Independence Day (43 page)

Cloud found the point of intrusion. First, his opponent had discovered an error in one of the networks Cloud had used to send one of his attacks.

Once his opponent discovered the error, he went directly after the jugular, seeking to break the encryption algorithm that safeguarded all of Cloud’s network. The attacker had employed a so-called brute-force attack. Armed with a vast amount of computing power, the person or institution had eventually broken his encryption key by systematically enumerating all possible variants of the encryption key until finding the right one.

Now that he was in, there was no way to get him out. His attacker had already commandeered the network and architected a new layer of encryption, which he, not Cloud, controlled.

“How did he get in?” asked Sascha.

“A fucking fencepost error,” said Cloud, shaking his head in disgust.

“I’ll do a registry scan,” said Sascha, beginning to type. “Send me the bad code.”

“It’s no use. He broke the key.”

Cloud watched a separate screen, which displayed security flags. One by one, so fast he barely had time to read the individual lines of code, his DNS addresses were taken over. Whoever was out there was now commandeering every computer and every program Cloud possessed.

“Mother of God,” said Sascha. “It’s like a tidal wave.”

Whoever it was wanted him to believe they worked for Alexei Malnikov. Perhaps they did work for Malnikov. But Cloud doubted the Russian mobster cared about the money, certainly not enough to invest in the sort of sophisticated attack that just broke through his defenses and brought down his network. Even the response, “the money,” gave him pause; he knew Alexei Malnikov would rather kill him than get his money back.

It had to be the United States. Langley.

Cloud turned on his cell, making sure he could use it to continue the dialogue with the attacker. He typed into the phone:

I want to cut a deal

He looked at his computer to see if the phone was still working. On the screen, his words were displayed exactly as they had been written:

X:\Users\CX7-44>              I want to cut a deal

Cloud stood up.

“Leave everything,” he said to Sascha. “Leave it all, exactly as it is.”

*   *   *

Dewey opened the Ferrari’s glove compartment. There were four handguns inside. All were the same: Desert Eagle .50 AE. He grabbed one of the guns, then popped the mag, making sure it was full. He grabbed an extra mag and stuffed it in his pocket.

“We need to loop in Hector,” said Dewey.

“The time is now, Dewey,” said Malnikov. “We call Hector and all of a sudden it’s five minutes from now.”

Dewey stared at the windshield as rain pelted the glass. He knew they needed to tie in Hector, yet he knew Malnikov was right. It would take time they didn’t have. There wasn’t anything Hector could tell them that would alter the plan right now, anyway.

“One of us stays here,” said Dewey.

“We both go in.”

“No,” said Dewey. “One of us needs to watch the exits. That’s you. Remember, we need him alive.”

Though angry, Malnikov nodded. He reached for the door pocket and pulled out another cell.

“Here,” he said. “Speed dial one is me.”

Dewey opened the door and charged toward the building.

*   *   *

Cloud picked up his gun. He walked to the window. On the street, a block away, he saw the bright cherry red of a Ferrari. They were here already.

“But Cloud,” said Sascha, “if we don’t at least wipe it—”

“Leave it,” snapped Cloud. “Don’t even sign off. They’re inside. They know precisely where we are. We couldn’t wipe it if we wanted to.”

Sascha picked up his backpack and started running to the door. Cloud followed. Sascha held the door open for Cloud. As Cloud approached, he raised his arm and aimed the gun at Sascha.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Cloud. “You will only slow me down.”

He fired. The slug struck Sascha in the chest, dropping him. Blood rapidly spread out in a dark pancake through his shirt. Sascha appeared neither surprised nor angry.

From the ground, he looked up at Cloud, staring for a final moment, then shut his eyes.

Cloud heard his phone chime.

C:\Users\002>              I don’t negotiate

Cloud stepped into the stairwell, clutching the gun, staring at the screen. He descended to the next landing, then stopped and typed:

I’ll tell you where the bomb is going but I want something in return

C:\Users\002>              what do you want?

Cloud didn’t answer. He pocketed the phone, then ran down the stairs toward the basement.

