Trojan Horse (24 page)

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

RUE DE LAUSANNE

HÔTEL MON-REPOS

4:39 P.M. CET

T
he e-mail chime woke Jeff. There from a Hotmail account was the response from Bridget, Daryl’s NSA friend, containing the access information he’d asked for. “Be discreet,” she had cautioned.

When the Internet first became a reality, politicians insisted on calling it the Information Super Highway. The phrase had quickly turned into a joke. Though it was accurate it scarcely grasped the true scope of the digital world that now seemed to run or monitor almost everything in the West. Entire airplanes, office towers, bridges, even ocean liners were designed by computer and constructed based on their designs. All but totally automated factories run by computers were commonplace worldwide. Any nation with the right natural and labor resources could have a predesigned factory dropped into place and fully operational in record time, all made possible because of computers.

And because of the Internet, distance largely meant nothing. These factories and nearly everything in between were digitally connected. American company call centers located in India and elsewhere were scarcely the tip of the iceberg. The only place where physical distance was meaningful was when it came to shipping and there were more than enough freight forwarders for that. If the right balance of resources, labor, and production costs was made against the cost of shipping, factories in the most remote corners of the world were profitable.

And there were other tasks that computers did very well indeed and at extraordinary speed. Databases were one of them. It wasn’t just that the entire Library of Congress could fit on a single chip, it could as well be generally accessed and rapidly searched for specific information. A wealth of knowledge was readily available to anyone with a computing device who wanted to bother.

And now with scanners, even from a distance, certain types of data could be collected and stored automatically and remotely. In Western Europe and North America, police cars were increasingly equipped with an automobile license plate reader, which acquired every car license plate it encountered at lightning speed then ran it through a computer to see if the vehicle was reported stolen. The same system allowed officers to run plates of cars even before they pulled the vehicles over. The officer could run a driver’s-license check of the registered owner or he could program the system to do that for him automatically. What this meant was that the officer, in most cases, knew as much as he wanted about the operator of the vehicle before he ever stopped the car.

The previous year, Jeff had worked on a portion of the European Union’s TALOS system, Transportable Adaptable Patrol for Land Border Surveillance. Largely robotic, it was designed to handle surveillance and was becoming the EU’s primary border-control monitoring system. The entire network was meant to be automated in the extreme. Conventional border-protection systems are based on expensive ground facilities installed along the entire length of the border complemented by human patrols. TALOS was meant to be more efficient and flexible.

The completed network would have both aerial and ground unmanned vehicles as well as roving robot vehicles, all supervised by a command and control center. The ground component would consist of a system of watch stations and primary-response patrols. The system was designed to be mobile and adaptable to local conditions of border length and terrain.

The design and implementation of the project had been extensive, involving experts from more than one dozen institutions, eight EU nations, Turkey, and even Israel, which had the most experience with such matters. And while this aspect of it was intended to reduce reliance on human patrols, the greater vision was to extend it beyond mere electronic bordercamera surveillance.

With the credentials Bridget had provided, Jeff logged into TALOS. He spent several minutes surfing its interior to refresh his memory of its structure and to learn what he didn’t already know. He was not surprised at how unchanged it was since he’d last had a look. Despite widespread illegal immigration into the European Union, there was no sense of urgency about implementing the project to its full capability.

He soon located ASSET, Advanced Software and driver Support for Essential Road Transport. As was the case with so many patrolling police cars, all European Union entry points possessed such cameras and every car entering the EU was recorded and basic computer checks run on its history. It made bringing stolen cars into Europe more difficult than ever and when an alert was out for a certain vehicle it could be stopped or tagged for follow-up when it entered.

France and Germany in particular also possessed an extensive network of highway cameras, which made it possible to track a vehicle on the major highways and often within the cities themselves once they’d been identified and marked.

Every passport of someone entering the EU was also scanned and if the individual arrived in a passenger vehicle, the two databases were linked. In other words, the driver and occupants of a car were matched to that car. Even if the system was not set up to do that automatically, the two sources could be readily matched if you had the right access codes and knowledge of the system.

Jeff had fled his captors shortly after one in the morning. The police rescue team had located and entered the building around two thirty so that was his starting point. He assumed the captors had left the country at once, which meant they’d have crossed no later than three in the morning. One hundred and twenty minutes. A check of the map displayed three major routes immediately out of Geneva into a foreign country.

Two major routes entered Italy, one veering east, the other west and quickly led into France. The third was a lesser road and took an indirect route before crossing the border also into France. Once in the EU, there would be no more passport controls. Two hours, in the dead of night. Jeff typed the query into the database analysis path using the ASSET syntax and crossed his fingers as he pressed
ENTER
. There had to be a manageable number. There
had
to be.

Six hundred thirty-eight. That was what he had to work with, assuming Daryl’s abductors had fled Switzerland. He had no idea what vehicle the men were using, so next he matched the vehicles to the scanned passports.

Nine hundred and four passports.

He stopped to think. The vehicle he wanted would be multipassenger so he dropped all single-passenger vehicles. That left 246 cars and trucks, which gave him another idea. He could always come back if what was left proved a dead end. He dropped the passports for large commercial trucks. It was possible they’d had one lined up but unlikely. Now he had 187 scanned passports.

And that he could manage. Before starting, he picked up the telephone and ordered a large pot of American coffee.

He’d seen their faces. That had been their big mistake.

