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Authors: David Stone
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the force of her grip.
What the hell have I gotten this woman into?
“I have a theory.”
“Please share. Before my hair bursts into flames.”
“How would it look to your people, to the OSE, if you were to be found dead in your flat this morning? The first thing they’d do would be to look into what you were working on. Your unit, I mean. And your unit was working on me. I’d be the first person they’d want to see.”
“But what about you? If I am killed, wouldn’t you stay around to sort it out? Explain it to the . . .”
Her voice trailed into silence.
“You said you’ve seen my files,” said Dalton. “See how it looks? I cut you out of the unit, followed you home, dragged you inside, forced you to show me your computer, and next morning you’re dead. Once they saw that, they wouldn’t see anything else. I’d be in Lödesburg Sink, wrapped in heavy chains, talking to a prosecutor from the ICC. The U.S. doesn’t recognize the International Criminal Court, so the ICC would have a dream come true, an undeclared CIA agent who murdered an Austrian OSE agent on their turf.”
From the look on her face, cold and fixed, it was clear that Veronika found this statement uncongenial.
“So. You would leave me there? Dead?”
“I like to pay my debts in person, Veronika. To stay out of a holding cell and go after these people? Yes, I would have.”
That created a difficult silence for a while.
The barnlike hulk of the Westbahnhof was looming over the slate roofs of Mariahstadt. Traffic was beginning to build. A blue-and-white police car flashed past them, its klaxon wailing. Dalton wanted out of this Jetta soon. Very damned soon. Veronika had worked her way through the following chill and surfaced again, her face a little stonier.
But she still had that iron.
“What about Yusef’s body? What would they make of that?”
“An accomplice. People see what they want to see. And even if I were gone, the police could still connect me to you. Remember, I did an Internet search on you last night?”
“But wasn’t that on a secured CIA link?”
Nothing seemed to change on Dalton’s face, but now he looked like a death mask.
“Yes. It was. It was an Agency BlackBerry. Encrypted. There’s no way that anyone outside the Agency could have tracked my search string.”
“Unless someone cracked the encryption.”
“Not likely.”
“But possible?”
“Yes.”
“Was . . . is your BlackBerry GPS-equipped?”
“Yes. If it’s on, its location would be identifiable, but only to the Monitors at the National Security Agency in Maryland.”
“Is the GPS locator also encrypted?”
“Yes. Heavily.”
“Who would be capable of cracking an encrypted CIA BlackBerry?”
Dalton thought about it.
“The Brits, I think. Maybe the Chinese . . .”
Dalton did not name the third possibility, the Mossad, but it was at the forefront of his mind for a number of reasons.
As it turned out, he wasn’t alone.
They reached the entrance to the Auto-Park. Veronika pulled up across the street from a towering concrete labyrinth of open floors, each level packed with cars.
Dalton was looking at the cameras over the automated gates. And thinking about the time stamps on parking receipts.
And that blue-and-white police car.
“When does that construction bin at your apartment get emptied?”
“Whenever it’s full. About once a month. How full was it?”
“Less than half.”
“That will give us time. Unless this day gets a lot hotter. Then he’ll make his presence felt pretty soon. In the meantime, we—”
“That’s my point, Veronika. It isn’t going to be ‘we.’ Where’s the closest police station?”
Her answer was short and sharp. And suspicious.
“There is a transit police kiosk inside the station entrance.”
“Good. Let’s go,” he said, cracking the passenger door.
“To the Polizei ? Why? You said—”
“Not me. You. I’ll see you to the entrance, watch until you get to the transit
What the hell have I gotten this woman into?
“I have a theory.”
“Please share. Before my hair bursts into flames.”
“How would it look to your people, to the OSE, if you were to be found dead in your flat this morning? The first thing they’d do would be to look into what you were working on. Your unit, I mean. And your unit was working on me. I’d be the first person they’d want to see.”
“But what about you? If I am killed, wouldn’t you stay around to sort it out? Explain it to the . . .”
Her voice trailed into silence.
“You said you’ve seen my files,” said Dalton. “See how it looks? I cut you out of the unit, followed you home, dragged you inside, forced you to show me your computer, and next morning you’re dead. Once they saw that, they wouldn’t see anything else. I’d be in Lödesburg Sink, wrapped in heavy chains, talking to a prosecutor from the ICC. The U.S. doesn’t recognize the International Criminal Court, so the ICC would have a dream come true, an undeclared CIA agent who murdered an Austrian OSE agent on their turf.”
From the look on her face, cold and fixed, it was clear that Veronika found this statement uncongenial.
“So. You would leave me there? Dead?”
“I like to pay my debts in person, Veronika. To stay out of a holding cell and go after these people? Yes, I would have.”
That created a difficult silence for a while.
The barnlike hulk of the Westbahnhof was looming over the slate roofs of Mariahstadt. Traffic was beginning to build. A blue-and-white police car flashed past them, its klaxon wailing. Dalton wanted out of this Jetta soon. Very damned soon. Veronika had worked her way through the following chill and surfaced again, her face a little stonier.
But she still had that iron.
“What about Yusef’s body? What would they make of that?”
“An accomplice. People see what they want to see. And even if I were gone, the police could still connect me to you. Remember, I did an Internet search on you last night?”
“But wasn’t that on a secured CIA link?”
Nothing seemed to change on Dalton’s face, but now he looked like a death mask.
“Yes. It was. It was an Agency BlackBerry. Encrypted. There’s no way that anyone outside the Agency could have tracked my search string.”
“Unless someone cracked the encryption.”
“Not likely.”
“But possible?”
“Yes.”
“Was . . . is your BlackBerry GPS-equipped?”
“Yes. If it’s on, its location would be identifiable, but only to the Monitors at the National Security Agency in Maryland.”
“Is the GPS locator also encrypted?”
“Yes. Heavily.”
“Who would be capable of cracking an encrypted CIA BlackBerry?”
Dalton thought about it.
“The Brits, I think. Maybe the Chinese . . .”
Dalton did not name the third possibility, the Mossad, but it was at the forefront of his mind for a number of reasons.
As it turned out, he wasn’t alone.
They reached the entrance to the Auto-Park. Veronika pulled up across the street from a towering concrete labyrinth of open floors, each level packed with cars.
Dalton was looking at the cameras over the automated gates. And thinking about the time stamps on parking receipts.
And that blue-and-white police car.
“When does that construction bin at your apartment get emptied?”
“Whenever it’s full. About once a month. How full was it?”
“Less than half.”
“That will give us time. Unless this day gets a lot hotter. Then he’ll make his presence felt pretty soon. In the meantime, we—”
“That’s my point, Veronika. It isn’t going to be ‘we.’ Where’s the closest police station?”
Her answer was short and sharp. And suspicious.
“There is a transit police kiosk inside the station entrance.”
“Good. Let’s go,” he said, cracking the passenger door.
“To the Polizei ? Why? You said—”
“Not me. You. I’ll see you to the entrance, watch until you get to the transit
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