Point of Contact

21

While Jack was enjoying the mai tai and the spectacular view, Paul was drinking hot tea and sweating bullets.

He sat at the kitchen table, staring at Rhodes’s USB drive, as well as the dummy drive containing his Smithsonian photographs.

His test of the security system went about as expected. Well, he’d hoped Dalfan’s security was lax, but he expected it to be like other high-security environments in which he’d worked, and his expectations proved correct. That wasn’t good for him.

Pretending to hide a USB drive in the bottom of his computer bag was Paul’s way to test how thorough their search procedures were. He was a little surprised Dalfan went to the trouble of opening up his personal USB drive to check the contents instead of just handing it over to him. If there had been a virus on that drive, it would have infected the security station computer, but that also meant that the security computer wasn’t connected to the mainframe, so all Dalfan would lose in an infection scenario was one computer.

Smart.

The fact Dalfan security also checked for explosive residue meant they were very serious about both kinetic and digital threats. Paul now assumed that at least some of Lian’s security team must have been concealing weapons as well.

Bai was a pain in his rear end. The guy never left his side. But his explanation of the electronic lock on the USB ports of every Dalfan computer was useful. No USB drive could be loaded without the encryption code.

The only problem was that Paul didn’t have the encryption code.

That meant he couldn’t load Rhodes’s USB drive directly.

Which meant he couldn’t complete the mission.

Which meant that he was seriously and irrevocably cornholed.

Paul picked up Rhodes’s USB drive and examined it again. Was there something he was missing?

The only good news was that the Dalfan people didn’t do a full body search. It might, in fact, be possible to smuggle Rhodes’s drive into the facility by hiding it in one of his pant cuffs or a shoe. But even if he did that, what good would that do?

And just because Dalfan security hadn’t wanded him or patted him down last time didn’t mean they wouldn’t do so on his next visit. Getting caught trying to smuggle in a USB drive he couldn’t load anyway was a special kind of stupid.

He also couldn’t connect his laptop to a Dalfan computer or the mainframe — the same encryption code prevented it.

Paul took another sip of tea. He formulated a list of questions for himself.

How can I defeat the USB port encryption lock?

How can I distract or get rid of Bai?

How do I not get caught doing any of this stuff — and avoid getting thrown into a Singapore jail for espionage?

The only good news was that there were still four days to try and figure out these questions.

The bad news was that there were only four days left to try and figure out these questions.

Paul wondered if he should call Rhodes and tell him he just wasn’t up to the job. Tell him the security protocols were far more stringent than they had realized.

Wait. Didn’t Rhodes say he’d already been to Dalfan headquarters? If he had, then he would’ve known how strict the security protocols were. Why didn’t he tell Paul?

Maybe because Rhodes knew that he wouldn’t have agreed to do the assignment if he’d known how tough it was going to be.

Rhodes was a manipulator. That was part of his job. Or at least it was when Paul knew him back in Bulgaria in 1985. He also remembered that Rhodes didn’t tell him all the gory details in advance about that night so many years ago, either.

Rhodes had a high estimation of himself and his abilities, and a corresponding poor estimation of others. Both defaults were a function of his class and his breeding, his education and his training. So naturally he would believe he had to manipulate others around him in order to accomplish his objectives through them.

Now the picture was becoming clearer. The old-boy network at Langley had called on one of their favorite sons again — a CIA legacy, no less, the grandson of an OSS hero — and that dutiful son, Rhodes, had answered that call yet again. It was only natural for Rhodes to reach out to someone who could actually carry the water on this mission, and so Rhodes cajoled Paul into the assignment. Rhodes had handed him a rock too heavy to lift and then told him to lift it.

But then again, the more he thought about it, the more Paul began to see the logic. No doubt the reason the CIA didn’t run the op themselves was that they couldn’t figure out a way to pull it off, either. So they called in Rhodes for ideas, and apparently Paul was his best. “If anyone call pull this off, it would be Paul Brown,” he imagined Rhodes telling them. And that would be true, because Paul had certain unique skill sets and Rhodes knew that.

So that would’ve been a compliment.

Hard to get angry about that.

“But what if he can’t pull it off?” Paul imagined the Langley special activities officer asking. And in his mind’s eye, he saw Rhodes shrugging and saying, “Then he doesn’t pull it off. We’re no worse off for trying.”

“Unless he gets caught,” Paul whispered aloud, still speaking as the imaginary SAD man.

Paul shrugged. So just don’t get caught.

So how could he avoid getting caught? The only way to definitely not get caught was to not try at all, but that wasn’t an option.

He didn’t want to let Rhodes down. More important, he didn’t want to let his country down. He had to try something.

But what?

Paul checked his watch. It was time to call Rhodes. He wasn’t going to be happy.

After several rings Rhodes finally picked up. “Paul?”

“One and the same.”

“It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too, Wes. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all. Just got back from the gym. How’s the weather over there?”

“Warm, scattered showers. A lull in the monsoon season, I’m told.”

“We’re expecting snow this evening. I think I’d rather be where you are. How do you like it? The city, I mean?”

“It’s an amazing place. I’ve never been in such a clean, well-ordered city. It feels more like Disney Epcot than New York or Chicago.”

“I thought you’d like it. So, how is everything? Has Dr. Fairchild taken good care of you and Jack?”

“Very much so. Jack’s out on the town right now with Lian Fairchild.”

“Outstanding. How’s work?”

“Uneventful, as we suspected.”

“That’s good news.” The senator paused. He was waiting for the coded message Paul was required to deliver.

“I only have one complaint about this place. I can’t find a good cup of chamomile tea.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, “That’s disappointing to hear. But keep looking. I have no doubt that you’ll find it, and soon. Tell Jack I said hello and send my greetings to Dr. Fairchild.”

“Will do.”

“Stay in touch.”

Paul rang off. He could hear the disappointment in the senator’s voice.

There had to be a work-around. He hoped he had the time to figure out what it was, but he doubted he had the skill.

Still, he had to try.

And if he got caught? Well, if the prison was as clean and well run as the rest of the city, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Rhodes paced around his library, his cell phone still clutched in his hand.

This wasn’t good. He was sure Paul would’ve already loaded the USB drive. He knew Dalfan’s security was tight, but Paul was smarter than any IT security department. Or at least he thought so.

And if smart wasn’t enough, luck was even better. Paul has that in spades, the fat bastard.

Rhodes stepped to the library door to make sure the maid didn’t have her ear pressed against it, even though she wasn’t due in for another hour. His young wife was off to her hot yoga class, which meant Rhodes had the place all to himself.

Rhodes retrieved his burner phone, SIM card, and battery pack and hit the speed-dial button. His father taught him a long time ago the only way to confront trouble was straight on. Unfortunately, the man on the other end was a brick wall and Rhodes was running into it headfirst.

“What’s the status?” the voice demanded.

“Still working on it.”

“Then why have you called?”

“To keep you informed.”

“Do I need to remind you that time is running out?”

“There are still four days left. I’m confident he’ll figure out a way to make this happen.”

“You know what happens if he doesn’t.”

Rhodes swallowed hard. He’d bet heavily on this operation by borrowing heavily, including a second mortgage on the McMansion he was standing in. Crashing Dalfan’s stock price was a guaranteed way for him to cash in with leveraged calls — like betting against a boxer you knew was going to throw the fight. “I’ll lose a great deal of money.”

“That’s the least of your worries.” The voice rang off.

Rhodes stared at the phone in his hand, trembling with rage.

“Or yours, asshole.”

Rhodes paced the room.

How in the hell did I get myself into this mess?