. It would frustrate him to do what he thought might work, but there was no other option he could think of.
She reached out and touched his wrist again. Damn! She’s playing a seductive bitch. He thought of letting her take him to bed. Could he gain leverage against her by doing that? Could he use that leverage as a trade for William’s safety? He knew she wanted to maintain a business relationship with him, but her terms were both confusing and frustrating. She retracted her hand, as if she sensed what he was thinking.
Then he remembered he did have one more issue to press. “Uh, I found some interesting transactions in the repair cue at the bank.” He reached his hand into his pocket and palmed a thumb-drive. Holding her hand, he dropped it within. “Let me know if I should follow these.” Jon reached his hand to hers and held it.
She smiled again. It looked so sincere. But Jon knew she was trained to appear to be what she wasn’t. He tried grinning the same way and she burst out laughing.
* * *
The bar’s crusty, sticky floor reminded Jon of the one they’d visited in London on their first date. He knew she’d be braless underneath her blouse; her breasts were small and it was how she always dressed. He’d keep his distance and try not to think about it.
He got them each a beer and they stood in the back of the room. Ruth took the beer with one hand. Her other hand held his, as if they were a couple. She closed on him fast and snuggled against him. It was no good thinking this was a meeting of professionals if she was going to tease him. And he knew she was enjoying doing it. He finished the beer and told her he was going to get something more to drink. Something stronger. He was sure he’d need it.
The band was a California blues group, the Lara Price Band. Jon had never heard of them, but they were excellent. Price sounded like Billie Holliday, her voice subtle, low-pitched, and nuanced.
He handed her another beer and sipped from the glass of single malt he’d returned with. Ruth placed her arm around Jon’s waist. Her other hand forced him to surrender the Scotch to their table. She drew him onto the dance floor as Price crooned a slow love song. Ruth’s nipples scraped against his shirt through her blouse. She hugged him close on the dance floor and grinded her crotch against his. If she was trying to disorient him, she was successful. He knew it would lead nowhere, except to his bed alone.
She drew his head to her lips with one hand. “I know what you want. And I want it too. But is it more important than the work we do? Are we not patriots?” She released him. They stood apart.
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything. But we can’t have that now, can we? Everything in its own good time.”
Jon shook his head. “I get it now. You want me to do your bidding. Leave William be and I’ll do what you want. Clear?”
She listened to the singer hit a series of spiking high notes. “She’s good. I’m glad you told me about this place.”
Jon nodded, his teeth clenched. “Yeah. Good.”
Had he won this round?
* * *
The remainder of the night was a blur. Jon remembered drinking another Scotch, followed by at least two more, but maybe it was three. Or four. He’d had some difficulty walking, and Ruth had delivered him to his apartment. But after that, events dimmed.
The alarm buzzed and his eyes flew open. His skull felt like there was an axe wedged into it, but as he drew his left hand toward his head, he felt something smooth, soft, and warm against his back. Ruth, naked beside him. He frowned. What else had happened? He got out of bed and looked for a robe. It was a work day and he’d been late yesterday.
She rolled over and got up, facing him. The blanket fell away. “Morning.”
His mouth opened and silence emerged. He staggered to the closet, grabbed a pair of pants and put them on to cover his nakedness.
Her voice dropped several octaves and she feigned his British accent. “And good morning to you, Ms. Cohen.” She grinned. “Uh, Jon, in case you were wondering, we didn’t. No sex. I hadn’t had time to select a hotel, and you were in dire need of help. So I undressed you and placed you in bed. But it was late and I was dead-tired. I tried your couch but it’s too small. So I climbed in after you. You were fast asleep before I undressed. Of course, I wasn’t about to wake you.”
He grimaced and marched into the bathroom. Now he remembered everything. Every moment of their evening was fixed in his mind. He shook his head. She might be his boss, but she’d always be a bat leveyha and treat him as her target.
By the time he climbed out of the shower, she was gone.
Jon dressed and headed to the garage, his cell phone in his hand. He tapped in a phone number and was dropped into voicemail. “William, it’s Jon. Call me tonight. It’s urgent.”
CHAPTER 9
Pacific Ocean,
trade route north of Hawaii
June 25, 7:15 p.m.
Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Cassandra Sashakovich sat under the canvas cover of one of the trawler lifeboats and waited for the sun to set. The ship she’d stowed away on glided smoothly east through rough seas. Just before boarding, she’d used one of her credit cards to leave a false trail in Hong Kong. She touched her belly. The baby bump from her rape by the man sent to assassinate her was becoming more noticeable.
