A NOVEL BY DOUG MURRAY
AUTHOR OF THE BESTSELLING
'SEAL TEAM SIX NO MORE' SERIES
PROLOGUE
Mukalla, Yemen...
Jamil
Khaldun shook with fear as three armed men led him away from his home. "What have I done?" He asked them, voice high and pleading. "I am a loyal Muslim!"
"You are
a traitor to the faith." The answer came
from the third of the armed men-the one who was clearly their leader. "You have betrayed your people to the
enemy-to the infidels of the great Satan."
"You are
wrong! I would never..." Jamil stopped as three more armed men
appeared from another house, another prisoner in their midst.
They have
Murad Hayyan! Jamil's eyes widened as he
saw his friend led down the street. They
know! But How? We were promised that everything would be
safe, secret...
"You
understand now," the leader nodded slowly as he watched Jamil's face. "We have the truth of it. You and that one," he indicated Murad. "Provided the information that led to the
death of Nasir Wahishi." His eyes bored
into Jamil's. "You are a spy for the
forever damned CIA!"
"But..." Jamil sputtered, knowing in his heart of
heart that he had been betrayed and would soon be.
"Bring
them," the leader ordered, turning away.
"We will show them the wrath of Allah!"
A hard
hand pushed Jamil forward and he stumbled along behind the leader, mind
racing. But how can they know? How is it possible? Jamil shook his head sadly, realizing that he
would never know the truth.
He began
to pray--for his soul and the lives of his family.
"This
will do," the leader called out a few minutes later. "Have them kneel there," he pointed toward
the beach overlooking the Gulf of Aden.
"We will let the sea drink their blood."
"I am
innocent!" Jamil cried out. "I have done nothing!"
"If that
is true," the leader sneered. "Then
Allah will save you. However," he looked
up, searching the bright blue sky above.
"I see no sign of that." He
brought his gaze down to Jamil. "Do
you?"
"I tell
you I am a true son of Allah!" The same
merciless hand pressed Jamil's shoulders downward, forcing his head lower until
his face inches from the shifting waters.
"I am
innocent!" Jamil cried, fighting against
the pressure holding him down-but he had no chance. No chance at all.
"If we
have wronged you," the leader told him.
"Then we will certainly apologize when we meet in Paradise, if
not..." He shrugged.
Jamil
tried to stand up, tried to get away the hand that held him helpless while
Murad was forced to kneel at his side.
He was still arguing with the leader when he felt a metallic object
touch the back of the head.
"Allah
help me!" He cried just before he heard
a sound like thunder and felt a dull pain that pushed his head forward into eternal
darkness.
CHAPTER ONE
"How's it
going, Sean?" Frank Farrell, just back
from another in an endless series of meetings peered into his protégé's
office. "Did you finish that Math
assignment?"
"Hours
ago," Sean Piper, having just turned nineteen years of age, was taking online
courses through the University of Virginia.
It was the only way his mother would allow him to work for Farrell in
the older man's very special organization that was an odd hybrid sibling of the
CIA and Homeland Security.
"Did the
History and English too." He nodded
toward his computer and changed the subject as he pulled up an image. "Did you see this?"
"I doubt
it," Farrell moved furthers into the room, walking around Sean's desk so he
could look at the indicated monitor.
"I've been in budget meetings all morning."
"Wire
services picked this up an hour or two ago."
The youngster enlarged the image until it filled the monitor. "It was broadcast by Al Qaeda in Yemen. They're saying that these two men were spies
responsible for the death of Nasir Wahishi."
Sean glanced at his partner and boss.
"Isn't that the bigshot they hit with a drone strike? The one the President's been patting himself
on the back over?"
"Nasir
Wahishi," Farrell nodded. "Al Qaeda's
No. 2 leader worldwide and head of the organization's franchise in Yemen." He leaned closer to the screen, a worried
look crossing his face. "Can you give me
a better look at their faces?"
"Maybe,"
Sean tapped on his keyboard. "It'll lose
some clarity."
"Do what
you can."
"Okay,"
the youngster hit 'enter' and watched the image expand. "Good enough?"
"My
God!" Farrell leaned closer. "It is!"
He pointed to one of the men sprawled in the sand. "That's Jamil Khaldun!" He shook his head. "I wonder..."
"Someone
you knew?"
