Zero Day: A Novel (35 page)

“Interesting,” he said when Greta was finished. “In that case, finish them or destroy the computer. Both, if you can, but one or the other for certain.”

Fajer dropped the cell phone to the floor and cursed his own weakness as the whore moved her head up and down, up and down.

60

MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION

DMITROSVSKY ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

7:14 P.M.

“Are you all right?” Daryl asked, pushing open Jeff’s jacket as she leaned toward him. She sounded frightened even as she struggled to stay calm.

Jeff held his hand against his shoulder. The bullet had creased the flesh and it was starting to bleed. It stung like hell, and of course, the new jacket was ruined.

“It just hurts. You’re certain it was him?”

“Absolutely,” she said breathlessly. “He wasn’t shooting at me, so I had a better look.”

The shock of being shot suddenly washed over Jeff, and he collapsed to the floor.

“He’s gone, he’s gone,” Daryl murmured, as she helped Jeff to his feet. Almost embarrassed by his near faint, Jeff shook his head hard and gave his complete attention to Daryl, who was still looking at him with great concern. “He ran down the stairs, after he shot you. And that man over there too, I think,” she said, indicating Sasha, lying splayed in the hallway.

Sasha was still breathing, but his life was draining out. At the doorway appeared a hysterical young woman, standing as if torn between two terrible choices. Jeff was holding his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. No one spoke.

Finally, the woman threw herself across the man lying in the hallway and sobbed uncontrollably, muttering words of endearment in Russian. Jeff looked into the apartment and saw a man in a wheelchair, dead.
Could he be Superphreak?
he thought.
Or was Superphreak the dead man in the hallway?

“Vladimir Koskov?” he said.

The young woman looked up from the now dead man, as if seeing them for the first time. She said something to them in Russian, something dreadful, as if she’d uttered a curse.

Daryl answered. “We don’t speak Russian. We came to see Vladimir Koskov. We mean neither him nor you any harm. What happened here?”

The young woman switched to English. “You are not State Security?”

“No. We’re Americans. We’re looking for Mr. Koskov.”

Ivana, tears running down her face, looked into the apartment. “He is dead.” She looked at Jeff. “The man shot you? Why?”

“He tried to kill us in New York City yesterday,” Jeff said. “And now here. We don’t know why.”

The woman looked around and gathered herself. “We must leave, unless you wish to be arrested. The militia will be here any moment and they will arrest all of us. It is their way. Hurry!” She rushed toward the stairs, Jeff and Daryl following.

In the lobby, a small group had gathered. Spotting Ivana, they asked questions all at once. She rushed through them, telling Jeff and Daryl to hurry, then ran into the street. She opened the door to her car, ignoring the continued questions, and told the couple to get in. In the distance they could hear the clarion sound of a police car. They jumped in and Ivana pulled away from the curb.

*   *   *

Vakha saw the three pile into the car and asked, “What do I do?”

“Follow them,” Manfield said. He could not believe his good fortune. The only witness to the shooting and the couple he was to kill all in the same car. Allah was truly on his side. “And don’t lose them. This is important.”

The woman drove the Lada like a maniac, weaving down narrow streets, then breaking out of the residential blocks onto Tverskoy, heading toward the Kremlin.

*   *   *

“Who are you?” Ivana demanded.

“My name is Daryl Haugen. This is Jeff Aiken. We’re Americans.”

Jeff moaned beside her. The pain was suddenly much more intense. His face was pale and sweat now beaded his brow.

“You already told me that,” Ivana snapped. “You are American agents?”

“No,” Jeff said, grunting in pain. “I’m a private computer consultant.”

Daryl hesitated. “It’s complicated. I do work for a government agency, but Jeff and I are in the same line of work. I’m not an agent like you mean.” Daryl began dabbing at Jeff’s forehead with her scarf.

The car made a sudden turn to the right, shooting passed the Bolshoi Theatre. “What’s going on?” Ivana shouted. “Tell me or get out of the car!”

“We think Koskov—”

“My husband.”