She’d strangled him. That was almost five months ago. Her breasts ached, full of milk she was sure she shouldn’t yet be producing.
She lay prone inside the covered dinghy and twisted to the side as she retched her lunch into a plastic bag. The heat under the canvas cover was unbearable. The odor of her vomit mixed with soured breast milk and stale perspiration within her tee shirt. She puked again.
She heard one of the crew making rounds nearby and she clenched her jaw closed against the urge to dry-heave. When she was sure the sailor was gone, she took a deep breath, thinking how Hell might be a preferable place. According to her wristwatch, she had just a few more days before they reached San Francisco, her destination. She vowed to hold on to her sanity.
* * *
William Wing heard his cell buzzing, but wasn’t about to answer it. He lay spread-eagled, with Lily’s body grinding against his. She rode him like a jockey, slapped his face again and again as she bounced against him. He held one of her breasts in each hand, and squeezed them as she moaned. Was it show or was it real? Since he paid by the hour, did it matter?
As he felt himself cresting, she coaxed him. “That’s right, baby. Do me harder. I’m getting close.” She pinched his nipples, tormenting him, her fingernails digging in. “Oh, oh yeah.”
He knew she could feel him pulsing into her. She smiled and dismounted. Walking naked to the bedroom window, she looked into the harbor below. “Little Wing, why do you not have a bigger apartment? Surely, you can afford better than this.”
He pulled on his underwear and socks. “You know I hate it when you call me that. Don’t need better. If I wanted better, I could move back to Beijing.”
She turned and faced him. “Whatever.” She walked to the pile of clothing on the floor and picked up her panties and bra. “My father owns two restaurants. You own nothing.”
He pulled several bills from his wallet and placed them at the edge of the bed. “I don’t need to own. I rent. Here’s yours.”
She shook her head. “You pay me well enough, but it is better to own.” She finished buttoning her sundress and pocketed the cash in her purse. “You can afford to own. Think about it.”
He nodded, zipping up his pants. Was she proposing marriage? He wasn’t interested. “Are you free tomorrow night?”
She nodded back. “Same time. Yes.”
He heard her close the door as she left. Finishing the top button of his Oxford shirt, he picked up the cell phone and viewed the unanswered phone call on its screen. “Damn.”
* * *
About the time the elevator doors opened on his apartment’s floor, Jon’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He stared at the screen. “Ah, William. Thanks.”
“What’s so damn important?”
“Remember that little project you did for me and mine a while ago?” He unlocked his apartment door, entered, and closed it behind him.
“You mean the one your Mother had me do? The one that caused that bitch to steal my equipment? All my files? My entire life? Yes. So?”
“My handler thinks you might become a threat. She asked me to assess the risk you pose. I—”
“You what?” William’s voice was a loud bellow. It was the first time Jon ever heard the hacker raise his voice. “You think I might be a risk?”
“Please, calm down. Not me. But since you aren’t interested in working with us, they worry about the vast amount of knowledge you have about our operations.”
“Well, fuck you very much, Jon. Look, our arrangement is a standoff. If I pull the trigger on you guys, I’d be exposing what I did for you, and that would get me killed. My father would have me murdered in order to survive. His government in Beijing terminates traitors.
“Jon, you must know by now I have a ‘life insurance policy.’ If I go missing or die, everything that was in my computer goes public in a big way. Don’t tell me you didn’t realize that. So let me remind you that you guys need to keep me alive. I’m not suicidal. Like you.”
Jon placed his keys on the tiny end table in his dining area. He loosened his tie. “Right. Well, remember, you were the one who told me to give my handlers the file you hacked from the US intelligence agency where the little thief used to work. Now I need to know if there’s anything you didn’t tell us.” He sat at the tiny dinner table.
William’s voice was once again at its normal level. “I copied her entire file from the agency. She’s good, a decent hacker, but not in my league. From her file I know she was trained to handle herself in dangerous situations. My guess is she’s able to kill without thinking about it. She popped the locks on my front door. From the lack of any markings, she used a bump key. So she’s a burglar. Remember the video I gave you? She’s efficient and fast. She devastated my life in less than five minutes.”
“And yet, she missed the new technology cam on your kitchen table.”
