Fatal (5 page)

Frydman pulled the papers closer. “Your findings?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”
 

Frydman waved him to a chair. “Summarize it.”

Glist sat, took a pen from his breast pocket, and started clicking.

“I’m not sure where to start.” He shot Frydman a perplexed look. “It isn’t a virus in the true sense of the word; it doesn’t cause any damage, per se. I would call it a considerate rogue application.”

Frydman nodded.

“It doesn’t interfere with your work, and it limits its data usage to five megs per day, as long as you don’t interfere with it.” Glist clicked his pen as he spoke.

“Please stop that,” Frydman said with a scowl. “So what does it do?”
 

Glist shrugged. “It searches. The variables are encoded. I managed to get the hexadecimal values, but I haven’t transcribed them yet.”

“Give them to me,” Frydman said and opened his laptop. He opened a hex transcription application and looked up. “Go.”
 

Glist read random alphanumeric combinations. Frydman nodded. He continued and read out several more strings of characters.

“Perreira,” Frydman read out. “Next one.”

Glist read out the next sequence of strings.

“OK, that one I’ve heard of. It says Callahan.” His fingers rattled over his keyboard. He searched the staff database and came up with six hits. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “I remember him, he was a senior field agent who had turned against us.” He folded his hands over his stomach “A Mossad agent, Bruce Bryden, terminated him.”

“Well, those were the variables that pop up the most. I found some variances on these names as well,” Glist said.

“So where is it searching?” Frydman asked.

Glist pursed his lips. “Here it gets interesting. On each and every port available on all communications protocols.”

“English, Glist.”

Glist looked up and smiled an apology. “Oh, sorry. It looks everywhere on a PC or server. It uses all the languages and software the machine has available. Internet, email, all the software on the PC,” he said scratching his chin. “This includes software controlling closed-circuit TV cameras, databases, anything you can think of, sir.”

“And where does it save the results?” Frydman asked.

“Everywhere.” Glist grinned. “It uses meager amounts of storage space on every system it is installed on and disperses the information over the entire range of systems.”

Frydman nodded. “What is the infection ratio?”

“A guess?”

Frydman nodded again.

“Forty million. Give or take.”

Frydman frowned. “Anything else?”

“Yes, it’s polymorphic.”

“What makes you think that?”

Glist shrugged. “The code morphs. As soon as you try to remove it, it renames itself and changes a couple of lines of its code. More forceful removal procedures cause the program to consume exponentially more resources.”
 

“What do you mean?”

Glist leaned forward. “It acts like it’s trying to get the searches done quicker. After the first removal attempt, it used double the amount of bandwidth, ten megs. After the second removal attempt, one hundred megs, etcetera.” Glist clicked his pen again. “It does this until the PC becomes unusable.”
 

“How do we get rid of it?” Frydman asked.

Glist’s shoulders slumped. “We haven’t figured it out yet, Major. I’m sure the guys will come up with something.”

Frydman sighed and leaned back in his chair. “OK, keep me updated.”
 

Glist stood up and saluted. “I will, sir,” he said and left, closing the door behind him.
 

Frydman scanned the report and scribbled some notes on a pad. He looked up a number on his laptop, punched it into his cell phone, and dialed. Someone answered after two rings.

“Hello. Is this Colonel Bruce Bryden? Hello, Mr. Bryden. My name is Major Frydman from Israeli Defense Operations Department. Do you have a moment?”

Polana Hotel,

Maputo, Mozambique.

Neil looked uncomfortable as the waiter folded a napkin over his lap. Another waiter poured their drinks, placed menus in front of them, and then stood back. “I’ll be back for your orders in a couple of minutes,” the first man said with a curt bow. They both turned around and left, a study in efficiency.

They were seated in a far corner of the Polana Hotel’s dining area. A man sat at a piano, humming a song in Portuguese. The room was empty, except for an intoxicated couple quaffing expensive-looking cocktails and giggling.

Neil grinned and took a long draw from his beer. “Fancy place, hey?”

Alexa smiled and tucked her long bangs behind an ear. Neil was wearing a T-shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers. Bruce had borrowed him a casual cotton jacket. He was out of his comfort zone, but he looked stunning.
 

She had opted for a sexy, tight-fitting number she hoped wasn’t over-the-top. She wondered if Neil had noticed. Judging by Bruce’s appraising stare when she entered the room, he probably thought it too revealing.

Neil turned to Bruce. “So, why all this secrecy regarding your source?”

Bruce grinned. “Well, we’re not entirely certain who or where the source is, actually.”
 

“But how can you trust him? How do you know you aren’t being led into a trap?” Neil asked with a frown.

Bruce examined the cutlery then looked up. “It hasn’t let us down yet.”

“It?” Neil asked, looking first to Bruce then to Alexa.

“Yes, our intelligence is provided by some computer somewhere, we think,” Alexa answered.

Neil chuckled. “A computer?” He finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on a coaster. “This is getting more bizarre by the moment.”

Bruce broke some bread and buttered it. “I first received messages on my GLD. Detailed messages with information about Callahan and Perreira. Location details, voice recorded messages, photos. Later on I received these messages on my cell phone as well.”

Neil shook his empty beer bottle then signaled to the waiter he wanted a refill. He looked at Bruce with a smirk. “Can it be secure? Someone could steal your cell phone and start receiving these messages.” He glanced at Alexa. “What happens if you get a new cell phone? Do the messages stop?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s the thing. I did get a new cell phone. After a week, I received the messages on the new one as well.”

