Point of Contact

12

What did you need to talk to me about?” Paul asked. He’d watched Rhodes close the door after Hendley and Jack left, then shut the curtain to the sidelight window.

Certain they were alone and unobserved, Rhodes crossed back over to Paul, who was seated in the club chair again. Rhodes took up a position directly in front of him, leaning against Hendley’s desk, towering over the heavyset accountant. The ex-senator’s instincts told him he should do a bug check to make sure no one was listening in, but Gerry Hendley was an old friend and a straight arrow, and he certainly didn’t want to spook Brown.

“Paul, everything I told Gerry and Jack before about the purpose of this assignment was absolutely true. I need you to believe that.”

“Okay.”

“And I need you to believe I really did ask for you to be on this assignment, and when I said you’re the best forensic accountant I know, I wasn’t just blowing smoke. We both know your skill set. You’re even a certified fraud examiner — perfect for this job. And we both know that CFE title isn’t an easy one to acquire.”

Paul shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliments.

“I also know you’re a man of… routine. And plucking you out of this place, out of your comfort zone and your work schedule at the last minute, and hurtling you to the other side of the planet on a moment’s notice isn’t the kind of thing you relish.”

“It’s just that I’m right in the middle of a major project, and my team—”

Rhodes raised his palm like a traffic cop, silencing him.

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Paul. You’re absolutely right. You already have important responsibilities here. And I want to assure you that you don’t have to do this thing if you don’t want to. But I know you, and if you’ll let me tell you what’s really going on, I think you’ll jump on board.”

“Okay. I’m all ears.”

Rhodes slipped into the empty club chair next to Paul — two old friends now, conspiring against the world.

“You know the Chinese are hell-bent on expanding their military forces. They’ve been increasing their defense spending by double digits for the last twenty years, and they’re not showing any signs of slowing down. Worse, their technological advances have been staggering. They seem to match us step for step in the development of stealth fighters, radar, drones — you name it. And the hell of it is, most of their technology has been stolen from us. The PLA cyberwarfare division is second to none. They let our corporations spend billions of dollars in research and development, then steal it away from them with the stroke of a key.”

Paul nodded. “It’s worrisome.”

“Well, large companies like mine have done a pretty good job lately locking things down. We suffer thousands of hack attacks every day — most of them from low-level criminals or hacktivist malcontents, but some are quite serious, particularly the state-sponsored ones. So far our firewalls and defensive measures have proven impervious, and we have new antihacking and antivirus technologies coming on soon. But like I said, we’re a multibillion-dollar technology company. We should be good at this kind of thing.

“But as you can imagine, our government is determined to keep it from happening in the first place. By and large, American companies are getting up to speed. So the Chinese government is turning its attention to smaller foreign companies. Companies like Dalfan Technologies.”

“Do you think there’s a problem?”

“Actually, no, I don’t. I’ve been over there a couple of times when we first began exploring the option of buying them up. They have a first-rate IT department. And the man who founded the company, Gordon Yeoh Fairchild, is the son of a British expat. He’s about as pro-Western as you can get in that part of the world. But we did a little digging around and we found out he’s had some business dealings with firms in Hong Kong and on the mainland.”

“So has your company,” Paul said.

“Of course we have. We’re an interconnected global economy now. Free trade benefits everyone. The challenge in this case is a little more complex. It’s one thing for us to sell a widget to a Chinese firm — even one with ties to Beijing — because that’s a simple transaction, an exchange of product for cash. But if we merge with Dalfan, that means our software, mainframe computers, cloud servers, and other IT infrastructure will intermingle. What our friends at Langley fear is that the Chinese may have already planted software and hardware at Dalfan that might be used to break through our cyberdefenses. Sort of like inviting the fox into the henhouse without even knowing it.”

“I’m not really an IT guy, let alone an expert in cybersecurity.”

“But I know someone who is. And that’s why he gave me this.” Rhodes reached into his coat pocket and handed Paul a USB drive.