“Jon, I have cams mounted in places no one would ever suspect. Many are dummies. And yet, she missed just that one. There was no way for her to know what it really was. What you should be worried about is that she took several years of data from various operations, including all those I’ve done for you and the rest of Mossad. Now, she has all that. Luckily, I have offsite backups. But she may also know about them. So I moved the backups to other offshore servers that night.”
Jon grabbed a frozen dinner from the freezer and pushed it into the microwave. He paced to the table. “I assume there’s a photo in the file you hacked. What’s she look like?”
“Brunette, military buzz-cut, about five-foot-seven and so thin I could almost see through her. Athletic, muscular build. Probably about forty-five kilos. From her photo, I think she has a pretty face.”
The microwave bell rang. Jon picked the dinner out and grabbed a fork. “What else do you know? Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
“Well. Uh, yeah. I was curious. I don’t normally read client files, but because she’s dangerous, I read every one of the tech files I stole from your Silicon Valley chip manufacturer. They’re very interesting. Seems the blueprints are for a nanobug. It’s called Bug-Lok.”
Jon stopped the fork just before a load of food could enter his mouth, “Huh?”
“A nanobug. An ingestible, injectable listening device, so small it wouldn’t ever be noticed, not even in autopsy. And it comes configured with a transmitter, a GPS, and has an optional compartment to carry a small amount of a new ricin derivative. To kill the person carrying it after they’ve served their purpose. It’s designed to find its way into the bloodstream, work its way upstairs, locate and connect to the auditory and visual centers in the brainstem using a chemical binder. Understand?”
Jon swallowed a bite of stew. “No. Wouldn’t that be a pretty big device?”
“Not any more. Whoever designed this made it one-twentieth the size of the head of a pin. It’s way past the state of the art. So I think it’s your guys who designed it. DARPA was defunded years ago. All they do now is manage projects and subcontract advanced weapons manufacture. Sounds like the Americans called your Ness Ziona folks and had them craft the device. And then, before they had to pay the Ness Ziona, they stole it. And sent it to Stillwater Technologies to manufacture.”
Jon dropped the fork on a napkin. “Damn.” He thought for a second. “Show me. Do you have the documentation?”
William said nothing. Jon waited. “Yeah. I have a video of one of the tests. I’ll send it to your phone.” Jon heard William terminate the connection.
In less than a minute, His cell beeped. Jon watched the video and listened to a researcher with an Israeli accent. “Lev Robinson, May 26, 4:30 p.m. We administered Bug-Lok to the subject via a halal tuna fish sandwich. Prisoner 367-BL-22, Bug-Lok sample lot 26 aleph. In two hours, we could see this from the Bug-Lok, left side of split screen, and this from the helmet monitor the subject was wearing, right side of screen.” The images were roughly the same, with the colors more saturated coming from the helmet cam. “Listen to the sounds the subject hears.” Jon heard a train whistle and some rock music. “Now, listen to the same sounds recorded in the room.” He couldn’t tell the difference.
This device was far beyond any spy tool he’d ever heard about before. He wondered how much it would change the intelligence world. And the answers came flooding into his mind in a rush. There will be no way for anyone to conceal secrets. No way to lie. Enemies can be found with ease, and their truths unveiled without interrogation. He hated being lied to, but Bug-Lok would stop that. His handlers would continue running spies like him without worry he’d keep the truth from them.
Worse, competing intelligence communities would use it against each other and against the leaders of enemy countries. Who could be so stupid as to think this would remain the exclusive domain of the country that developed it? He wondered if Greenfield’s agency had officially gained the blessing of the United States government. Almost certainly not. Deniability.
His cell buzzed as the video ended. William said, “I have another video. You have to see this. I’ll send it to your phone.”
Jon heard another beep and opened the file. A short, bearded man in his early thirties wore a lab coat and stood facing the camera, pointing toward a large screen television. “Prisoner 367-Bet-Gimel-22, is playing solitaire.” The scientist must be Lev Robinson. The scientist pressed a button on a remote control. “I’ve just administered the terminal dose of the ricin derivative. It should take only ten seconds to begin acting on the subject.” Jon saw the prisoner’s face grow red, saw his hands whip to his throat, and watched as the man’s eyes bulged. The prisoner fell to the floor and convulsed for several seconds. Robinson announced, “His pulse is now zero. His body temperature is steady, no, falling one-fiftieth of a degree.” The video ended.
