Target America: A Sniper Elite Novel (20 page)

47

MICHIGAN,
Grosse Ile

The Montana Air Guard F-15 landed on Grosse Ile a few minutes before sun-up, just as Speed was being loaded aboard the Life Flight helo. Doc, the team’s Mexican American corpsman, was more concerned over the fact that Speed had gone into shock than he was by the loss of blood.

“It’s gonna be close,” he said to Gil. “Shock can be a bitch.”

Gil had seen men in worse condition pull through many times, and Speed was as tough as they came. He looked at Pope. “I think you probably saved his life, Bob. Thank you.”

“It’s Couture we need to thank,” Pope said. “He expedited the helo.”

“Be right back,” Gil said. He trotted out to the F-15, where the pilot stood waiting on the wing beside the cockpit.

The pilot handed down the laptop. “The passport’s under the lid.”

Gil opened the laptop and stuck the passport into his back pocket. “Much obliged.”

“You bet,” the pilot said, gesturing at the mammoth C-5 Galaxy. “How the hell they gonna get that thing back into the air?”

Gil shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me, Captain. Safe flight back!”

“You bet,” the pilot said again, climbing back into the cockpit of the F-15.

Pope met Gil at the edge of the tarmac, and Gil gave him the passport. Pope examined the passport photo for a long moment, searching his memory to place the face. “Jesus . . . this is Nikolai Kashkin.”

“That’s the guy Faisal told us to look for.”

“Damn,” Pope muttered, still studying the face. “It’s too bad your wife had to kill him. He’s very likely the mastermind of this entire operation.” He looked up at Gil. “Kashkin’s father was a colonel in the Soviet tank corps. He fought under his father in the Panjshir Valley, where he was taken prisoner by Mujahedeen. He was rumored to be connected to the KGB through an old-school Georgian assassin. His name was . . . Mulinkov. Daniel Mulinkov.”

Gil shook his head. “How do you remember all that shit?”

“Partial photographic memory—inherited from my father. He worked in the Magic intelligence
program during the Second World War; personally deciphered the Japanese code that lead to the shoot-down of Admiral Yamamoto. Anyhow, my memory’s not like his, but it’s similar.”

A Gulfstream V with USAF stenciled on the fuselage touched down on the runway and rolled past them.

Pope smiled. “It’s a fine, well-oiled machine, the US military. Gather your men and their personal weapons. We won’t have room aboard for much else. We’re leaving for Langley immediately. I need to execute a brute-force attack on the laptop.”

A brute-force attack on a computer was an exhaustive key search used against encrypted data that could—in theory, depending on the size of the bit encryption—require a supercomputer capable of generating an amount of energy equivalent to thirty gigawatts of electricity for an entire year.

Gil put the laptop under his arm. “Shouldn’t we have a go at interrogating al-Rashid first?”

“We’ll get to him,” Pope said. “But now I’m sure he doesn’t have the slightest idea where to find the bomb.” He gestured with the passport. “Kashkin masterminded this operation. He was the linchpin, and we
needed him alive. If his laptop’s been encrypted with a two-hundred-fifty-six-bit encryption key, we’ll never crack it. So get your team to bring the prisoners aboard the plane. We’re leaving.”

Langley was the last place Gil thought they should be. “Hold up a second.”

Pope stopped midstride. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you telling me this was a waste of time? The al-Rashids are a dead end?”

“The al-Rashids were the money, Gil. That’s what Kashkin was doing at your ranch—returning their favor.” He pointed at the laptop. “That thing’s our last chance. So if we manage to crack it, Marie really will deserve the Medal of Freedom.”

Gil rolled his eyes. “She’ll be thrilled.”

48

LANGLEY

By noon, Pope had established that Kashkin’s computer was encrypted with a 180-bit encryption key. He looked across the lab, where Gil sat on a desk waiting with Crosswhite. The rest of the team was still aboard the plane in a CIA hangar watching over Haroun al-Rashid and his sister-in-law Melonie.

“I won’t be able to break into this computer,” he said. “It could take a year or more. You’d better have a go at al-Rashid.”

Gil got up from the table, the frustration evident on his face. “I wish you’d cleared me to do that before.”

“He doesn’t know where the bomb is, Gil. I’m clearing you now only because there’s no other hope.”

