Spyder Web Page 9

  ‘The satchel charges are in place and the clock is running. We’ve got just under five minutes to get clear.’

  The SEALs had planted enough plastic explosives around the camp so that, in five minutes, there would be nothing left but a scorched crater. Normally, they would just toss a couple of grenades into the hut and call it a day, but the C-4 they’d planted had a nasty tendency to detonate in the proximity of an exploding grenade.

  ‘If we back off now, this guy just might get away, and that is fucking unacceptable. Masson is a cancer and we’re cutting him out. Gates, you’re with me. Darvas, cover our backs. Rodriguez and Detmer, make sure he doesn’t pop out the other side. Let’s do it.’

  Gates and Kilkenny ran a zigzag pattern across the clearing in front of Masson’s hut, dodging fire as they approached.Well-timed bursts from Darvas’s MP5 kept Masson from getting a clean shot at them.

  Kilkenny let loose a burst of gunfire that perforated the corrugated metal door, twisting and warping flimsy steel until it finally pulled free of its hinges and clattered to the ground. Masson’s weapon replied on full automatic, emptying itself quickly, although failing to find a target.

  Kilkenny dove through the open doorway, tuck-rolling across the dirt floor, with Gates following his lead. Masson had just snapped a new clip of ammunition into an Uzi when Kilkenny’s boot struck his stomach and sent him sprawling against a pile of sandbags. The blow stunned him, but his grip on the weapon was firm. Still gasping for air, Masson aimed at Kilkenny.

  Muzzle flashes filled the interior of the hut like a strobe, but Gates found his target first. Pain seared Masson’s mind as a dozen blistering rounds riddled his body, breaking bones and tearing flesh. The crazed exsoldier fell backward before collapsing on the ground.

  Kilkenny got up, nodded to Gates, and turned to his fallen opponent. A fire still burned in Masson’s eyes, but his breathing came in wheezing gasps as he clung to his last moments of life.

  Dawson zoomed the satellite image back in order to show a larger area of southern Haiti as his men left the guerilla camp. Right on cue, a bright thermal plume lit up the infrared display.

  Helicopters from Port-au-Prince were racing toward the scene of the explosion, the government having been quietly notified that several captives of the scavengers had been liberated and required assistance.

  ‘Bravo Zulu, Trident,’ Dawson said quietly to himself. ‘Well done.’

  The SEALs melted into the jungle as the helicopters approached the smoldering crater. The women, clothed and cared for as well as the squad could provide, were quickly evacuated from the scene. Kilkenny bowed his head as the helicopters disappeared from view.

  ‘What ya thinking about, Nolan?’ Gates asked.

  ‘Something my mother taught me, the Prayer of Contentment. “Lord, grant me the courage to change what I can change, the strength to accept what I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”

  ‘Good prayer. I can see how the first part applies to our current situation, but what about the rest?’

  Nolan paused to consider why these words would come to him at this time. ‘I guess this is the first time since this mission started that I let myself think about what’s waiting for me when we get back.’

  ‘Getting cold feet, partner?’ Gates asked in his smoothasmolasses drawl. ‘You could just sign up for another hitch and take the easy way out. Dawson hasn’t filled your slot yet.’

  ‘C’mon, Max,’ Nolan said with a laugh, ‘you, of all people, know I never do anything the easy way.’

  ‘No, son, you don’t. But you do what has to be done. That’s what made you a good leader and a hell of a SEAL.’

  Nolan smiled, accepting the compliment.He had been paired with Gates for almost five years, and he had come to value the master chief ‘s experience and to respect his opinions.

  ‘This,’ Gates said, cradling his submachine gun and smelling the cordite in the air, ‘this is my life. This is what I was meant to do. This life isn’t for everybody, and we both know it’s not for you. This is your send-off, Nolan. It’s time to move on.’

  ‘So I should just accept the fact that change is inevitable?’

  ‘Deal with it, Lieutenant.’

  14

  SANTO DOMINGO,

  DOMINICAN REPUBLIC

  December 24

  Parnell chuckled quietly to himself.