Jon knew he’d have to do whatever it took to contain this. He was sure he’d need William to play a key role. “Okay. Listen, in order for me to convince my handler that you’re still sincere about protecting our secrets, you need to tell me you’ll continue working with us. Got it? So, please, please tell me you will. Even if it isn’t true.”
“Sheesh, Jon. I don’t do danger.”
“Yeah. There is that. Maybe I can find a role where you can help us exclusively as a hacker. Okay?”
“You owe me. Not just as your friend.” William terminated the call.
Now Jon would have to contact Ruth again.
CHAPTER 10
Neue Trading Company,
211 Oranienburger Strasse, second floor,
Berlin, Germany
June 26, 4:46 p.m.
Ruth Cohen sat in her office, the late afternoon sun lighting her desk through the window across the plaza from the Neue Synagoge. She read the arriving email and cursed. So Willie Wing knows everything. And worse, so does a rogue operative of Greenfield’s agency. Oh, fuck. She reached into the inbox on her desk and fingered the bill of lading containing an encrypted message. It took her less than five minutes to decode. Now she had a record of all William Wing’s bank accounts. Most were numbered, but Michael Drapoff was an excellent yahalom and a better heth, logistician. It had only taken him hours to find them for her. She paced her office and pulled out her cell phone. “It’s Cohen, ID number BSC-7081. Get me Mother.”
The call terminated and she walked to the window as she waited, looking out at the Spandauer Vorstadt. Nearly eighty years ago, Adolf Hitler rode in a parade celebrating the incarceration of Jews in concentration camps before the start of World War Two. Ruth believed it could happen again.
She shook her head. “You’re being dense. I need to know what else Willie knows. If he won’t play we may have to end him.”
“No. William is my friend. He’s trustworthy. How far along is the Mossad on the decision to terminate him?” Jon’s voice sounded louder than he’d intended.
She looked away, to the left. He knew she was about to lie. “Look it’s just a threat. We need to know everything William Wing knows. We need to know what she took from him. If he is to live—”
The waiter came with their tumblers of straight-up Lagavulin. They waited until he’d disappeared again. Jon watched her take a deep breath. She looked straight into his eyes, her face close. “Can you find out what he knows? Get him to agree to keep our secrets? Maybe save his life?”
He knew she was manipulating him. The threat couldn’t be real. Or could it? He grimaced as he pondered his next move. “William is my friend. Don’t even try ending him or I’ll be a bigger problem than you think he is. Clear?”
She seemed to reel back in her seat. “Oh? Are you threatening me?”
Jon took a deep breath to clear his head. No, this wasn’t the way to convince her. “Look, I’ll do what I can.” He examined her face as she smiled, relaxing back in her seat.
He seethed and struggled to keep it from showing on his face. He wondered if there was a better way. It would frustrate him to do what he thought might work, but there was no other option he could think of.
She reached out and touched his wrist again. Damn! She’s playing a seductive bitch. He thought of letting her take him to bed. Could he gain leverage against her by doing that? Could he use that leverage as a trade for William’s safety? He knew she wanted to maintain a business relationship with him, but her terms were both confusing and frustrating. She retracted her hand, as if she sensed what he was thinking.
Then he remembered he did have one more issue to press. “Uh, I found some interesting transactions in the repair cue at the bank.” He reached his hand into his pocket and palmed a thumb-drive. Holding her hand, he dropped it within. “Let me know if I should follow these.” Jon reached his hand to hers and held it.
She smiled again. It looked so sincere. But Jon knew she was trained to appear to be what she wasn’t. He tried grinning the same way and she burst out laughing.
* * *
The bar’s crusty, sticky floor reminded Jon of the one they’d visited in London on their first date. He knew she’d be braless underneath her blouse; her breasts were small and it was how she always dressed. He’d keep his distance and try not to think about it.
He got them each a beer and they stood in the back of the room. Ruth took the beer with one hand. Her other hand held his, as if they were a couple. She closed on him fast and snuggled against him. It was no good thinking this was a meeting of professionals if she was going to tease him. And he knew she was enjoying doing it. He finished the beer and told her he was going to get something more to drink. Something stronger. He was sure he’d need it.
The band was a California blues group, the Lara Price Band. Jon had never heard of them, but they were excellent. Price sounded like Billie Holliday, her voice subtle, low-pitched, and nuanced.
