reviewing his deleted files. Whoever accessed the computer wasn’t just looking up deployment records, but also searched through schematics of Ohio Class subs.”
“Schematics?” Lien-hua said skeptically. “Those are available to the public?”
“Not in their entirety,” she explained. “Obviously, there are restricted areas that weren’t detailed, but the basic design of the submarines apparently isn’t any secret. I mean, just watch the movie The Hunt for Red October or Crimson Tide. But there was more on his computer than there should have been.”
I typed a few thoughts onto my computer.
(1)
Above top secret clearance.
(2)
One-way communication.
(3)
Deployment routes.
(4)
Schematics.
(5)
First-strike orders.
“Track with me for a second,” I said. “The deployment patterns for the subs would certainly have changed since the eighties as world powers and threat assessments have changed over time, but those subs are still in use. I’m guessing they would still have the capability to receive and decode ELF signals.”
“If they were still able to be sent,” Jake added.
“Yes,” I acknowledged. “If they were. So maybe whoever was searching through these files wasn’t just looking at where the subs were deployed but also-”
“How they were designed,” Jake interrupted impatiently. “Yes. We’ve established that.”
I was getting tired of his attitude and was about to tell him so when Lien-hua leaned forward. “What are you thinking, Pat?”
“By knowing the most likely targets and the routes the subs traveled in relation to those targets years ago, it might be possible to extrapolate, at least generally, where the subs would be deployed today, taking into consideration the location of countries that currently pose a threat to national security.”
“It’s worth a look,” Lien-hua said.
I turned to Natasha. “As soon as we’re done I want you to follow up on those schematics.”
“I can also ask the DoD about any recent chatter regarding US subs.”
“Good.”
A thought. “Go ahead and see if their data analysts can review the most likely targets of the late eighties and early nineties and compare those to today’s threats. Maybe it’s possible to come up with an algorithm that might anticipate the current deployment routes. If the Defense Department’s number crunchers can do it, someone else might have been able to as well.”
“You think we’re looking at an attack on one of the subs?” she asked.
Not an attack on one, I thought, an attack from one.
“I’m not sure, but Donnie Pickron is a Navy information warfare officer, and if he’s still alive and he’s gone rogue, I don’t want him sending any messages to our subs. Any messages at all.”
“Or if he hasn’t gone rogue,” Lien-hua said, “but is being held by someone, forced to work for them.”
Silence spread through the room.
Natasha nodded slowly, jotted a note to herself on the legal pad in front of her.
I told them about what I’d discovered last night on the Routine Orbital Satellite Database and my theory about the shots through the Pickrons’ living room window being intended to obscure the view into the house. “We’re looking for a hacker, or a team of hackers, with the ability to access some of the DoD’s most sensitive information.”
For nearly an hour and a half we tackled various aspects of the case, each of us offering our analysis, input, findings.
Sean still had my cell, so at 11:00, as we were wrapping things up, I borrowed Lien-hua’s phone and called Angela Knight in Cybercrime to see what she’d uncovered about Alexei Chekov. She informed me that she’d had to pass the project along to a woman on her team and hadn’t heard back yet.
“This is a priority,” I said.
“Everything we’re working on is a priority.” She didn’t sound argumentative, just exhausted. “I’ll follow up with Alyssa, let you know.”
“Thanks.”
End call.
I’ve never been one to put much stock in profiling, an ongoing point of contention between Lien-hua and me, but now I had two of the NCAVC’s most experienced profilers sitting here with me and I knew that despite my reluctance to trust profiles it would’ve been negligent of me not to tap into their expertise.
“All right,” I said. “Jake, I want you to fill in Lien-hua with regard to the profiles you’ve been working up for both the Reiser case and the Pickron family’s killer.”
“You think they’re related?”
“I’m not sure how they would be, but I want all the puzzle pieces on the table before we dive headfirst into fitting them together. Talk through what you have on Basque as well. Broad strokes, see if anything overlaps. I know we’re limited on time.”
He looked like he was going to object but remained silent.
“There’s plenty to do,” I said. “I have an idea on how to solve the mystery of how a Ski-Doo 800 XL could travel on a straight course a hundred meters without a rider. Also, I’m going to try to find a way for us to visit the ELF site so we can see if there’s anything there that might lead us to Donnie Pickron or Alexei Chekov. Let’s break, get back together at noon, and see where we’re at.”
Everyone stood.
By now the Advil had kicked in, and although my ankle was still stiff, thankfully, it seemed like putting pressure on it wasn’t going to be as big a deal today as I’d thought it would be when I woke up.
Lien-hua’s phone rang.
At first I thought it might be Angela returning my call, but when Lien-hua answered it, she looked at me quizzically. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?” I asked her.
She shook her head, held it out to me.
“I’ll bring it by your room when I’m done,” I said.
The three of them left and I spoke into the phone. “Hello?”
“I hope you’re feeling better, Agent Bowers.”
I recognized the faint Russian accent.
Alexei Chekov.
50
Quickly, I evaluated how to respond. From everything I’d seen, this man was a professional, and I doubted gimmicks and games would work with him. I decided on a direct approach: “Where’s the truck driver, Alexei?”
Chekov’s close, he has to be. How else would he know to call this phone just as we finished the meeting?
I looked out the window.
Nothing.
“I regret to tell you that he’s dead.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “I’m coming for you.”
Outside. Maybe he’s in the woods nearby.