"Show me
the other man," Farrell ignored the question, biting on his lip as he studied
the screen. "Please!"
Sean
shifted the images, pushing the other kneeling man to the center of the screen.
"Murad
Hayyan!" Farrell stared at the
screen. "Both of them! But how could they know?" He looked toward Sean, eyes stricken. "How could they possibly know?"
"Know
what?"
"Know
that these two men," Farrell nodded at the screen. "Were our best agents in Yemen." He ran a hand across his eyes. "Their identities were supposed to be top
secret!"
"Somebody
must have talked."
"Impossible." Farrell shook his head. "No one in Yemen knew! The information was kept as need-to-know file
at Langley. Unless the CIA's been
penetrated..."
"Maybe it
has," Sean interjected, returning his attention to the keyboard. "You know about the hack that got into the
files of the Office of Personnel Management?"
"What
does that have to do with anything?"
Farrell snorted. "That was just
another Chinese cyber-attack, wasn't it?"
"That's
what the Administration has been telling the media," Sean pulled up a news
stories about the hack. "They say that
the hackers got full information packages on at least twenty million government
employees," he looked at his partner.
"And I'm pretty sure the real number is a lot higher!"
"But the
records of CIA personnel and those working for the agency in foreign countries
aren't kept with the OPM's files."
"Maybe
not," Sean scratched his chin, half-smiling as he felt the stubble now growing
there (he had always been told he was 'baby-faced', now maybe he could get
people to admit he was a man!). "But it
might be possible to get from the OPM system into the DOD," he looked at
Farrell. "Or the CIA."
"Find
out." Farrell came to a quick
decision. "I'll call Mary Max-we're
going to have to talk about this!" He
shook his head. "Soon!"
***
NEW YORK CITY-THE CORNER OF FIFTH AVE AND EIGHTH STREET
Harold
Carter-formerly Hamid Kalid-smiled as a new rider slipped into the back seat of
his cab. He loved the city this time of
year. The springtime air was just warm
enough to allow him to keep his windows open but not yet so warm that he would
be forced to turn on his air conditioner.
Harold
knew all about heat, he'd grown up in Iraq where it was warm all year around
(except for a week or so in January) and devices such as air conditioners were
only for the rich and politically connected.
Harold
had not been a member of that group.
He'd been nothing more than one of millions of poor Sunni-and, like many
of them, a common laborer.
When the
Americans came, he had seen a chance to change his lot in life and had gone to
work for them. He had been instrumental
in helping them find the people and weapons they were seeking and made himself
useful in other ways.
He became
'important'.
So much
so that when the Americans left Iraq, his 'handler' arranged for him to come
with them and, with the help of his superiors in the CIA-gave Hamid a new
identity-and a job!
True, it
wasn't an 'important' job. In fact, it
was rather menial.
But
Harold (he made sure to always think of himself as such) enjoyed driving a
cab. It gave him a great deal of freedom
and allowed him to see every corner of this great city.
Today he
was working in and around Greenwich Village, a place where he always found
interesting fares.
Like the
one climbing aboard now.
"Welcome
sir!" Harold's English was quite good by
this time. "Where do you want to go?"
"Downtown,"
the man growled, not looking in Harold's direction. "Pier 92."
"Pier
92." Harold nodded and started his
meter, puzzled by the destination. The
clubs there don't open for hours, he knew.
And there's nothing else there.
He glanced into the mirror. But
the customer is always right, so, he shrugged.
Off we go!
He put the cab into gear and pulled into
traffic, cutting off another cab which honked in anger-which Harold, like any
other New York driver, ignored.
Traffic
was heavy and it took nearly thirty minutes to get all the way downtown but
Harold finally pulled up at the Pier in question and flipped the flag
down. "This is it, sir." He looked at the meter. "That will be $51."
"Good,"
the man in the back of the cab opened the door and stepped out.
"Sir!" Harold rolled down the passenger-side window
and leaned out. "The fare sir!"
The man
smiled a hard smile and reached under his lightweight jacket, producing a
large-caliber handgun. "It is you who
will pay the fare, traitor!" He leaned
forward, the muzzle of the weapon trained on Harold's forehead. "Open the front door."
Harold
did as he was told and watched as the man re-entered the cab, sliding into the
front seat where there was no pane of bullet-proof to protect Harold from the
pistol that never wavered.
