"And then?"
Yezhov shrugged. "The man's a traitor. His body might provide an object lesson to others who consider betraying the Motherland."
"You would eliminate him, then."
"An excuse could be made that would satisfy everyone. Perhaps a communication from the supposed kidnappers."
"You would have done well in the old days, Captain. Prepare a detailed plan to put your idea into action. Have it on my desk by 0800 tomorrow."
It was an order and a dismissal. Yezhov stood.
"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"
Vysotsky waved his hand in the air, toward the door.
Yezhov saluted, turned in a precise half circle and left the room, closing the door after him.
Alexei got out the vodka and filled his glass. He'd just made the opening move in a dangerous game. If what he planned was discovered, he'd be finished. You didn't go after someone as powerful as Kamarov without risking everything. The oligarch would have serious men guarding him, former Spetsnaz who knew their job. Yezhov would have his work cut out for him.
Vysotsky sipped his vodka and thought about when he'd been a younger man. He missed the action of the old days, the fine adrenaline edge that came in the field, when everything hinged on one's planning, skill and luck. Now such things had passed to the next generation, although a bullet could as easily find him as a man like Yezhov. The only difference would be that his bullet would come while he was kneeling in some God-forsaken place instead of facing his enemies. Much had changed in Russia but some things would always be the same.
I'm coming for you, Comrade Kamarov.
Vysotsky raised his glass and smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this alive in years.
CHAPTER 27
Valentina Antipov sat inside the warmth of a corner café on the Place de la Bastille at a window table and watched the crowds scurry by outside. It was a sunny Saturday and Parisians were out in force. Valentina sipped her espresso and waited for her contact to arrive.
It was unusual for Vysotsky to set up a direct meeting. One never knew who'd been identified by the opposition as someone working for SVR. Every public contact like this ran the risk of exposure. She was certain no one knew who she was or that she worked for Vysotsky. The public atmosphere of the café provided a plausible cover for the meeting. All the same, she wasn't happy about it.
The Valentina Rosetti legend was as good as SVR's master forgers could make it. Her passport was an authentic Italian issue. A deeper probe would discover all the paperwork a young girl growing up in Italy would accumulate. In Italy, there was a lot of paperwork and a bureaucracy noted for resisting attempts to penetrate its official archives. It would be very difficult to prove she was anyone other than she was supposed to be.
The café was crowded and noisy and blue with smoke. The government ban on smoking indoors was sneered at by most of the French. She took out a package of Gitanes, withdrew a cigarette and lit it with a slim, gold lighter Johannes had given her. She smoked Gitanes as much because she liked the blue Deco design of a gypsy woman on the package as for the strong tobacco. She drew the smoke deep into her lungs, exhaled in a long stream and felt herself relax just a little.
Her contact entered the café and came across the room to her table. She knew him only as Lucien. It was all she needed to know.
Lucien leaned down, kissed her lightly on each cheek and sat down across from her. It was a scene repeated a thousand times a day in Paris. He looked like any well-off Parisian man, reasonably handsome, somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s. His suit was well cut of good material, the kind of suit that spoke of respectability and sufficient income to be a likely companion of the beautiful young woman sitting across from him.
"Cheri. Good to see you." He spoke to her in French
Valentina answered in the same language. "And you, Lucien."
A harassed waiter came by. Lucien ordered a croissant and coffee in rapid, impeccable French.
When he was gone, Lucien said, "Armand is pleased with your last report."
Armand was General Vysotsky.
"I'm glad to hear it."
"He would like you to do something for him."
Lucien reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small flash drive, no bigger than a thumbnail, and placed it on the table near her coffee cup. She lifted the coffee to her lips and palmed the drive at the same time.
Anyone watching would have seen only two lovers talking. Perhaps they were planning an evening at the theater. Perhaps he was asking her to his hotel room. Anything was possible in Paris, between a man and a woman having coffee in a café.
"Insert the drive into the computer that you copied for Armand," Lucien said.
"What does it do?"
"It will add a line of code that will allow us to intercept his communications. The computer must be on, of course. It only takes a minute. You'll see a progress bar on the screen. Get rid of the drive after it's done. "
"He usually keeps his laptop with him and it's always off except when he's working. It could be a problem."
"It wasn't a problem before," Lucien said. He smiled, but his voice was cold. "I'm sure you'll find another opportunity."
"As you say," Valentina said. She stubbed out her Gitane and lit another.
"How can you stand those?" Lucien said. "I much prefer American cigarettes."
"I like the flavor."
The waiter brought the coffee and croissant. Lucien took a bite of the pastry.
"I'm really quite fond of these," he said. "Somehow they don't taste quite the same outside of France. When is the next time he'll be here?"
There was no need for him to say who he was talking about.
"Tomorrow. He's coming in to meet with the directors of his French bank."
"Good." Lucien finished the croissant and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "This man has become a priority. Get to that computer as quickly as possible."
CHAPTER 28
"How are we going to stop Gutenberg?" Elizabeth asked. Everyone was in her office.
"Can we get into his computer?" Nick said. "There could be something on it to tell us what they're doing."
"It depends," Stephanie said. "If it's online and I can find it, I can hack into it."
Stephanie was the Project's secret weapon. She had a gift with computers, one that couldn't be taught. No one could keep her out once she decided to get in. Sometimes it just took a little longer.
"I always wondered how you did that," Lamont said, "get past all the firewalls."
"How do you do it, Steph?" Selena asked.
"Do what?"
"Get past the encryption protocols."
"You really want to know? It's a little hard to explain."
"How about the short version?" Nick said. "I always wondered myself."
"Do you know what an RSA algorithm is?" Stephanie said.
"Doesn't it have something to do with prime numbers?" Selena asked.
"That's right. A prime number is something that can only be divided by one and by itself. Most encryption schemes use prime numbers in a mathematical formula. Basically, what you do is create two different keys based on your formula. There's a public key and a private key that have interlocking patterns. Anyone might know the public key. That's what you use to encrypt the message. The private key is used to decrypt it. Without the private key you can't understand the message, even if you intercept it. If you want your data to be secure, you apply your formula and the computer encodes it. Any data, not just messages back and forth."
"But couldn't someone with the right skills figure out the key by using some kind of pattern recognition program?" Selena asked.