The waiter appeared with a beer and a new glass, which he filled ceremoniously. Neil nodded a thanks then looked back at Bruce after the man left.

“A couple of days after Alexa left the Legion, she received the messages on her new cell phone too. The computer program somehow confirms it’s us and then starts relaying the intel to us.”

“I think it recognizes our voices,” Alexa said. “If I stop using my phone, after about a week, the messages stop as well.”
 

Neil scratched his chin. It made a raspy sound. “I guess it makes sense.” He looked at Alexa. “Your dad was a computer genius; it wouldn’t be difficult for him to write some program keeping a tab on Perreira and Callahan. Plus, he had all the resources he ever needed in the Israeli Defense Force.”

The waiter appeared with a notepad and a pencil, bending forward slightly. They scanned the menus and ordered steaks and salads and another round of drinks.

When the man left, Bruce continued. “Zachary wasn’t your run-of-the-mill computer genius. We later found out he held the patents to GPS technology. He invented it.” He grinned. “A royalty is paid to his trust for every GPS device manufactured. Sarah is a wealthy woman.”

“Your mother?” Neil asked, looking at Alexa.
 

She nodded. “My dad developed the first optical character recognition device. He patented the technology as well.” She counted the inventions on her fingers, trying to remember them all. “He built a device that was able to read words on a page to the blind,” she said, holding up another finger. “He designed a weapon able to fire projectiles using electromagnetic energy.” She looked up at Neil. “The Israeli army is testing it as a potential weapon to eliminate enemy satellites. With no heat signal to trace, the projectile would be unstoppable.”

Neil whistled. “His knowledge would have been dangerous in the wrong hands.”

Bruce looked up as three waiters brought them their meals. “You’re right. The Israeli Defense Force has kept his inventions under lock and key.”
 

Bruce took Alexa’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze. “Your father was years ahead of the pack. He would design stuff for which the technology hadn’t existed yet; he was a brilliant man.” She smiled and squeezed back.

“And you’re sure it’s him?” Neil asked.

Bruce cut a chunk of rib eye and popped it in his mouth. “Shortly before his death, he told me he was working on a program able to find out anything about anyone on the planet,” he said between chews. “He wanted to use it to do background checks on new agents.”

“OK, we have all the info we need to find and eliminate our targets.” Neil looked at Bruce. “What is the plan?”
 

Bruce held up three fingers. “A three-pronged attack. I’ll deal with the rest of the poachers.” He nodded towards Alexa. “Alexa will eliminate the threats in Mozambique, including Perreira. You need to take care of Callahan.”

“That’s it?” Neil asked, smirking.

Bruce raised his shoulders. “What did you expect, a thesis on neutralizing targets? I recruited you because you are able to think on your feet, operate independently. Use your training and eliminate the target.”

“Tell me more about the bank account.”

”Ah yes, The Dalerians,” Bruce said, a thin smile on his lips. “They’re making millions. Smuggling, poaching, God knows what else,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “We’ve managed to access the online account details, thanks to another SMS from Zach. The account is extremely active, millions of dollars of transactions a day.”

“Who are the account holders?” Neil asked.

“Perreira and Callahan. Someone else, a third party, but we haven’t managed to pick up any info on him yet,” Bruce answered.

“Do you have access to the funds?”

“All of it. We simply add ourselves as a recipient and wire the funds to our account.”

“When?” Neil asked.

“Now is as good a time as any,” Bruce said with a smile. “I’ll need your bank details.”

Neil pulled out his phone and typed a message. “I’ve sent it to your email address,” he said, grinning at Alexa.
 

She glanced sideways at Bruce, who nodded. Alexa removed her laptop from her shoulder bag, flipped it open, and accessed the bank’s online payment portal. A few minutes later, she flipped it closed and put the laptop back in the bag. “Done.”

Neil’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and read the message.

Alexa had transferred eighteen million dollars into his bank account. Neil reread the message, scanning all the zeros with his index finger. He looked up and grinned sheepishly, then he looked back at the phone. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the screen.

“What?” Bruce asked with a chuckle.

Neil handed him the cell phone, an astonished look on his face.
 

Bruce read the message and handed the phone back to Neil. “Do you believe me now?”
 

Neil nodded, still dumbfounded.
 

“We’re going to have some unhappy campers soon. They’re going to throw all of their resources at us. Are you ready for this?” Bruce asked.

Neil was still staring at his phone, stupefied.
 

“Neil, you need to be ready,” Bruce urged. “We’ll need to get supplies and stock up on munitions.”

“I’ll take care of it, Dad,” Alexa said.

Bruce nodded then looked back to Neil. “Chop the lump sum into manageable pieces. Mauritius is always good. I've heard good things about the Bahamas. Steer clear of Switzerland, they're not what they used to be.”
 

Neil glanced at Bruce, blinked twice, and nodded.

Bruce grabbed the man’s arm. “Listen to me. Keep enough cash stashed away to last you a month, airfares included. Steer clear of credit cards and traveler’s checks; they are easily traced.” He leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his drink and scratched his chin. “You’re able to live like a king anywhere, but don't. Stick to modest hotels and vehicles and do not draw any attention to yourself.”
 

Neil nodded again. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Argentina and Chile. Exchange rates are good and facilities are world-class. Keep your primary accounts there. I know some good people I'll hook you up with.”

A wide smile spread across Neil's face. “With this we can buy ourselves a whole damn army,” he laughed.

Bruce shook his head and poured some dressing over his salad. “We are an army.”
 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to freshen up.” Alexa slid her bag over her shoulder.