"Now," the man smiled. "Let us drive a little way down the pier."
Harold
nodded, knowing what was to come-and seeing no way to avoid it.
He said a
prayer and put the cab into gear, driving in the direction indicated.
***
"Did you
see this?" Sean asked as Farrell entered
the office the next morning. "Somebody
got beheaded in New York!"
"Some
Muslim thing?" The older man headed
toward his own desk, pulling off his jacket as he went. "Maybe one of those ISIS wannabes we've been
hearing about?"
"Maybe-the
cops haven't said anything left."
"Who was
killed?"
"A
cabbie-name of Carter."
Farrell
froze in place, jacket still over one shoulder.
"Not Harold Carter."
"That's
right," Sean nodded. "Harold
Carter." He looked at his partner. "Did you know him?"
"His real
name was Hamid Kalid." Farrell pulled
his jacket back on. "And we've
definitely got a problem." He gestured
to his partner. "Come one-we've got to
see Mary Max right now!"
***
"You're
sure the murdered individuals were CIA assets?"
Mary Max Holston had just started drinking her first cup of office
coffee when Farrell came knocking on her door.
"I mean, the Agency hasn't raised any red flags that I know about."
"They may
not have noticed," Farrell plopped into a seat across from his boss, waving
Sean to another chair at his side. "I'm
sure someone is taking a look at the killings in Yemen, but unless they know
enough to check the confidential files, they'll find nothing to be concerned
about."
"Check
with them," Mary Max nodded slowly. "And
make a visit to the FBI cyber unit-see how sure they are that the Chinese
hacked OPM."
"OPM and
CIA aren't connected..."
"Then see
if anyone else hit one of the government firewalls." She looked into Farrell's face. "Sean can check on that-it's his specialty,"
she glanced at the younger man. "It is,
isn't it?"
The
youngster nodded. "I may be able to find
some evidence of a break-in." He
shrugged. "I'm going to have to have
access to the raw data to be sure."
"The FBI
guys will give it to you-if they give you a hard time, give me a call," Mary
Max smiled a dangerous smile. "I'll take
care of it."
Sean
nodded.
"Okay,
both of you get on it." Mary Max made a
shooing motion with her hand. "Find out
what's really going on and see me later this afternoon." She took a sip from her cup--and made a
face. "And bring some decent coffee with
you."
"Yes
Ma'am!" Farrell stood up and headed for
the door, Sean just a step behind him.
***
"Aren't
you a little young to be an agent of..."
James Tarver looked at the ID card presented to him. "Homeland Security?"
"Yes,"
Sean answered. "Yes I am." He smiled.
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"I guess
not," Tarver handed the ID card back, eyes wary. "So Mr. Piper," he frowned and held out a
hand. "What do you want from us?"
"Your
people discovered the hack into OPM, right?"
Sean asked him.
"So?"
"I'd like
to look at the raw data that allowed you to trace the hack to the
Chinese." He looked the FBI man in the
eye. "We suspect that another hack was
piggy-backed on the one you caught."
"You're
saying we missed something?"
"I'm
saying that it looks as if another agency was hacked at the same time." He bit into his lower lip. "I think that's too much of coincidence to be
random-which tells me that the two acts are related."
"Impossible." Tarver shook his head. "My people would have detected a second
entry."
"Would
they?" Sean leaned forward, eyes mild as
he raised an eyebrow. "Or would they
have stopped when they found the initial, large intrusion, assuming that it was
the only one."
"You
don't think too much of my people, do you?"
"I don't
know your people, sir." Sean shook his
head. "I do know that there was almost
certainly a second hack-and I need to find where it came from."
"No." Tarver shook his head. "I don't want you conducting that kind of
investigation. My people would feel
slighted, distrusted..."
"This is
important! And I have no intention of
slighting your people."
"I said
no." Tarver glared at the younger
man. "And that's my final word."
"All
right," Sean pulled out his cell phone.
"I'll have to report this to my boss.
She said to call her if there was any sort of problem."
Tarver
frowned. "Your boss?"
"Ms.
Holston." Sean cradled the phone in his
left hand and unlocked the keypad with his right.
"Mary Max
Holston?"
"Yeah,"
Sean looked at the other agent. "Why?"
"Don't
call her." Tarver made a negating motion
with his hand. "I really don't want any
trouble with Mary Max!"
