Brad Thor - State Of The Union

“Yeah, let me look at it,” said DeWolfe who crossed over to where Harvath was sitting and took the device from him. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

DeWolfe had powered the device up and was scrolling through its programs. “I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”

“I know. It’s an antique,” replied Harvath as he looked over DeWolfe’s shoulder to see what he was doing. “Gary hates almost anything computerized, so I figured the organizer was part of his cover somehow.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never seen one of these things before?”

“Of course I have, but by the time I got my PDA, it was about a quarter of the size of that thing.”

“When you were a SEAL, didn’t you ever work with a burst transmitter?”

Harvath’s eyes widened. “A burst transmitter?That’s what that thing is supposed to be?”

“Yup. It uses one of the early modem cards with a pop-out phone jack. Did you find any telephone adaptor plugs in that bag?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Harvath holding up a small clear plastic box, “I did, but how do you know about all of this?”

“When I was studying communications and electronic surveillance at the Agency we got to play with one of these. The device was set up to look like one of the early PDAs. It actually was a pretty simple and pretty clever way to camouflage what, in its day, was a cutting edge burst transmitter.”

“Speaking of camouflage,” interrupted Morrell, who had walked over to see what DeWolfe was looking at. “Where’s that Tabard IR suit I lent you back in DC?”

“It’s in safe hands,” replied Harvath, his attention still focused on the burst transmitter.

“Whose hands? I’m responsible for that and those Tabard suits aren’t cheap.”

“Kate Palmer is holding onto my stuff for me until I get back.”

“Secret Service Agent Kate Palmer?” asked Carlson. “The one who works at the White House?”

“Yeah,” said Harvath, motioning for DeWolfe to hand the device back to him. “Why? You know her.”

“No, but she’s hot. You don’t suppose when we get home you could-”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” replied Harvath, “you’re not her type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Carlson.

“It means, I know what kind of guys she likes and you’re not it.”

“Oh yeah? Well maybe you’re wrong. What kind of guys does she like?”

“Guys like Avigliano-tall, blond, andgood looking.”

“Oh, so in other words she’s got no taste. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Fuck you,” said Avigliano from across the room.

Harvath ignored them and turned back to DeWolfe. “The burst transmitters I’ve worked with were in conjunction with field radios, not telephone lines. Plus, they were much smaller. Why would he want to lug something like that around? Why not upgrade and go with something more compact?”

“From what I understand, the Dark Night operation was established in the eighties and after the Soviet Union fell, the team was retired, so there was no need for it. Don’t get me wrong, though. This thing might be a little out of date, but it’s still good technology.”

“I’ve never seen one like this masked with all that PDA software. Do you know how it works?” asked Harvath.

“Sure,” said DeWolfe, ejecting the PDA’s stylus and reaching across Harvath to tap the screen. “Let’s say you were a handler like Gary and had several different operatives you were going to need to communicate sensitive information with. The burst transmitter allows you to type out your message, encrypt it, and then send it in a quick burst over the telephone. To the uninitiated, it sounds just like a fax tone, but if you have one of these little beauties and the proper encryption key, you can unencrypt the information and read the message on the screen here.”

A fax tone, thought Harvath, recalling the shrill tone he had heard over Gary Lawlor’s home phone when he had redialed the last number Gary had called before disappearing. That must have been what he was hearing,a burst transmission.

“On any op,” continued DeWolfe, “you would want to compartmentalize as much as possible, so Gary would have had a specific encryption code for each one of his operatives. All he would have to do is select that code program and make sure it was up and running before he spoke, or ‘bursted’ for lack of a better term, with that particular operative.”

“And those code programs are in that device?” asked Harvath.

“They should be. The software is not only a type of camouflage, but it also acts as a gateway to the encryption programs.”

“How so?”

“On these models, it was as simple as pulling up the calendar function and going to a specific date. The date is the actual gateway for your encryption programs. When you tried to enter an appointment on that date, you would be prompted to enter a security code. Normally, it’s a four-digit numeric code derived from a specific mathematical equation; something that would have relevance for both the operative and his handler. To unlock the encryption program you would have to do a simple math problem and then use the answer as your code. You type it in and the encryption program would then engage and you’d be ready to go. The important thing to remember is that Gary had a lot of operatives.”

“So?”

“So the more operatives he had, the more code information he would have had to keep straight. It has been my experience that the more numeric codes you have to assign and memorize, the more likely you are to start assigning them based upon things that are easier and easier for you to remember, but which would have no relevance for any unauthorized persons trying to hack into your system.”

“That makes sense,” said Scot, remembering one of Gary’s favorite mottos. It was an acronym he was always referring to-KISS, Keep it simple, stupid.

“But remember, it’s a two-step process. You’d need to know how to access the general domain for the operative, such as a birth date, and then you’d need the numeric code to open the encryption program so the two of you could communicate freely.”

“I suspect you would also need to know,” added Harvath, “when and where the two of you were supposed to connect.”

“That goes without saying,” replied DeWolfe. “You could have all the other information, and yet if you were sitting at a payphone at the train station waiting for it to ring, when you should have been at a payphone at the drugstore, you’d be shit out of luck.”

No kidding, thought Harvath. Even though he now understood the true nature of the burst transmitter, it was of no use to him without knowing how to unlock Frank Leighton’s encryption program or what the emergency contact plan was.

As the time for their encrypted communication with the president drew near, DeWolfe did a final check of his equipment and then outfitted Harvath with a headset. Morrell pulled one of the overstuffed chairs up to the coffee table and donned a headset as well. Avigliano handed him a briefcase and then slid over three of the large hard shell equipment cases from the other side of the room.

“I have Goaltender on the line,” said DeWolfe. “We are ready to proceed.”

“This is Norseman,” said Harvath. “Go ahead, Goaltender.”

“Is BenchPress on the line?”

“Yes he is,” replied Harvath who had never cared much for Morrell’s ridiculous code name; a codename he knew Morrell hadn’t received from his superiors or his peers, but rather had chosen for himself.

Even though Harvath had grown to like Morrell, that still didn’t change the fact that the man could be an arrogant, insufferable prick a lot of the time and his code name seemed to perfectly reflect his inflated sense of self. Though on many occasions Harvath had been tempted to suggest an alternate two-syllable code name that might more suit the man such asdipshit,dumbass,dumbfuck, ordickhead, he had miraculously managed to keep his mouth shut and thereby had refrained from doing damage to a friendship that was still very much in its infancy.