*   *   *

Dewey sprinted toward the building’s entrance. He pulled open the door and was standing in a dim stairwell, lit by a single lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling of the top floor, four flights up.

Dewey scanned the landing, gun out, water dripping from his hair and face. The entrance was quiet and deserted, and yet he’d heard something. Or had he?

The only lights in the building had come from the top-floor windows. Yet Dewey stared down the stairs toward the basement.

*   *   *

Cloud entered the basement seconds before he heard the door to the building open. He was panting. His heart was beating fast. He lurched behind the wall, raising the gun, then peeked out. It was Andreas.

The American had an angry look on his face as he entered the building. His gun was raised, trained out in front of him, the muzzle moving in time with his eyes, which scanned the entrance area.

Cloud studied him as he looked around the first-floor landing. Cloud’s hands were trembling. He heard Andreas’s footsteps just above his head as he opened the door to the first floor, searching for him.

Should I kill him?

Cloud remained still, in the basement, hiding against the concrete wall, waiting for Andreas to come back. Then, from above, he heard more footsteps, then the sound of the door shutting. He peered out. He saw one of Andreas’s legs, then the rest of his body came into view. Suddenly, his eyes shot down toward him, as if he’d sensed him there. Cloud remained still, holding his breath.

No. He would win that battle. Before you have time to aim and fire, a bullet will rip through you. He won’t kill you, not yet anyway. Not until he tortures the information out of you.

Cloud remembered the cell phone in his pocket. He’d forgotten to turn off the ringer. The conversation with the hacker. If he received a message now, the chime would be loud enough for Andreas to hear. Yet if he moved his arm to shut it off, even the faintest scratch of friction might be caught by the American …

Cloud held the gun tight, wanting nothing more than to not drop it or make a noise.

Gently, he slipped his left hand into his pocket and turned off the phone’s ringer, keeping his eyes on the landing one flight above.

Andreas’s eyes stared into the dark stairwell for another two or three seconds. It felt like an eternity. Then he turned and moved out of view.

*   *   *

Dewey opened the door to the first floor.

The room was empty and dark. He glanced down toward the basement, seeing nothing but darkness. He climbed the stairs, moving floor by floor. At the second floor, he opened the door. It too was empty. When he opened the door to the third floor, heat escaped from the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw hundreds of computer servers, stacked together in rows, with large coils of black cable interspersed between them. Their pulsing lights casting a red and green hue.

Dewey climbed the stairs to the top floor. Quietly, he twisted the door handle and opened the steel door.

He entered quickly, gun raised, sweeping the muzzle of the Desert Eagle .50 AE across the air as his eyes scanned for movement. The room was large, mostly empty, except for tables, a few chairs, and computers.

Then he registered the corpse on the ground. It was the man he’d seen in front of the safe house. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing, his chest was drenched in red.

Dewey moved into the room. He held the gun out in front, searching corner to corner, but the room was empty. Cloud was gone.

*   *   *

Cloud waited several minutes, listening for the sound of doors opening and closing as Andreas ascended. When he heard the door to the third floor open, then close, then heard the faint pounding of footsteps climbing to the fourth floor, he ran across the garage to the wall nearest the exit. A steel box was bolted to the wall. He opened it, then took out his cell phone and trained its light on the inside of the box. There were four red switches. Their purpose was simple: they controlled the fire doors to each floor.

In one fluid motion, Cloud flipped all four switches. Even from the basement, he heard the faint slamming of steel from the floors above as the dead bolts locked the fire doors on each floor.

He went to his motorcycle, pulled on the helmet, and raised the kickstand. He turned the ignition key. The Ducati roared to life. He juiced it once. The sound of raw power exploded across the windowless basement. Cloud flipped on the lights, then scorched out of the building into the rainy night.

*   *   *

The silence was interrupted by the sound of metal slamming into metal, like a hammer striking an anvil.

The unmistakable sound of dead bolts slamming shut.

Dewey walked to the door. It was sealed tight. He pulled his cell from his pocket as he moved back toward the exit. He pressed 1 and held the button down, speed-dialing Malnikov.

“Do you have him?” asked Malnikov.