Midori Kagawa, a Japanese American woman of thirty-five with short black hair, pushed back from her desk on the far side of the lab. “What about asking Lijuan?” she suggested in perfect English, having been born in Sacramento, California. “Encryption
is
her field of expertise, after all.”

Pope had told Midori of Lijuan’s arrest by the NSA shortly after his arrival. “You know that’s not possible.”

“It’s possible if the president orders it,” Midori replied. “And given the circumstances, he doesn’t have any other choice. It’s worth a call, Robert. She might think of something you haven’t.”

“There’s nothing to think of. A one-hundred-eighty-bit encryption is virtually uncrackable.”

“
Virtually
,” Midori said, turning back to her desk. “And under normal circumstances, you’d take that as a challenge. I think you’re just afraid to talk to her after what you did to her.”

Gil knew nothing about Lijuan or what Pope had
done
to her—nor did he care. “I’ll go have a talk with al-Rashid. I’ll call you if we learn anything useful.”

When he was gone, Pope got on the phone to Edwards AFB. “I need to speak with the president.”

The president was on the line a few moments later. This would be Pope’s second conversation with the commander in chief since ST6/B’s incursion into Canada—though the first conversation had actually been more of a presidential ass chewing.

“Have you broken into the computer, Robert?” The president sounded very worried.

“No, Mr. President. I’m afraid we’ve reached a dead end. Unless there’s something I’ve missed, I won’t be able to beat its security. Shannon is questioning al-Rashid now, but I’m certain he has no idea where to find the bomb.”

“So that’s it then,” the president said wearily. “All that’s left to do is sit and wait for the damn thing to go off.”

“Neither the FBI or NSA have come up with anything, sir?”

“They claim to be chasing leads.”

“There is one last thing I should check, Mr. President—just to be absolutely sure.”

“Which is?”

“By now, sir, I’m sure NSA has informed you that my assistant Lijuan Chow has been arrested for espionage. Code encryption is her specialty, Mr. President. I would like for you to arrange for me to speak with her by phone. It’s a long shot, but she may be able to think of something I haven’t.”

There was a long enough pause at the other end that Pope thought he may have lost the connection. “Mr. President?”

“Why would she help us?”

“She wouldn’t be helping
us
, Mr. President. She would be helping me.”

“Hold on a minute.”

The president put Pope on hold, looking at Couture, Bradshaw, and Hagen. The four of them were eating lunch in the officers’ lounge. “He says he can’t break the encryption. He wants to talk to his girlfriend the spy; claims she might be able to think of something he hasn’t. Is there a reason I should refuse?”

Hagen cleared his throat. “Mr. President, it may be a ruse, sir. An attempt to pass her some kind of code phrase.”

“Telling her to do what?” General Couture said testily.

“How do I know?” Hagen said. “The man’s a genius—so is the girl! There’s no telling what they might have preplanned.”

Couture didn’t honor Hagen with a direct response. “Mr. President, it’s my recommendation you allow the call. If Chow tunnels under the wall, I’ll accept full responsibility.”

The president failed to stifle a sardonic snort. He reached and pressed the speaker button. “Stand by, Robert. I’ll arrange for her to call you there. And since we’re talking about her, how do you know NSA has taken into her custody?”

“I’ve been planning her arrest for a number of years now, Mr. President.”

The president’s gaze shot immediately in Hagen’s direction.

Hagen looked back at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Would you mind explaining that, Robert?”

“Over the phone, sir?”

“This is a secure line.”

“Well, Mr. President, to make a long story short . . . I’ve used her to gain access to the Guojia Anquan Bu database.”

The president gave Couture a searching look.

“The Chinese Ministry of State Security,” Couture said softly, noting the vapid look on Hagen’s face.
Well, whattaya know? The whiz kid’s weak on China.
“China’s version of the CIA.”

“How the hell did you manage that, Robert?”

“I think we’d better save that conversation for another time, Mr.
President. There are still one or two stones left to look under for the RA-115. I’ll wait in my office for the call from Lijuan.”

“Very well. Stand by.” The president broke the connection and turned to Hagen. “Go make that call happen, Tim.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he was gone, the president leaned back in his chair. “What the hell am I going to do with that son of a bitch?”

“Pope or Hagen?”

