Point of Contact

55

Paul turned to Bai. “Why don’t you go use Jack’s phone next door and call your mother, make sure she’s okay, then go and get us a couple of hot coffees.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

Bai shrugged. “C’mon, Mr. Brown. You know my job is to keep an eye on you.”

“I’ve been a big threat, haven’t I? Doing all kinds of crazy things.”

Bai smiled. “No, not really.”

“But this storm is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m worried about my mother.”

“Then go call her on Jack’s phone over there. Make sure she’s okay. And if she is, why don’t you run to the kitchen and fetch us a couple of hot coffees and something sweet? I won’t leave here, I promise. Okay?”

Paul watched the wheels turning behind Bai’s eyes. Finally he said, “Okay. Cream and sugar, right?”

“Plenty of both. Thanks.”

Bai stepped over to Jack’s office and dialed his mother as Paul logged on to his Dalfan desktop computer and opened his hard drive.

Paul watched Bai’s animated gesturing through the glass as he spoke with his mother over the phone. An argument of some sort, Paul guessed. Bai was completely distracted by his conversation with his mother, so Paul used the opportunity to pull up the CIA file on his laptop.

As soon as Bai hung up the phone and headed for the break room, Paul pulled out his Dalfan USB drive from his desk and loaded it onto his laptop. The USB drive icon appeared on his screen. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Thirty seconds later, a file labeled BIGDADDYG appeared on his laptop.

Paul ejected the Dalfan USB and replaced it with his CIA drive, smuggled in his left shoe and fetched out in the bathroom earlier. He dragged BIGDADDYG onto it.

According to Gavin, that was it. The CIA drive could now be loaded onto a Dalfan computer. All he had to do was install it into the Dalfan desktop computer and type in his passcode when prompted, and the mission would be complete — in thirty seconds or less.

Paul gripped the CIA drive between his thumb and index finger and pointed it at the USB port on the Dalfan computer. Just as the silver tongue of the USB drive was about to seat in the port, Paul stopped. He checked to make sure Bai was still gone, then opened his laptop back up. He pulled up the CIA file and opened the file folder, then drilled down into the files, digging deeper until he opened up the lines of code. He read them like a Talmudic scholar, his eyes raking over the numbers and letters, mumbling to himself as he read along.

And then he saw it. A familiar line, connected to another, and another.

“Holy schnikes,” he whispered. “No way.” He wished to God he could call Gavin and show him this. Incredible.

And incredibly dangerous.

“What the hell is that?” a voice said.

Paul glanced up, stunned by the voice. It was Yong, his face hard as flint. He pointed at the lines of code on Paul’s screen.

Paul swallowed hard. “This?”

Yong stepped closer, furious. “Yes. That.”

Sania Masood sat at her workstation in her private office, curtains drawn, door closed. She studied the screen in front of her, but her mind was on the package in her drawer. It was nearly noon.

Her phone rang. She picked up.

“Deep Convection Analysis.”

“Have you opened the package yet?”

Masood smiled. She recognized the man’s voice. “The instructions said to wait until noon.”

“Yes, I know. But please, do it now, while I’m on the phone.”

“As you wish.”

She put the call on speakerphone, opened her desk drawer and removed the package, then opened another drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. She carefully cut the twine binding it and slid a thin fingernail underneath each perfectly placed piece of Scotch tape, lifting them in such a manner to not harm the contents inside. She then gently lifted the heavy box lid.

Her eyes widened.

The voice on the speakerphone asked, “Are you surprised?”

“Completely.” Masood lifted the item out of the box.

Jane Austen’s Persuasion. She opened the first pages. Published 1907, illustrated by Brock.

“I love it, Uncle. Thank you.” She read the attached note. Something to read tonight after your first day back at work.

“It’s my favorite Austen novel. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll start it on my lunch break, in the next few minutes.”

“How does it feel to be back at work?”

“Don’t you mean to ask, ‘How is the pacemaker working?’”

He laughed. “Something like that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Uncle. No problems, really.”

An alarm blared on her monitor.

“Uncle, I’m sorry, I have to go.” Without waiting, she hung up the phone.

The screen that Masood monitored featured a live video feed from the Japanese geostationary satellite Himawari 8. Though owned and operated by the Japanese Meteorological Agency, the Himawari 8 fed images to the BMKG, the regional agency managing the Tropical Cyclone Warning Center. She was in charge of deep convection analysis, one of several optical and sensor operations provided by the sixteen-channel multispectral imager on board the solar-powered satellite.

She knew every monitor on her floor was alarming as well. Tropical Storm Ema was strengthening into Typhoon Ema — and charging north. Impossible. It had never happened before.

And it was heading straight for Singapore.