“Oh. Right.” The vice president had been brought on to balance the ticket and not for his keen intellect.
“This isn’t just some computer hacker,” said Fiona Katamora, the secretary of state. She’d been the national security adviser in the previous administration and had been tapped for this more public office because she was quite simply one of the most accomplished people on the planet. “The demands read like Osama bin Laden’s Christmas wish list.”
She read from the fax: “The United States will immediately announce a halt of all military and nonmilitary aid to the State of Israel and will henceforth provide the same amount of money to the Palestinian Authority and to the Hamas leaders on the Gaza Strip. All prisoners currently held at Guantánamo Bay will be released immediately. All U.S. and NATO troops must leave Iraq by the end of this June and be out of Afghanistan by the end of the year. All military aid to Pakistan will be immediately halted. American military bases in Kuwait and Qatar are to be dismantled by the end of the year. The president will formally condemn the building of Jewish settlements on the West Bank and will further condemn the banning of headscarves for Muslim women in France and any other European country which enacts such a ban. All Muslim groups currently listed internationally as terror groups will have that designation lifted. There will be no further sanctions against the nation of Iran, and all such sanctions currently in place will be lifted by the end of the year.
“What he’s telling us,” she said, “is that we are to cede the war on terror. I find it very telling that he mentions Iran.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sunni and Shi’a Muslims do not get along, and the one thing most Arab states agree on is that a bottled-up Iran, with its Shi’a brand of Islam, is in their best interest. But this guy wants our hands off everyone, as if to say whatever differences exist between the two groups is an internal thing and they will handle it themselves.”
“Obviously we can’t do any of these things,” the vice president said ponderously.
“What gets me too,” Fiona Katamora continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “are the time lines that are spelled out. This isn’t the rant of some deranged jihadi sitting in a Waziri cave. This has been carefully thought out. Each deadline is doable from a practical perspective and, while politically unpalatable, isn’t unfeasible.”
“We can’t stop giving aid to Israel,” the CIA director said.
“We can,” Fiona retorted evenly, not raising her voice the way her counterpart had. “We choose to continue funding them because it is in our best interest. If that were no longer the case, we can turn off the money taps anytime we want.”
“But . . .”
“Listen, if this is legitimate, the game’s changed completely. We are no longer in control. Some group out there appears to have unlimited access to our most guarded secrets. At the push of a button they can shut down power grids. Think about that. Think about a nationwide power outage that goes on for weeks or months. Or an air traffic control system that we no longer rely on. Every plane in the country grounded indefinitely. Could this person override the safeties at the nation’s nuclear power plants and cause them all to melt down? I think there are physical safeties in place for that ... But you get the idea.”
“Any suggestions on what do we do?” the president asked in a voice much quieter than he intended.
“We find the person responsible and crucify them,” the veep thundered.
“Where did the fax originate?” the man from the NSA asked.
“Gentlemen,” Fiona said sharply, “do you honestly think whoever masterminded the theft of the presidential authentication codes is going to be caught using traditional police techniques? This guy didn’t walk into a Kinko’s on Mass Ave. to send his message. That signal bounced around the planet for a couple of hours before it reached Eunice’s office. We’ll never trace it. We need to look at this from the other end. Who benefits from this?”
“Al-Qaeda tops the list,” the beribboned admiral from the Joint Chiefs replied.
“Does this feel like something they’d do?” Fiona shot back. “If they had this kind of power, they’d launch an all-out cyberattack that would drive us back into the Stone Age. There would be no demands or warning. No, it’s someone else. Someone new.”
“Any ideas?” asked the CIA director.
“I’m afraid that’s up to you.”
“My first instinct was al-Qaeda too, but you make a compelling argument against them. I’ll talk to my people to see if there is anyone else out there with the wherewithal to pull off something like this.”
“Let’s say they do kill the power in Troy, New York,” Les Jackson said. “What’s our response? What do we do? It’d be political suicide to cut off aid to Israel or even to announce such an intention. Same goes for just releasing the prisoners from Gitmo.”
Fiona Katamora raked her fingers through her raven hair in a sign of frustration. “This isn’t about politics, Les. We’ve been handed a demonstration that tells us we are at this person’s mercy. He has cracked the most secure code in the world and flaunted it in our faces. We either give in to the demands or face the consequences as a nation, not as a political party or as a presidential administration. Do we cave or do we all go down together?” She turned to face the commander in chief. “That’s the question, Mr. President.”
An aide knocked at the door and entered when the president called, “Come.”
“Sir, just to give you an update. The return number printed on the fax is bogus. No such number is listed anywhere in the world. And the White House switchboard has no record of the call ever coming in.”
“The call never even came in? Did your secretary crack up?” the NSA director asked the president. “Is this her idea of a joke?”
The president didn’t know what to say, but he was hoping against hope that his longtime and most trusted secretary was mentally ill and had pulled off this cruel hoax.
“One more thing,” the aide continued. “There was a blackout in Troy, New York, at noon that lasted for precisely sixty seconds. No other areas were affected even though the local utility supplies power to the outlying regions. So far, they have no reason why power faded or why it came back.”
“Dear God,” someone said. “This is real.”
Fiona kept reading from the bottom of the fax. “These are small, benign demonstrations of our abilities. We are not barbarians. We cherish life, but if even one of our demands is not met, we will cripple your country. Planes will rain from the sky, refineries will explode, factories will idle, and electricity will be a thing of your past.
“In time, all people of the earth will convert to the one true faith, but we are willing to allow you to coexist with us for now.” She looked up. “It’s real.”
19
SMITH HAD MADE HIS MISTAKE A WEEK EARLIER. HE’D finally relented to MacD’s relentless calls for a proof-of-life video link to his daughter. And because he believed that Lawless was still under his control, he was lazy when it came to computer security. The video link only lasted a few tearful seconds, but Mark and Eric backtracked its source with ease.
Prior to that, the Corporation had made no headway in its investigation of Gunawan Bahar.
As Cabrillo had suspected, the kidnappers hadn’t taken Pauline Lawless far from where she’d been abducted in New Orleans. In fact, she was being held within the city’s notorious Lower Ninth Ward, the area so heavily damaged by Hurricane Katrina that much of it remained in ruins. It was a smart tactical decision—since the composition of the area had been so disrupted, strangers had a better chance of blending in and not arousing suspicion.
Cabrillo, Lawless, and Franklin Lincoln flew into Houston, where the Corporation maintained a safe house. It was one of a dozen they kept in port cities all over the world and was used primarily to store weapons and equipment that they might otherwise have trouble getting through customs. Even corporate jets are subject to searches, and while officials can be bribed in many airports around the globe, it wasn’t a good idea to try it in the United States.