“No, but he did say that their work was secretive, and those in charge had a peculiar way of running things.”
Carmen looked over at Zane, who was staring at the pastor. Finally Zane said, “That’s very helpful.” He paused for a few more seconds before saying, “Pastor Philippe, can you take us there?”
“Well, I don’t know. It’s late. Perhaps tomorrow we can—”
“I understand if you don’t want to be out in the storm.” Zane placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “But unfortunately, this may be our best chance to get out there before the white stuff really gets deep. I simply want to drive past the building a couple of times and take notes on the location and the surrounding area.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Philippe said.
Carmen looked at Zane and raised an eyebrow. He understood what she was implying, so he turned to the pastor and said, “Look, I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you this — we’ve been asked by the American government to look into Ian’s death. Nothing more, nothing less. And if it would make you more comfortable, we have people you can call.”
“Pastor Bachand,” Amanda said, leaning forward and placing her hands on the desk. “My father asked you to help me and you agreed to do that. And I just want you to know that these are my friends. They’re not here to hurt you or get you in trouble. They’re just trying to find out who killed my father. Please help us do that.”
Philippe looked at all three faces, one by one. “Yes, I did take a vow to help you…”
“And we would be so thankful if you would.”
Philippe let out a deep sigh. “Well, we’ll need to stop by my house on the way. None of you are dressed to be out in this weather.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The red Renault Clio that had been leased by French Canadian Michel Bergeron zigzagged through the Grottes district of Geneva. Its occupants didn’t seem the least bit out of place in the distinctly bohemian neighborhood. In fact, were it not for the time of day, one might assume the three were on their way to the nearest dive bar to watch a scandalously hip alternative band while sipping a bottle of artisanal beer.
The driver, whose long brown hair flowed out from underneath a striped toboggan, watched both side mirrors through aviator sunglasses, searching for anything that might seem even slightly out of place. Seated next to him was a raven-haired woman with an olive complexion. She was also watching the surrounding streets and sidewalks, although her movements were subtler, her eyes shifting back and forth behind her own shaded lenses. The third passenger, a twenty-something with straight blonde hair, surfed the Internet on her phone in the back seat, oblivious to the activities of the other two.
After doubling back through the Grottes district three times, including several U-turns and random stops, the driver eventually satisfied himself that they weren’t being followed and headed southwest through the Servette Potterie district, eventually turning left onto a road that ran between two office buildings.
The driver — Zane — pulled out an encrypted phone, tapped a few times, and then brought it to his ear. The decision to covertly enter the Renaissance offices had been made after an evening of due diligence with Philippe Bachand two nights before, followed by a long consultation with the Oracle the next morning. Since the second floor was used only at night, it was decided that Zane would enter the bank, which was located on the first floor, during the day. Once contact was made with an employee, Zane would ask to use the restrooms, which were located down the front corridor and across from the elevator. The building's elevator was operated by a secure card, which Delphi was able to reproduce after hacking through the security firewall.
Upon gaining entry to the second floor, Zane would attempt to locate the former office of Ian Higgs. Perhaps he had left something behind in the office itself, or perhaps something had been hidden electronically. In case of the latter, the operative would procure every visible electronic device.
“Foster here,” was the answer on the other end. It had been decided that Brett Foster, Delphi’s Chief Technology Specialist, would coordinate operational logistics from Arlington. The slightly heavy, dark-haired geek was a hacker extraordinaire and an invaluable asset in the organization.
He had attended MIT in the early 2000s and graduated with honors. After graduation, he entered private industry, working for several research companies at the Research Triangle Park in North Carolina. As fate would have it, one of those companies was a consultant for the CIA, and the brilliant young techie caught the eye of the head administrator of the CIA’s Office of Information Technology, and ultimately, of the Director himself.
Knowing full well that the CIA couldn’t pay Foster enough to hire him away from private industry, the Director passed his name on to Alexander Ross. Ross then used the appeal of covert work, coupled of course with a substantial increase in pay, to lure him to Delphi.
“We’re in the zone,” Zane said, downshifting the vehicle to a crawl. “I’m placing you on speaker.”
“Can everybody hear me?” Brett asked.
All three indicated they could.
“I’m behind the firewall and will be able to tell you if any alarms are activated,” Brett explained.
“What about the blues?” Zane asked, referring to the Geneva police.
“Chris is monitoring all blue communication,” Brett said. Chris Spears was Delphi’s Assistant Technology Specialist. “In fact, we’re monitoring all emergency personnel.”
“Copy that,” Zane said.
“And you have the drive and the card?” Brett asked. Both the thumb drive and access card had arrived by courier earlier that morning. If Zane could find the security room, he was going to use the thumb drive to load special software into the system that controlled the building’s cameras. Ten minutes later a trojan would activate, erasing the prior forty-five minutes of recorded video feed, something not likely to be noticed unless the users were specifically looking for it.
“Yes, we have both,” Zane replied, patting one of his pockets.
“Excellent,” Brett said. “I have the satellite view up now. Are you still in front of the building?”
Zane slowed the car down almost to a stop. “Yes, the front entrance is directly to our right.”
“Please go through your steps one more time,” Brett said.
“We’re going to proceed past both of these buildings and park a block or two from the subject. I will then travel on foot back to the subject.”
“Copy that. It looks like you’ll have about a five- to ten-minute walk back. Please text when you exit the vehicle and then text again once you’ve taken the elevator to the second floor.”
“Copy that. Over.”
Zane then ended the call and accelerated. A minute later, they arrived at a church on the second block. He made a crisp U-turn and pulled into a spot along the side of the street, facing back in the direction they had just come.
“Do you have everything?” Carmen asked.
Zane removed the toboggan and put on a pair of nonprescription glasses. He also chambered one magazine into his suppressed Glock and placed two others inside his coat. “Yes.”
“Remember to text Brett and me when you exit onto the second floor.”
Zane nodded and exited the car. As he made his way back up the street toward the buildings, he couldn’t help but think back to the Oracle’s worry that the plan was too simple. And while Zane had agreed that things were rarely as easy as planned, he also knew that simple was preferable to complex. If you could walk cleanly through the front door using stealth, why risk blowing through the back door?