and coped with newbies who couldn’t get the hang of navigating through the system on their own. Usually, the network required professional human intervention only when its software and hardware crashed.
The result was that CompuNet’s small permanent staff spent most of its shift time playing computer games.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Byron Wu, CompuNet’s senior technician on duty, swore and hit the pause key on his auxiliary system. His space fighter had been within seconds of dumping a plasma torpedo into an enemy base. It had already taken him a dozen tries to get even this far in the mission. This interruption was going to screw up his reflexes.
He spun his chair around to look at his main monitor. Beneath the glowing schematic that showed the network in operation, a small red flag pulsed: USER 1589077 CONNECTED.
“So who the hell cares?” Wu muttered irritably. He tapped a function key, calling up management’s reasons for layering this alert into the system. His eyes widened as he read the first line aloud. “Emergency network tap authorised by Federal Bureau of Investigation…”
Below the scrolling, boldfaced memo, the red warning flag changed: TRACE COMPLETED. CONNECT NUMBER IS 703-555-3842.
“You’ve got an address here in northern Virginia?” Thorn asked into the phone again, scarcely able to believe that some of the information they were seeking had come in so quickly. He checked his watch. It was just after 10:00 P.M. It was too easy to lose track of time under the Pentagon basement’s fluorescent lights.
“Yeah,” Flynn said. “One of the Magi group users logged onto CompuNet less than an hour ago. We traced the number they gave us to an address in Arlington.”
“Oustanding.”
“Yeah.” The FBI agent sounded pleased. “I’m putting a team in straightaway to scope the place out… to see what we can find out about the people living there.”
“Why not launch a raid right away?” Thorn asked. “If that Is a terrorist safe house, why risk giving them time to scoot or launch another attack?”
“It’s that ‘if’ I’m having trouble with, Colonel,” Flynn said flatly.
“Point A: We still don’t know who this so-called Magi and his electronic pen pals really are. It could just be a god damned lonely hearts club, for Christ’s sake! Point B: I need more than illegally obtained E-mail to get a warrant. If these are some of the bad guys, and we take ‘em down without a warrant, the whole prosecution will be tainted from day one. So unless we want these sons of bitches to walk, we’re going to have to do this by the book.”
Thorn frowned. He hated the prospect of more wasted time. Delay only benefited the enemy. “Damn it.”
“Too true,” Flynn agreed. “Look, Colonel, don’t sweat it. Thanks to you and this Maestro of yours, we’ve finally got a shot at what may be a real target. So if my people pick up even a whiff of something bad at this place, I’ll get a search warrant and send an HRT section in on the double. Any terrorists inside that house will be dead or behind bars before they wake up.”
Hamir Pahesh looked hack, toward the campfires and the road beyond. He cursed the half moon, but in the next second was grateful for the hints it gave him about the ground under his feet. After fourteen hours of driving in convoy, all he wanted to do was join his countrymen at the fire, eat, drink a little sweet, hot tea, and go to bed.
Instead, here he was picking his way across a pitch-black, rocky ground looking for something, anything, that would give him cover. The treeless landscape held nothing higher than a weed or two, and he needed more.
The bundle he had smuggled out of his truck cab was small enough so that it could be tucked under his coat. But the rest of the drivers thought Pahesh had left the convoy to attend to nature’s needs, so he could not afford to be gone too long.
There. A low rise, little more than a fold in the ground, seemed to offer an acceptable solution.
Kneeling on the cold, stony ground, the Afghan ignored the lumps under him, hoping none of them would start moving. He unzipped a small case and fumbled in the darkness with the unfamiliar device it contained.
The antenna was easy enough, but there was a small lead that had to be plugged into the case, and for a moment he could not remember which side it went into.
In the quiet darkness every click and scrape seemed deafening. He paused for a moment, listening for the crunch of a footfall in the sand, or some more ominous sign, but all he heard was singing and faint chatter from the roadside several hundred meters away.
Ah. Pahesh found the socket for the antenna cable, then the rocker switch for the power, and turned the machine on. He typed in a series of digits he had computed earlier, based on the date, and hit the start button. While the transmitter sent out its signal, he slipped on a set of earphones and picked up the microphone.
A small indicator on the front told him the transmitter had found a satellite, that it had acknowledged his signal, and that he had entered the proper code. Only a moment later, a voice answered, “Watch officer.”
Pahesh hoped this man knew what to do. “This is Stone,” he started. Trying to speak clearly and whisper at the same time was difficult but he dared not speak louder. “I have a flash message for Granite.”
His own code name was Stone. He’d never met his controller, Granite. Indeed, the Afghan didn’t know if Granite was one man or more, or where this signal was being received.
All he knew was that the Americans couldn’t wait until the end of the week to hear what he’d learned. He’d gathered more information at the noontime break, and still more just now, with the convoy stopped for the day.
“Roger, Stone, ready to copy.”
Pahesh recited his message composed, changed, and polished a hundred times as he drove. “Iranian 12th Infantry Division left barracks in Zahedan zero six hundred hours today, 4 December, with all elements and extra fuel and ammunition. Another unit, identity unknown, may be arriving in Zahedan to take over its duties. Convoy passed through Kerman in the afternoon and is now headed for Shiraz. Ultimate destination is unknown. Message ends.”
The American voice at the other end read back the message, then said, “Received and understood. Please stand by.”
“Stand by?” wondered Pahesh. He looked around nervously, but could see nothing in the darkness.
“Stone, this is Granite.” The voice was different, more purposeful.
“Could this simply be a routine redeployment?”
The Afghan shook his head in reflex before he remembered they could not see him. “No. The Iranians have an urgent deadline. Two officers have already been punished for not meeting their schedules.”
There was what seemed a long pause before the American replied. “All right. Can you give us an update in twelve hours?”
“Yes.” Then Pahesh corrected himself. “I will try. I must go now.”
“Understood.”
Pahesh turned off the machine and hurriedly repacked it.
He was late. He hadn’t counted on an extended conversation. The others would be looking for him.
Tucking the satellite radio pack under his coat again, he strolled as quickly as possible back to his truck. As soon as there was enough light, he checked his watch. Only twelve minutes had passed since he’d left the roadside. He felt the tension ease.
Fatigue replaced the tension, and he quickly unrolled his pallet near one of the fires. Pahesh crawled in, reasonably sure the Komite, Iran’s hated secret police, were not going to arrest him before dawn. Before he dropped off to sleep, he found himself going over and over his brief communication with the Americans. It was good to know they were taking him seriously. Instincts honed by years of war told him this long road march was the first stirring of an evil wind.
