forget.”
• • •
As the meeting broke up and people began filing out, the President’s Chief of Staff motioned him back to the head of the conference table.
“What’s going on?” Porter asked.
“This came in during the meeting. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
The President looked down at the man’s laptop. Senator Daniel Wells of Iowa had not only put out a video statement about the murder of Secretary of Defense Richard Devon, but his campaign was subtly using it as a fund-raising mechanism.
“That’s a new low, even for him,” Porter said.
“Normally, I’d suggest we ignore it, but this is pretty egregious.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“I use a bogus email address to subscribe to his newsletter.”
“So, in other words,” said the President, “this is only being sent to the choir.”
“At the moment,” his Chief of Staff replied. “But I guarantee you all the Sunday shows subscribe to his newsletter as well.”
“Right now, Sunday is a lifetime away.”
“It may feel like that, but it isn’t. Trust me.”
“And you need to trust me, a lot can happen between now and Sunday.”
CHAPTER 12
F RANKFURT , G ERMANY
T racking Sacha Baseyev wasn’t easy. Nicholas had done an amazing job. He had begun by searching all of the CCTV footage around the neighborhood where Salah Abaaoud kept his love nest. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, until he added an additional layer to his search.
He next pulled the footage from around Salah’s home and the clinic. His assumption was that the killer would have conducted cursory surveillance before making his move. His assumption was correct. But Nicholas had almost missed him.
He was running a series of algorithms in the background of his search. One was an emerging piece of biometric technology called gait recognition, which measured how subjects walk.
Baseyev was indeed a pro. He had altered everything about his appearance. The man watching the clinic was unrecognizable from the assassin who entered the apartment building. Even the walks were different. But it was the walk that had turned out to be Baseyev’s undoing.
Faking how you walked was one thing. Faking it consistently was something entirely different. Gait recognition technology was able to spot even the smallest changes. It was also able to look for patterns. If you were captured on camera with an inconsistent walk, it flagged you. That was how Nicholas realized the two figures he had spotted were one and the same.
He had tracked a disguised Sacha Baseyev to a mid-sized hotel in downtown Brussels. When Baseyev emerged on camera hours later, hewas dressed in a Lufthansa uniform and accompanied by five other flight attendants.
They placed their luggage in a minibus and were driven to the airport. Baseyev moved through security with the other flight crew, was in and out of a couple of shops, and boarded a plane for Frankfurt.
When the plane landed, Nicholas was able to reacquire the passengers and the other flight attendants, but not Baseyev. He had disappeared.
People didn’t just disappear, especially not at a major international airport like Frankfurt. At least not without help. And so, Nicholas had dug in.
Posing as a flight attendant was excellent cover. It was better than posing as a businessman. Flight attendants often received expedited screening, could hide in plain sight, and were viewed by airport staff everywhere as “one of us.”
When the United States had learned of Baseyev’s existence, there’d been no mention of his cover. It was possible that the Russian intelligence defector hadn’t known. Or that the cover had been established later.
As far as Nicholas was concerned, it didn’t matter. He was onto him. He wouldn’t stop until the noose was pulled so tight that Sacha Baseyev couldn’t breathe.
To begin, he needed a name. He watched the Brussels airport footage again. Baseyev had bought something in one of the shops before boarding
• • •
As the meeting broke up and people began filing out, the President’s Chief of Staff motioned him back to the head of the conference table.
“What’s going on?” Porter asked.
“This came in during the meeting. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
The President looked down at the man’s laptop. Senator Daniel Wells of Iowa had not only put out a video statement about the murder of Secretary of Defense Richard Devon, but his campaign was subtly using it as a fund-raising mechanism.
“That’s a new low, even for him,” Porter said.
“Normally, I’d suggest we ignore it, but this is pretty egregious.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“I use a bogus email address to subscribe to his newsletter.”
“So, in other words,” said the President, “this is only being sent to the choir.”
“At the moment,” his Chief of Staff replied. “But I guarantee you all the Sunday shows subscribe to his newsletter as well.”
“Right now, Sunday is a lifetime away.”
“It may feel like that, but it isn’t. Trust me.”
“And you need to trust me, a lot can happen between now and Sunday.”
CHAPTER 12
F RANKFURT , G ERMANY
T racking Sacha Baseyev wasn’t easy. Nicholas had done an amazing job. He had begun by searching all of the CCTV footage around the neighborhood where Salah Abaaoud kept his love nest. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, until he added an additional layer to his search.
He next pulled the footage from around Salah’s home and the clinic. His assumption was that the killer would have conducted cursory surveillance before making his move. His assumption was correct. But Nicholas had almost missed him.
He was running a series of algorithms in the background of his search. One was an emerging piece of biometric technology called gait recognition, which measured how subjects walk.
Baseyev was indeed a pro. He had altered everything about his appearance. The man watching the clinic was unrecognizable from the assassin who entered the apartment building. Even the walks were different. But it was the walk that had turned out to be Baseyev’s undoing.
Faking how you walked was one thing. Faking it consistently was something entirely different. Gait recognition technology was able to spot even the smallest changes. It was also able to look for patterns. If you were captured on camera with an inconsistent walk, it flagged you. That was how Nicholas realized the two figures he had spotted were one and the same.
He had tracked a disguised Sacha Baseyev to a mid-sized hotel in downtown Brussels. When Baseyev emerged on camera hours later, hewas dressed in a Lufthansa uniform and accompanied by five other flight attendants.
They placed their luggage in a minibus and were driven to the airport. Baseyev moved through security with the other flight crew, was in and out of a couple of shops, and boarded a plane for Frankfurt.
When the plane landed, Nicholas was able to reacquire the passengers and the other flight attendants, but not Baseyev. He had disappeared.
People didn’t just disappear, especially not at a major international airport like Frankfurt. At least not without help. And so, Nicholas had dug in.
Posing as a flight attendant was excellent cover. It was better than posing as a businessman. Flight attendants often received expedited screening, could hide in plain sight, and were viewed by airport staff everywhere as “one of us.”
When the United States had learned of Baseyev’s existence, there’d been no mention of his cover. It was possible that the Russian intelligence defector hadn’t known. Or that the cover had been established later.
As far as Nicholas was concerned, it didn’t matter. He was onto him. He wouldn’t stop until the noose was pulled so tight that Sacha Baseyev couldn’t breathe.
To begin, he needed a name. He watched the Brussels airport footage again. Baseyev had bought something in one of the shops before boarding
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