"You know
her?"
"Everyone
in the intelligence community knows Mary Max Holston." He looked at Sean. "Okay-come on in, I'll give you access to the
data you want." He shook his head. "We'll use my office. If I'm lucky, nobody will notice..."
So
everyone knows Mary Max, Sean thought, putting his phone away. I'm going to have to get Frank to tell me
just why that's the case. He
smiled. And if he won't tell me, I might
just have to hack into her file and find out for myself. He watched Agent Tarver punched a code into
the keypad alongside the door.
1-2-3-4,
Sean shook his head. And this guy is in
charge of the FBI Cyber office! He
followed Tarver through the door. No
wonder the Chinese keep hacking into our government databases without any
trouble!
Sean had
watched a few episodes of CSI: CYBER, the television series that was supposed
to be about the team of FBI agents in the room beyond the just
unlocked-door. He'd thought it a bit
farfetched but now, looking over the handful of men and women slouching in
front of government-issue consoles, he realized that it was utter bullshit.
"This
way," Tarver motioned him to the far side of the room. "My office is over here."
Sean
followed the older man, taking in the ambience of the room around him. Unlike the TV show's headquarters, this room
had no large screens, no central 'hub'.
It was nothing more than a standard government office--eight desks in
two rows that were lined up parallel to the outside wall. The windows were covered with black venetian
blinds to make the screens easier to read-which left only desk lamps and a
single, rather dim, overhead fluorescent as the only illumination in the
room.
The desks
were olive-drab metallic hulks-Government Issue taken from one of the warehouse
scattered around the District. Each desk
had a blotter (green, of course) and a desktop computer built to government
specifications-which meant it was bigger, heavier, and less powerful than the
average civilian tablet.
"What
kind of internet connection do you have?"
Sean asked as he stepped into Tarver's office.
"Standard
set-up," Tarver gestured the youngster to his desk. "The whole building is wired for Wi-Fi. We just log on."
"How
fast?"
"I don't
know," Tarver shrugged. "Maybe 250 or
300 mbps on average."
Sean
tried to keep his disbelief from showing.
His own office computer was plugged into a T-1 line and got more than 5
million mbps.
I guess
Mary Max really did right by me, he told himself, sitting in Tarver's
seat. Way better than their boss did for
these guys!
He woke
the desktop up.
"You want
to put in the password," he asked Tarver.
"Go right
ahead and do it for me," Tarver settled into a chair in the corner of the
room. "ID is JIMBOT and the password is
11-12-75."
"Your
birthday?"
Tarver
shrugged.
"Okay,"
Sean entered the ID and password, nodding as the computer came to life.
"File
marked OPM has all the date on the hack-help yourself."
"Thanks,"
Sean opened the file in question and began going through the information,
searching for the incursion in question.
It didn't
take long to find it.
"I see
that they got in through a desktop in the accounting office," Sean began
searching for the computer that had perpetrated the attack. "This got bounced around a little..." He followed the IP address from country to
country, following it back to its point of origin. "They weren't too serious about this-guess
they figured they'd be safe enough since they were doing the hack on orders."
"That's
what we figured."
"There's
a branch point here," Sean froze the data.
"Another NIC address appears for a moment."
"We
assumed that was just an artefact-a network error."
"Maybe,"
Sean looked at the NIC address, tracked it back to its IP. "Hong Kong."
He muttered, looking at the information in front of him. "That's interesting." He packaged that segment of data and e-mailed
it to his office computer, securing it with a password and cipher.
"Find
what you wanted?"
"Maybe." Sean stood up. "I'll have to go into this a little deeper,
but I can do that from my own office."
He put out his hand. "Thanks for
the co-operation."
"No
sweat," Tarver grinned, showing a mouthful of bright white teeth arrayed around
a single gold one. "Give Mary Max my
best."
"Will
do." Sean nodded. "And if there's ever anything I can do for
you..."
"I'll
give a call." Tarver held the door open,
hurrying the young agent out of his office.
"You have my word on that."
Sean
nodded and scanned the drab 'government Issue' office spread out around
him. I could help them with a lot of
things, he thought making his way toward the outer door. But they wouldn't thank me for it.
A moment
later he was in the hall and heading for his own office in the taller half of
the J. Edgar Hoover building.