Steve Martini - Trader of secrets

Fareed realized quickly that the story that he merely wanted to go home wasn’t working. Bruno was not the sort who could get his head around notions of homesickness. He dealt in a world of money and greed. So Raji gave him something he could comprehend. In their next meeting, he told Bruno that Leffort had cheated him on the deal for the sale of the data, and that if Bruno would transfer the agreed-upon sum into a numbered account of Fareed’s choosing and make acceptable arrangements for his safety and freedom, Raji would transmit the software back to him.

While it was a naive proposal, the motivations behind it were at least something Bruno could understand, money and survival.

Bruno smiled, slapped Raji on the shoulder, and told him they would have to talk some more.

Fareed knew they had no intention of letting him go. He was playing for time.

This evening Bruno arrived and tried to tempt him with bits of information. At one point he repeated his original promise that they would all be moving on, including Raji, the minute he delivered the missing software. He went so far as to take Fareed into his confidence, tantalizing him with vague bits of information as to where they were going once they left Paris.

Bruno showed him pictures of the facility, a large metal building with a massive antenna array, large satellite dishes already up and waiting. If it was true, if they were already this far along, then the money wasn’t the only thing that Leffort was lying about.

From what Raji could see in the photographs, the facility was in a tropical area of jungle. Bruno told him there was a swimming pool and comfortable bungalows. He guaranteed Raji that he would have the run of the place, no more locked rooms, and freedom to move around and go into the city if he liked.

When Raji asked what city, Bruno just looked at him and smiled. He told him he would have to stay only until the mission was completed, at which time they would pay him everything they promised and Raji would be free to go. He promised that Leffort would not be permitted to cheat him again. All of this through Bruno’s smiling crooked teeth.

Raji wondered if at some point they planned to kill Leffort as well. He told Bruno it all sounded good, except that he needed more specifics as to how he would be paid and what assurances could be made for his safety once the software was delivered. They were back to square one.

Bruno was reaching the point of frustration. Thus far, he had taken pains to avoid direct threats of violence, though it didn’t take much to decipher fury from the beads of sweat flowing over the wrinkles on the fat man’s forehead. He said good night, turned, and walked out of the room.

Time was running out for Raji, and he knew it. As long as they believed that ultimately he would deliver, they would keep him alive. The minute they realized there was no hope, Bruno would turn to the dark side. When torture failed, they would kill him. Fareed took consolation in the fact that at least he had a means at hand to avoid the pain of torture. When the end came, it would be quick, though probably not a bullet, not in the hotel anyway. For now he was looking for an opening, some way to transmit the data. All he needed was a few minutes alone with access to a high-speed Internet connection, and it would be done.

Since being confined to the room Raji had wondered if they were watching him through hidden cameras. Minilenses and microphones could be concealed anywhere. He had searched the room with care, but the little devils that were on the market now were so tiny they could be easily missed-a flyspeck on the wall, a crack in the paint. He couldn’t be sure.

As a precaution, each time he loaded something new into his notes, Raji went through the same involved procedure. He donned his sport coat and took out his glasses. They were an oversize pair of spectacles with heavy tortoiseshell frames attached to a woven lanyard so he could hang them from his neck when not in use. He put them on, sat down in front of the computer, lifted the screen, and waited for it to light up. He checked to see if perhaps there might be an Internet connection.

There was none.

He assembled some papers off to the right side of the laptop, a couple of pieces of hotel literature that he propped up to cover the USB port on the side of the machine. This was his cover, thin as it might be.

Raji reached under the left lapel of his jacket and felt for the small rip in the seam. As soon as his finger found it he opened it up a bit, and then pinched the other end of the small flash drive, squeezing it out through the opening in the seam. He grabbed the tiny thumb drive, concealing it in his hand. The entire gesture looked as if perhaps he had merely reached under the jacket’s lapel to scratch himself.

He placed his closed fist under the papers along the right side of the computer and carefully slipped the flash drive into the USB port. A few seconds later it registered on the screen along the left-hand margin, popping open under the title “No Name.” It appeared just below the one that read “Specs.”

“No Name” was Fareed’s insurance policy against pain. If forced to do so by torture, he would deliver it to them.

Raji hit the drive entitled “Specs,” then selected the file called “Intel Notes” and opened it. He went right to the top of the document. It already contained several pages. He hit the Caps Lock key and moved the cursor to make the letters bold, then typed the words: “ IMPORTANT — VITAL.”

Quickly he typed in the information given to him by Bruno concerning the facility in the jungle. He described the pictures showing the antenna array, giving the number and estimating the size of the satellite antennas. He also described the large metal building and then typed the following: “Assuming the information to be true and accurate, mission appears much further advanced than current estimates. Project may be nearing completion. From photographs observed, based on vegetation and foliage, estimate facility to be within tropic zone, fifteen degrees north or south of the equator.”

Raji didn’t waste any time. He quickly saved the notes and ejected the two drives. As soon as he was done, he pulled the flash drive from the USB port in the side of the machine. Then he scratched himself under the lapel one more time. When his hand came out, it was empty.

He took off his glasses, folded them, slipped them into the case, and put it in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Then he took off his jacket and hung it up.

Raji kicked himself for not thinking ahead. Instead of bringing the flash drive, he should have tucked away one of the new international wireless broadband devices. They used cell band phone frequencies for connection to the Internet. They were not much bigger than a thumb drive and could easily be hidden in the lapel of his coat. While the connection was slower than high-speed Internet, he could have attached the software along with his notes to an e-mail. The entire package would have been on its way and out of their grasp within a few minutes. Fareed would have been free to throw a chair through the window and if need be, jump for it.

Instead he was playing for time, hoping for more information and praying that somehow he would find a way to get it out.

Just after three in the afternoon Bill Britain, head of Counterterrorism, knocked on the door to Thorpe’s office.

“Come in.”

The second Britain opened the door Thorpe looked up from his desk and said: “Did you get ahold of Madriani?”

“I did.”

Thorpe issued a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair.

“But he wasn’t easy to find,” said Britain.

Thorpe was relieved. He was also angry and frustrated with the lawyer and his two companions. “How the hell did they get away from our people?”