All That Mattered, Ch. 18

There was a quiet cheer when Amanda backed through the conference room door, balancing a box of take-out sandwiches on top of the files she’d pulled and nudging the door shut with her hip.

“I didn’t have a chance to get everyone’s order,” she began, “so I just got a variety —”

“Mrs. Stetson.” It was Douglas. “Whatever you brought, I assure you it’s welcome. We were on the verge of drawing straws to decide who should be eaten first.”

The room came to a standstill. Someone’s sandwich wrapper crinkled loudly.

“What?” he asked. “Surely you don’t believe that nonsense about us English having no sense of humor.”

“No, but we weren’t sure about you,” Lee said, unwrapping his sandwich again. “You know. Service drone. And you’ve always been —” his tone turned lofty — “proper.”

Douglas gave him a look. “Curious that you Agency types don’t seem to have a nickname, given that the FBI and CIA do.”

“Sure we do,” said Lee. “Professionals.”

Chuckles filled the room as Amanda pushed the box across the table. “There should be napkins in there somewhere. And chips, which I believe you call crisps.”

“We do,” confirmed Douglas as he opened a bag of them. “Are those the additional log files we needed?”

“Yes.” She put them in the middle of the table, keeping them away from where they might become stained with food. “Just like you asked. Five years’ worth.”

Across the room, Frank Duffy groaned. “You mean we have to go through five years of data? In the next two and a half hours?”

“We needn’t go through line by line,” said Douglas. “Mrs. Stetson —”

“Amanda.”

He smiled. “Amanda. Shall I re-start the briefing now that you’re here?”

She took a roast beef from the box of sandwiches and found a seat. “No. I already have the general idea. I’ll ask questions if I need to catch up.”

“Very well, then.” He used a remote to change the diagram displayed on the room’s screen. “The reason we can use a lighter touch, and a faster one, is because we only need to find where the Fibonacci sequence of logins began. When was the first attempt at a breach? We should also identify the first successful one, if they’re separate.” He spread the files across the table. “Many hands will make light work.”

“Now you’re sounding like Smyth,” complained Billy around a mouthful of ham-on-rye.

“Perish the thought. All we need to do is identify the starting point. That will give us scope, as well as a picture of what damage might already have been done.”

“Will it?” asked Amanda. “Because I found that a while back.”

For the second time in five minutes, the room came to a standstill. She felt her face warm.

“I mean,” she started, “I think I found it. Thirty-four months ago. The first success was twenty-eight months ago.”

“How did you find it so quickly?” asked Lee.

Shifting files around until she found the one she was looking for, she opened it up. “If you look at each individual page, there’s a visible pattern based on the length of the usernames. Skim down the right margin and you’ll see it’s kind of like a wave, except it’s regular. At the beach they aren’t, because the waves come in and crash over each other and the wind and the water always do something different. They can explain that through math too, but it’s a lot more complicated than I understand. Except that this wasn’t. All you had to do is look at the shape —” she pointed — “and then at where it changes. It gets off-track here. See? There’s this little jog to the left that shouldn’t be there, but it is, and that’s what got me wondering.”

Douglas leaned forward, studying the page. “Yes. Of course. The spacing.” He tapped the margin lightly. “It’s Fibonacci again.”

“They cracked the code in six months, though,” said Billy. “I wonder if our Crypto guys could have done it that fast.”

“Six months isn’t quick,” replied Douglas. “Not in computer terms. They could have set it up to try every minute, or even every thirty seconds.” He met Billy’s eyes. “It speaks well of your security setup.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.”

“Indeed.”

“So what next?” asked Billy. “The clock’s ticking.”

“We’ll need a list of all the files the —” Douglas stopped abruptly. “What are we supposed to be calling this group of saboteurs, anyway?”

“None of our known groups have reached out to claim responsibility,” Lee pointed out. “I suppose we could just call this one the Ansar group.”

Amanda thought about that for a moment. “Or we could call them Ansār al-Ṣafā. That actually means something in Arabic — supporters of purity. Though an Arabic speaker might hear that and think of something else. There was a group called the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā once. They were philosophers.”

“We don’t need a history lesson,” said Billy shortly. “Pick one.”

