Terminal Justice (19 page)

The group had arrived at Barringston Tower at 5:00 that morning, each bleary eyed and clinging to a cup of coffee. As promised, A.J. had arranged a private breakfast in his office. The small group ate around the glass conference table making idle chitchat between bites. David forced himself to eat the ham-and-cheese omelette despite his stomach’s protestations about the early hour. He was surprised to find that he became more alert with each bite. As the sun rose over the Pacific and cast long shadows from the tall downtown buildings, A.J. began the short meeting.

“Most of you know each other,” he began, “with the possible exception of Gerald Raines and Leonard Wu, both of whom are with Child Touch Ministries and are hitching a ride with us to Ethiopia.” David had heard of Child Touch and had seen their heartrending ads on television. They specialized in feeding and sheltering children, especially those orphaned by war.

These men, however, didn’t strike David as the type who would involve themselves with orphans. It was a subjective opinion, he
knew, and one that wasn’t based on any more information than the personae projected by the men. Both seemed pleasant enough on the surface. Wu wore khaki pants, a dark brown polo shirt, and a casual pair of slip-on shoes, an outfit that seemed to match his youthfulness. David judged him to be in his late twenties, trim and thin of frame, fitting the stereotypical image of a Chinese. Raines, a stocky dark man with a pencil-thin mustache, appeared to be in his late forties and wore loose-fitting jeans, running shoes, and a long-sleeve dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. While the men differed in dress and age, they both possessed the same wariness, something David saw in their physical manners, clipped fragments of conversation, and the occasional exchange of glances that carried unspoken messages.

A.J. handed out a single piece of paper to each person. “This is our final itinerary,” he said, “or as final as it can be at this point. We will be traveling over and into a few hot spots, so this may change. As it stands now we will fly to New York today, where we will spend the night.” A.J. smiled, “My father insists that we take in a Broadway play. His treat, of course. Then we fly to Rome. I’ve arranged a two-day stay there so that we can all do a little sightseeing. David, you must see the Basilica. I know you’re not Catholic, but I promise you’ll be impressed. From Rome we will fly to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia for a three-day stay, then to Mogadishu in Somalia. All of this is subject to change—especially Somalia. We’ll go if we can. If not, we will spend more time in Ethiopia. Are there any questions?”

No one spoke.

“Okay then. Our luggage should be loaded with the supplies, so all that remains is for us to hop into the van.” With that, A.J. rose from his chair and started for the door. The others were quick to join him.

“Call it in the air,” Special Agent Woody Summers said into the phone as he prepared to flip his lucky Kennedy half dollar into the air.

“Wait a minute,” Stephanie Cooper retorted. “How do I know you’ll tell me the truth? I can’t see the coin over the phone.”

“That’s the problem with you CIA types, always so suspicious,” Woody replied humorously. “I am a duly authorized keeper of the peace and protector of our country. I am a highly trained agent with many years of experience. I never lie.”

“And I am a highly trained CIA operative who specializes in foreign terrorist groups, and I trust no one, especially special agents of the FBI.”

“I’m crushed at your lack of confidence in me,” Woody said with mock despair. “Have I ever misled you in any way?”

“We’ve never met before, so you’ve never had the opportunity to mislead me.”

“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Woody said. “Heads I go there, tails you come here. Fair enough?”

“No, but flip the coin anyway.”

Woody flicked the coin and let it fall on his desk where it bounced twice before falling flat. “It’s tails. This must be my lucky day. If you leave soon you shouldn’t encounter too much traffic.”

“I’ll bet it’s tails. For all I know, it’s standing on its edge.”

Woody laughed. “I can assure you it didn’t land on its edge.”

“All right, all right,” Stephanie said, resigning herself to the inevitable, “I’ll leave in a few minutes.”

“I look forward to it.” Then in a horribly executed imitation of Humphrey Bogart, he added, “This could be the start of a beautiful relationship.”

Stephanie groaned and hung up.

“You made good time,” Woody said as he quickly assessed the woman in front of him. Stephanie Cooper stood five-eight and had brown, wavy hair that cascaded to her thin shoulders. Her face was lightly freckled and sported a slightly turned-up nose and keen dark brown eyes that reflected her quick wit and high intelligence. He felt an immediate attraction to her, but quickly dismissed it. He
was, after all, a married man, and judging by the ring on the finger of her left hand, she was a married woman. Besides, this was business, and as much as he liked to joke around, he was very serious about his work.

“Nice office,” Stephanie replied. “You FBI folk even get art on the wall.”

Woody knew that Stephanie was taking stock of him. He was shorter than most men, but not unusually so. He had black hair and a thick mustache to match. “I added the art. It’s a hobby.”

“You paint?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I have a sensitive, artistic side.”

“No doubt. I didn’t think that computer jocks enjoyed the fine arts.”

“That’s a stereotype,” Woody said glibly. “I know a computer jock who can even read.”

Stephanie smiled. “You’re quick, Agent Summers, I’ll give you that. What say we get to work?”

“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked.

“Five minutes and already you’re asking me out?” she asked curtly.