“He’s not here,” said Dewey. “And I’m locked in.”

“I’ll be right up—”

Malnikov’s words were interrupted by a high-pitched squealing noise: the unmistakable screech of rubber ripping too fast against tar.

Dewey ran to the window and looked to the street below. Through the rain, he saw the orange of a motorcycle breaking from the building’s basement.

“He went out a side entrance,” said Dewey. “You need to move. Go up a block, then left.
Follow him.
”

“I’m on it.”

Dewey watched as Cloud sped up a side street into the rain-crossed darkness. A few seconds later, the red Ferrari burst around the corner after him.

*   *   *

“Are you sure he got it?” asked Calibrisi, referring to Igor’s last message.

“Yes, I’m sure. He also read it.”

Calibrisi glanced at Polk.

“Any ideas?” asked Calibrisi.

“It’s time to sacrifice our queen,” said Polk.

Calibrisi nodded.

“Tell Igor to offer up Katya,” said Calibrisi, picking up the phone. “Control, get Derek Chalmers on the line.”

*   *   *

Chalmers was seated in front of the fireplace when his cell rang. Despite the fact that it was July, the temperature in Scotland, aided by the rainstorm, remained in the fifties, and so he’d built a fire. Katya was downstairs. After two six-hour sessions, Chalmers was allowing her to sleep for a few hours, though the truth was, he didn’t think there was much more to find.

“Chalmers.”

“It’s Hector.”

“Hello, Hector.”

“We found him. He wants to do a deal.”

Chalmers stood up.

“Hector, I don’t need to tell you the criticality of not being played,” said Chalmers.

“No, you don’t. But I’m going to offer him something in exchange for the bomb.”

The door to the basement suddenly opened. Katya slowly popped her head out. She smiled at Chalmers.

“I’ll have her ready,” said Chalmers. “One question though: What happens after he tells you where the bomb is?”

Calibrisi was silent. Both men knew the answer. The moment the bomb was stopped, Cloud would die, and it would likely be a strike from a drone high in the sky. The collateral damage would destroy anyone within fifty feet of Cloud.

“Don’t you get played either,” said Calibrisi. “It’s unavoidable. I’ll let you know what he says, but in the meantime, I’d get airborne.”

“And go where?”

“Set a course for Moscow. I’ll have the secretary of state arrange the permissions.”

“Does Russia know about the bomb?”

“No. As far as they’re concerned, we’re simply returning their ballerina.”

“At this point, why not tell them?” asked Chalmers.

“Because I’m not a hundred percent sure they’d want to stop the bomb.”

*   *   *

Dewey searched for another way out of the room. In the far corner was another door, but it too was bolted shut. He tried to kick open each of the doors, but it was futile. He was trapped.

He went to the window and looked out, trying to think of a way out.

Glancing around, he saw cables linking the different computers and screens together. There weren’t many, but perhaps there were enough to lower himself at least another floor, maybe two, and then jump.

He raised the gun, aimed at the window, and fired. The slug tore into the window and made a dull thump, and that was all. He fired again, same spot, same thud. Then again. This time the slug hit the embedded slug and ricocheted. He fired again and again, until the mag was spent.

“Fuck!” he yelled, hurling the gun against the glass.

He called Malnikov.

“Talk fast,” said Malnikov.

“I can’t get out,” said Dewey. “The windows are bulletproof. The doors are bolted shut.”

“Can you get to the roof?”

Dewey looked up.

“Maybe.”

88

IN THE AIR

OVER THE NORTH SEA

One of the pilots looked back from the cockpit.

“There’s an alarm going off in the loo, Derek,” said the pilot.

Chalmers unlatched himself from his seat. He stood up and walked to the rear of the jet. He knocked on the door to the restroom.

“Katya?” he asked. “Is everything all right?”

Katya didn’t respond. This time, Chalmers banged harder.

“
Katya!
”

Both pilots emerged from the cockpit.

“Where’s the key?” barked Chalmers.

One pilot charged to the door and inserted a key. Chalmers tried to push in the door, but it was blocked by Katya’s body. Chalmers slammed his shoulder at the door and was able to stick his head in.