Payback

Karr tugged Dean’s shirt and gestured toward the ladies’ room. Dean followed, easing in as Karr held the door open.

“The visitor is still there,” said Telach. “He’s looking for something — going toward the vault level.”

“Good thing we went in the ladies’ room,” whispered Karr.

Sure enough, Dean heard footsteps coming down the hall. They waited in the dark, heard the man go into the lavatory next door.

“Let’s go,” whispered Karr, starting to pull open the door. “We can get in behind the tellers’ boxes if we can’t make it all the way to the stairs.”

But as he pulled open the door Telach warned them the supervisor was coming back.

The supervisor yelled to the other man, asking where he was. The man explained gruffly that he would be right out. The supervisor walked to the lavatory door and told the man that he was very sorry, but he had to arrange for some substitutes.

“How long do you think it will take him to find new guards?” Karr whispered as the toilet flushed.

Dean shrugged.

“You think it’s worth waiting? Or should we just take this guy down and get out now?” asked Karr.

“Better to wait on the chance that we can sneak out,” said Dean. “We take him out now, they’ll realize we were here anyway.”

“Wait,” suggested Rockman.

The officer was at the sink in the next room, washing up. Suddenly he began to curse.

“No paper,” Dean whispered to Karr. “He’ll come here next. Get into the stalls.”

“Let’s just bop him and be done with it.”

“We’ve come this far. We’ll tough it out another few seconds. Into the stalls.”

Karr slipped into the one on the right; Dean took the left. A second later, the door flew open.

37

Lima might not be under a curfew, but the streets were all but deserted. Lia drove about ten blocks before parking again, this time in a lot that wasn’t visible from the street.

“Tommy and Dean are having a little trouble in the bank,” Rockman told her.

“They need a diversion?”

“At the moment, we think they’re going to play through on their own. But maybe.”

Wary now, Lia decided that she would plant video bugs near the street to make sure she wasn’t snuck up on again. She got out of the car and began walking toward the Dumpster near the driveway. As she came close, something moved to the right. In one quick motion, she dove, rolled to the ground, and retrieved the pistol at her ankle, bringing it to bear on the old bearded man who’d stirred from the small blanket of newspapers he’d spread as a resting place for the night.

“Vamos,” Lia told him harshly. “Go! Get away.”

The man got up, then began to run.

“Lia, what’s going on? Are you OK?” asked Rockman.

“I’m OK,” she told him. “I’m always OK.”

38

Dean held his breath as the Peruvian fumbled in the darkness for the light switch. Instead of finding the light, he happened on the paper towel dispenser; he pulled out some paper and made his way back to the nearby door.

Dean slipped out of his stall, holding his breath as he tried to hear the man’s footsteps.

“He’s back up in the lobby,” said Rockman.

Dean opened the door and slipped out. He had the blowpipe in his hand and his rucksack slung over his other shoulder. Karr went to the safe, spinning the dial to clear the combination.

“Are you there, Rockman?” asked Dean, stopping near the steps.

“We’re here, Charlie,” said Telach. “The lobby’s clear. The replacements are on their way from the police station. You have about three minutes to get out. We’re controlling the video. Go!”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean and Karr were outside the back of the building, moving slowly along an alley toward the rendezvous spot with Lia. They had to duck an army patrol before crossing the street, but once past that, reached the avenue where they were to meet without seeing anyone. Lia, approaching in the car, blinked her lights twice and pulled over. Dean and Karr both shoved into the back and she took off.

“I feel like a chauffeur,” she said.

“Not a bad career move,” said Karr.

“We couldn’t get them all in,” Dean told her. “There were two left when the guards came in.”

“I’ll get them tomorrow,” said Lia.

“We can always get them once they’re shipped Friday,” said Dean.

“It’s no big deal.”

39

On his second day as a “permanent consultant” to the NSA, Hernes Jackson found that his biometric identity had been programmed into the agency’s security system. Not only could the computer confirm who he was by checking his retinas; it could also use face recognition and body-shape software to make sure it wasn’t being fooled.

He was allowed to make his way to OPS 2/B Level Black (the official name of the subbasement where the Art Room was) without an escort, but that didn’t mean he was proceeding unwatched; the walls were embedded with sensors, and video cameras along the hallway ceiling swung around as he passed.

A woman met him at the door of the second elevator.

“I’m Marie Telach. I’m the Art Room supervisor,” she told him. “You’re Ambassador Jackson.”

“Yes. You could call me Hernes.”

“Thank you. I’m Marie. I’m going to take you to our library room. I’m afraid it’s not the most comfortable working environment, but it’s only temporary.”

Jackson followed her down the hall to a small, window-less room. There was nothing on the whitewashed Sheetrock walls or the tile floor. Two computers sat on a simple table in front of a secretary’s sideless swivel chair. One looked little different from the small Dell unit Jackson owned, with a seventeen-inch flat screen as its display. The other had a larger keyboard and a screen that measured thirty inches. There was a phone at the edge of the desk, but nothing else.

“This computer can access SpyNet, and all of the secure databases and systems you’ll have access to,” said Telach, pointing at the larger screen and keyboard. “There’s also a segregated version of most of the DoD archives as well as our own, and—”

“Excuse me,” said Jackson. “What do you mean by segregated?”

“I mean that we have our own copies, so that our access can’t be monitored and there are no unguarded back doors into our system. DoD, the Department of Defense, and SpyNet — you know what that is?”

“Sure. It’s our government intelligence web network. I used it at the State Department.”

“Good. The Dell computer connects to the Internet through a dedicated line. It uses a series of anonymous servers so it can’t be traced. The data you can send out is very limited, and it’s also monitored for security reasons. You can’t buy anything,” she added lightly, “so no shopping at Amazon.com on your lunch hour.”