Lethal Code

CHAPTER 9

Agent Candace Anders sat in her office at the FBI’s training center in Quantico shaking her head as she watched the president walk out of the Briefing Room.

She felt so discouraged when the phone rang that she could scarcely pick it up. Only a stalwart sense of duty prompted her to answer. A woman said that the deputy director of the NSA, Robert Holmes, wished to speak to her.

Candace sat upright, smoothing the creases in her slacks and shirt, as if she were about to Skype or appear before the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But this was just a call, if anyone could ever say that having one of the most powerful people on earth on the line was “just a call.”

“Agent Anders?”

“Yes, this is she.”

Holmes identified himself formally, and then asked how she was doing with a genuineness that surprised her.

“I’m fine, Deputy Director Holmes.”

“Please, Bob is fine when we’re just talking between the two of us.”

Just talking? “Yes, sir.” She could not call him “Bob.”

“I wanted to express my deep appreciation for the work you did on the Mancur case.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your great courage has been noted. I cannot think of a single instance in my fifty-plus years of service in the intelligence field where an individual agent’s heroism was more important to the country than yours was in the Mancur case.”

“That’s very kind, sir.”

“It may be a lot of things, but it is not kindness, Agent Anders.” Perhaps he was taking a cue from her in remaining formal in his manner. “It is an accurate summation of what you did, and while the media are still trying to figure out who did what to whom, your enduring silence is appreciated as well.”

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t think—”

“I know you wouldn’t, and that’s why I want to talk to you about Ruhi Mancur. Just you and me. Face-to-face. What’s your schedule look like?”

“When, sir?” She could scarcely imagine any appointment that she wouldn’t be expected to cancel to respond affirmatively to the deputy director’s request.

“Right now.”

“I’m available, sir. Certainly.”

“I thought so. I checked with your superiors to make sure that you would be. There’s an NSA helicopter waiting on the pad that you can see right outside your window.” She stood, as if commanded, and opened the blinds, spotting a Chinook, its rotors already turning. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Candace hung up, caught her reflection in the dark glass of the window, and considered freshening up — for no more than a second. Surely he knew exactly how much time she would need to make it to the bird.

But she did pause. She couldn’t help herself. She thought of her brother, Liam, lying at rest in Arlington Cemetery, one of thirty-three funerals at the national shrine on the day he was buried. He’d been a Marine, fighting in Afghanistan’s Helmand Province. Killed by the insurgents in a grim firefight that had also taken the lives of two other jarheads.

That was another reason Candace had gone ROTC at Indiana U. She didn’t talk about it much, had never mentioned it to Ruhi Mancur, but the thought of her bloodstained brother never felt more than a breath away.

She wondered what Liam would have thought, seeing his little sister all grown up now, grabbing her shoulder bag to run off and meet with the deputy director of the National Security Agency.

He’d think you’re doing good. He’d say, “Go get ’em, girl.”

And he’d tell you to wipe that tear away, she said to herself when she felt it rolling down her cheek.

As soon as she stepped from the building, a dark-suited man identified himself and escorted her to the chopper.

Deputy Director Holmes shook her hand when she climbed in.

The copter’s long rotors whirled faster. Holmes handed her a headset. She belted in and put on the device, placing the mic in front of her mouth.

Candace had been in helicopters plenty, but never with such widely esteemed company. Other than the two pilots, they were alone, rising quickly into the smoky night.

She had flown into and out of the nation’s capital countless times, but she had never crossed its airspace in a chopper maintaining such a leisurely pace. She quickly spotted the Washington Monument, Capitol Dome, White House, and the cheerful glow of D.C.’s commercial districts, which appeared to be coming back to life.

Then she spotted the arson fires that she’d glimpsed on the ground in Georgetown, still burning not more than a mile and a half from the apartment she’d taken at the Bureau’s behest. She had already relocated to a building near Dupont Circle.

“There are more fires over there.” Holmes pointed out his window. “That’s Anacostia,” he noted as they began flying in a wide circle high above the city.

The Anacostia blazes had begun within hours of the cyberattack and consumed much of the capital’s poorest neighborhood.

“What a mess,” she said.

“Yes, it’s a mess,” he agreed. “And it doesn’t much matter about the socioeconomic strata, now, does it.”

She knew it wasn’t a question. He went on:

“People always like to blame the ‘other’ when things go wrong. Usually the poor. But what we’re seeing across the country is that what we have to fear most are our own worst selves. Our behavior, as a people, has been sorely tested. We have failed.”

She wondered if it was really that bad. But the countless tongues of flames offered a brutally blunt answer.

