in support of the drone appropriation. That’s all I know. That’s it-”
“Who at M and R?”
“I could give you names, but they’re just lawyers. They’re all just lawyers. I’m telling you, they’re all half out of their minds with fear that they’re going to be the next one hit by a missile-they’re sending their kids to suburban schools like this is the London Blitz or something. We were paid to sell drones to the public, but frankly it makes sense-we’re under attack. Why wouldn’t we want to launch drones in our own defense as quickly as possible?”
The man moved closer, rolling the knife in his palm with frightening skill. “Time’s up.”
“Wait! Wait!” Clarke held up his hands defensively. “Rita Morehouse. Jack Allenby, Aaron Nichols, uh, Uma Verazzi.”
“Those are your handlers at M and R?”
Clarke nodded, suddenly sweating and trembling. “Yes. Please don’t kill me. I promise I won’t warn them. I swear it.”
“Well, you’re not someone I’d want watching my back. I didn’t even have to cut you.” The man deftly grabbed Clarke’s silk tie and, with a single frictionless motion, cut it clean away, leaving an orphaned double-Windsor.
Clarke recoiled, trembling and clenching his eyes shut as he held up his hands defensively. “Please! I promise you. I swear it.”
After a few moments he opened his eyes warily, but the man appeared to be gone. Clarke lowered his arms to see his office door open and himself alone. He let out a deep sigh, just now realizing he’d forgotten to breathe. He leaned back against his desk and tried to collect his thoughts.
The first thing he did was edge toward his office door. He then leapt forward and closed, then locked it. He peered through the glass at an angle to see if anyone was outside. The man seemed to be gone.
Clarke reached into his jacket and produced his iPhone. A moment later he was listening. Even though it was one in the morning, it only took one ring to pick up. It never occurred to him to wonder why. “Marta! Some SAD- SOG asshole just threatened me at knifepoint in my own goddamned office.”
“He said he was SOG?”
Clarke took a deep, calming breath. “No, but he sure as hell knew who we are. He said he’d been attacked three times by drones, and he was coming for somebody’s head. He was definitely black ops and wanted the names of my contacts at M and R.”
“Who did you give up?”
“Some mergers-and-acquisitions people. The first names that came to mind…”
I n a panel van half a mile away, Mordecai Evans, Linda McKinney, and Foxy sat listening to the conversation as they watched the voice patterns on a laptop monitor. The voice of Mr. Clarke was filled with anxiety.
“… I need protection, Marta. This guy walked in here like it was a public restroom. This wasn’t some amateur. I don’t know how he got past security. ”
“Calm down, Henry. If they wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
Evans was busy clattering at a laptop linked to an almost Soviet-looking stack of ruggedized radio receivers dotted with antennas. “I’ve got her IMEI and IMSI. Looks like a company phone-no name-but I place her near the Georgetown waterfront. Stationary, so she’s probably at home. I’ll use the control link to direction-find her when we’re close.”
Clarke’s voice pleaded in the background. “… this is no joke, he literally cut the tie off my neck.”
“It will be handled. Just go home. Get some rest.”
McKinney watched Evans working.
Evans answered a question she was only thinking. “Multichannel digital receiver.”
“I didn’t know it was this easy to intercept cell phone conversations.”
“Well, it is. It’s called meaconing.” He pointed. “Wireless phone systems consist of base stations spread around town. When you turn on your phone it searches for the base station with the strongest signal and establishes a control link-down which it sends information about the phone’s identity. The first thing I do is jam the target phone’s existing control link. That forces it to scan for a new base station-which I mimic by providing a stronger signal. Basically I become his cell tower, and that gives me a control link to his phone. I can then listen in and see the identities of any phone he communicates with. The control link is completely separate from the connection that people use to talk on the phone. That means I can remotely program a target phone to turn on even if it’s off. I can activate the microphone when he’s not on a call-use it as a bugging device. And lots of other things. Even if they’re using civilian encryption, it won’t help. Most encryption is done at the base station… and of course, I’m now his base station.”
“Is this what you did for Odin overseas?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s great for mapping the structures of fluid organizations like criminal gangs, knowing who’s important to whom. Dropping bombs on people.”
“I’m starting to realize that.”
The rear door to the van opened, and Odin, Smokey, and Ripper entered-the latter two wearing security guard blazers.
Evans scowled at Odin. “I thought you said your whole team was dead?”
“I said what was necessary to get your cooperation.”
“Asshole…”
Odin nodded to the screens as he closed the doors behind him. “Who’d he call first?”
Evan gritted his teeth for a moment. “Looks like a Beltway bandit. He wanted protection. She told him to strap on a pair.”
Odin tossed the stub of a lavender silk tie into McKinney’s lap. “Get us moving.”
M arta’s city address was an ultramodern penthouse overlooking the Potomac, just west of the Watergate. It had set the firm back five million, but it was essential to have a base of operations suitable for entertaining, close to the Kennedy Center, the waterfront restaurants, and other cultural landmarks. There was an expansive terrace area overlooking the Francis Scott Key Bridge-a terrace with built-in catering facilities and space enough for a hundred cocktail party guests. At night the view was beautiful, but she seldom noticed it-especially tonight.
Instead Marta sat alone at the head of a postmodern cherrywood table in her massive formal dining room, flanked by granite tile and glass walls and valuable modern art, idly perusing the latest foreign policy best seller- penned by a policy wonk she knew. Just another heavy business card. She took a sip from a full glass of very good Cabernet.
Before her hall clock sounded two A.M. she was startled by a hoarse caw and looked up to see a large black raven ominously perched atop the chair-back at the far end of her dining table, twenty feet away. She calmly closed the book and waited.
A few moments later a handsome, athletic man in a gas company uniform, helmet, and climbing harness stepped partway around the corner. He had cold steel-blue eyes and the self-assured gait of a special operator.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
The man registered not the slightest hint of surprise. At a gesture from him the bird flew off, across the living room and out her open sliding glass door.
“Do you normally leave your doors unlocked and your alarms deactivated?”
“I didn’t want you to break anything. I’m having a party tomorrow night.”
“And your security detail?”
“Sent away for the same reason. I’m not foolish enough to resist the U.S. military.” She appraised the man before her. “You’ll have to forgive Henry. He’s a bit naive and self-impressed. But then, that’s what the young are. The moment he called me, I knew to expect your visit.”
The man said nothing.
“What can I do for our friends in The Activity?”
With his other hand he produced an insectlike robot the size of a toaster oven from around the corner and tossed it into the center of her dining room table. It left several nasty indentations on the rosewood before it clattered to a stop, facing her like a dead black spider.
She grimaced. “Ah, drones.”