“I’m sorry,” Daryl murmured, cutting her eyes toward Jeff. He nodded his agreement that Daryl should continue talking to the young woman. “But we think your husband created special viruses and sold them to very bad people. And they’ve killed him because of it. Now the same man is trying to kill us.”

“Viruses?” Ivana slowed down, but was still going faster than the rest of the traffic, as she wove back and forth between cars. Horns honked, drivers raised their fists, some cars were forced to swerve away. “I warned him about that,” she said quietly. “He was always so secretive about his work. What kind of bad people?”

“Terrorists. Muslim terrorists.” Jeff could scarcely believe his own words. This was all so unreal. He lifted his hand and looked at the blood for an instant.

“What would they want with viruses?” Ivana asked.

“These are very sophisticated ones,” Jeff said. “And very special. They destroy computers.”

“Vlad wasn’t like that,” Ivana insisted. “He used to be, but not anymore. He told me he’s been building viruses for a European security company to test against their software. They kept asking for more sophisticated ones, so he said he built some very tough viruses, with encryption and cloaking characteristics. He said they were very pleased.”

“They lied to him,” Daryl interjected. “They’re using the rootkits he designed to launch an attack against America and Europe. It’s going to hurt, even kill, a lot of people if we don’t stop it.”

“Vlad is dead. So is my father. I can’t help you.” Ivana’s face was set as she made another sharp turn, the tires squealing as the car leaned violently to the side.

The sudden movement made Jeff’s shoulder throb. “Easy,” he cautioned.

“What do I care? My husband and father are murdered. What do I care?”

“We’ve lost people we cared about too,” Jeff said. “Other people are dead and more are going to die if we don’t stop this. Your husband was used. His work has been put to a very, very bad purpose. You can’t leave it like this. You just can’t.” As he spoke, Ivana placed her hand on her stomach.
Could she be pregnant?
Jeff wondered. Maybe that was the way to get through to her.

“Think of the future,” Jeff said. “Did your husband keep records?”

Ivana was now crying, her face streaked with tears. “He kept all his work in an external drive.”

“The police will be at the apartment by now,” Daryl pointed out.

“Not there,” Ivana said, shaking her head. “We were moving. The drive is at our new apartment.” Ivana swerved the car left, then right, her jaw clenched shut.

Jeff thought. “As long as you have it, you’re in danger. That’s why they killed your husband; it’s why they’ll keep trying to kill you and anyone else around it. Give it to us. They’ll know we have it, and you’ll be safe. Please,” he added, his voice hoarse with desperation, “the lives of thousands depend on you.”

Ivana started to tell them to go to hell, then placed her hand over her stomach again. She paused to think. “There is an expression that should be Russian. Perhaps you know it. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ So I help you.”

61

MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION

DMITROSVSKY ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

7:37 P.M.

“Excellent,” Manfield said as the car they were following came to a stop. The taxi driver had been skilled in keeping up.

Vakha eased his car to a halt, then sat idling as they watched Ivana exit the Lada, followed by Daryl and Jeff. With Ivana leading the way the three entered one of the newer apartment buildings that had sprung up about Moscow in the last decade.

“The same as before,” Manfield said. “Ease up to the front. I won’t be long. Thank you, my brother.”

Vakha grunted, then watched the assassin exit his taxi. Once again he wondered what he was up to. A Chechen who looked and behaved like the perfect English gentleman. There was a story in that, but Vakha was sure he would never learn it.

The man paused at the Lada, looked inside momentarily, then entered the apartment building. Vakha engaged the clutch and crept slowly toward the front entrance.

*   *   *

With every passing moment Ivana’s despair gripped her more tightly. In a few short minutes she had lost her father and husband, the two most important men in her life. She’d seen how the gunman had looked at her, had noted the muzzle of the weapon paused for an instant on her heart before swinging to her father. She’d nearly died. She wished she had.

The doors to the elevator opened on the ninth floor. “This way,” she said to the Americans. At her new apartment she fumbled with her keys before opening the door, turning on lights as she entered.

