Game Changer (23 page)

Davinroy looked stunned by this earth-shattering revelation.
Rachel could tell he wasn’t just horrified that North Korea had come close to
destroying six major cities, without America having a clue, but more so that he
and tens of millions of American citizens might owe their lives to Israel and
Ori Kish. It clearly grated on him.

“If you had shared this program with us like you
should
have,” said the president, now
recovered from his shock, “we wouldn’t need your rescuing.”

“Again, with all due respect,” said Kish, “you wouldn’t have
shared it either if you were in our shoes. We’re a tiny country. We aren’t
surrounded by Mexico and Canada. We’re surrounded by militant enemy states that
have vowed to destroy us. This drone technology gave us an enormous advantage. It
did more than ensure we got the intel to prevent Kim Jong-un from nuking
you
. It allowed us to stop Iran from
nuking
us
, and at the eleventh hour. If
this tech had leaked, Israel wouldn’t still be standing today. Others would have
learned how to detect these drones. They would still be valuable, but those at
the upper echelons of power would protect themselves from this surveillance.”

“What are you saying, that we would have leaked it?” said Davinroy.

“Not
intentionally
,”
said the prime minister. “And not for certain. But bringing you into the tent would
have increased the risk of a leak dramatically. We can keep a secret because
our existence
depends
on it. But you
are forty times our size, in population and bureaucracy.
Our
necks are in the noose, not yours, and you can’t say your
record when it comes to keeping secrets is spotless. China has hacked you
repeatedly. Look at the damage done by Edward Snowden, and there are many other
examples. I’m not being critical, but two people have a better chance than a
thousand of keeping a secret. And you’re the thousand.”

Heated expressions appeared on multiple faces around the
table. The president glared at his counterpart but didn’t respond further.

“So why tell us about these drones now?” said Henry. “Because
Agent Quinn found a disabled one? You didn’t want us to panic? Wanted to make
sure we knew it was friendly fire?”

Wortzman gritted his teeth. “I wish this were the case,” he
said. “But I’m afraid it’s
much
worse
than that.”

36

Just when Rachel had thought the tension among the
conference participants could not be greater, it promptly grew. Now there was
anxiety mixed in with the anger. Both men
actually
in the room with her, rather than
virtually
,
had remained silent and had kept their faces largely impassive. When emotions
ran high and there were titans present, it was best to try to blend into the
walls rather than speaking up and risk drawing fire.

Avi Wortzman pressed a button on a computer pad in front
of him and the vid-meet software projected a holographic image of a middle-aged
man above the center of the virtual table. Clean-cut, relatively handsome, with
gray eyes and brown hair.

“You’re looking at a man named Dmitri Kovonov,” said
the head of Mossad, as the man’s age, weight, and other relevant physical data
appeared beside his image. “He’s a Russian Jew. He emigrated from Moscow to Tel
Aviv with his family at the age of fourteen. Brilliant. Obtained a PhD from
Technion University in Haifa at the age of nineteen. I’ll have his full dossier
sent to all of you after this meeting. But what is relevant right now is that he
was the number two scientist on the team that developed these drones.”

“Who was number one?” asked Henry.

“We promise our scientific heads
a certain degree of anonymity,” said Wortzman, dodging the question. “But back
to Kovonov. A month ago he went rogue. He killed four members of the team and
destroyed the one factory that fabricates the fly drones’ microelectronics. He
made off with our entire supply of inventoried drones, and left us with no way
to make more until we can rebuild the factory. An expensive and time-consuming
undertaking.”

“And you had no safeguards
against something like this?” said Henry in disbelief.

“We had
plenty
of safeguards,” replied Wortzman. “But he outsmarted us. We
trusted him implicitly and were caught with our pants down. Around our ankles. It’s
a failure of epic proportions. I offered my resignation to the prime minster afterward,
but he wouldn’t take it.”

“Do you know why Kovonov did
it?” said Henry. “His endgame?”

“We aren’t certain. Our best
guess is that he was loyal to Mother Russia all along, possibly having renounced
his Judaism. We think he bided his time until he had a clear path to make off with
the drones. I know you’re aware this is a breakthrough technology, a game
changer. But until you’ve worked with it like we have, you can’t fully
appreciate just
how much
of a game
changer.”
 

“So Kovonov could be using these
flies to monitor this very meeting,” said Henry. “With Russia or someone worse
behind them.”

“He could be
trying
,” said the head of Mossad. “But
as you assured us when we began, you’ve implemented the jamming countermeasures
we provided. Any flies in your offices are hearing nothing but static. We currently
also have the ability to detect these drones, which we’ll share with you
immediately after the meeting. Although if he makes certain changes to the
drones, we may lose this capability in the future.”