Candace nodded at him, sickened by the panic of her fellow citizens. It made her think the whole country could use boot camp and a year or two in the military.

“But I didn’t bring you up here to comment on the loss of American resolve, Agent Anders. I brought you up here to remind you of the war we’re fighting now. It’s not just against a cowardly enemy, but our people’s greatest fears and the war they make on themselves.”

He sat forward, weighting his big broad upper body on his forearms, which pressed down on his knees. He looked like the lineman he’d once been at Notre Dame.

“You know Mancur better than anyone in the intelligence services. I need your most honest assessment of him. So what was your first take on him?”

“Smart,” she said without hesitation.

“What else?”

“Moderate. I don’t mean politically, though I sense he’s also moderate that way, too, despite the accusations. I mean emotionally moderate. He reminds me of another person of color who…”

She stopped. You’re way overstepping here, she told herself. He didn’t ask for your opinion of the president.

But Holmes wasn’t going to let her off easy:

“I need all your thoughts, Agent Anders. Please continue.”

With a deep breath, she did. “He reminds me, temperamentally, of the president. Both are men who seem to me to have reined themselves in so they don’t fulfill any cultural stereotypes.”

Holmes stared at her. Candace felt queasy. But it’s true, she almost blurted.

He waved his hand as if to say, “Go on.” So she did:

“Mancur was measured in how he spoke to me. How he treated me.”

“Maybe he was hiding something. Maybe he was hiding all this.” Holmes glanced down at the fires. He must have directed the pilots to keep the flames in view. It felt tightly choreographed to Candace.

“That is possible,” she said. “But that’s not what I believe.”

“Was he attracted to you? And let me remind you that I expect nothing but honesty.”

She acknowledged what he said last with a nod. The light in the bird’s cabin was dim, but a small bulb burned brightly — beautifully — on her head, highlighting her blond hair. “I think so.”

“You think so? You don’t know?” Holmes sat back. “No feeling in your gut?”

His questions flew at her. She knew he wanted directness more than anything, difficult as it was becoming for her.

“Yes, I think he was attracted to me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The way he looked at me. He… he wanted to kiss me. I held the moment as long as I dared, but looked away in time.”

“In time?”

“I didn’t think I should let him.”

“You thought he would have, though?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Here’s a tougher question. And let me say that there’s no right or wrong answer, Agent Anders. Only an honest one. Were you attracted to him? Was there any spark that you felt?”

Oh, shit. There was always a right or wrong answer. Don’t kid yourself.

“You did feel a spark, or you wouldn’t have paused,” Holmes asserted.

She nodded again “Yes, there was a spark. But I would never, ever compromise an investigation or my standing at the Bureau, or with your agency, by bowing to any kind of personal impulse. I’d never let that get in the way.”

Holmes smiled. She felt the fool. But what she’d said was true, painfully so. But what she had not told Holmes was that the spark was a bonfire that warmed her even now.

Holmes spoke to the pilots: “Take us back to Quantico.” He turned to her. “Have you seen enough of this?”

“Yes, but we were just talking about Ruhi.” She cringed inwardly when she heard herself use his given name, the way it hinted freely at the intimacy that she felt even as she flew high above the city.

But Holmes ignored that, telling Candace that he’d nominated her for the National Intelligence Distinguished Service Medal.

“Really? I mean, thank you, sir. It’s not necessary. I was just doing my—”

He waved her quiet. “It is necessary because you did your job superbly. As you did just now.”

“I’m sorry, really sorry that I was attracted to him.”

“No need to apologize, Agent Anders. Your answer means…” He paused, as if perplexed, when she began shaking her head.

“I know. I’m off the case,” she said.

“Quite the opposite. You’re very much on it, and it may take a turn in the near future that could prove surprising to you. You see, Agent Anders, you only confirmed what I strongly suspected.”

“Could I ask what you mean, sir?”

“Yes, and I would have been disappointed if you didn’t have the gumption to do so. It would have indicated a sorry lack of curiosity for a professional in our field. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Not yet. Just don’t make any plans that will take you more than an hour from the city by car.”

And that’s where Holmes left it as they touched back down at Quantico.

Holmes had ample reasons to suggest that Agent Anders had been attracted to Ruhi Mancur. Close monitoring of the detainee in his sleep had revealed him mumbling “Candace” on several occasions. It was Holmes’s long-considered opinion that attraction deep enough to make a man mutter a woman’s name in his sleep with such obvious longing was rarely one-sided, at least among the saner members of the species. And Ruhi Mancur, in the deputy director’s view, was eminently sane. So much so that Holmes planned to schedule another appointment in the very near future — with the detainee himself.

