“That’s right. Musharraf had just declared his support for the U.S., which was about as popular with his Muslim constituency as bikinis. There was rioting in the streets, burning of the U.S. flag. The military opposed him. His intelligence people were plotting against him. It was tense. In the middle of all this, he stumbled across al-Badat, the people’s sheikh. He was popular, charismatic, articulate, and fully capable of destabilizing the pro-West secular government of Pakistan. They couldn’t put him on trial. They couldn’t kill him and turn him into a martyr, and they couldn’t let him walk. What do you do?”
“Organize a hijacking?”
“Right. Put on a bit of geopolitical theater and pretend to force Musharraf’s hand.”
Something was trying to make sense. “Was Stephen Hoffmeyer part of this?”
“Hoffmeyer was the Blackthorne operative onboard. It was his operation.”
“Is that why Hoffmeyer disappeared?”
“What happened wasn’t his fault. They had a mechanical problem with the plane-”
“Hydraulics.”
“He ended up in the wrong country with no support. Thorne hung him out to dry.”
“And because of him, nine innocent hostages died, a whole lot of other lives were screwed up, and a perfectly good aircraft was destroyed. Pardon me if I don’t feel a lot of sympathy for the guy.”
“Things got out of hand, obviously. That’s what’s in the files. It’s post-operation communication between Blackthorne and the Martyrs. The terrorists took computers from the victims and used them for-”
“Their own purposes,” I said. “I got all that a long time ago. What kind of communication?”
“Let’s just say the Martyrs didn’t plan on losing eight of their people. Thorne also wouldn’t pay them the rest of their fee. He considered the operation a failure. You could say there was some cyber-discussion afterward between the Martyrs and Blackthorne.”
“All right, look. I agree it’s a big story. I’m all in favor of helping you take down Cyrus Thorne. So copy off your notes or your secret files or whatever, and let me take the computer. I’ll even come to you. Tell me where you are.”
“The computer is my story.”
“You just said-”
“The fact that the evidence is on a computer carried by one of the hostages is part of the story. It’s like a chain-of-custody thing. There is no way I’m separating those e-mails from that hard drive.”
I felt a flash of anger, not so much at Kraft as at the fact that everything had to be so hard. But I had no problem taking it all out on him. “Here’s the bottom line, Kraft. You can give the money files to me, or I can tell Drazen that you have them, and you can be on the run from Blackthorne and the Russian mob.”
“The Russian mob does not scare me.”
I went back to my chair and crumpled into it. How come no one was ever scared by all the things that scared me? I was running out of options, because in the end, he still held all the cards. “Are you willing to give me the files if I can figure out how to get them off your machine without messing with your evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I’ll call you back. When I do, please get back to me right away.” This time, I got to hang up on him.
I looked at Felix. “He won’t give me the computer, because it has some stuff on it for his story. E-mails and documents and things that were put on after the hijacking. Obviously, he’s accessed them, so they’re not encrypted. Is that possible, given this KryptoDisk hardware?”
“Maybe. There could be a slave drive functioning for stuff that doesn’t need to be encrypted, but that would be a little funky. I’d have to look at it.”
“That’s what I’m hoping, that I can get it for you and you can hack around this need for a key or a token or whatever.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I can’t hack it. That’s what I was saying before he called. Anything over sixty-bit encryption is pretty unhackable, at least by me, unless you can give me, like, six or seven Crays to do it with.”
“How many bits is this one?”
“It’s probably 128- or 192-bit key strength. There’s no way.”
“All right, hacking’s out, and he won’t meet with me unless I can peel those files off. I think there’s only one thing to do.”
“Find the key?”
“Yep, and I’m not sure I’m going to like where I have to look for it.”
There was construction in Kenmore Square where they were tearing down the bus shack. I had to detour around it to get to Harvey’s. As I sat with all the rest of the detouring traffic, I got another call. The ID showed a private caller. I flipped open the phone.
“Alex Shanahan.”
“This is Cyrus Thorne.”
Just what I needed, Drazen and Cyrus within the span of two hours. “What can I do for you?”
“I haven’t heard from you.”
I had to shift my brain over to the Cyrus track to get straight what he knew and what he thought I knew. “I had to talk things over with my partner to get him onboard. He’s not too keen on turning a man over to be executed.”
“Did you convince him?”
“He thinks we’re in over our heads, but he’s in. Turns out he’s more in love with Rachel than committed to his principles.”
“Good. Have you made contact with Kraft?”
“Not yet, but I have figured out a way to get him to meet with me.”
“How will you do it?”
“By promising that the two of us together can make bad things happen to you.”
That produced a satisfied chuckle. I tried to say things to Cyrus that were true. He gave me the feeling that even over the phone, he could tell when I was lying.
“What about Hoffmeyer?” I asked. Maybe I could keep him on the defensive if I could make him have to lie to me. “Have you had any luck finding him?”
“We won’t find him. He’s been trained by the best. The only way we’ll get to him is through Kraft. Then we’ll have a shot at the big dog.”
“Look, what if I can’t get Kraft to come to Boston? Would your plane be available if I had to go to him?”
“Without hesitation. In fact, that might be preferable. When you’re close to locking in your final plans, call me with the details, and I’ll set the wheels in motion.”
“Okay, good. Look, it’s going to be a few days at least. Do you want me to call you, or do you want to check back with me? It’s probably better if I call you.” I waited. He said nothing, and I didn’t know how to interpret the silence. “Do you still have my client’s video?”
“It’s in a safe place. How many days will you need?”
“How about if I call you the day after tomorrow?”
29
HARVEY WAS BY HIMSELF IN HIS OFFICE WHEN I GOT TO HIS house. He had on another new shirt, this one short-sleeved. I could not get used to seeing him in casual clothes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him wear something that bared his arms. I was surprised that his ex-wife wasn’t fused to one of them.
“Where’s Rachel?”
“I’m here.” She came in from the kitchen with a big bowl of microwave popcorn. I hadn’t noticed before, but the house was filled with the smell. With Rachel around, Harvey’s house was always filled with something new.
“We need to talk.” My preference would have been to talk things over with Harvey, but since the day’s events affected Rachel rather substantially, it wouldn’t have been fair to leave her out. The three of us sat down for a discussion. This time, I staked out the wingback. Rachel pushed Harvey up next to the couch.
“I just met with Drazen. The good news is, he wants the money, and if we can find it for him, we’ll all be free and clear.”
“Including me?” Rachel was barely able to contain her glee.
“Especially you. You’re not even on his radar screen.”
“Oh, thank God.” She set the popcorn on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. “I have been living with this death sentence hanging over my head for I don’t know how long.”