“So, why did they write in Arabic?” asked Gwyn.
“Muslims believe that as the language of the Qur’an Arabic is divine, almost magical.”
“So, why did the Turks abandon the Arabic script after the Republic was established?”
“There were several reasons I suppose. First, there was the practical issue of literacy, which, at the time, was below five percent because Ottoman Turkish was amazingly complex, with many Persian and Arabic loan words. Atatürk knew that a simplified alphabet would help the nation achieve greater literacy. Secondly, he was determined to make Turkey part of the modern world, and, in 1928, that meant moving towards the West, as it championed objective scientific inquiry. They used the Latin alphabet and I suppose he figured this would help Turkey integrate with Europe. More importantly, however, he wanted a new beginning, unfettered by the traditions of Empire, the Caliphate and the dogma of religion. So, by introducing a new alphabet, he insured that the next generation would be unable to read the vast amount of material produced by the Ottomans. When he outlawed the Arabic script, literacy literally fell to zero in a single day, but by 1935, literacy was at thirty-five percent. Today, only experts can read documents written before 1928.”
“So, it was a tool of social reform?”
“Of course, societies are shaped by what they read, and how they express themselves. Obviously, the Moriscos felt the same way.”
><><><
L
ONDON
Gilbert spotted Gary in the far corner of the café and began weaving his way through the rows of computers. The room was very dim with black ceilings and walls. The layout was unique too. In some places, there were islands of computer screens arranged in circles or ovals for the most avid gamers who circled around the tables like Neanderthals around a fire in a cave. The walls were dotted with modern-day cave paintings consisting mostly of Salvador Dali prints. The clientele was practically unchanged. There might be a few more girls now, but it was still a testosterone-charged atmosphere of young men and boys between the ages of twelve and nineteen. They were video game junkies who spent hours every day honing their neural synapses to develop some of the best hand-eye coordination on the planet, extremely refined skills that would produce absolutely nothing in the real world.
Gilbert appreciated the fact that the human brain longed for stimulation, longed for excitement, the thrill of the chase, the lust for blood, victory and renown. In fact, the mind almost seemed hard-wired for war and violence. These kids plugged their instincts into a virtual world, killing, conquering, creating, and wrecking mayhem in a fantasy universe where no one actually suffered. They got their names on the leader board, which gave them the feeling of accomplishment and identity, becoming in essence the chief of their virtual tribe. After venting all of this pent up destiny, they would go out for ice-cream and then back to the computers in their bedrooms to view things just as primitive but more private. Now, he thought about how different it felt in real life, the hunt, the chase, the carnage.
He remembered the hours he had spent with his friends either playing games or trying to hack any computer they could find. Once, he had actually narrowly missed being arrested in this very room. He had hacked an account at a London bank and transferred a modest amount to an NGO providing water pumps operated by foot to poor Indian farmers. He had left the connection up, planning to come back and make a few more “anonymous” donations. Another kid had taken his spot and when the police raided the café, Gilbert was just coming out of the bathroom, so he simply made for the exit.
It had been a close call, and he had never come close to being caught again. He had followed the case, willing to turn himself in if it looked like the kid would be convicted, but the boy had passed every lie-detector test and stuck to his story, saying that he had only just sat down at the computer and that he hadn’t even loaded his game when the officers grabbed him. In the end, the authorities let him go. Gilbert looked around the room. Things weren’t the same anymore though. The games were different, and so was hacking.
Gary had chosen a discreet spot. Their backs were against a wall, so no one would be looking over their shoulders. Gary handed him a pair of headphones.
“Put these on,” he said softly.
“Did you check the email account?” asked Gilbert.
“Yep.” He reached over and clicked the browser. Gilbert noted that the URL was anonymized. The email opened on the screen. It was a single line.
If you are reading this, send me an ID verifying message.
“Have you already responded?”
“I did right before you walked in.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I once knew a five-year-old girl who filled the pockets of a white dress with bubble gum and candy at a church picnic in the middle of the summer and ended up wearing her brother’s shorts. I also asked her what she found on the walls of Troy.”
“No response yet?”
“Nope. When is Kiyomi making the call?”
Gilbert glanced down at his watch. “She should be making it in two minutes.”
“Then let’s get this thing set up.”
He watched as Gilbert first logged into the VPN and then accessed his computer remotely. He opened the webcam and suddenly an image of the hotel room flashed onto the screen. The trap was set. Hopefully, Kiyomi was baiting it right now.
><><><
C
AIRO
“What is our status?” Ahmet asked curtly.
Jabbar, his chief intelligence officer, responded without lifting his eyes from the screen, “You already know about the phone call to his wife.”
Jabbar was a tall Circassian whose family had moved to Damascus in the late nineteenth century before migrating on to Jordan, where his clan had formed the elite palace guard for the Hashemite Kingdom in its early days after World War II. Ahmet trusted him implicitly.