In the morning, Lana could barely rouse Emma from a deep sleep. She gave up for the time being and checked on Irene, who was still snoring at seven thirty, which was highly unusual. On the few nights when she had used the guest room, Irene had never awakened later than six a.m.

Well, best to let her sleep, Lana thought. God knows, Emma could drain the energy of a nuclear reactor these days, especially when the girl was feeling grumpy.

But she hadn’t been tetchy last night. She’d actually been loving.

Lana got ready for work, and downed a quick cup of coffee before deciding that it was time to make another attempt at waking the girl, to see how she was feeling. Regardless of her condition, though, Emma would not be heading to classes. That was because Kressinger schools were still closed. Education officials still appeared too shaken to open the doors, which Lana found profoundly wrongheaded. If firefighters and cops and other first responders could be on the job, so could district administrators and teachers.

“Emma?”

Lana sat on the bed, running her hand over her daughter’s forehead. The girl turned away, saying, “I’m sleeping.”

“I’m going to work. Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m good,” she mumbled.

“How’s your throat? Can you tell me? Come on, look at me.”

Emma faced her. “It hurts. It’s strep to the tenth power.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lana wondered if Emma actually knew what “to the tenth power” meant. She hoped so. It would suggest that her math skills were on the upswing. “Do you need a painkiller?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You’re sounding a little better.”

“But it hurts so bad.”

Lana handed her a Tylenol with codeine and a glass of water. “Here you go.”

Emma took the glass and swallowed the painkiller. “Thanks,” she managed.

“How are things with Irene?” Lana asked.

“She’s all right.”

“I’m glad that’s working out. I need to go into the office. I’ll wake her now.”

“I just want to sleep.” Emma rolled over.

Lana left, treading lightly on the floor. Less lightly when she reached the guest room. She poked her head in, saying, “Irene, are you awake?”

It was, no kidding, like raising the dead. But once Lana saw Irene sitting up, she told the babysitter that she was leaving but could be texted at any time.

Moments after Lana drove away from her stately abode, Irene trudged heavily into Emma’s room and plopped down on the side of the bed.

“You awake?” she asked the girl, who was now lying on her back.

With no response forthcoming, Irene took the pill bottle and emptied out three Tylenol with codeine. She grabbed Emma’s glass and tossed them back in a single swallow.

“You are so busted,” Emma said, opening her eyes fully. “I saw what you did. I saw you do it last night, too.”

Irene reddened. “I don’t know what you are talking about. You are on drugs. You must be seeing things. Hallucinating.”

“Yeah, I sure thought I was seeing something all right. Give me that bottle.”

Irene hesitated, and then handed over the prescription bottle. Emma put it in the nightstand drawer.

“Let’s go watch cable,” she said.

Irene, already leaning to the side, nodded, which may or may not have been the effect of the opiates. Regardless, she smiled, and that did look genuine, if loopy.

Irene trailed Emma into the living room, and the pair assumed their respective positions: Emma stretched out on the couch, Irene flopped onto the recliner.

“You took my pills, so break out the breakfast,” Emma said. “I know what you’re hiding.”

With great effort, Irene pulled out a huge box of Godiva chocolates that she’d stashed under the couch. Though her efforts were clumsy, she managed to pry the top off.

Emma picked out three coconut creams and a couple of dark-chocolate cherries.

“Bon appétit,” she said, handing the box back to Irene, who fumbled around for a milk-chocolate caramel.

Emma worked the remote, and they both started munching.

Lana called in to CyberFortress as she drove by crews still cleaning up immense piles of debris from the train wreck. Body recovery had ended yesterday. Sometime during the night, two large cranes had arrived and were now lifting the smashed freight cars onto a series of extra-wide truck trailers.

Jensen picked up on the second ring. “Do you need me?” she asked.

“They need you more out at Fort Meade than ever, so we’ll make do around here. But throw some work our way, while you’re over there,” Jensen joked.

Truth was, CyberFortress wasn’t even waiting on a contract. They were all-hands-on-deck with the Defense Department cyberteams. In times of crisis, there was no more than a photon’s width between the private and public sectors, which both the left and right ends of the political spectrum deplored.

At that moment, though, nobody was complaining — at least not loudly.

Holmes wanted to see Lana immediately. When she arrived at his office, the well-coiffed Donna Warnes took her directly to him. That entailed returning, once more, to the SCIF, the Sensitive Compartmented Information Security room. After gaining entry, Lana saw that the windowless facility was not full of colleagues, as she had expected. Only Holmes.

“Well, this is a first,” she said.