Not even an hour ago Ivana had stood here with her father filled with dreams and hope. Now it was all gone. At least she’d told him about the baby, she could be grateful for that. She tried to take some solace from his having died knowing that.

“It’s in there,” she said, indicating the small bedroom that was to have been Vlad’s office. “It’s in a box, I think.”

Jeff squeezed Daryl’s shoulder and went to find the external drive. He needed to do something about his arm soon. Blood was dripping on the floor.

Daryl looked about the stark apartment. It was growing dark outside and the city lights sparkled through the large living room window. “I’m so very sorry for all that’s happened.”

“This was to be our new home. We’d worked so hard to afford it. Now…”

“I understand.” Daryl did. She looked at the young women warmly. “Thank you for helping us. You are doing a great service to the world.”

“The world?” Ivana said bitterly. “What do I care for that? My world is all but dead.”

One-handed, Jeff dug an external drive from the bottom of one of the boxes. He looked for another, then carried it into the living room.

“We need to do something for you,” Ivana said matter-of-factly. “You’re bleeding everywhere.” She went to the kitchen, knelt, and dug around, returning in a few moments with bandages and tape. “Here. Take that off.”

Daryl helped as Jeff removed his jacket. Ivana tore the sleeve above the wound, dabbed away blood, placed a large bandage across the wound, front and back, then taped it in place. “This will hold you for a bit,” she said as she finished. “You should see a doctor, but if you do, he will know what this is and report you.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to ask, but is it possible to boot the computer to confirm the information is here?” Jeff asked. Daryl gave him a withering look. “I know the timing isn’t good, but I need to be certain. I wouldn’t want to come so far and not leave with the information.”

“It’s there,” Ivana said. “Vlad told me he kept all of his work in the external drive. It was an old habit with him. And he only had one.”

“I think we should go,” Daryl said, then turned to Ivana. “You must have family you can go to. Your mother?”

“Ahh!” Ivana said, putting her hands to her lips. She had not thought about her mother once. “My poor mother! Someone will have called her from the building, if only to warn her the militia might come.” She took out her cell phone. “I need to call.”

*   *   *

Manfield stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor. He’d seen the address on the boxes at the apartment and noted it along with the apartment number. Once the Lada had stopped here, he’d known where his targets would be.

He checked the door to the stairwell. It did not lock from either side. Excellent. He went up the final flight of stairs two at a time, slipping a fresh magazine into the pistol as he did. This would all be over in the next few minutes, and he was glad. He had missed the couple in New York and that bothered him. He was still puzzled at how the American couple could have come here, to the very place he had been sent, but reasoned they were after the information he was being ordered to destroy.

On the ninth floor Manfield eased the door open and saw the hallway was clear. He placed his hand on the Makarov.
Now,
he thought.
Now.

The assassin stepped into the hallway and began examining the doors for numbers, moving with athletic grace, humming softly to himself.

*   *   *

Ivana spoke intently into her cell phone, fighting back tears. Jeff took Daryl aside and whispered, “I’d really feel a lot better if we knew the drive actually has the information.”

Daryl nodded. “So would I, but this isn’t the time. We can confirm it at the hotel. If it doesn’t, we come back here and check the computer. Okay?”

“I guess.” Jeff hefted the drive. This entire situation was ludicrous. Twice now he’d narrowly escaped death at the hands of a brutal murderer. In New York, with its violent reputation, he hadn’t been certain, but in Moscow there was no doubt. The man had murdered two people just seconds before attempting to kill him. If that bullet had been just a few inches to the left, he’d have died in that elevator.
But I’m committed to this,
he reminded himself.
This time I’m not going to let anyone down, especially myself.

Ivana was still talking to her mother, the words coming out between sobs. Daryl, who was standing beside her, looked to Jeff as if to say,
Be patient
.

Jeff thought for a moment. Were they safe? Did the killer know about this place? Had they been followed? The way the young Russian had driven it didn’t seem likely, but he couldn’t be certain. What he wanted, desperately, was for him and Daryl to be gone, out of Moscow, out of Russia, home, in America.

In the hallway he heard loud voices.

*   *   *