The Survivor

CHAPTER 43

Irene Kennedy followed as Nash weaved confidently through the maze of cubicles. She’d never been in this part of the building and its inhabitants’ faces reflected that. At first, expressions ranged from mild shock to outright fear. By the time she neared the back wall, though, word had spread. Every head was down, focused on computer screens, phones, or whatever documents were at hand.

Apparently Marcus Dumond was starting to be affected by the pressure of the job he’d been tasked with and Nash felt that dragging him up to the seventh floor would make matters worse. The hope was that Dumond would be more relaxed on his home turf.

The office was what she’d expected — indeed what he’d asked for when he’d signed on. Nearly as big as hers but windowless, it looked a bit like a garage sale right before the doors opened. There was nothing that even vaguely resembled office furniture. Paper files and books were stacked on a sagging Ping-Pong table, vintage La-Z-Boys provided seating, and there was an unmade twin bed beneath a Washington Redskins poster in the corner. Mitch Rapp was sitting on a threadbare sofa next to what appeared to be a week’s worth of dirty clothes.

He didn’t look up from the Sports Illustrated he was reading when they entered. Dumond, on the other hand, jumped to attention and began tossing stuff off a recliner centered in the room.

“That’s all right,” Kennedy said. “I can stand.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I’m told you’ve come up with a plan, Marcus.”

“I guess. I mean, yes… I have.”

She was glad she hadn’t insisted on him coming upstairs. Nash was right. She’d seen the young computer genius nervous before, but the deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes was new.

“I’m anxious to hear it. You know we have nothing but confidence in you, right, Marcus?”

“Yeah…. Thanks,” he said before falling silent.

“Come on, big guy,” Nash prompted. “It’s a great idea. Tell Irene just like you told me.”

“Okay. I still have friends who are… well, hackers. I mean, I don’t do any of that stuff anymore. No way. But I’ve stayed in touch with a few people from back in the day.” His gaze fell to the floor. “You know. Here and there.”

Kennedy just smiled blandly. It was an outrageous lie. Just last week, Dumond and a few of these friends had broken into the Walt Disney Studios site and replaced the new Star Wars trailer with a vulgar — but beautifully produced — interpretation of their own.

As long as it was harmless fun and he covered his tracks, Kennedy wasn’t inclined to intervene. In a way, the competition and cooperation with other hackers helped keep his skills sharp. While people on her end of the spy business tended to benefit from their years of experience, time worked against the tech gurus.

Dumond’s comment got more of a reaction from Rapp, who finally looked over the top of his magazine. “Loved the Star Wars video, asshole.”

The young man froze. “You know about that?”

Rapp scowled and went back to his article. “Are we going to do this anytime this year?”

Nash leaned into Dumond and spoke reassuringly in his ear. The hacker gave a few jerky nods and continued.

“Rickman needed someone to send his files to the Russians or the Iranians, or whoever, right? He’d have to find someone good enough to cover their tracks, and since they’d have to decrypt the data first, they’d also have to be kind of lunatic fringe. Crooked enough not to care that the stuff they’re handling could get people killed and nuts enough to not care about pissing off the CIA.”

“Your point?” Rapp said.

“It’s a pretty short list — people smart enough to have a chance of keeping me off them and big enough jerks to get involved.”

“Do we have that list?” Kennedy asked.

He slipped a piece of paper from his back pocket and carefully unfolded it. Kennedy took the damp page and scanned down it. “There must be fifty names here. And probably thirty nationalities.”

“Yeah. But it’s better than seven billion names, which is what we’ve got now.”

“So let’s say our guy is on that list,” Rapp said, putting down his magazine. “How do we narrow it down?”

“I send out a phishing email.”

Rapp’s suspicion of technology had made him somewhat ignorant of it. In his mind, it was better to just stay away from things that evolved on an hourly schedule and could be grasped only by teenagers.

“Like the ones you get pretending to be your bank and asking for your password?”

“Exactly. We’d send a file from that Italian law firm’s server to — everyone on the list. The guy we’re looking for would try to decrypt it, but I’d make it so it comes up corrupted. Whoever responds and asks for us to resend it is the person we’re looking for.”

“And you’d be able to trace that email?”

“If I’m ready for it and you were serious about giving me access to a whole lot of the NSA’s bandwidth, yeah. I can trace it.”

Kennedy was the first to raise an objection. “Fifty seems like a lot, Marcus. You hackers communicate, don’t you? In private chat rooms and forums? Isn’t it likely that someone will mention getting this email? And that other people will say they did, too? Won’t that raise suspicions?”

“It’s definitely a risk. But it’s the best thing I can come up with.”

“Why can’t we narrow it down?” Rapp said.

Everyone looked over at him. “How?” Nash asked.

“Rick would pick the best one.”

“I agree,” Kennedy said. “But that’s a subjective concept. What’s ‘best’?”

Rapp stood and took the list from her, spreading it out on the Ping-Pong table before motioning Dumond over. “Rick never made a move without knowing all the angles. He researched everything to death and had more contacts in more places than anyone in the Agency.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Dumond said.