“I can’t say I’ve ever found it necessary to do this with you before, but a couple of things have come up. Go ahead, have a seat.”

Lana pulled out a chair and settled across from Holmes, who continued almost immediately:

“CyberFortress will be contacted this morning by the Lawyers’ League for the Rights of Detainees. Don’t ask how I know this. I just do. They’re going to try to hire your company to review our work on Mancur’s computers. They’re dubious, in short, about our having him held.”

“We’ll turn them down, of course.”

Holmes shook his head, shocking her.

“No, don’t. Take the work. I want your best to double-check my best. The league knows precisely what they’re doing. They know you work for us on a contract basis. They’re so sure Mancur is innocent, they’re playing the only cards they have, which is to say all of them.” Holmes paused and looked directly into Lana’s eyes. “And they’re probably right about Mancur.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. Voice analysis, polygraphs — we ran him through the lie detector regimen early this morning — everything says so, including this.” He patted his flat belly. “So feel free to do the work.”

“Is that why you wanted to talk in here?”

“No. I wanted you to know that it’s critical to get to the bottom of Mancur’s claims that the Chinese framed him in advance of the attack. There are a lot of emails on his computer from Al Qaeda, Islamists in the Pakistan military, even Anwar al-Awlaki.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, and I don’t believe any of it. But nobody I can think of, outside of our agencies, has had more ‘encounters,’ let’s say, with Chinese hackers than you have, especially in the past year. Look, we want you and Jensen to check on the work done at NSA, and go as deep as you can. You two will be doing our final vetting of Mancur.”

“Vetting? That sounds like you have plans for him.” Now she felt they were moving toward the real reason Holmes had felt it would be necessary to meet in the SCIF.

“We want to turn him.”

“Into an operative?”

Holmes nodded. “He might bite. He’s been absolutely disgraced, completely demonized in this country. If we’re ‘forced’ to release him by a federal court — which under these dire circumstances can be arranged, believe me — he could look like a hero to elements that we’re interested in. And not just for this case.” He lifted his eyebrows. “I say that because for all we know a lone wolf like Kaczynski, working away in a laboratory that’s off the grid, could have done this to us. We just don’t know yet.

“But we’re certain that Islamists have tried to attack us in the past, and at the very least they’re celebrating the fact that somebody out there managed to cripple us. In fact, so many of them are taking credit for the attack that there are quite a few insults getting traded in that crowd,” Holmes said with obvious loathing. “So if we can get them to accept Mancur with open arms, that would be a tremendous advantage — if not now, then down the road. That’s assuming he’ll play ball with us, and then conducts himself in the right way.”

“Which would be the wrong way in the view of most of the world.”

“That’s correct. The civilized portion, in any case. We think he’s smart enough to pull it off. We just don’t know if he’s tough enough.”

“To survive?”

“Well, there’s that, too,” Holmes answered dryly.

“But we have to vet him first,” Lana said, nodding. Then she looked at the ceiling, knowing that something in the ceiling was undoubtedly looking at her.

“Yes, and I want to make sure that he’s got a computer that won’t get him in trouble over there, because he’s going to be vetted by them, too, whoever ‘they’ turn out to be. We have no idea where this thing could take him. And if we’re not super careful, they will literally hand him his head and post the video on the Web.”

“You can’t possibly be optimistic about turning him, Bob. It sounds to me like he’ll have a lot of reasons to tell us where to go.”

“Plenty. But his only path to redemption will be to do what we suggest. If he survives, then he might turn out to be the greatest hero in American history. He’ll certainly rehabilitate the image of Saudis in the American mind set.”

“He’ll be a hero in the Federal Witness Protection Program forever.”

“That’s hardly a hellish existence, Lana. He and his descendants will live well. We’ll be able to assure him of that. And if wants to let us change his appearance, no one will ever be able to identify him. He’ll know more freedom than most Americans. For one thing, he’ll never have to worry about making a living or having the resources to send his children to the best schools in the country. And he’ll be protected by the best security service in the world.”

“Do you think he’ll do it?”

“We’re not banking on it, I can tell you that much. He’s just one of our approaches right now. We’re running more than a hundred major investigations. I’m giving us a one in five chance of turning him. But that’s only if you find him clean as the proverbial whistle.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Lana told Holmes.

“If you find he’s all right, you might be spending time with him, too.”

“Really?”

“If he’ll work with us, we’ll want you prepping him on encryption. He’s going to have to be perfect.”

“If he’s clean, I’ll be glad to help. Just tell me something. Was this your plan from the beginning? Is that why you picked him up so fast?”

Holmes shook his head no, which meant more than just “no”—it meant nothing at all.