Paul pushed his glasses back up on his nose with one finger. He brought the drive close to his face for examination. “What’s loaded on here?”

“The cyberwarfare specialists at the CIA came up with a diagnostic program that can sniff out all kinds of nasty malware, worms, bots, and what have you inside of a computer system, no matter how complex. I’ve been tasked with making sure that the USB in your hands gets installed into a computer that has access to the Dalfan mainframe. Naturally, I thought of you.”

“I’m still a little bit confused. No offense, but why would the CIA give this assignment to you and not to one of their SAD operatives?”

If Paul’s question stung, Rhodes didn’t show it.

“One of the advantages of my position on the Marin Aerospace board is that I’m kept in the loop on major developments, and when it seems appropriate, I keep our government informed, especially on matters that affect national security. When the Dalfan venture was first proposed, I let Langley know.”

“So you’re spying on your own company?”

“No. I’m helping my government win the war on terror and defend against all known enemies, foreign and domestic, including the Chinese.”

Paul frowned. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest? Secretly telling the government insider information about what your own guys are doing?”

Rhodes shook his head. “Not at all. Whatever is good for my country is good for my company. But even if it were a conflict of interest, I’m a patriot, and I put my country first.” He glanced at the American flag lapel pin on Paul’s department store suit. “And I know you’re a patriot, too.”

Paul sat back, processing. “You left the Agency, what, twenty years ago?”

Rhodes smiled. “We never really leave, do we? I mean, I don’t take a paycheck from them anymore, that’s for sure. But whenever duty calls, men like us always answer.”

Paul turned to Rhodes, trying to read the man’s face. He and the senator had a history from years before. He thought Rhodes was many things, but he was always a patriot. He was born into it. Rhodes was a third-generation Yalie, a blue-blooded Yankee for sure. Rhodes’s grandfather served with the OSS, the CIA’s wartime predecessor, and Rhodes’s father was a deputy director under Bill Casey, Reagan’s CIA chief.

“So all of the other stuff about the audit and letter of intent really is just a cover,” Paul said.

“Not at all. Like I said, every bit of it is true. This is a real deal that my company is pursuing and we need Hendley Associates’ services to make it happen.”

“That’s the real reason why you fired that other auditing firm at the last minute?”

“The CIA handed this to me at the last minute. I didn’t know anybody on the other team, but I knew Hendley Associates and I knew you.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“But this extra little assignment — should you accept it — is a security add-on. A prophylactic, as it were. And truthfully, I expect that absolutely nothing will come of it. But because our company is so important to the national defense effort, Langley wants to take extra security precautions.”

Paul twisted and turned the USB drive in his chubby fingers, thinking. Rhodes worried that Paul might hand it back over to him.

“Look, we both know you’re too polite to say it, so I’ll say it for you. You want to know why I’m reaching out to you to do this when we haven’t been in touch for years.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, not staying in touch is completely my fault, and I apologize. You knew how ambitious I was back then. I hate to admit it, but I’ve only gotten worse over the years. It’s easy to forget old friends from back in the day when you’re busy making new ones, scrambling up the corporate ladder. I’m sorry.”

Paul shrugged. He’d never known Rhodes to apologize for anything. “No, I get it. You were a busy man — heck, a senator. Not a lot of time to grab a beer with your old buddy in accounting.”

Rhodes laid a manicured hand on Paul’s thick thigh. “But you know that I never forgot what you did for me. Never.”

Paul shifted uncomfortably again. “That was one night, a long time ago. Water under the bridge.”

Rhodes smiled. “You know, when I told my friend in the Special Activities Division that you would be the point man for this, he was thrilled.”

Paul frowned, incredulous. “Why?”

“Because they still remember you over there.”

“Really?”

“How could they not?”

Paul stopped twisting the drive in his fingers. He stared at it, calculating. “So if I were to do this, what are the conditions?”

“Good question. There are a few things. First, we can’t tell Jack or Gerry about any of this.”

Paul was confused. Ryan and Hendley were friends of Rhodes’s and as patriotic as anybody. “Why not?”

