crisscrossing the country before making its final connections.
Grin had brought in a large-screen color monitor, which he attached to the laptop so they could watch the action unfold. Harbke was on a conference call with Washington, relaying status reports to the staff there. At 12:27, the Spyder logged into the Moy Electronics Corporation. At 12:28, it passed through that system security and was poised to strike once Moy’s secure computer came on-line.
The Moy computer network appeared in a window on the right side of Grin’s large monitor. On the left side, contrasting the superb graphics and professional design of the Moy screen, was the bland text-based menu of the Piccadilly Gardener. After logging on to the server as user Woodrow, the Spyder requested a private chat session with user Iris.
Roe’s computer beeped as the server notified her that Woodrow was requesting a private chat session with Iris. She agreed to chat and a direct link was made to the Spyder.
‘I believe we’re ready for the codes,’ Parnell announced.
Kang retrieved the diskette from his inside coat pocket and handed it over, repeating Phillip Moy’s explanation on how the information was to be used. Parnell inserted the disk into a notebook computer on his desk and brought up the instructions. Roe issued a series of control codes that gave her direct access to Moy’s computer network. The chat screen disappeared and was replaced by a colorful display from Moy Electronics.
Mosley had Gatekeeper teams on both sides of the Atlantic reporting in on the link between Parnell’s office and the Moy network. ‘She’s connected to Chicago, Neville. All stations are reporting in.’
‘That’s it, you buggers. Take the bait,’ Axton whispered, urging the people across the park to commit their crime.
At 5:30 London time, Roe requested access to Moy Electronics’ secure computer. Normally, the network would issue a reply that the requested computer was unavailable, but today the network granted her request. She followed Phillip Moy’s instructions to the letter. The Moy computer responded favorably and granted her access to the cipher files.
‘We’re in,’ Roe announced. The relief in her voice was apparent. ‘Now I need that batch program.’
Parnell handed over the diskette and Roe executed the program. Within seconds, the Moy computer began disgorging millions of bytes of information across the electronic connection. The read-write optical disk drive attached to Parnell’s computer hummed as the platter inside reached the desired rate of revolution. Bit by bit, the semiconductor lasers modified the optical disk’s surface, inscribing the data flowing out of the computer in Chicago.
On monitors from Chicago to London, agents from three different governmental services watched as computer files detailing the latest United States ciphers passed illegally out of the country. More than one of those who were watching the transaction wondered, If protected files like Moy’s were so easy to obtain, how well defended were the rest of the nation’s secrets from brilliant, dedicated, and ruthless thieves?
Roe got up to stretch her legs and walked over to the window. The file transfer had been running for thirty minutes, no doubt slowed by some of the systems that they were using to hide their entry into the Moy network. From Parnell’s corner office, she looked down the river and over at the adjacent park. Across the Thames, a new office tower rose from the dilapidated warehouses of the old empire.
Kang joined Roe at the window. ‘It’s quite a view. On a clear day, you might even be able to see the Houses of Parliament.’ Kang waved his hand upriver.
‘Actually, it’s more to the left,’ Roe corrected him. ‘The Thames snakes around quite a bit down here, but its general direction is that way.’
Kang looked off into the distance, but the overcast haze blurred the horizon into a blotchy abstraction. A helicopter passed across his field of vision, drawing his attention as it moved along the skyline.
Unusual for it to be flying so low, he thought. Perhaps it is just riding beneath the low cloud cover.
He watched it circle the area again, making a low, lazy circle east of the building. He briefly considered what purpose the helicopter might serve, then dismissed it.
Parnell’s computer beeped; the transfer from Moy was complete. Roe returned to the computer and verified that the optical disk had recorded the ciphering information. All the files were there, as Moy had promised. Roe logged out of the Moy network and ordered the Spyder to sever its connections. Like a cascade of falling dominoes, the screens of those watching the file transfer went blank as the Spyder went off-line.
Parnell retrieved the optical disk and handed it to Kang. ‘Here is everything you requested.’
Kang inspected the sealed disk cartridge for a moment before sliding it into his coat pocket. ‘Thank you. Now I must make a phone call.’
Kang picked up the phone and dialed a local number. It rang only once before being answered. The guard who answered the phone didn’t speak, per Kang’s orders. In his native tongue, Kang spoke just one word to the man: ‘Go.’
No reply was required for the order. The guard cradled the handset and nodded to his compatriot. Each man pulled a silenced pistol from his shoulder holster and checked his weapon.
54
‘Hilton teams,’ Axton called out over the radio. ‘This is Looking Glass. Over.’
The leader of the Special Air Service strike team surrounding the Hilton responded to Axton’s call. ‘Hilton team leader here. Over, Looking Glass.’
Axton spoke slowly and clearly, as if he was dictating a letter. ‘All clear. Move in on the suite.’
‘Understood, Looking Glass,’ the leader replied. ‘We’re moving in.’
The SAS teams were stationed at several points inside the twenty-eight-story hotel, positioned to choke off all egress from the building on a moment’s notice. After Kang departed, two teams moved up the tower and took up position on the twenty-sixth floor, at opposite ends of the corridor leading to Kang Fa’s suite. Most of the rooms on that floor were held empty today, by official request. The rest held plainclothes British police posing as guests.
Black-garbed officers emerged from the stair towers, two on each end of the long corridor. Earlier reconnaissance of the floor by an officer dressed as a hotel waiter informed the teams that only one guard was posted outside the suite. Subtracting the two that accompanied Kang to Canary Wharf left two inside with the hostages.
The team leader issued his orders via a throat mike, which made his voice sound a little like Donald Duck in his team members’ headsets. The first pair sprang from the stairway alcove into the main corridor, the sudden motion attracting the guard’s attention. As he drew his weapon, the lead officer took aim and fired a round through the man’s throat. It was an easy shot, less than fifty yards with no wind. The single bullet obliterated the man’s larynx and shattered the base of his skull. A quiet, one-shot stop. The guard slumped to the hallway floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Inside the suite, the two remaining guards froze when they heard a muffled thump outside the door. The one in charge motioned for the other to check on the sentry outside while he dealt with the hostages.
The lead guard entered the bedroom quietly, pistol drawn but concealed behind him. The old man they’d escorted from China remained seated on the bed, head down in a permanent bow. A gurgling sound in the bathroom told him the American nephew was indisposed. Killing them one at a time greatly simplified the job.
He smiled politely at the elder Moy, pulled his weapon, and aimed it toward the man’s head, both hands clasped around the grip. He started to pull back on the trigger when the old man, using every last ounce of adrenaline in his body, lunged, springing toward him from the bed.
This moment was an opportunity that Moy Huian had dreamed about in the deepest recesses of his mind, an ember of his desire to live that he now fanned into flame. Despite the frailty of age and past abuse, he struck, knowing full well that he would either win his life back or die trying.
Moy Huian landed a crushing blow, grinding his heel into the top of the assassin’s shoe. A snapping sound confirmed that several of the long, thin bones running the length of the man’s foot had shattered. The guard’s instant of surprise turned to pain. Huian’s second blow sent a mind-numbing shock through the man’s forearm, and as it turned him around, his weapon fell to the floor.
Phillip Moy emerged from behind the door only seconds after Huian had begun his attack. He drove his fist