“How many of these people are you friends with or have you collaborated with in the past? Rick would know we’d give you the lead on this, so it seems pretty unlikely that he’d hand the job to someone you’re close to. Mark off all your friends.”

“Hey, Mitch… like I told you, the people on this list are pretty bent. I wouldn’t hang out with guys who’d do something like this.”

Rapp turned toward Dumond and the hacker again let his eyes drift to the floor.

“Look at me, Marcus.”

“Mitch, I—”

“You know what kind of people I deal with every day?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Then you’ll believe me when I say that I couldn’t give a fuck about a bunch of people running around stealing credit card numbers. What I care about — all I care about — is you putting me in front of this guy.”

Dumond reluctantly pulled out a pen and began marking through names. It turned out to be more than Rapp would have guessed. When he was finished, there were only about twenty names left.

“Mitch is right,” Kennedy said. “But let’s take it one step further. How many of the remaining people have you hurt, Marcus? Blocked, stolen from, or made look foolish? How many hate you enough that they’d fight you every step if you ever tried to get to them?”

He scanned through the list. “Maybe four.”

Rapp tapped the page with his index finger. “Then that’s where we start.”

Rapp followed Irene Kennedy into her office and closed the door behind him.

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

Normally Rapp avoided headquarters like the plague, and that day he’d been forced to take the full tour — public elevators, the basement, and more crowded hallways than he could count. As a man who valued anonymity beyond all other things, being gawked at and backslapped by half the Agency wasn’t going down well.

“Please have a seat.”

He would have preferred to stay close to the door, but there was a weight to Kennedy’s tone that suggested the meeting was going to be neither quick nor easy.

“What is it?” he said, doing as she asked.

“I have a meeting with the president scheduled for later this afternoon.”

“Let me guess. Kamal Safavi?”

Tensions between the United States and the Iranians continued to escalate, with accusations being flung from both sides. Tehran had completely shut down diplomatic relations, and President Alexander was talking about a new round of sanctions. In the meantime, the fledgling cooperation between the two countries with regard to controlling the Sunnis was dead in the water.

“Iran’s one item on the agenda.”

“What are the others?”

“The Russians. Fahran Hotaki. The fact that someone has the Rickman files and there’s no way for us to be certain they haven’t accessed them. What Rick knew and how he got that information…” Her voice trailed off.

Rapp didn’t envy her. There was nothing politicians liked to do more than Monday morning quarterback decisions that they themselves wouldn’t have the guts to make. As long as things were going well and they were getting reelected, they were content to stay in the background. But when things got tough, they didn’t just abandon the sinking ship, they drilled holes in the hull on their way out.

“Is that all?”

“No. I assume the subject of my resignation will come up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m afraid not. We had a lot of history with President Hayes, but the situation with Alexander is completely different. He wants to do the right thing but at some point politics wins.”

“So we have the walls coming down around us and they’re going to install some political hack to make it look like they’re reining us in? If he gets in my way, Irene, I swear I’ll put a bullet in the back of his head.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’m not joking. If anyone tries to stop me from turning this situation around, they’re going to have serious problems. The choice between some wound-up bureaucrat and one of our guys in the field is pretty easy for me.”

“I think we can avoid it coming to that. With all the gridlock and posturing that goes along with getting a new director confirmed, a temporary head of the Agency will have to be named. I think the president will strongly consider any recommendation I make.”

“I feel like you’re giving up too easily, Irene. You almost sound okay with this.”

“I’m not giving up, but there’s blood in the water and I’ve made more than my share of enemies in Washington. It would be stupid for me to go to this meeting unprepared for the president to ask me to step down.”

“Who then?”

“You’re too controversial and I assume you wouldn’t take the job anyway.”

“I’d rather put a gun in my mouth.”

“Then Mike Nash.”

Rapp didn’t respond, instead leaning back in his chair and staring past Kennedy through the window behind her.

“He’s the American hero you insisted on making him, Mitch. Any politician who takes a stand against him will run a serious public relations risk.”

While Rapp wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea, Kennedy was likely right. Nash had the resume, and despite a tendency toward moral paralysis, he was no coward. When it came time for things to get bloody, he could be counted on to be there.

“Mike wouldn’t be permanent and I don’t think he or anyone in Washington would want him to be,” Kennedy continued. “The goal here is to put someone in my chair who can keep the politicians off your back long enough for you to resolve the Rickman problem.”

Rapp still didn’t respond.

“Mitch? I need you to say something. If you can’t work with him — technically for him — you have to tell me who you’d prefer.”

“Fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I might have to knock him on his ass a couple of times, but I can work with him.”

“For him,” she repeated.

“I said fine.”

She was visibly relieved. “Like I said, I hope it won’t come to that, but we have to be ready.”

“Yeah,” Rapp said, trying to swallow his anger. Putting Irene Kennedy out on the street with everything that was going on would be unimaginably stupid. The problem was that unimaginably stupid had become a job requirement in Washington.