  ‘Something funny, Ian?’ Roe asked, looking up from her laptop.An hour ago, she’d given up on trying to work during the long flight from London to Santo Domingo. Her computer screen now displayed a half-played game of solitaire.

  ‘I was just thinking that if one of us had acquired Mr Cole’s device a few years ago, we might never have met.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Ian. We move in the same circles. I’m sure we would have bumped into each other at some point or another.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Parnell replied, amused at her double entendre.

  A smile crossed Roe’s face as she thought about the first time she’d met British business consultant Ian Parnell. His light brown hair had been a little longer than it was now, and in place of the Savile Row suit and the Burberry shirt that was tailored so well to his lean five-ten body, he had worn a suit of black Gore-Tex then.

  Five years ago, Alex Roe had been hired by a corporate client to acquire technology from a German competitor. The technology had to do with methods of very precise measurement, and the German competitor was apparently able to size very small things with greater accuracy than was her client. She’d entered the German firm’s research facility late one night, with the cleaning crew, and set out to locate the design documents relating to this device. While carefully negotiating a darkened room to avoid a night guard, Roe quite literally bumped into Parnell. Both quickly realized that they were working on the same assignment and decided to pool their resources and charge the client double. Since then, they had worked together on a variety of interesting and profitable projects.

  The flight attendant arrived with a small bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  ‘A toast,’ Parnell offered, tapping the rim of Roe’s glass with his. ‘To the Holy Grail.’

  ‘Why the Holy Grail, Ian?’ Roe asked before sipping the effervescent beverage.

  ‘It’s what you’ve discovered, the Holy Grail of our profession. We are on the brink of acquiring a skeleton key, one that can unlock storehouses of information around the world.’

  Their flight arrived in Santo Domingo in the late afternoon and, after clearing Dominican Customs and Immigration, they boarded a private helicopter for a short flight to Barahona. Parnell worked hard and he liked to enjoy the fruits of his labor; being whisked over the Dominican capital was one of life’s simple pleasures.

  Roe soaked in the tropical atmosphere with delight as the helicopter raced westward over the sandy shoreline. Their destination was an exclusive resort that offered numerous amenities to its guests, including secluded beaches, all manner of water sports, five-star dining, and excellent accommodations. While these were enjoyable, the resort also met their far more crucial needs for privacy and flawless digital communication.

  Bellhops collected their bags from the helicopter, hustling to beat the new guests to their rooms. The resort catered to wealthy tourists and the management frowned on anything less than impeccable service from its employees. Praise by a guest meant an additional bonus in the next pay envelope, and each employee worked hard to shine in front of the guests. Poor service—or worse, rude behavior—could result in disciplinary action ranging from a reprimand to job termination. With a long waiting list for job openings, the staff at Las Brisas rarely did anything to jeopardize their employment.

  A woman in her mid-thirties with flowing black hair and a perfect figure stood waiting for them as they walked to the edge of the helipad.

  ‘Señor Parnell, Señorita Roe,’ she said with a warm smile, ‘welcome to Las Brisas. I am Delisa Santiago, the resort manager. If there is anything we can
do to make your stay here more pleasant, please let me know.’

  ‘Ms Santiago,’ Parnell replied, ‘if Las Brisas lives up to its reputation, I’m certain that my associate and I will enjoy our holiday immensely.’

  The manager pointed out items of interest along the walk to their bungalows. The resort’s lobby and walkways were decorated with various objects d’art, ranging from pre-Columbian to contemporary, gathered from around the Caribbean.

  Mayan statuary was mixed in with islander masks and jewelry; artifacts of peace and war, of life and death, added a unique dimension to the resort. Objects that had once helped a community of people know the gods they worshiped and understand their place in creation had become decorations in a tropical playground for the wealthy.

  Even though they’d made reservations only a week ago, Parnell had little trouble arranging two bungalows near the beach. Those holding the original reservations were provided accommodations elsewhere, with the management’s sincere apologies for ‘double-booking’ the room.