He handed her another beer and sipped from the glass of single malt he’d returned with. Ruth placed her arm around Jon’s waist. Her other hand forced him to surrender the Scotch to their table. She drew him onto the dance floor as Price crooned a slow love song. Ruth’s nipples scraped against his shirt through her blouse. She hugged him close on the dance floor and grinded her crotch against his. If she was trying to disorient him, she was successful. He knew it would lead nowhere, except to his bed alone.
She drew his head to her lips with one hand. “I know what you want. And I want it too. But is it more important than the work we do? Are we not patriots?” She released him. They stood apart.
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything. But we can’t have that now, can we? Everything in its own good time.”
Jon shook his head. “I get it now. You want me to do your bidding. Leave William be and I’ll do what you want. Clear?”
She listened to the singer hit a series of spiking high notes. “She’s good. I’m glad you told me about this place.”
Jon nodded, his teeth clenched. “Yeah. Good.”
Had he won this round?
* * *
The remainder of the night was a blur. Jon remembered drinking another Scotch, followed by at least two more, but maybe it was three. Or four. He’d had some difficulty walking, and Ruth had delivered him to his apartment. But after that, events dimmed.
The alarm buzzed and his eyes flew open. His skull felt like there was an axe wedged into it, but as he drew his left hand toward his head, he felt something smooth, soft, and warm against his back. Ruth, naked beside him. He frowned. What else had happened? He got out of bed and looked for a robe. It was a work day and he’d been late yesterday.
She rolled over and got up, facing him. The blanket fell away. “Morning.”
His mouth opened and silence emerged. He staggered to the closet, grabbed a pair of pants and put them on to cover his nakedness.
Her voice dropped several octaves and she feigned his British accent. “And good morning to you, Ms. Cohen.” She grinned. “Uh, Jon, in case you were wondering, we didn’t. No sex. I hadn’t had time to select a hotel, and you were in dire need of help. So I undressed you and placed you in bed. But it was late and I was dead-tired. I tried your couch but it’s too small. So I climbed in after you. You were fast asleep before I undressed. Of course, I wasn’t about to wake you.”
He grimaced and marched into the bathroom. Now he remembered everything. Every moment of their evening was fixed in his mind. He shook his head. She might be his boss, but she’d always be a bat leveyha and treat him as her target.
By the time he climbed out of the shower, she was gone.
Jon dressed and headed to the garage, his cell phone in his hand. He tapped in a phone number and was dropped into voicemail. “William, it’s Jon. Call me tonight. It’s urgent.”
CHAPTER 9
Pacific Ocean,
trade route north of Hawaii
June 25, 7:15 p.m.
Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Cassandra Sashakovich sat under the canvas cover of one of the trawler lifeboats and waited for the sun to set. The ship she’d stowed away on glided smoothly east through rough seas. Just before boarding, she’d used one of her credit cards to leave a false trail in Hong Kong. She touched her belly. The baby bump from her rape by the man sent to assassinate her was becoming more noticeable.
She’d strangled him. That was almost five months ago. Her breasts ached, full of milk she was sure she shouldn’t yet be producing.
She lay prone inside the covered dinghy and twisted to the side as she retched her lunch into a plastic bag. The heat under the canvas cover was unbearable. The odor of her vomit mixed with soured breast milk and stale perspiration within her tee shirt. She puked again.
She heard one of the crew making rounds nearby and she clenched her jaw closed against the urge to dry-heave. When she was sure the sailor was gone, she took a deep breath, thinking how Hell might be a preferable place. According to her wristwatch, she had just a few more days before they reached San Francisco, her destination. She vowed to hold on to her sanity.
* * *
William Wing heard his cell buzzing, but wasn’t about to answer it. He lay spread-eagled, with Lily’s body grinding against his. She rode him like a jockey, slapped his face again and again as she bounced against him. He held one of her breasts in each hand, and squeezed them as she moaned. Was it show or was it real? Since he paid by the hour, did it matter?
As he felt himself cresting, she coaxed him. “That’s right, baby. Do me harder. I’m getting close.” She pinched his nipples, tormenting him, her fingernails digging in. “Oh, oh yeah.”
He knew she could feel him pulsing into her. She smiled and dismounted. Walking naked to the bedroom window, she looked into the harbor below. “Little Wing, why do you not have a bigger apartment? Surely, you can afford better than this.”