“
Perfect
,” said the president sarcastically.

 
“The bottom line,” said Wortzman, “is that these
drones, this technology, could now be in the hands of an expansionist Russia,
with its sights on regaining its superpower status at any cost. Or if Kovonov went
freelance, the situation could be even worse. He could be selling them to more
dangerous players even than Russia.”

“So you’ve been trying like hell since he left to clean up
your own mess,” said Henry.

“Yes. Without success.”

“And now without any fly drones of your own,” said Davinroy.

“We had a number in the field when the factory and inventory
were destroyed,” replied Wortzman, “so we still have some capability. We had one
assigned to Jafari for several months based on other fly drone intel we had
gathered. We were about to reassign the drone to more important work when Jafari
announced his grand plan. We lucked out on the timing.”

“Jafari was an American citizen,” said Davinroy. “So you
were spying on
our
citizens on
our
soil. And I have to believe you
didn’t limit these activities to suspected terrorists. Why do I have the
feeling the Oval Office may have had a pest problem the last four years?”

“Unlike your NSA,” replied Kish smoothly, “which has
acknowledged spying on leaders of countries allied with you—including a former
prime minister of Israel—
we
wouldn’t do
that.” He shook his head as if the very idea was unthinkable. “Even if ethics
would allow it, if this were somehow discovered it would forever drive a wedge between
our friendship.”

“Uh-huh,” said Davinroy, glaring at the prime minister in
disgust. “I’m not buying it. I’d say you’re
full
of shit
but diplomacy and decorum prevent me.”

The president paused. “But let’s move on. For now. I’ll want
to come back to this at another time.”

“Of course,” said Ori Kish.

“So have you made
any
progress finding Kovonov?” asked O’Malley, who along with Hurwitz, Wortzman’s
second-in-command, had remained silent until this point.

“Almost none,” said Wortzman.

“I’m surprised,” said Henry. “The Mossad’s bloodhound skills
are legendary.”

Wortzman frowned. “Kovonov knows all of our secrets. Our
methods and the identities of our agents. We don’t know how much spying he did
on us before he left, but we believe it was extensive. Since the fly drones
were our technology we didn’t monitor their possible use against us. So we have
to assume Kovonov knows everything we do. The most classified Mossad data. Not
just on our methods and intel, but all the data we have on our friends. On
joint programs with the US. The identity of the American agents involved.
Classified data on US methods.”

“
Are you kidding me?
”
shouted Davinroy. “And you’re lecturing
us
about leaks! You’ve just opened up Pandora’s box!”

Ori Kish’s face hardened. “No
question this is a spectacular failure on our part. But you’ve had yours as
well. All governments have. We humans are fallible beings, and mistakes happen.
But while you’re rightly angry, please try to keep this in perspective. Yes
we’ve created a problem. But we also saved Israel. Saved Washington and five
other American cities. Even after our failure, we helped you stop Azim Jafari.”

“So what do you want?” said the
president. “Just to warn us? To rip off the Band-Aid of secrecy from an episode
that will have severe repercussions between our two countries? Or did you bring
us in to get our help with your hunt for Kovonov?”

“We would like your help, yes,”
replied Kish. “But before we discuss this further there is more we need to talk
about.”

“Right,” said Davinroy. “The
second order of business that you alluded to. At least it can’t be as bad as
the first.”

Wortzman grimaced. “That remains
to be seen,” he said. “You’ve been briefed on how Agent Quinn was manipulated
into trying to kill you.”

“Yes. And I only believe it
because I was told your side insisted something similar happened to two of your
agents.”

“That’s right. I won’t give you
all of the details, but I’ll paint as much of a picture as I can.”

Wortzman spent several minutes
sharing a sense of what had happened and how the Mossad had become convinced
these agents’ memories had been tampered with. He then gave the floor to Kevin
Quinn, who described his own experiences in colorful detail. How these
nightmarish memories, almost certainly tied into the rage centers of his brain,
had begun to emerge days earlier. He described how real they had felt, bubbling
up through a memory erasure drug he had thought had been forced on him by the
president. His emotions and description of these events were quite compelling.

Quinn went on to detail his journey
to a secluded shack and his encounter with two mercenaries there. How he had
turned the tables, and how he had learned of the Russian behind it. “I know now
that this man was Dmitri Kovonov,” said Quinn. “At the time, of course, all I
knew was that he was Russian, and that his hired hands had been told to address
him as
302
.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. This was
the first she had heard of this.

“302?” repeated Henry. He stared
at the head of Mossad. “Does that have any significance?”