“They’re both first-rate men — trust me, I know them well. But they’re not on the need-to-know list as far as Langley is concerned, and the fewer people that know about this, the better. More important, there is the extremely slight possibility that you will get caught doing this. It’s better for them, and for the firm’s reputation, if they genuinely have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Plausible deniability.”

Rhodes nodded. “It’s really to protect Hendley Associates. You remember what happened to Arthur Andersen after the Enron fiasco.”

“I get it.”

“Along the same lines, we obviously can’t let Dalfan know what you’re doing. If we give them a heads-up, and if there really is an internal problem, they might put up a defense against the probe. On a personal note, I hate to call a potential partner a Chinese spy before we’ve even begun the relationship — especially since I don’t think that little sniffer in your hand is going to find anything. Make sense?”

“Sure.”

“Also, if word got out about what you and I are doing, it could kill the merger and tank our stock price, along with theirs. And like you suggested, this really would appear like a gross conflict of interest — at least in the eyes of the SEC. They’d crucify me and my board if they got wind of this. Fines, maybe even jail time. Not to mention the fact I’d be fired. And quite frankly, I’ve gotten used to the big paycheck they hand me every year.”

“I can only imagine.” Paul was well compensated for his work at Hendley Associates, but the kind of money Rhodes made as a board member would be several orders of magnitude greater. “Anything else?”

“Yes, and it’s the most important one. You must get this drive inserted into a computer that’s connected to the Dalfan mainframe no later than midnight local, six days from now.” Rhodes took the drive from Paul’s hand and pointed at a tiny LED light on the far end of the thumb drive. “Just insert the drive into any USB port and the program will automatically launch. When you insert it, the light here will turn red. As the program executes, it will begin flashing red, and when the program is ready to launch, the light will turn blue. The program then asks for a four-digit passcode that you’ll provide, and then you’re done. The whole thing should take no more than thirty seconds.”

He handed the drive back to Paul. “I take it you’re in?”

“Yeah, I’m in.”

“Good, then there’s just one more thing.”

While Rhodes opened up his buffalo-leather laptop case, he explained that the USB drive he was giving to him needed to be biometrically encrypted, setting it up exclusively with Paul’s thumbprint so that only Paul could use the drive, and nobody else, including Rhodes. Using the software on Rhodes’s computer, they finished the brief procedure and Paul pocketed the drive.

“Can’t have this falling into anyone else’s hands, can we?”

“No worries, Wes. I’ll guard it with my life.”

Rhodes smiled. “I doubt it will come to that, old boy.” His smile faded. “But whatever you do, don’t fail the mission.”

After kissing his young wife good night and watching her ascend the staircase to their master suite, Weston Rhodes retired to his private study and locked the door.

It had been a good day — and a close call, for sure. He knew he could handle Brown, though he was surprised at the man’s initial resistance. It was Jack Ryan, Jr., that was the hard sell. Thank God for Gerry Hendley.

Rhodes unlocked a lower cabinet on the floor-to-ceiling bookcase and removed the small fingerprint-activated gun safe. The hinge popped open, revealing a Kimber Micro Crimson .380 ACP pistol with a checkered walnut grip — not his primary weapon.

Lying next to the Kimber was a small black Faraday bag, designed to block Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and cellular signals. A no-name generic cell phone was inside. He removed the burner phone from the bag and placed it on the blotter of his Italian nineteenth-century turned-walnut writing desk. He then opened a desk drawer and removed a box of paper clips, opened it, pulled out a SIM card from the box, and inserted it into the phone. He powered the phone up with an instant cell-phone charger he kept in yet another drawer, then dialed a number. It rang until the man on the other end picked up.

“It’s in play,” Rhodes said. A barrage of questions followed. He answered each. “He’ll contact me as soon as the drive is installed. No need to worry. Like I said, Paul’s the best. I’ll keep you posted.”

Rhodes rang off when the conversation had run its course. He never mentioned Jack Ryan, Jr. That was his affair.

Jack was his insurance.