Threat Vector

stepped around his desk and executed the left-handed handshake that most everyone in the building had been offering Clark since January. Sam stood from a chair in front of Gerry’s desk and led John to the chair next to his.

Out the window behind Hendley’s desk, rolling Maryland cornfields and horse farms ran north toward Baltimore.

Gerry said, “What’s up, John?”

“Gentlemen, I’ve decided it’s time to face facts. The right hand is not coming back. Not one hundred percent. Say seventy-five percent, tops, and that’s only after a hell of a lot more therapy. May be another surgery or two in my future.”

Hendley winced. “Damn it, John. I’m sorry to hear that. We were all hoping this time under the knife would be the one that made you one hundred percent again.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Sam said, “You take as much time as you need. With the ongoing investigation into the Istanbul Drive, the stand-down could last several more weeks, and if analysis doesn’t—”

“No,” John said flatly with a shake of his head. “It’s time for me to pack it in. To retire.”

Sam and Gerry just stared at him. Finally Sam said, “You are a crucial part of this operation, John.”

Clark sighed. “I was. That son of a bitch Valentin Kovalenko and his henchmen ended it.”

“Bullshit. You’ve got more capabilities than most of the National Clandestine Service at Langley.”

“Thanks, Gerry, but I’ve got to hope the CIA is sticking to paramilitary operations officers who can hold a firearm with their dominant hand if required to do so. That skill is beyond my capabilities at the moment.”

Neither Gerry nor Sam had a response to this.

Clark continued, “It’s not just the hand. My clandestine fieldwork potential was damaged by all the press about me last year. Yeah, the heat is off at the moment, most of the media ran off with their tails between their legs when it came out that they were spreading propaganda for Russian intelligence, but think about it, Gerry. It will just take one intrepid reporter on a slow news day to do one of those ‘Where are they now?’ stories. He’ll tail me here, they’ll dig a little deeper, and then next thing you know 60 Minutes will be down at reception with a camera, asking for a moment of your time.”

Hendley’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell them to get the hell off my property.”

Clark smiled. “If it was only that easy. Seriously. I don’t want to see another convoy of black SUVs with FBI tactical guys pulling up on my farm. Once was more than enough.”

Sam said, “The kind of expertise you possess is invaluable. How ’bout you hang it up, operationally speaking, and transition to more of a behind-the-scenes role?”

Clark had thought about this, of course, but in the end he realized that The Campus was set up as efficiently as possible.

“I’m not going to just roam the halls here, Sam.”

“What are you talking about? You keep the same office. You continue to do—”

“Guys, we’ve been in stand-down mode since Istanbul. The entire team is working their computers eight hours a day. It’s a sad fact that my grandson is better with a computer than I am. There is absolutely nothing here for me to do now, and, should the Istanbul Drive get resolved and the operators get the green light to go back into the field, in my diminished capacity, I won’t be taking part.”

Gerry asked, “What does Sandy say about you roaming the halls at home?”

Clark laughed at this. “Yeah, it’s going to be a transition for both of us. I’ve got lots to do around the farm, and God knows why, but she seems to want me around. She may get sick of me, but I owe her the opportunity to find out.”

Gerry understood. He wondered what he would be doing now if his wife and kids were still alive. He’d lost them in a car crash several years ago, and he’d been alone ever since. His work was his life, and he would not wish that life on a man who clearly had someone at home who wanted him there.

Where would Gerry be if his family were still alive? Gerry knew he would not be working sixty to seventy hours a week at Hendley Associates and The Campus. He would damn well find a way to enjoy his family.

He could hardly begrudge John Clark one second of a life that Gerry would give anything to have for himself.

Still, Hendley ran The Campus, and Clark was one hell of an asset. He had to do what he could to keep him. “Are you sure about this, John? Why don’t you take some more time to think it over?”

John shook his head. “I’ve thought about nothing else. I’m sure. I’ll be at my place. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I’m available for you or anyone on the team. But not in an official capacity.”

“Have you talked to Ding?”

“Yeah. We spent all day yesterday at the farm. He tried to talk me out of it, but he understands.”

Gerry stood from his desk and extended his left hand. “I understand and accept your resignation. But please don’t ever forget. You always have a place here, John.”

Sam echoed the sentiment.

“Thanks, guys.”

* * *

While Clark was upstairs in Hendley’s office, Jack Ryan, Jr., and Gavin Biery sat in the locked conference room just off Biery’s second-floor office. In front of them was a small table, upon which the desktop computer sat with the cover removed, exposing all the components, wires, and boards of the device. Additional peripheral components were attached to the system via cables of different thickness, color, and type, and these pieces were strewn across the table haphazardly.

Other than the computer hardware, a telephone, a single coffee mug that had left dozens of small brown rings on the white table, and a yellow legal pad, there was nothing else in sight.

Ryan had spent many hours in this place over the past two months, but that was nothing compared to the time Biery had spent here.

On the monitor in front of Ryan was a screen full of numbers and dashes and other characters.

Gavin said, “First, you’ve got to understand one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This guy, if Center is a guy, is good. He’s a first-rate black-hat hacker.” Biery shook his head in amazement. “The code obfuscation is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

“He’s using a totally new species of malware, something I couldn’t find without a long, exhaustive manual search of the machine code.”

Jack nodded. He motioned to a string of numbers on the monitor. “So, is this the virus?”

“A portion of it. A virus has two stages to it. The delivery method and the payload. The payload is still hidden on the drive. It’s a RAT, a remote-access tool. It’s some sort of a peer-to-peer protocol, but I haven’t been able to ferret it out yet. It’s that well hidden inside another application. What you are looking at right here is a portion of the delivery method. Center removed most of it after he got in, but he missed this little string.”

“Why was it removed?”

“He’s covering his tracks. A good hacker — like me, for instance — always goes behind himself to clean up. Think about a thief breaking into a house. Once he makes entry through a window, the first thing he does is close the window behind him so no one knows anybody is inside. He did not need the delivery system any longer once he was inside the computer, so he erased it.”

“Except he did not erase it all.”

“Exactly. And that is important.”

“Why?”

“Because this is a digital fingerprint. This could be something in his own malware that he does not know about, doesn’t know he’s leaving behind.”

Jack understood. “You mean he might leave it on other machines, so if you see this again, then you will know that Center is involved.”

“Yes. You would know that this extremely rare malware was involved, and the attacker, just like Center, did not clean this one part off the machine. You can infer, I think, that it could be the same guy.”