He pulled on his underwear and socks. “You know I hate it when you call me that. Don’t need better. If I wanted better, I could move back to Beijing.”
She turned and faced him. “Whatever.” She walked to the pile of clothing on the floor and picked up her panties and bra. “My father owns two restaurants. You own nothing.”
He pulled several bills from his wallet and placed them at the edge of the bed. “I don’t need to own. I rent. Here’s yours.”
She shook her head. “You pay me well enough, but it is better to own.” She finished buttoning her sundress and pocketed the cash in her purse. “You can afford to own. Think about it.”
He nodded, zipping up his pants. Was she proposing marriage? He wasn’t interested. “Are you free tomorrow night?”
She nodded back. “Same time. Yes.”
He heard her close the door as she left. Finishing the top button of his Oxford shirt, he picked up the cell phone and viewed the unanswered phone call on its screen. “Damn.”
* * *
About the time the elevator doors opened on his apartment’s floor, Jon’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He stared at the screen. “Ah, William. Thanks.”
“What’s so damn important?”
“Remember that little project you did for me and mine a while ago?” He unlocked his apartment door, entered, and closed it behind him.
“You mean the one your Mother had me do? The one that caused that bitch to steal my equipment? All my files? My entire life? Yes. So?”
“My handler thinks you might become a threat. She asked me to assess the risk you pose. I—”
“You what?” William’s voice was a loud bellow. It was the first time Jon ever heard the hacker raise his voice. “You think I might be a risk?”
“Please, calm down. Not me. But since you aren’t interested in working with us, they worry about the vast amount of knowledge you have about our operations.”
“Well, fuck you very much, Jon. Look, our arrangement is a standoff. If I pull the trigger on you guys, I’d be exposing what I did for you, and that would get me killed. My father would have me murdered in order to survive. His government in Beijing terminates traitors.
“Jon, you must know by now I have a ‘life insurance policy.’ If I go missing or die, everything that was in my computer goes public in a big way. Don’t tell me you didn’t realize that. So let me remind you that you guys need to keep me alive. I’m not suicidal. Like you.”
Jon placed his keys on the tiny end table in his dining area. He loosened his tie. “Right. Well, remember, you were the one who told me to give my handlers the file you hacked from the US intelligence agency where the little thief used to work. Now I need to know if there’s anything you didn’t tell us.” He sat at the tiny dinner table.
William’s voice was once again at its normal level. “I copied her entire file from the agency. She’s good, a decent hacker, but not in my league. From her file I know she was trained to handle herself in dangerous situations. My guess is she’s able to kill without thinking about it. She popped the locks on my front door. From the lack of any markings, she used a bump key. So she’s a burglar. Remember the video I gave you? She’s efficient and fast. She devastated my life in less than five minutes.”
“And yet, she missed the new technology cam on your kitchen table.”
“Jon, I have cams mounted in places no one would ever suspect. Many are dummies. And yet, she missed just that one. There was no way for her to know what it really was. What you should be worried about is that she took several years of data from various operations, including all those I’ve done for you and the rest of Mossad. Now, she has all that. Luckily, I have offsite backups. But she may also know about them. So I moved the backups to other offshore servers that night.”
Jon grabbed a frozen dinner from the freezer and pushed it into the microwave. He paced to the table. “I assume there’s a photo in the file you hacked. What’s she look like?”
“Brunette, military buzz-cut, about five-foot-seven and so thin I could almost see through her. Athletic, muscular build. Probably about forty-five kilos. From her photo, I think she has a pretty face.”
The microwave bell rang. Jon picked the dinner out and grabbed a fork. “What else do you know? Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
“Well. Uh, yeah. I was curious. I don’t normally read client files, but because she’s dangerous, I read every one of the tech files I stole from your Silicon Valley chip manufacturer. They’re very interesting. Seems the blueprints are for a nanobug. It’s called Bug-Lok.”
Jon stopped the fork just before a load of food could enter his mouth, “Huh?”
“A nanobug. An ingestible, injectable listening device, so small it wouldn’t ever be noticed, not even in autopsy. And it comes configured with a transmitter, a GPS, and has an optional compartment to carry a small amount of a new ricin derivative. To kill the person carrying it after they’ve served their purpose. It’s designed to find its way into the bloodstream, work its way upstairs, locate and connect to the auditory and visual centers in the brainstem using a chemical binder. Understand?”
Jon swallowed a bite of stew. “No. Wouldn’t that be a pretty big device?”
