Decision Point

“Mr. Vengai?” she asked. “A moment of your time, please.”

Seeing that she had someone in tow, he softened his gaze and allowed a faint smile to pass across his features. “Of course, Ms. Nilani. What can I help you with?”

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she said. “This is Mr. Borelli. He’s quite interested in our cause, and wanted to be introduced.”

“Ah, Mr. Borelli,” Vengai said, offering his hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Borelli was a stout figure, almost portly, with thinning hair and an off-the-rack suit that fit improperly. His hands were soft. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Vengai. I’ve been looking forward to this since USTPAC announced you’d be in attendance. How goes the battle?”

“Not as well as we would like,” he said, “but it’s not over—what is the saying?—until the fat lady sings.”

“Well put,” Borelli said. “Well put, indeed.”

The man affected a near-British accent, but he obviously was American. “So, Ms. Nilani says you have an interest in our cause?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ve read about the situation quite extensively as part of my job, and I must say, it seems that the Tamil people have been very shabbily treated.”

“I see,” Vengai said. “And what do you do, Mr. Borelli?”

Borelli smiled then, and for a split second, a very different person was standing in front of him. “I work as an analyst, Mr. Vengai. In Langley.”

So, he was CIA. Interesting that he’d be so direct in his approach. “How goes the battle for you, then?” he asked.

The man laughed. “Don’t misunderstand, sir. I’m not here in any official capacity! I’m just an analyst. I don’t make all that much, but I’d like to contribute—provided that my contribution is completely anonymous.”

“That can be easily arranged,” he said. “Simply make your contribution with cash.”

“And should that go to you or to Ms. Nilani?” he asked quickly.

Damn the man. He knew that TPAC was a front. If he told him to give the money directly to TPAC, she’d have to deposit the funds in the main account; if he said to give it to him, she’d have a lot of questions. “Ms. Nilani can handle that for you,” he said with barely concealed ire. He wondered if Borelli were playing some kind of game, for his own amusement, or for more serious purposes.

“Very good, then,” Borelli said. “I’ll bring it by the office on Monday.” He offered his hand once more. “I won’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Vengai. Thank you.”

Vengai nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Borelli. Drive safely tonight.”

Recognizing the vague threat, Borelli grinned once more. “And when you return home, you do the same. Travel safely, that is.” Then he turned and walked into the crowd.

Ms. Nilani, who’d been silent the entire time, shook her head. “That was strange,” she said. “I’m not sure I understand what he was doing here.”

“Neither do I, Ms. Nilani, but I expect that you could find out. Why don’t you make a phone call and see what you can learn about Mr. Borelli?”

“Right now?” she asked. “In the middle of the fundraiser?”

At that moment Vengai saw his contact come into the room and linger near the kitchen doors. “No, but make no mistake, people like him come to events like this for two reasons—one, he wants to upgrade his contacts and has something he wants to sell, or two, he’s here to tell us that he’s watching. I have a feeling that it was the latter,” he said, waving her off. “But I want that information by Monday at the latest.”

“Of course,” she said, then turned and resumed her role in working the room. Briefly, he watched her go. She was good at her job, but not a very observant person. On the other hand, a person who did what he or she was told without asking too many questions was perfect for his uses.

Before he could be engaged again in a lengthy conversation, he moved quickly across the room to where his contact, a computer programmer named Tim Wright, was waiting for him. Wright’s appearance matched his profession: dark hair, cut short in a functional style, a short-sleeved, polyester dress shirt, khaki pants and loafers. He stood almost six feet in height, but wasn’t in great physical condition. The spare tire around his midsection suggested a life spent sitting, and not on the ab-cruncher machine at his local gym.

Vengai offered his hand in greeting when he got close enough. “Mr. Wright? It’s good to meet you in person.”

Nervous, Wright nodded. “Yes, I’m…it’s good to meet you, too.” He held up his attaché case. “Should we go somewhere to talk?”

“Yes, let’s get out of sight before you disappear into a puddle of sweat.”

The nervous man pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow as they ducked out of sight. Like most conference hotels there were any number of places that seemed to be in view of everything and yet completely secluded at the same time. Vengai led him to an unoccupied conference room that was set up for the next day. The dark room was illuminated only with light spilling in from a small break in the air wall that separated the one larger room into two.

“You are not used to this kind of…work, are you, Mr. Wright?”

“No, I’m usually as loyal and patriotic as they come, but I need the money.”

“Your words do not reassure me. How do I know that we won’t complete our business, and then I’ll step outside to find myself surrounded by federal agents?”

“Mr. Vengai, they may set up elaborate schemes in movies, but if I were caught trying to steal this software from the office, I wouldn’t be here. They don’t set up stings, just deal with what’s in front of them. I just want to get this done, get my money and get out of here.”

Vengai watched as Wright shifted his weight back and forth, carefully holding the case in front of him as if it were an explosive. He grabbed the handkerchief and mopped his brow once more but then immediately readjusted the case so it was away from his body.

“Show me,” Vengai said.

“There’s nothing to show, really. Your guys know how to upload satellite data, I presume?”

“Yes, of course.”

Wright popped open the case and pulled out a small box. He opened the box and displayed a portable hard drive.

“This contains the software to get me into military satellites?”

“Yes. This is a new program that I wrote. The software on here will give you access to virtually every military satellite in the world.”

“How is this possible?”