“None that we know of,” replied
Wortzman, “but you should run it yourself and see if you turn up anything in
your databases.”

Rachel locked her gaze on Avi
Wortzman. He may have been in Jerusalem, but he was also ten feet away at the
virtual conference table. “Does Kovonov have a neuroscience background?” she asked
for the second time that day.

Wortzman appraised her
carefully. “None at all,” he replied, the same answer Eyal Regev had given.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, very certain. I know why
you’re asking, Professor Howard, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We
should let Agent Quinn finish his report.”
 

Quinn picked up the story where
he had left off, describing how he learned of the danger to Rachel Howard and
had sought her out. He then passed the baton to Regev, who went on to describe
his own activities and how he had come to cross paths with Quinn.

When he admitted he had been
spying on the professor, and why, Wortzman jumped in. He was quick to point out
that until Quinn had gone off the rails, they had thought the problem was
confined to Israel, which explained why the US had not been told of it.

When he finished there was a
lengthy silence, as the Americans digested all that had been said.

The president leaned back and
locked his hands behind his head. “So you—
we
—have
two major crises occurring at the same time,” he said, breaking the silence. “A
Russian named Kovonov ran off with your spy drones. And someone is manipulating
the memories of agents. So how are these related?”

“We aren’t sure,” said Wortzman.
“Despite the timing, we thought they were separate. Until today. We have people
turning over every rock to find Kovonov. And we have Agent Regev taking the
lead on our false memory investigation. Imagine our surprise when Kevin Quinn
intersected with Regev and we realized these two thorns in our side were
somehow connected. We were stunned to learn that Kovonov was behind Quinn’s
capture, and that he planned to murder Professor Howard.”

“Which is why the professor asked
if Kovonov had neuroscience expertise, right?” said Henry. “She was wondering
if he was behind the memory implantation also, and not just the theft of your
drones.”

“Yes,” said Wortzman. “But this
isn’t possible.”
 

“I know we’re all alarmed by
these events,” said Cris Coffey. “But I’m not sure we’re alarmed
enough
. Let’s not forget that whoever
is
behind this memory trick wants
President Davinroy dead.”

The president frowned deeply as
this point hit home.

“So we’re looking at two different people?” said O’Malley. “This
makes no sense to me. The odds against Kovonov just magically finding someone
able to screw with people’s heads are astronomical.”

“Not
magically
finding them,” said Wortzman. “Only through considerable effort, I’m sure.”

 
“Right,” snapped Davinroy
coldly. “When you can be a fly on the wall anywhere, at secret commercial,
university, and government labs, you can learn about a lot of interesting projects,
can’t you?”

“That’s undoubtedly how this came about,” agreed Wortzman.
“Our agents’ memories had been tampered with before Kovonov left. Something he
would have learned about. So he must have set his sights—or the sights of his
swarm of fly drones to be more precise—on learning who was behind it.”

“So he’s teamed up with this other party, hasn’t he?”
insisted the president.

“Unclear,” said the head of Mossad. “He may have. But it
could also be that he hasn’t even found this other party yet. His actions with
respect to your Secret Service agent and Professor Howard may represent an
effort to learn more, or to flush out the person responsible.”

“What if
Kovonov’s
memory was tampered with?” said O’Malley. “Maybe he
was
loyal. Maybe he went off the reservation after a false memory
emerged about his poor treatment at the hands of the Mossad.” He gestured at
Avi Wortzman and raised his eyebrows. “Who knows, maybe you tortured and killed
a wife of his that he doesn’t have.”

Wortzman shuddered. “A chilling possibility. I don’t think
this is the case, but I suppose we can’t rule it out.”

“If Agent Quinn’s report is accurate,” said Davinroy, “this
Kovonov is in the continental United States, even as we speak. And we know what
he looks like. If we use facial recognition and put our people in airports and
train stations, I would think we could snare him fairly readily.”

Rachel thought she detected the head of DHS reflexively
rolling his eyes at what she guessed was Davinroy’s naiveté. She knew nothing
about these matters, but it was clear even to her that if it would have been
this easy, the Mossad would have captured him already.

“Can you address this, Avi?” said Henry, passing the duty of
making the president look stupid to his Israeli counterpart.

“It’s a great thought, Mr. President,” said Wortzman, “but
Kovonov is very slippery. Top agents in both of our intelligence agencies have
multiple methods to defeat facial recognition technology. This won’t be a
problem for him. He can pilot both helicopters and planes and has the means to
purchase small private aircraft. If he chooses to use commercial
transportation, he has a number of ways to change his appearance, with forged
documents to match.”