“Not any more. Whoever designed this made it one-twentieth the size of the head of a pin. It’s way past the state of the art. So I think it’s your guys who designed it. DARPA was defunded years ago. All they do now is manage projects and subcontract advanced weapons manufacture. Sounds like the Americans called your Ness Ziona folks and had them craft the device. And then, before they had to pay the Ness Ziona, they stole it. And sent it to Stillwater Technologies to manufacture.”
Jon dropped the fork on a napkin. “Damn.” He thought for a second. “Show me. Do you have the documentation?”
William said nothing. Jon waited. “Yeah. I have a video of one of the tests. I’ll send it to your phone.” Jon heard William terminate the connection.
In less than a minute, His cell beeped. Jon watched the video and listened to a researcher with an Israeli accent. “Lev Robinson, May 26, 4:30 p.m. We administered Bug-Lok to the subject via a halal tuna fish sandwich. Prisoner 367-BL-22, Bug-Lok sample lot 26 aleph. In two hours, we could see this from the Bug-Lok, left side of split screen, and this from the helmet monitor the subject was wearing, right side of screen.” The images were roughly the same, with the colors more saturated coming from the helmet cam. “Listen to the sounds the subject hears.” Jon heard a train whistle and some rock music. “Now, listen to the same sounds recorded in the room.” He couldn’t tell the difference.
This device was far beyond any spy tool he’d ever heard about before. He wondered how much it would change the intelligence world. And the answers came flooding into his mind in a rush. There will be no way for anyone to conceal secrets. No way to lie. Enemies can be found with ease, and their truths unveiled without interrogation. He hated being lied to, but Bug-Lok would stop that. His handlers would continue running spies like him without worry he’d keep the truth from them.
Worse, competing intelligence communities would use it against each other and against the leaders of enemy countries. Who could be so stupid as to think this would remain the exclusive domain of the country that developed it? He wondered if Greenfield’s agency had officially gained the blessing of the United States government. Almost certainly not. Deniability.
His cell buzzed as the video ended. William said, “I have another video. You have to see this. I’ll send it to your phone.”
Jon heard another beep and opened the file. A short, bearded man in his early thirties wore a lab coat and stood facing the camera, pointing toward a large screen television. “Prisoner 367-Bet-Gimel-22, is playing solitaire.” The scientist must be Lev Robinson. The scientist pressed a button on a remote control. “I’ve just administered the terminal dose of the ricin derivative. It should take only ten seconds to begin acting on the subject.” Jon saw the prisoner’s face grow red, saw his hands whip to his throat, and watched as the man’s eyes bulged. The prisoner fell to the floor and convulsed for several seconds. Robinson announced, “His pulse is now zero. His body temperature is steady, no, falling one-fiftieth of a degree.” The video ended.
Jon knew he’d have to do whatever it took to contain this. He was sure he’d need William to play a key role. “Okay. Listen, in order for me to convince my handler that you’re still sincere about protecting our secrets, you need to tell me you’ll continue working with us. Got it? So, please, please tell me you will. Even if it isn’t true.”
“Sheesh, Jon. I don’t do danger.”
“Yeah. There is that. Maybe I can find a role where you can help us exclusively as a hacker. Okay?”
“You owe me. Not just as your friend.” William terminated the call.
Now Jon would have to contact Ruth again.
CHAPTER 10
Neue Trading Company,
211 Oranienburger Strasse, second floor,
Berlin, Germany
June 26, 4:46 p.m.
Ruth Cohen sat in her office, the late afternoon sun lighting her desk through the window across the plaza from the Neue Synagoge. She read the arriving email and cursed. So Willie Wing knows everything. And worse, so does a rogue operative of Greenfield’s agency. Oh, fuck. She reached into the inbox on her desk and fingered the bill of lading containing an encrypted message. It took her less than five minutes to decode. Now she had a record of all William Wing’s bank accounts. Most were numbered, but Michael Drapoff was an excellent yahalom and a better heth, logistician. It had only taken him hours to find them for her. She paced her office and pulled out her cell phone. “It’s Cohen, ID number BSC-7081. Get me Mother.”
The call terminated and she walked to the window as she waited, looking out at the Spandauer Vorstadt. Nearly eighty years ago, Adolf Hitler rode in a parade celebrating the incarceration of Jews in concentration camps before the start of World War Two. Ruth believed it could happen again.