“But, that is not all. We’ve also just had a call to Gilbert’s cell phone from a DC number. He didn’t answer, but the caller left a message that you’ll want to hear.”
“Play it.”
Jabbar clicked the play button and they heard Kiyomi’s message. ‘Hey Gilbert. Gwyn just called and told me that you need to check the thumb drive your father left with the package. It has a copy of some document he says is important and the names and contact information of the two people you need to send it to. She’ll meet you at Tim’s in Seattle two days from now.’
“That was it?” asked Ahmet.
“Yes sir.”
“Who does the number belong to?”
“Kiyomi Saito. Japanese father, American mother. Graduated from Cornell and works as Gilbert’s personal assistant.”
“What’s Gilbert’s location?”
Jabbar checked his computer screen again. “His cell phone is in the hotel and most likely in his room. When I checked with our team five minutes ago, they said the two undercover police were still on site, one in the lobby and one at the back service entrance.”
“I want that thumb drive. Send in our Johnny right now. Make sure he is armed. This information is priority number one. Then, put together a list of every flight out of Texas or a contiguous state with Seattle as the final destination. Next, find every Tim in Seattle and see if we can find any connection with the O’Brien family. This may be our lucky break. Do we have anyone in Seattle?”
“No sir, but we can have someone there in four hours out of Chicago.”
CHAPTER
36
Gilbert nudged Gary and pointed his chin at the screen. The door to their hotel room was opening. They both held their breath. This confirmed it. Gwyn was right. Somebody with incredible resources was tracking them and desperately wanted what they had falsely claimed to have on the thumb drive. They had intercepted the message and responded with unbelievable speed. Gilbert pushed the record button on the screen to capture everything via the webcam.
A policeman wearing gloves opened the door and immediately drew his weapon. He said something into a shoulder mike, but he was too far away for the computer’s internal microphone to pick it up. He closed the door with his foot and started towards the bathroom, still aiming down the barrel of the pistol. He disappeared from the screen only to reappear a few seconds later with his gun holstered, walked to the door and drew the deadbolt. Again, he spoke into the mike. Again, he was too far away for them to make out what he was saying.
He began searching the suitcase beside the door, methodically taking everything out and laying it on the bed. When the suitcase was empty, he did the same with Gary’s bag. He was a white male with a ruddy complexion, very tall and slightly over-weight. He looked to be between thirty and forty years of age. Gilbert felt his pulse quicken and wondered if Gary was feeling the same seething anger he felt burning his cheeks right now.
Who the hell are these people and what do they want with us?
Anger wasn’t the only emotion he felt though. Icicles of fear pierced his heart as he thought about his wife and sister.
When the man was finished looking through both bags, he began looking around the room. He checked the drawers in the nightstands and saw the Blackberry. He grabbed it and stuck it in his pocket. Then, he headed for the computer sitting on the table in front of the window. Gary and Gilbert watched as the man walked straight towards them. It was an eerie feeling to see a man who might very well want them dead starting to fill the screen in front of them. He sat down at the computer. They could only see his face. He was probably moving his finger over the mouse-pad to get rid of the screensaver.
He would be disappointed when he was greeted with the login screen. Then, he touched the shoulder mike again.
“I found it. It’s in the port on his computer. His Blackberry is here as well. Shall I take it?”
They saw the man pull out a ruggedized PDA and stick the thumb drive into it. He had clearly been ordered to send the data somewhere. Then, he took Gilbert’s Blackberry and hooked an adaptor to the port and connected it to his PDA.
Gary turned to Gilbert. “What will he be able to get off your phone?”
“Only phone numbers. All the email is encrypted. Listen, we have to inform McIntosh and have him send men up to the room.”
“Are you sure we want to tip them off about the trap. If the police take this guy in, or out, as the case may be, they will know that we are on to them. It could be easier for us if we keep them on the goose chase with the bogus names and the meeting in Seattle.”
“They are about to find out anyway,” said Gilbert grimly.
“What do you mean?”
“I was sloppy. I forgot to change the creation date on the Word file I made. If they see it was created two hours ago, they will realize it was a trap.”
“Then I guess you better make the call. Will the key-logger still work?”
“It should install itself as soon as the file is opened and will remain even if they delete the file. It’s the best that corporate espionage has to offer. I’m not aware of anything that can detect and delete it. The corporate world is every bit as secure as the CIA if not more so.”
“I thought corporate world was synonymous with government.”
“We’ll argue your politics later.”
“How will we know if it worked?”
Gilbert brought the browser window to the foreground and typed a URL into the window. A small screen that reminded Gary of DOS appeared in the upper left hand corner of the screen.
“If the program loads successfully, we will see information begin to arrive on this screen.”