“Ansar al-Safa it is,” said Lee. He turned to Douglas. “What do we look for now?”

Douglas looked at Billy. “Now,” he said. “We have enough information to start formulating our strategy.”

---

He’d never envisioned the Agency’s computer room as a place for an op, but Lee figured there was a first time for everything.

The mainframes were too large to move, of course, but some of the furniture had been shoved against the wall to create room for a pair of whiteboards. Douglas had tacked his diagram of the database up on an adjacent wall, presumably with some sort of backing. Or, at least, Lee hoped so. If there was no backing, the maintenance crew were going to have a horrendous time repairing all the push-pin holes.

Thankfully, someone else had scrounged up a few box fans and put them in strategic corners. Otherwise, the room would have been absolutely stifling. Billy was already mopping sweat from his forehead.

“All right,” he began. “I assume everyone in here’s been read into the case.”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“Good,” he said, gesturing to Trent. “What’s our game plan?”

The MI6 agent, who had already shed his coat and loosened his tie, stepped forward with a pointer.

“This,” he said, indicating the diagram, “represents the database structure at Aberdeen Proving Ground, as viewed through an external login. It doesn’t show the contents of the files, but rather how the file structure is organized — which directories call which executables, and what a normal session would look like.”

He circled a cluster of entries with the pointer. “These log-ins don’t follow the usual pattern. The users went straight to the ordnance directory, replaced an executable, and logged out.”

“Hold on,” said Duffy from the back. “What’s an executable?”

“A program,” Trent answered, “rather than just storing data. This particular executable retrieves targeting data and feeds it to a system outside the database.”

“A different physical location?” asked Billy.

“Potentially, but not absolutely. The destination could be housed in the mainframe in the next room over. Or it could be a thousand miles away. Unless we can trace the signal, there’s no way to tell which.”

Lee felt himself frowning. “Haven’t we already been tracing signals?”

“For the log-ins, yes. We know which terminals accessed the system, or rather, which terminals announced they were accessing the system.” He glanced around. “It’s not difficult for a user to mask their origin. When they do, the database can’t determine where they actually are.”

“Great,” muttered Duffy. “And we lost Lance Dorn two years ago.”

Trent paused. “Is that someone we could recall if needs be?”

“No,” said Billy shortly. “Keep going.”

Duffy was right, thought Lee. This would have been right up Dorn’s alley. But now wasn’t the time to explain that it was that very skill that had gotten him killed. He made a mental note to have someone confirm the other field agents’ locations were being tracked.

Which led him to another thought. Where was Zeta, anyway? The work she and Francine had done was part of this case.

Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the briefing. Amanda was speaking from her position at one of the tables. “What about the outgoing traffic? You said you can’t tell where the receiving system is, but can you tell anything at all about it?”

“We can’t tell the exact location,” said Trent. “But we can estimate the distance based on the traffic bursts. Most systems send information in small packets, waiting for a return echo before sending the next one. In this case, the echoes are coming in between ten and fifteen milliseconds after each burst. That suggests the receiving system is somewhere in the immediate area.” He took a breath. “Unfortunately, there’s no way for us to tell whether that destination is routing it onward, or where.”

Lee shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. We need to shut this down before this gets to its first stop. How do we do that?”

Trent tapped a different part of the diagram. “The best option is a two-part action. First, we monitor the gateway lines and determine which circuit the traffic is leaving on. Second, we restore the original executable and watch what happens at the next login. Whoever did this is likely to check their work before taking their next actions.”

“Wait.” It was Amanda. “If we try to stop them we might not be able to find them. Why not — I don’t know — is there a way to attach a signal to one of the information packets so we can trace it as it goes out? And then stop the ones after it, so that Ansar al-Safa just doesn’t get all of the data?”

“We can’t trace its route,” said Trent. “But we can monitor to see where the data appears next. Assuming we’re monitoring the correct lines.”

“And the chances of that?” asked Billy.

“It depends on the number of circuits leaving Aberdeen.” Trent gave Billy a look. “Which I’m not authorized to request from your military.”

There was a long pause before Billy reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, and took out a key card. His tone as he held it up in front of his eyes was almost conversational. “I could be brought up on charges for giving this to you.”