He also knew there was only one reason why they’d allowed it. They’d intended to kill him. And they intended to kill Daryl. The only question was when. With that grim foreboding, Jeff began scanning the passports photos, willing himself to take his time, to get it right.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

UNITED NATIONS OFFICE AT GENEVA (UNOG)

AVENUE DE LA PAIX

5:08 P.M. CET

F
ranz Herlicher closed the door to his office, carefully locking it behind him. Since the events of the last few days he’d become conscientious in following standard security protocol. Now he set out with briefcase in hand.

Work had been hell. The status of his report was up in the air since no one could be sure what data was authentic and what had been tampered with. The documents, pictures, e-mails, and other evidence they had that Iran was on the verge of detonating a device was being reviewed by the department’s staff and they found more and more original material that appeared to have been modified, sometimes in major ways and sometimes in subtle ones. No one was sure anymore what was real and what had been doctored. He was determined that his months of work not go to waste and this huge opportunity for advancement and recognition be missed and was urging his superiors to circulate the copy of the report he’d verified as unaltered, but he was meeting resistance. They couldn’t publish a report with such implications without all the supporting data being in order, certainly not with their records in a state of disarray.

Then there was the consternation caused by the abduction of the two Americans. When he’d first learned the news, he’d not believed it. He’d never heard of such a single incident taking place anywhere near the Palais des Nations. What troubled him was the rumor he’d heard during lunch. According to the grapevine, security believed the kidnapping was related to their activities. As they’d been working in his office, on his problem, Herlicher couldn’t help wondering if he was at risk.

When the thought first crossed his mind, he’d dismissed it as absurd. He knew nothing about viruses and that sort of thing; that’s why they had experts. But as he prepared to exit the building, he wondered if the Arabs knew that. Maybe they’d want him as well. Maybe the altered report had made him a target. They could have been Iranians. Outside, he stopped and checked the grounds carefully. The late-afternoon light was fading. Every tree cast a nearly black shadow. Anyone could be hiding there.

Several colleagues glanced his way and he realized his behavior was arousing suspicion. There’d be talk if he just stood here with his back to the building. He joined the stream of employees taking the walkway to the street and tried to put a smile on his face.

Ali Kharrazi was tired. He’d hardly slept in the last forty-eight hours. Yet he had much to do before he’d get any rest.

He still burned with humiliation at the American’s escape. True, he and Ahmed had been in the other room when the man had managed to get free and assault Karim. But Ali had believed he should have had no difficulty subduing the man. Instead, he’d managed to be struck in the nose, a blow that still hurt. He was uncertain if his nose was broken but the skin had turned ugly shades of purple.

After receiving his orders and leaving the abandoned shoe shop, he’d moved quickly away from the busy streets into a quiet neighborhood. He’d found a darkened house, placed himself in the black shadows beside it, and after keeping a nervous vigil he’d fallen asleep. He was awakened at dawn as the family inside stirred, and he quietly set out on his quest.

With daylight and the return of normal city activity, Ali was no longer concerned. His passport was good, he had cash in his bag and a change of clothes. If stopped, he’d say he was looking for work and though that was technically illegal it was not something the Swiss police would arrest him over. They’d just check the stamp on his passport and warn him about the law.

He stopped at a workers’ café to eat, feeling much better with a full meal in his stomach. This operation was rushed. There’d been no time to properly plan it. His escape would depend on confusion and a measure of luck. He was not concerned. What mattered was success; what took place after that was in Allah’s hands.

At the café, Ali made inquiries and by noon was in possession of a used Ford Focus. It was suffering from a serious rust problem and had high mileage but it ran well. Next, he drove about the city to become accustomed to it and the car before heading to his destination. He was careful to avoid passing more than twice through his target area. The streets were narrow and complex. He identified routes but was concerned about recalling them at the crucial moment. He decided on another course of action. He drove back to the industrial regions and the lower-class residential areas. He checked the proximity of busy streets and public transportation.

Late that afternoon, he parked near the Place du Marché and waited. He wondered if this assignment was punishment for botching the earlier mission but dismissed the thought. It was important, and, he concluded, had been made necessary by their failure in allowing the man to escape.

Workers on their way home were now filling the sidewalks as they exited the sleek multicolored tramway. Ali waited until the streets were bustling, then took another look at the photograph he’d been sent, fixing it in his memory. He left the car and made his way to the address. There he stopped and scanned the men walking along the sidewalk, especially those approaching the building, careful not to be seen as doing so.

His situation was awkward. Standing within this well-dressed crowd of mostly blond-haired Swiss, Ali was aware of how he stood out. It was important he look like a laborer of some sort here to meet someone or maybe waiting for a ride. He couldn’t simply stand like a statue. He used his phone frequently, pretending to text. He had to wait at or very near this spot because this was the only place he could be reasonably certain his target would appear.

To mask his intentions, Ali moved away from his position from time to time, walking a short distance up the sidewalk, then back, pacing easily as if searching for a car. But he always returned to the one spot from which he got a clear view of every man.

Herlicher had boarded his usual tram for Carouge, the suburb where he lived. Carouge was unlike any other part of Geneva. Originally controlled by Sardinia, its colorful three-story buildings retained a strong Mediterranean appearance. It was a quiet district, known for its artists, old-style cafés, and a certain small-scale nightlife that appealed to Herlicher.