“No. My wife discourages dating on my part, unless it’s with her. I haven’t had lunch, I’m hungry, and I thought we could talk in the cafeteria.”

“Oh,” Stephanie replied, slightly abashed. “I get hit on a lot, and I tend to overcompensate. It’s still hard for a woman in this business, you know.”

“I can imagine. Is the cafeteria okay?”

“That will be fine.”

Ten minutes later they were in the expansive cafeteria of Washington’s FBI building. Woody was eating a turkey sandwich, and Stephanie was drinking a diet cola.

“Okay,” she said with authority. “We know our assignment. We are to discover who has been breaking into the CIA computer. Since the crimes have taken place on U.S. soil, your agency is
involved. That’s why you’re here. Since I specialize in foreign terrorism, especially technical terrorism, I’ve been asked to represent the Company. Tracking down criminals is your stock and trade, where do you suggest we start?”

Woody swallowed hard and took a drink of milk from the small carton on his tray. “We start at the beginning. What did they take and when did they take it?”

Stephanie laid open a file. “Over the last two years, one hundred and fifty attempts have been made to pirate CIA computer files. Only three have been successful. All of those occurred in the last year. Most of the attempts are by amateur hackers who think it might be fun to find a crack in our system. Other agencies like the Atomic Energy Commission, the Secret Service …”

“And the FBI,” Woody added. “We get our fair share of hackers too. What makes the three successful attempts unique?”

“Success, for one thing. In each of those attempts the perpetrator was able to steal one or two files before our system could shut it down.”

“The system shuts down the access by itself?”

Stephanie looked chagrined. “Normally, yes. But on these three occasions they had to be shut off manually. We don’t know what the hacker’s doing different, but it works—which surprises me.”

“Why surprise?”

“With the level of encryption we use, I thought it would be impossible to gain unauthorized access to our computers.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Woody said stoically. “In fact, it’s a misconception that the more our technology advances the safer we are. Actually, the more dependent we become on technology, the more vulnerable we become. Every new technological advance opens doors for new crimes and new terrors. No matter how sophisticated we are, there will always be those who can find a way to break through that sophistication. We think that we can build a technological barrier between us and the bad guys, but the bad guys are smart too. There will always be someone who will find or create
a way to break a system down. Information was safer before the days of computers. In the old days, a person had to physically break into an office or home. Now any reasonably educated teenager with a computer and modem can access millions of files worldwide.”

“But surely our systems are a little more advanced.”

“True. That’s why there have only been three successful attempts, and they were probably done by the same person. What did they take?”

“Satellite photos of East Africa.”

“East Africa?” Woody said with surprise. “That is interesting. I would have thought that someone sophisticated enough to get into the CIA system would want more than satellite photos. What could they use them for?”

“They’re from an orbiting platform that allows us up close and personal photos of almost any area in the region. It helps us keep track of ship traffic in and around the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden.”

“How close?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“We are on the same team, you know,” Woody said seriously. “I need to know so I can start thinking about who could use such photos.”

Stephanie remained silent and unmoved.

“Okay,” Woody said with resignation. “I’m going to assume that your little eye in the sky can read a newspaper on the ground. Now, if that’s true, who would be interested in such photos. Any ideas?”

“We’ve been thinking about that,” Stephanie said. “I talked to our people who specialize in the area, and we’re coming up blank. There are no serious international terrorist groups in Somalia or Ethiopia. It’s a troubled area, that’s for certain, but most of the fighting takes place between rival tribes or clans. Somalia used to host a Russian military base years ago, but that base was given back to the Somalis. There is no present military value, although the
northeast end of the country—the Horn of Africa—is situated at the Gulf of Aden, which provides direct access to the Red Sea. We have people looking into that possibility.”

“But you said these were extreme closeups.”

“I said no such thing. You inferred it.”

Woody chuckled, “So I did. The files that were stolen, did they deal with the Gulf of Aden?”

“No. They were of Mogadishu and surrounding areas.”

“What areas?”

“Other cities—Marka, Kismayu. All port cities.”

“That’s a famine area, isn’t it?”

“Very much so.”

“So we need to ask some basic questions: Why Somalia? Why those cities? Perhaps a clan leader wants information. But that’s not likely. They probably already know where their enemies are. So who else needs closeup satellite photos? Someone outside of Somalia most likely. The UN? Nah, probably not. If they wanted that information, they’d just ask for it. Another country? Unless I’ve missed something, Somalia has little to offer another country but trouble. If not a foreign government or someone in Somalia, then we are left with businesses, associations, or individuals. Who does business in that land?”

“Not many companies. Most shipping done now is the receiving and unloading of foodstuffs. The recent clan uprisings that ran off most of the United Nations also ran off most foreign business. So I guess that leaves relief organizations and … and … what? I can’t think of anyone else.”

“There are still others, including criminal elements, so we have to keep our options opened. How many relief groups are working in Somalia?”

“Dozens,” Stephanie said as she riffled through the file folder she had brought. Woody watched as she furrowed her brow, an act that made her all the more attractive. She withdrew a page of paper and started counting the names on the list. “We show about two
dozen, including groups from France, England, Italy, and the United States.”