“Give it to someone else, then,” said Trent. “Someone who is cleared. Are the Stetsons?”

“No,” answered Billy. “This one’s above even senior agent level. But if I understand correctly, we need to stop this tonight if we’re going to stop it at all.”

Trent’s voice was quiet. “Very likely.”

“And if we don’t?” Billy sighed, closing his hand around the card and then handing it over. “Then who knows what could happen. But whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

Trent took the card, considered it, and then handed it to Lee. “Let’s do what we can to protect Mr. Melrose’s career.”

---

All of their careers could easily be on the line. Amanda was sure she wasn’t the only one who was thinking it, but she was proud nobody had backed down as a result of it. Instead, Douglas and Lee had simply begun to hand out assignments before sitting down at a terminal together. She was a little too far away to hear what they were saying, but their stances indicated no tension.

When the phone in the computer room rang, she answered simply because she was closest.

“Oh, thank God. Shout it from the highest steeple.”

“Let it out to all the people,” she replied, giving the countersign. “Zeta? Is that you?”

Heads began to raise in response to the agent’s name. Amanda hit the speakerphone button.

“Yes. Not secure. But send someone out to the back loading dock. Armed. Hurry.”

“What’s out there? What kind of arms do they need?” Lee half-rose out of his seat, but Billy was already pointing at Duffy and Douglas. With a grimace, Lee settled back down.

“Not sure. But don’t wait. Service pieces should be fine.”

“Do you have yours?”

“Affirmative.”

“Zeta, what’s out there?” Sending agents into an unknown situation with no information at all was dangerous.

There was a shift on the other end of the line. Scotty’s voice spilled out of the speaker. “Al-Safa Media Group just pulled a satellite van around the back of the building.”

Duffy and Douglas exited at a flat run, letting the door slam behind them.

With a muttered curse, Lee took over at the terminal. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Just watch it,” said Billy. “Note the activity. Scotty, where’s Zeta?”

“She said something about getting a head count, but she told me to stay on the line with you. Is someone coming out?”

Amanda started to confirm, but then remembered this wasn’t a secure line. “Can you see Zeta?”

“N-no.” His voice cracked. “Is it safe for me to stay here?”

She dropped her voice into a soothing register. “Stay with me, Scotty. Can you see the loading dock or the van?”

“The van. It’s blocking the dock. I’m on the pay phone at the corner.”

“All right,” she replied. “Just keep telling me what you see.”

There was the sharp sound of a gunshot over the line.

“Shit!” yelled Scotty. “They’re shooting!”

“Get down on the ground! As low as you can without letting go of the phone.” Across the room, Lee nodded. More gunshots echoed over the speaker.

“Okay. There’s someone coming around to the front of the van and getting inside.” Then Scotty’s voice when up an octave. “They’re trying to get away! And they’re gonna come right past me to do it —”

“Stay down, Scotty!” Amanda’s heart was racing. “Don’t move!” Chances were good that the Al-Safa operatives would be too focused to notice him. “Try to get the license plate number if you can.”

“I got it. D.C. 317-284. They’re turning up 30th toward O. I won’t be able to see them once they get there.”

“That’s all right.” She made the effort to keep her voice steady. Billy had already hurried out of the room with the tag number on a slip of paper, leaving just Lee and her still present. “Don’t try. You’re doing fine, Scotty. Can you see any of the agents?”

“Yeah. Nancy — she’s heading back toward me. The British guy — I can’t remember his name — he and the other agent are looking around.”

“That’s good. Just put Zeta back on the line as soon as she gets there.” Her pulse, loud in her ears, began to slow. “You’re all right. We’re all right.”

“Yeah.” Scotty’s voice had dropped back into something resembling its normal register. “Just — that was close.”

There was a brief clatter and then Zeta’s voice came back onto the line. “Scene secured. We’re going to do some recon and come in.”

“Make it fast,” said Amanda. They needed information as soon as they could get it.

---

“Unfortunately, there’s not much more information to be gathered,” reported Douglas. Even though he’d loosened his tie, it still felt tight around his neck. He reached up to undo it completely, hoping his disheveled appearance wouldn’t look too bad in front of the American agents.

Amanda quietly reached over to take it from him, folding it neatly into a small package before handing it back.

