Trojan Horse (20 page)

Jeff eyed Ahmed. He had no idea how rough this was going to get. These were clearly men capable of greater violence than they’d already demonstrated. He just wondered what it would take to convince the mustached man and didn’t like where that thought took him.

Ahmed nodded. “I see.” He drew a packet from his pocket and lit a cigarette, realizing as he did that he’d made the woman even angrier.
Perhaps if I blow smoke in her face she’ll cooperate,
he thought.

He stood smoking, wondering what else to ask. The man’s answers were straightforward enough. Finally, he told Karim to watch carefully while he went outside.

In the backyard, rain dripped from the overarching trees. Ahmed pulled an unused cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. When ready, he punched in the number. After several seconds a voice came on, sounding very much like Hamid, but you could never be certain.

“We have him and a woman who I think is a colleague working with him,” Ahmed said in English. The American eavesdropping computers were programmed to focus on Farsi, he’d been taught.

“Problems?”

“No. All is well so far.” He told him what he’d learned.

“So they found it and a fix is under way?”

“That is what he says. I think it is likely the truth.”

“That is unfortunate. We just didn’t move fast enough. All right, so be it. Use whatever means you require to confirm the information. They may be misleading you. Just make certain they are not lying.”

“All right.”

“If there is a change in the story, let me know.”

“What am I to do when finished?”

“It isn’t decided but they will not be released, obviously. He is valuable so take care of him. Do the same with the woman. For now it may be enough to keep them away, especially if they’ve lied to you. There is something more. I am sending you a photograph, a name, and a home address.” He told Ahmed what he wanted done. “For the couple, move to the next stage. Learn what they know of the virus they were working on and who else knows about it. Be certain.”

When the call was finished, Ahmed took the phone apart and removed the SIM card. The phone itself he broke up and scattered into the shrubbery in the rear of the lot. As for the card, he glanced about, then went to the patch of dirt where the key had been concealed under the flat stone. He broke the card with a rock, then pushed it deep into the soft, moist soil and smoothed the surface.

Unlike some he knew, Ahmed had never enjoyed torture. It was occasionally necessary and his instructor had carefully taught him how to use it to best effect. He looked heavenward into the cloudy sky. He heard the sound of a jet landing not far away, the slight sound of distant traffic. There was the lightest sprinkling of rain against his face. For a moment, he thought of home, of his sister whose wedding he had missed. He sighed and flipped his cigarette to the damp ground.

Inside, Jeff rubbed the metal against the cord steadily, careful to give nothing away. What he feared most was dropping it, certain the sound would be noticed. Whatever he had—he thought it a broken drill bit—it cut into his fingers. He pushed the pain out of his mind, telling himself not much longer. He could feel the wet of his blood.

The problem was what to do once his hands were free. His feet were still tied. He’d tried to communicate what was happening to Daryl and thought he’d succeeded but she was now ignoring him. That’s what she’d do if she understood, but also if she had no idea what his facial expressions had meant.

The heavy door creaked open and in stepped their interrogator. Jeff stopped. This one with the mustache was much cleverer than the other two, and far more observant. He watched Ahmed speak to the man guarding them, then nod toward Daryl. The big man went to the woman, grabbed her by her shoulders, jerked her from the wall, sitting her upright.

Ahmed looked on, then squatted in front of Jeff. “Mr. Aiken, I must determine if you have told me the truth. It is necessary. I do not wish to harm you or the woman but . . .” He shrugged.

“I
have
told you the truth,” Jeff said quickly, trying desperately to stop what he knew was coming. “If there is
anything
else you want to know, just ask. Neither of us has any reason to lie to you. Just don’t . . . don’t hurt her. Ask me. Please.”

Ahmed stared at Jeff for a moment.
A man of considerable courage,
he thought,
though he has yet to be tested.
“I understand,” he said.

Ahmed rose, went to the bag, and removed an unused heavy plastic shopping bag. He carefully unfolded it, then went to Daryl and stood behind her. She craned her neck to look back at him. Jeff started to shout, then was dumbstruck as in a single practiced motion Ahmed slipped the bag over Daryl’s head, cinching it tightly around her neck.

Daryl shrieked. It was the most frightening sound Jeff ever heard. The bag muffled the sound only slightly. Ahmed stood behind Daryl, holding her head in the vise of his two hands while the other man held her strongly by her shoulders.

“What else have you to add?” Ahmed asked Jeff.

“Stop it!” Jeff shouted. “Stop it! I’ve told you everything!” His hands were all but free. “You’re killing her.”

Daryl was no longer making a sound. Instead, she sucked air hard now, the heavy plastic moving back and forth in front of her mouth.

“No, Mr. Aiken.
You
are killing her with your lies.”

“What do you want?” Jeff shouted. “Just tell me. I’ll say it. Tell me what you want to hear!”

“The truth. That is all. Are you really finished with your work? Truly?”

Daryl was slapping her legs against the concrete floor. The men held her fiercely. The plastic before her mouth was going back and forth more rapidly. Jeff worked the bit furiously, the pain now so sharp he could no longer ignore it.

Just at that moment Ali hurried into the room. “Police outside,” he said.

“Did they see you?” Ahmed asked.

“No.”

“Let’s look. Karim, watch them.” Then mercifully, he pulled the bag from Daryl’s head. “You two be quiet or we kill you at once. There will be no rescue.” Ahmed and Ali went into the next room.