Colonel Bradshaw chortled softly, and the president was hard pressed to hide his own amusement.

“You know, General, I didn’t think so much of you at first. I thought you were a self-promoting showboat, parading around with that damn bodyguard of yours: the major and his dual pistols.”

Couture grinned, the jagged scar on the left side of face standing out. “I’ve been a show-off all my life, Mr. President—and so far it’s served me well.”

49

LANGLEY

Pope was at his desk, waiting in the dark, when the phone rang. “This is Bob Pope.”

“Hello, Robert.” Lijuan’s voice was soft and sounded very sad.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I haven’t been mistreated, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“How long have you known?” she asked. “From the beginning?”

“Yes.” He gripped the receiver. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m not angry with you. I was trying to run off and leave you holding the bag when I was arrested. Did they tell you that? Or was it you who sent them after me?”

“You know me so well,” he said. “How did you not see through me?”

“Your love blinded me. I didn’t think a man like you could ever love a woman if you knew she was planning to betray you. But you’re shrewder than I thought—more cold.”

“I gave you so many opportunities to tell me.”

“Yes, and like a fool, I let them all pass, didn’t I?”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I need to ask you a favor,” he said finally.

“I won’t betray my people, Robert.”

“No,” he said. “I know better than to ask that. I need your help with a one-hundred-eighty-bit encryption. It’s on a laptop belonging to the Chechen who smuggled the bomb into the country. He’s dead, and there are no other leads. We’re running out of time.”

“
That’s
the reason they put me through to you. I knew it must be something more than love.”

“This is very painful for me, Lijuan.”

“I wonder if you feel pain the way others do,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“Will you help me?”

She remained quiet for a long moment. “A one-hundred-eighty-bit key is uncrackable inside of a year, Robert. You know that. I created an algorithm that
might
have managed it in eight months, but it was only theoretical. Please get out of Langley, Robert. There’s no chance of finding that bomb. There never was.”

“Li, please give me something.”

“Do you promise to come and visit me in whatever dungeon they send me to?”

“If they’ll allow it, yes. Of course I will.” But he knew they would never allow it.

“Then tell me about the Chechen.”

Over the next few minutes, he told her all he knew about Nikolai Kashkin. Then he waited quietly as she thought things over.

“You may be in luck,” she said finally.

He sat up straight in his chair in the dark office, reaching to turn on the desk lamp and grab a pen. “What is it?”

“Well, he was your age . . . a simple old-soldier type—not a technical wizard. So if he used a commercial AES 180-key generator and installed it on the computer himself, he
may
have used the default settings to generate the key, which, theoretically,
might
give you a chance to replicate it.”

The default settings!
Pope thought.
My God! How did I not think of that? I’ll tell you how: common sense has eluded you all your life. How are you going to manage without this woman?

“You’re already off in your own little world now, aren’t you?” she said.

“You know me,” he replied. “I have to hurry, Li, but thank you very much. I’ll come to see you as soon as they’ll permit it. I promise.”

“You know that wisdom tooth I told you about?” she asked. “The one that came in crooked?”

She had never told him about a crooked wisdom tooth. “What about it?”

“It’s beginning to bother me. I wonder if they’ll let me see a dentist here.”

“I’m sure they will.” His voice sounded thin and reedy to him.

“I love you,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you again, Robert—someday.”

“I love you too,” he said hoarsely, knowing now that she was carrying a cyanide capsule in a false molar.

“Good luck to you, Robert.” The phone clunked in the cradle at her end, and the connection was severed a moment later.

He stood immediately up from the desk and made his way back to the lab without even hanging up the phone.

50

LANGLEY

Haroun al-Rashid was strapped to a seat at the back of the plane, still dressed in his pajamas. His sister-in-law sat toward the front, facing the tail, also in her pajamas, with her hands still secured behind her back.

“Don’t bother pretending you don’t speak English,” Gil said, pulling a black trash bag from the roll and giving the box to Crosswhite. “You and your brother Akram have been living in Canada for the past eight years, and you’ve been under surveillance for much of that time. So tell us where to find the nuclear weapon that Kashkin smuggled into the country, and this won’t have to get ugly.”

Haroun smirked, recognizing Gil’s face from the dossier he and his brother had received from the AQAP network. “You are going to die soon.”