“Thank you,” he told her as he slipped it into his pocket. His gratitude was quite sincere. There was a certain comfort in the very simplicity of the action.

Scotty Parker still wasn’t cleared into the computer room, so they’d adjourned back to the conference room. The lad stood in one corner, gulping water too quickly.

As if on cue, Stetson entered and zeroed in on the same thing. “Take it easy on that stuff, Parker. No need to make yourself sick.”

“With water?” asked Scotty.

Stetson glanced over at Douglas, who shrugged. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“How can too much water be a problem?”

“Not too much,” clarified Stetson as he made his way to a chair. “Too fast. You could trap an air bubble or something.”

Zeta’s hair was damp and still dripping slightly as she came in. She’d had makeup on earlier, but it had come off during whatever effort she made to cool herself off. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“No thanks needed,” said Amanda. “We all needed ten minutes to regroup.”

Melrose was the last one into the room. He brought a tray full of coffee cups with him, taking one for himself before handing the tray off to the next person. “All right. Sitrep.”

Douglas held up the report the Signals group had given him. “This is preliminary, but it seems the attempt was to set up a satellite link. They were attempting to disrupt the Agency’s own computer activity this time.”

“Why?” asked Melrose.

He took a breath. “The most logical possibility is that they were going to attempt to thwart any attempt we made to thwart them.”

Stetson was frowning. “Meaning they know we’re on to them.”

“That seems most likely.”

“What do we do to keep them from trying it again?” asked Amanda.

“We don’t,” said Douglas. “But since we now know there will be an attempt, we can make some tweaks to our own strategy. My most significant recommendation is that we send someone over to Aberdeen itself. It’d be one less connection thread.”

“I don’t know that we can spare anyone,” muttered Melrose.

“I don’t know that we dare not do so,” responded Douglas. “Sir. And it mustn’t be me. There’s no reason to give a foreign agent that level of access. Can Mr. Duffy do it?”

From the back of the room, Duffy himself shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to do. We’d need a computer expert. But I can escort Trent, if that makes any difference.”

“No,” said Billy. “That won’t fly.”

Stetson cleared his throat. “There’s someone else we could use.”

Melrose met his gaze for a moment before shaking his head again. “Absolutely not, Scarecrow.”

“Billy! She’s already half into the case anyway, and we all know she’s an absolute whiz with those computers. Plus she’s not working on anything else at the moment.”

“Because she’s on suspension,” snapped Melrose.

Douglas looked from one to the other. “Are you suggesting Miss Desmond?”

“Yeah,” said Stetson without looking at him. “Unless — can you do it, Zeta?”

The junior agent shook her head, sending a few water droplets into the air.

“Well, I certainly can’t. Neither can you, and you know it. And Amanda’s good with the computer, but not like Francine.” Stetson offered his wife a tight smile, but she didn’t appear to have taken offense at the statement. “Face it, Billy. Francine’s our best option.”

“Smyth will have my hide. It’ll be justified, too.”

“I can go with her,” said Amanda suddenly. “I know enough about what’s going on that I can back her up at the same time. Plus she can be under my supervision since we’re at the same clearance level except that I’m not on suspension.”

Douglas thought for a moment before offering his recommendation. “It does seem the most elegant option. Mrs. Stetson’s knowledge of Arabic could also be handy, and for that to work most effectively, we would want her as close to the sources as possible.”

Melrose looked around the table once, and then again. Then he took out his handkerchief to mop his brow.

“All right, damn it. My career’s already in the sling anyway. Might as well go all in.” He leveled a finger at Amanda. “But she rides with you, Amanda, and you drive. Got it? She also leaves her weapon at home.”

“We can’t take those on base at Aberdeen anyway,” replied Amanda as she stood. “I’ll leave mine in the safe upstairs.”

“Good thinking.”

Stetson spoke up. “What about —”

“If she doesn’t make it back here tonight, I’ll get you home, Scarecrow. Don’t worry about that.”

Douglas couldn’t help but wonder at all the unspoken exchanges that had happened during this conversation. While Melrose’s leadership style wasn’t one that would be considered the most appropriate at MI6, it certainly seemed to be effective. And worth learning more about.

Once this particular crisis was over, anyway.