Or so ran the theory anyway.
But to the best of her knowledge, this was the program’s first operational test. If there were any bugs in the JANUS code, Randi Russell knew she was about to find out about them the hard way.
For what felt like an eternity, the machine only seemed to whir and click and beep softly to itself. JANUS was busy spreading itself through the entire BKA computer system, rummaging first through the servers and workstations in this building and then rippling outward to those in the rest of Berlin, to Bonn, and the headquarters complex in Wiesbaden.
Randi fought the urge to stand and pace off some of the nervous energy she felt building up inside her. Though she understood the need in this case to rely on the competence of the CIA’s technical people, she did not enjoy the sensation of dependence. She had always resented not being fully in control of her own fate and this was not a personality trait she had been able to hide. There were several memos to that effect in her Agency personnel file noting, with appropriate bureaucratic concern, both her “lone wolf” tenden-cies and willingness to bend rules and regulations whenever she believed it to be necessary.
A new text box flashed onto the display: SECURITY PENETRATION COMPLETE. ALL FILES ACCESSIBLE. NO ALARMS DETECTED.
She sat back with a soft sigh of relief, feeling her shoulders and neck starting to unkink. She was safely inside the BKA system. Then she leaned forward again, intent on the necessary next step in this operation. Her fingers flashed over the keyboard, sending her next commands to JANUS. She ordered the program to retrieve every single report, dossier, and piece of correspondence that so much as mentioned Wulf Renke’s name.
Again, she was forced to sit waiting for JANUS to work its black magic, matching the required passwords to classification levels and then sifting through hundreds of thousands of archived files, some of them digitized copies of paper records dating back as far as thirty years. One-line summaries of the relevant documents began crowding the screen, scrolling upward at a faster and faster pace. Most were from the BKA itself, but others appeared to be classified East German government documents obtained after German reunification.
Randi waited until the enormously long list came to an end and then punched in another order: COPY ALL TO DISC. Controlled by the imperatives laid down in JANUS, the Bundeskriminalamt computer system complied, obediently duplicating every file involving Renke onto the blank CD-ROMs she inserted one after another. With that done, one last command purged the system of the CIA spy program, effectively erasing the most obvious traces of what she had done.
As soon as the BKA default screen popped back up on Zentner’s display, she stood up, slid the various discs into her case, and headed for the door.
Once she was away from this building, she could head to an Agency-owned safe house and get out of this disguise. The man-hungry Computer Specialist Petra Vogel would vanish forever, to the certain dismay of the unfortunate Otto Fromm.
Randi would then take the discs to the CIA’s Berlin Station, where intelligence analysts would begin hunting for anomalies or for other clues. For anything that might explain Wulf Renke’s mysterious ability to evade arrest by the German authorities.
One hour later, a small subroutine hidden deep inside the software which managed the Bundeskriminalamt’s computer systems began its regular daily scan through certain tagged files, examining them for any signs of tampering or unexpected access. Almost immediately, the scan detected significant anomalies and began recording them. The information it collected activated previously unused sections of code within the concealed subroutine, triggering an emergency alert that was e-mailed to a personal computer outside the official BKA network.
From there, the encrypted e-mail went racing eastward, shunted through a succession of Internet servers until it reached its final destination?the Moscow offices of the Brandt Group.
Gerhard Lange read through the auto-generated report in worried silence.
He pursed his thin lips, thinking through the implications of the information it contained. Coming as it did right on top of tonight’s total failure to capture
Smith and Fiona Devin, this latest development was deeply disturbing.
The slim ex-Stasi officer picked up his phone and dialed Brandt’s direct cell number.
“Yes?” Erich Brandt snapped, answering on the first ring. “What is it now?”
“Someone is sniffing around the Renke files,” Lange warned him quietly.
“Who?”
Lange sighed. “That is the difficulty. According to the sentry subroutine we planted inside the BKA computer system, several hundred separate files concerning Herr Professor Renke were just accessed by more than twenty different users, including the director himself, and all within a ten-minute period. What is more, all of those document requests were made from the same workstation, one assigned to the system administrator for a local- area network in Berlin.”
For a moment, there was silence on the line. Then Brandt growled, “That’s impossible.”
“So I would think,” Lange said softly.
“You believe this is the work of the Americans,” Brandt said.
“That seems the likely answer,” Lange agreed. “Certainly both the CIA and the NSA possess the technological means to conduct such a large-scale penetration of the Bundeskriminalamt archives.”
“And the Americans have a motive,” Brandt realized, speaking slowly and reluctantly.
Lange nodded. “Yes. If, that is, one accepts the probability that our security for HYDRA has been compromised to a much greater degree than we had first assumed.”
“So it appears,” Brandt said through gritted teeth. “Well, then, let us hope this latest news escapes the Russians.”
Lange chose his next words very carefully. “If the Americans are probing Renke’s past history, thev could begin tracing our clandestine sources and assets inside the German government?”
“I am well aware of what they may learn,” Brandt interrupted. “Listen closelv, Gerhard. I want vou to assemble a hunter-killer team and fly to Berlin.
Leave tonight, if possible.”
“And my orders?”
“You and your team will find and close this new security breach,” Brandt said icily. “At any cost.”
Chapter Twenty
Located on Lafayette Square across from the White House, the Hay-Adams Hotel was a Washington landmark. For nearly eighty years, American movers and shakers of all kinds?powerful politicians, federal cabinet officers, top White House aides, famous actors, and wealthy corporate executives among them ?had been drawn to its beautifully decorated private rooms and public spaces.
The hotel’s premier restaurant, the Lafayette Room, was famous for its award-winning cuisine and superb wine list. For nearly a year, it had also been the favorite haunt of a group of senior staffers for the House and Senate intelligence and armed services committees. Once every week, they met in the Lafayette Room for a “working lunch” with ranking analysts and advisors from the Pentagon, CIA, and State Department. These regular gatherings were seen as an opportunity to exchange information, hash through policy disputes, and smooth over occasional personality clashes in a friendlier, more collegial setting, one far removed from the usual political posturing up on Capitol Hill.
Inside the restaurant’s pristine kitchen, one of the Lafayette Room’s newest sous-chefs, a Romanian immigrant named Dragos Bratianu, worked deftly, swiftly combining snow peas, asparagus, and fresh green beans in a large, shallow bowl with several tablespoons of freshly minced chives and tarragon. He was putting the finishing touches on the special salad ordered by one of the State Department’s most highly regarded experts on Russian foreign policv.
Bratianu risked a cautious, sidelong glance over his shoulder. The other white-coated men and women