Gil frowned. “Kashkin is dead.”

Haroun didn’t seem surprised to hear the news. “Do you think Kashkin will be the last? Do you think you can fight all of Islam?” He shook his head. “Sooner or later, you will be killed—and your wife will be killed too.”

Gil glanced at Crosswhite. “I reckon that covers the formalities.”

Crosswhite put out his hand for the bag. “May I?”

Gil gave him the garbage bag, and Crosswhite slipped it over al-Rashid’s head, smoothing the plastic over his face to dispel most of the air. Haroun tried to bite his finger through the bag, and Gil delivered him a straight punch to the face, breaking his nose. Crosswhite sealed the bag at al-Rashid’s neck with a strip of duct tape.

“Catch you on the flip side, dick head.” Crosswhite smacked him across the back of the head.

Haroun did not panic the way most prisoners did when the air quickly began to run out. He drew shallow breaths, keeping calm as he rationed the tiny bit of air remaining in the bag.

“Looks like somebody’s had some training,” Crosswhite observed.

Gil gave Haroun a stiff jab to the solar plexus. Haroun gasped and then began to struggle against the restraints, sucking the plastic in and out of his mouth.

“That got things rolling,” Crosswhite said happily.

“Where is the bomb?” Gil asked in a calm voice. “Tell us the truth, Haroun, and this stops.”

Haroun began to thrash his head around, trying to locate an air pocket within the bag that did not exist. His breathing became increasingly rapid, the plastic sucking in and out of his mouth. A short time later, his head slumped to his chest, and he was out.

Crosswhite tore the bag open and pulled it down over his head. Blood ran from al-Rashid’s busted nose over his lips and chin.

Haroun’s sister-in-law moaned aloud at the sight, knowing she was next.

After sixty minutes without results, Gil and Crosswhite stepped off the plane for a smoke break, leaving a few other SEALs to watch the prisoners.

“What do you think?” Gil asked.

Crosswhite shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I go until you say quit.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Crosswhite exhaled. “I don’t think he knows a thing about that damn bomb. We just put the fucker through an hour of hell, and he didn’t say a single word. But what the fuck do I know, Gil?”

“What about Akram’s wife?” Gil said, the idea of torturing a woman beyond repugnant to him.

“She only speaks Greek.” Pope had told them Akram found her living on the streets of Athens, converting her to Islam before he married her.

“I’ll see what Pope thinks.”

 • • •

A HALF HOUR
later, they marched Melonie al-Rashid into an office there in the hangar and sat her down at a desk, freeing her hands and giving her a bottle of water. A few minutes later, the phone on the desk rang, and Gil picked up the receiver, handing it to Melonie.

She looked at him suspiciously, taking the receiver and putting it to her ear. “Hello?” she said in her own language.

“Is this Melonie al-Rashid?” asked Iosif Hoxha in slightly accented Greek.

“Yes,” she answered. “Who is this?”

“My name Iosif Hoxha. I’m Albanian, but I grew up in Kakavija on the border with your country.”

“I recognize the accent,” she said.

“Have you been harmed?”

“They hit me once, but I haven’t been seriously harmed—not yet.”

“That is good,” he said, keeping his voice friendly. “The Americans do not want to harm you, but you must tell me everything you know about the atomic bomb that your husband and his friends have brought into the United States. That is the only way I can guarantee your safety.”

“What atomic bomb?”

“Melonie, you must not play stupid. They will hurt you like they did Haroun.”

“I do not doubt that,” she said shakily, “but there is no bomb. Akram goes to kill the American assassin—the sniper.”

“Where is Akram now?”

“Somewhere in America. Please, will you tell these people I know
nothing
about a bomb! If I did, I would tell them. I want to return to Athens. Will you help me get home?”

They went round like this for another three minutes before Hoxha
was satisfied that Akram had kept her in the dark about most of his business. “Okay, Melonie. I will call the American commander and explain what you have told me. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you,” she said. Hoxha broke the connection, and she put the phone down in the cradle, finally opening the bottle of water and drinking it all gone.

“I’m guessing she didn’t tell him a damn thing we can use,” Gil said to Crosswhite.

“She told him something,” Crosswhite said, seeing it in the young woman’s eyes. “I don’t know how useful it’ll be, but she told him something.”