The man released Daryl and she toppled to her side, taking deep breaths, her face bathed in sweat. Jeff looked at the man who was eyeing him steadily as if he knew something.

Ali led Ahmed down a short hallway, then to his watching spot and pointed. It was a good location, deep in the shadows. A patrol car was stopped across the street, the engine still running. The lone officer inside was looking at his lap, as if writing something. The men watched patiently, unmoving. Finally, the car eased slowly away.

“Stay here,” Ahmed said. He turned to go back into the rear room just as he heard noise come from down the hallway, on the other side of the door.

The moment the mustached man had left the room, Jeff freed his hands. He’d given Daryl an affirmative look. She was still breathing deeply and he feared she was too distracted to help. Instead she said, “You there. I’m thirsty. Give me some water.”

Karim shook his head as if he spoke no English.

“Water,” she said slowly. She licked her lips. “Thirsty.”

The man nodded in comprehension, then looked about. Spotting the carry bag he reached inside and came out with an unopened plastic bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, then went to Daryl, leaned down, straightened her to a sitting position, then placed the bottle to her lips.

With his hands, Jeff pushed himself erect as Daryl butted the man with her head. Jeff dove at Karim and knocked him over. The man fell hard. Jeff sat on the floor, grabbed at the cord holding his ankles together, and was able with some effort to sweep it off his feet, taking his shoes with it. On his feet he lunged at Karim before he had a chance to get up and struck him hard across the jaw. Just as he turned to Daryl, the door to the other room opened.

“Run, Jeff. Run. Now!” Daryl said. “Get help!”

Jeff hesitated, looked at her in desperation, then turned to the heavy door and pushed it open. Ali was on him in a flash but Jeff had the door open and was outside. Ali came after him, dragging his arm, and shouting in a foreign language. Jeff turned and punched him in the face as hard as he could, striking him directly on his nose. The man cried out and released him.

Jeff turned to his right and fled in his thin socks down the narrow pathway into the street. Quickly orienting himself he spotted a busy street not far away and began running toward it, expecting the sound of a gunshot any second but none came. When he looked back, the street was empty.

For a crazy second, Jeff thought to return to rescue Daryl. But he didn’t have a prayer of success against three armed men. So he turned and ran for all he was worth down the middle of Avenue de Vaudagne to the Route de Meyrin, praying he could find help in time at this time of night.

His socks were quickly worn away, then the skin of his feet. He sprinted. Running harder than he’d ever run in his life, praying this was the right choice.

By Dietrich Helm

April 14

A leaked classified report confirms what has been rumored for some months. The drone aircraft on which the U.S. military has become so reliant has been successfully turned against our own forces. Use of all drones has been suspended pending a comprehensive review.

The United States military has placed increasing reliance on remote, semiautomated surveillance and weapons delivery systems. Their security has long been a matter of major concern. “I fear the day the enemy takes control of one,” an army sergeant in Afghanistan said last year on condition of anonymity.

Though the government isn’t releasing figures, it is estimated that well over three hundred insurgent leaders have been killed by rocket attacks launched from unmanned aerial drones since Operation Iraqi Freedom. Thousands of insurgents have been similarly killed. Roving drones armed with Hellfire rockets are operated from mainland America. The rockets are unleashed by the press of a computer key.

According to the report, a common software program such as SkyGrabber, which can be bought for less than $30 off the Internet, allowed insurgents to hack into the drone cameras and control system. This was possible, sources say, because though the system cost billions to develop and build, no antivirus software was ever installed in its operating system. The U.S. military ignored repeated warnings about this shortcoming.

The report reveals that last January a drone in Afghanistan was turned against American forces. Its rockets reportedly killed eight Special Forces. The drone had been launched for an attack on an insurgent stronghold but the U.S.-based operator lost control of the craft. The deadly attack took place a few minutes later.

“It will cost millions to fix and delay the use of drones for months if not a year,” one informed source reports. “Software security measures should have been installed from the beginning. It’s not as if this was an unexpected turn of events.”

The overriding question is just how many Americans will die as a consequence of this failure. The Department of Defense has declined comment or confirmation of the leaked report.

Tags: drones, Afghanistan, friendly fire, insurgent hackers

MADRID, SPAIN

CALLE DE LEÓN, 11

8:49 A.M. CET

G
holam Rahmani glanced at his wristwatch and realized he was running late. Moving about in central Madrid at this hour was always a problem and he should have allowed more time to reach the meeting. Pedestrians crossed the busy streets without regard for the cars inching along. Madrid had grown from a traditional pueblo and the city center had retained that small town configuration with its narrow winding streets and low buildings.

Rahmani eased back in the taxi and reminded himself not to worry about it. This was Spain and though these were Iranians with whom he was meeting they’d surely been contaminated by the chronic tardiness characteristic of Spaniards. He’d be lucky if the rest were even there. He drew an American cigarette from a pack, lit and decided he should simply relax.

As executive director of the Frente Democrático Iraniano, or FDI, headquartered in Rome, he made at least one of these fund-raising trips to Madrid each year. The FDI was one of the oldest organizations in opposition to the ruling mullahs in Iran. From his office in Italy he maintained the FDI’s Web site and confidential forum, connecting Iranian ex-patriots from across Europe.

The organization received the ongoing attention of VEVAK, Iran’s intelligence service, and Rahmani’s rise to the directorship had been in part due to the assassination of two predecessors. This was the price expatriate Iranians once loyal to the Shah were forced to pay to return their country to freedom, to release it from the iron grip of theocracy.