Act of War

CHAPTER 31

DNI General George Johnson slid two briefing books across the table — one to Harvath and the other to the Old Man. “Whose idea was this Facebook thing?” he asked.

Carlton cocked his head at Harvath and said, “It was his idea. He deserves the credit.”

“It was pretty clever and may be the break we’ve been looking for,” said Johnson. “According to the NSA, all six of those engineering students have a Facebook account. None of them have been posting to their accounts. Total radio silence. Except,” he said, pausing and looking at Harvath.

“They’re still tuning their radios in and listening,” said Harvath, recalling what he had brought the Old Man back into his house to discuss.

“Bingo.”

“Can you be more specific?” the President asked.

Johnson ceded the floor to Harvath, who replied, “Facebook, sir, is huge in the Middle East. Asking six young men to refrain from posting is a big deal. With the right carrot and stick you could probably get them not to post. But what I was wondering was whether they would be able to stay off Facebook altogether. Would they ‘sneak’ on just to look? Just to check in and see what their family and friends were up to back home?”

“And that’s what they’ve been doing?”

The DNI nodded and pulled up a map of the United States on the monitors. “One account has been accessed multiple times from Seattle, another from Las Vegas, another from Des Moines, one from Dallas, one from Baltimore, and, surprise, one from Nashville.” As he named each city, he tapped a key on his keyboard, which highlighted it and then popped up the corresponding engineering student’s picture next to it.

Johnson then zoomed in on Nashville and showed where the Facebook account was being accessed from. “This is an example of how our engineering student is accessing the Internet from different locations offering free Wi-Fi.”

“If these were my guys,” said Harvath, “I wouldn’t allow them to operate a motor vehicle. There’s too great a chance that they would come into contact with law enforcement that way. I would have them in a lower-middle-class neighborhood in each city, lying low. To get to those Wi-Fi spots, they’d either have to walk, ride a bike, or take public transportation.”

“Which means we can start drawing circles around each one, see where they intersect, and then start tightening the net,” replied FBI Director Erickson. “This is significant.”

Harvath looked back to the DNI. “What about the handler? Whoever is in charge of these guys has to be aware of their Facebook accounts. He’d be watching to make sure they stay off and don’t post anything.”

“That one was a little bit harder to track down, but the NSA found him. He’s using six different accounts — one dedicated to each engineering student’s Facebook page.”

“Where is he located?”

“He’s using different free Wi-Fi locations in Idaho, specifically within a couple of hours’ drive of Boise. Truck stops, coffee shops, he never uses the same spot twice. Boise is interesting because three weeks after the NASA internship ended, all six engineering students used the free Wi-Fi at the Greyhound bus station in Boise to check their Facebook accounts. All six, all on the same day.”

“Do we have any idea what they were doing in Idaho?” Carlton asked.

“I’ll bet you a month’s pay,” said McGee, “they were training. Pretty rugged and rural up there. They wrap up their training, the handler drops them at the bus station, and they all jump online to see what’s been going on back home since they’ve been off the grid.”

Harvath agreed. “We need the CCTV footage from the bus station, as well as every single ATM, traffic, and security camera from that area. Plus, we’ll need all the locations where we believe the handler has been.”

“We’re on it,” said Erickson.

“Besides possibly training, do we have any other idea why they might have picked Idaho?” McGee asked.

“We’re not sure,” General Johnson replied. “A couple of years ago, a Chinese company was looking into building what it called a ‘self-sustaining city’ about fifty miles south of Boise, but nothing ever came of it.”

“What do you mean, ‘self-sustaining city’?” the President asked.

“They have these in China. They call them ‘technology zones.’ Everything is self-contained, even their power plants and the housing for workers. They don’t need much of anything from the outside. Some company owned by the Chinese government called the China National Machinery Industry Corp. began lobbying the Idaho governor a couple years ago to be allowed to build a thirty-thousand-acre ‘technology zone’ with homes, retail centers, and industry. It would include a $2 billion fertilizer plant as well as a facility that would mass-produce solar panels, all to be built just south of the Boise airport, which would be used for all of their air freight.”

“Did anything come of it?”

“According to the governor’s office, it was just preliminary. The delegation also approached several other states proposing similar technology zones.”

“All near major airports?” asked the President.

Johnson nodded.

“Knowing what we know now,” stated McGee, “it sounds like these could have also functioned as self-sustaining forward operating bases for their landing forces.”

The President nodded and turned to the FBI Director. “Let’s talk about the other item that wasn’t included in the briefing.”

“We believe we know where in Nashville Bao Deng is,” said Erickson.

“Where?” Harvath asked.

Pulling up a satellite image onscreen, he said, “FedEx delivered a package this morning to a Residence Inn by Marriott in the Cool Springs area near Nashville. It was addressed Hold for Hotel Guest Mr. Bao Deng.”

“How did you find that?”

“NSA uncovered it.”

Harvath didn’t bother asking what NSA was doing combing through FedEx’s shipping receipts. “Where did the package come from?”

“An unattended drop-box in San Francisco. Billing info is from a prepaid credit card,” said Erickson. “We have agents out there looking into it.”

“Do we know what was in the package?”

“No. Only that it was a standard shipping box that weighed in under five pounds.”

“Is he registered at the hotel?” Harvath asked.

The FBI Director nodded. “He checked in this afternoon.”

“Do you have people sitting on it?”

“Yes. We don’t believe he’s there right now, but we have it under surveillance.”

“Pull it back,” Harvath said.

“What?”

“Pull your people back. As far as possible.”

“Why?” Erickson responded.

“Because if you don’t, this guy absolutely will spot your surveillance teams.”

“How do you know that?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Director, when I get sent halfway around the world by my government, it’s not because someone needs help slicing birthday cake. This guy will know what to look for.”

The FBI Director held up his hand. “First of all, you’re assuming he’s a professional.”

“I’m not assuming anything,” Harvath replied. “Based on what we’ve already seen, Deng has proven that he is a professional. The question is, why is he here? Has anyone looked into when he bought his airline ticket?”

The Director looked through his notes and found the information. “Two days ago.”

“Last-minute. Just like Tommy Wong,” said Harvath. “That’s a huge risk. They know we scrutinize last-minute purchases. He would have needed a cover story in case immigration asked him anything at LAX. You should tell your people to triple-check any stories they come across at his poultry plant.”

“What kind of stories?”

“An accident, a failed piece of machinery, a client backing out of a major deal. That sort of thing.”

The FBI Director made a note on his pad.

“Why do you think he took the risk?” the President asked.

Harvath thought about it for a moment. “Everything should be on autopilot at this point. You don’t do anything that risks exposing the operation unless something has gone very wrong. I think that’s what’s happened. Something has gone upside down and the Chinese have sent in a pro to straighten it out.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I think the Nashville cell is probably compromised.”

“Compromised how?” asked McGee.

Harvath shrugged. “You know this game as well as I do. It could be anything. Did someone get cold feet? Is the cell being blackmailed? Do they need to get rid of a body? Did a key piece of equipment fail? Whatever it is, it isn’t good news for them. But if we handle this right, it could be good news for us.”

Silence settled over the room as the directors for National Intelligence, CIA, and FBI all turned and looked at the President.

The President looked at Harvath. “In your estimation, what do we need to do to handle this right?” he asked.

Harvath studied each of the faces gathered around the table. “Off the record?”

President Porter nodded.

Looking over at Carlton, Harvath asked, “How soon do Sloane and Chase land?”

The Old Man glanced at the Situation Room clock and said, “Twenty minutes.”