  Both bungalows were identical in layout—each offering its occupant an entertaining area, a kitchenette and bar, a guest bedroom and bath, and a full master bedroom and bath with an ocean-view terrace. In looking about the rooms, Roe noticed that her luggage had already been delivered and set inside the walk-in closet. She found her toiletries and decided to cleanse the long flight from her body.

  It seemed as if only seconds had passed when Roe heard a knock at the bathroom door. She turned the shower off and wrapped a hotel robe around her dripping body. Opening the door cautiously, she discovered Parnell standing at the bar, mixing a drink.

  ‘Ready for dinner?’ he asked lightly.

  ‘Not quite, but give me a couple of minutes. How’d you get in, anyway?’

  Parnell fingered the gray plastic card key in his hand. ‘The manager, a wonderful woman, configured the keys to work on both of our suites. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I made a drink while I waited.’

  ‘Rather presumptuous of you, Ian. Make yourself at home. I’ll be out in a bit.’

  Roe quickly blow-dried her shoulder-length brown hair. After she finished up in the bathroom, she selected a lightly colored cotton dress that appealed to her sense of style and tropical comfort.

  ‘When is Cole due to arrive?’ Parnell asked as he took another sip of his gin and tonic.

  ‘Around six, which leaves us about a half hour to kill.’

  ‘We could have a drink here or head to the dining room.’

  ‘I cast my vote for the dining room. I’m starved.’ Roe adjusted her dress in the mirror and mentally declared herself presentable. ‘Not to knock British Airways, but airline food is still airline food.We can leave word at the front desk for him to join us once he arrives.’

  ‘Very well,’ Parnell tossed back the remainder of his drink. ‘You know, I must admit that I’m rather excited to meet this Cole fellow. If everything you’ve told me is true, we may have found ourselves a golden goose.’

  ‘Hello, Michael,’ Roe said as Cole entered the restaurant lobby. Cole looked tan and rested.He wore a light cotton sweater over a golf shirt and a pair of khaki trousers. Slung from his shoulder was a small briefcase containing his laptop computer.

  ‘Hello, Alex. This is a nice place.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Roe replied; then she turned to Parnell. ‘Ian, this is Michael Cole.’

  Parnell held his hand out and clasped Cole’s. Cole’s grip was firm, but not punishing. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you finally. Alex has spoken very highly of you and your work.’

  ‘Thank you. She’s told me a little about you, but I’d like to hear more.’

  ‘Well, that’s what tonight is about, a proper introduction.’

  The tuxedo-clad maître d’approached. ‘Your table is ready,’ he announced in lightly accented English. ‘If you will please follow me.’

  They were seated at a circular table near a large plateglass window with a view of the bay. The spectacular panorama caused all three to pause for a moment to take it all in.

  ‘If you think this is nice,’ Cole offered, ‘wait until you see the sunset.’

  They took their seats at the table; Cole and Parnell sat opposite each other, with Roe in between. She recognized that, as this was their first meeting, her dining companions were sizing each other up. A waiter took their drink orders while another server filled their water glasses.

  ‘So, Michael, how has your holiday been?’

  ‘Great. Yesterday, I dove on a wreck of the Conde de Tolosa, up near Samana Bay. It was indescribable.’

  ‘Alex and I both do a little diving, don’t we?’

  ‘I’m not in Michael’s league, Ian,’ Roe added coyly. ‘I only dive in warm, tropical waters.’

  ‘Say,’ Parnell said brightly, ‘I’ve chartered a boat from the marina for the day after Christmas. Alex and I were going to do a little motoring about. Perhaps you’d like to join us and do a bit of diving?’

  ‘Sure. I plan to spend a few more days in the DR before I move on. The dive master who took me out to the wreck told me about a nice reef just south of here, due east of the beach at Baoruca. Nice scenery, and the water isn’t too cold.’

  Roe smiled pleasantly.’Looks like I’ll have to rent some gear.’

  Conversation at the table throughout the evening remained purely social, avoiding the evening’s real purpose. Parnell continued to play generous host, with Cole as his pleasant guest. A few hours later, they left very pleased with the chef ‘s culinary skills; the restaurant’s five-star rating was clearly an understatement.

  When they entered Roe’s bungalow, she noticed a magnum of Dom Pérignon cradled in a vat of ice sitting beside three champagne glasses on the bar counter.

  ‘That’s for later,’ Parnell said, reading the question in her expression. ‘First, we have some business to attend to. Michael, are you prepared to go to work?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Cole walked over to the desk and pulled a notebook computer from his briefcase. ‘Alex, will you call the front desk and ask them to hold all your calls for the evening?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  After Roe’s call, Cole plugged his modem cable into the suite’s data jack. He then powered up his computer and checked that everything was working properly.

  ‘Per our discussion a few weeks ago, I have regularly checked my E-mail at both Langley and Moy Electronics,’ Cole explained. ‘Tonight’s call will be a continuation of that pattern.’

  As Cole spoke, he set the computer connection in motion. Upon receiving his command, the computer opened a phone line and began dialing the international prefix and phone number for Moy Electronics’ Chicagobased computer network. From the resort,Cole’s call was directed to the main telephone switching station in Santo Domingo, where a routing computer began looking for an open connection with a communications satellite in geosynchronous orbit over the equator. From the satellite, Cole’s call continued to a U.S. telephone relay station, which routed it to a switching station in Chicago. The switching station then located the unlisted business line and connected the call.

  ‘Good evening,Moy Electronics,’Cole said, responding to the computer’s on-screen greeting.

  Parnell and Roe watched as Cole passed through the network’s security and successfully logged on to the system.

  Once the Moy network screen came up on the laptop’s monitor, Cole rose and offered Roe the chair. ‘Your turn.’

  Roe sat down, pulled a disk from her briefcase, and slipped it into the drive slot on the notebook’s front edge. From the disk, she loaded two programs into the Moy network computer’s memory. The first sent Cole’s user ID off into a diagnostic loop, while the second created a superuser with systemwide access.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she announced, ‘we now have complete access to Moy Electronics and, since it’s Christmas Eve, I’ll bet we have the place to ourselves.’

  ““Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house/Not a creature was
stirring—not even a mouse,”’ Parnell recited, patting Roe on the shoulder. “‘The stockings were hung by the chimney with care/ In hopes that Saint Alex soon would be there.”’

  ‘I don’t think I’m quite the Santa that Moy Electronics hoped would slide down their chimney,’ Roe replied.

  ‘More like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas,’ Cole offered wryly.

  ‘Now now, Michael, Alex isn’t going to steal Moy’s Christmas. She’s just shopping for that perfect gift.’ The combination of jet lag, a few drinks, and the promise of untold riches propelled Parnell into a seasonably good mood. ‘Please proceed.’

  ‘The first thing we need to do is find a good home for our Spyder.’Roe began probing the system for internal safeguards and found only a few layers of security among the different areas of Moy’s operation. ‘Here we are, the order logs. Would anyone like a supercomputer?’

  ‘That might be a bit too cheeky,’ Parnell replied. ‘What else have they got?’

  Skimming through the main order directory, Roe located the log for Gatekeeper shipments. She clicked on the icon and a new window appeared, which contained a spreadsheet of orders, production dates, shipping dates, and product costs.

  ‘Somewhere on here is our lucky winner,’ Roe said as she studied the list of Gatekeeper sites.

  The first fifty orders were strictly government-agency retrofits—Gatekeepers specifically geared to provide an existing computer system with a new layer of protection. Early on, Parnell and Roe had decided that they would avoid planting a Spyder in a government computer. Parnell was adamant that his work remain exclusively in the private sector; he did not spy on governments and he would not work from inside a government computer. The private espionage business was dangerous enough without risking any unnecessary official entanglements.

  ‘Michael,’ Roe asked as she studied the information on the laptop’s screen, ‘I’ve just come across several Gatekeeper orders for Moy Electronics. Have they installed any yet?’

  ‘No, or you wouldn’t be messing around inside their computer. The project called for the installation of Gatekeepers on computer networks as identified by NSA. Since the initial production run for the device is low, Moy Electronics pushed off upgrading in-house until late January.’