“The hardware components for military satellites are the same in almost every industrialized nation. Private industry tries to keep things proprietary, but the militaries are so concerned about what one has and one doesn’t that things are pretty similar. There are minor variations in the coding, but they are easily decoded by the algorithm included in the software. You must, however, be careful when you tap into an actively running program. The satellites can be fed and controlled with this software, but if there’s an active command running, and you try to piggyback on top of it, the analysts will see the deviation.”

Vengai grunted in disgust. “This seems worthless. How can I make use of satellites that aren’t running?”

“No, Mr. Vengai. You don’t understand. Unless there is current monitoring, you won’t be detected, and even if you are you can override and take over completely, but then they will trace it out eventually. Most constant monitoring happens on satellites that are tasked for research from universities. Most military-use satellites are simply tasked with a single event. When the program provides it, they move on with their mission, ignoring the satellite until they need it again.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see, but looking at what others do is not all I wanted. You promised more.”

“This software is not just passive observation of data,” Wright continued, warming to his subject. “You can send commands to the satellite, giving it a specific task, such as scanning satellite phone signals, surveillance operations and even bouncing remote detonation signals for embedded weapons. So long as the satellite isn’t being tasked with something else, your commands won’t be detected at all! With this software in place, you could peek inside a bedroom of the White House and no one would even know. The military would see it as simply their satellite passing by. If your guys are smart and things are well planned, you could use a Russian satellite to remote command a U.S. bomb and the Russians would be blamed, not you.”

“Yes,” Vengai said. “And if we simply want to watch what commands are being given to a satellite…?”

Wright nodded enthusiastically. “You can do that and be totally unobserved. It’s everything you asked for.”

“Good,” he said.

“And now…what about what I asked for?” Wright said. “I’m not providing this to you for free. I told you the debts I have to pay. The guys who want their money are serious, but I have a feeling that my luck is about to change.”

Vengai looked at the nervous programmer who talked so fast he had a hard time keeping up, but he’d heard the most important things he needed to know. He could spy on anyone and his satellite expert would have no problems using the device. “I have your payment,” he said, pulling an envelope from inside his suit and placing it on the table.

Wright barely hesitated before shoving the hard drive at him and grabbing the envelope. Vengai smiled as Wright flipped it open and, leaning over the table, laid out the bills. His hands trembled as he began to count the money, but the profuse sweating subsided as his thrill replaced his fear.

“It’s all there, per our arrangement,” he said. “Ten thousand in cash and the account number for a fund in the Cayman’s containing another ninety thousand. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind and decided that you want to be a part of our team.”

“No. I’m an American. I wouldn’t be helping you guys if I had any other way out my current predicament. I wouldn’t do well in the back jungles of some third-world country.”

Wright continued to count, Vengai rolled his eyes. Without hesitation he reached out, grabbing the back of Wright’s head, and slammed it into the table. Vengai took advantage of Wright’s dazed state—keeping one hand on the back of his head, he used the other to provide the counterpressure he needed and twisted until he heard the satisfying crunch of the vertebrae popping out of place, cracking, then severing the spinal cord.

Wright crumpled on top of the table. Vengai replaced the money in his coat and grabbed the limp form under his arms, then dragged him into the nearby audiovisual room. He pushed the rolling carts with projectors and microphones out of the way, and shoved the body inside and out of sight. Then he calmly closed the door, grabbed the briefcase and returned to the fundraiser.

He should have taken my offer, Vengai mused.

VENGAI SMILED WHEN HE opened the door to the luxury hotel room. He held the smile through the initial software boot up and even when they hit their first wall, but his smile turned into a smoldering glare when his technician told him that the code was incomplete.

He roared with fury and threw the glass in his hand into the wall. He paced around the room, ranting about Wright and the expense of setting him up. He should have known the sweaty technician was up to something when he handed over the hard drive so easily. The situation had nagged at him, but he knew Wright would never have kept the secret for long and so killing him had been the only solution, but it was too soon.

“Sir, I think I have something,” one of the technicians said.

Vengai stopped his ranting and stood in front of the computer. The young computer technician trembled as his fingers moved over the keyboard. He was new to the Ocean Tigers and very willing, but Vengai hated his timidity. The youth was a prodigy, and he recognized that while he could train the village idiot to fight there were few in their ranks that possessed the same kind of technical skills. Once he had gotten past his initial fear he reprogrammed all of their computers and helped to reroute the bank funds so nothing could be traced back to the Ocean Tigers. With his help they had stayed hidden and would remain so until he wanted the world to know the power they had.

“What is it, Dilvan?” he asked, trying not to snap. “What have you found?”

“He left the information for the pieces of the code. They’re attached to the bank account he set up. Once the money is verified in his account, then the code will be released.”

“Well, since he won’t be getting the money, how do we get the code?”

“I might be able to hack his bank account, but this guy was careful. The code for this will only recognize his computer. I need access to that if you want me to get the code.”

“Can’t you fill in the missing code?”

“No, sir. Computer codes are like a math problem. Sometimes if you have enough variables you can piece together what is missing by creating a formula, but he was clever and left an unsolvable puzzle without his personal code.”

“Damn! Fine, we’ll get you his computer. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be even more that we can gain from his system.”

“I would say that is certain, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“If I’m reading the code right, this program isn’t just a satellite program.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that this software is built to hack almost any form of military programming out there. If we can get the rest of the code, it’s possible that we could hack into almost any military or intelligence database in the world, completely undetected.”

Kabilan felt the smile return to his face. Wright’s deception was a minor setback, but it appeared that he was going to get even more than he’d paid for, if he was just a little patient. “We’ll get the code,” he promised. “One way or another.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Bolan sat on the bed, looking through the intelligence that Brognola had sent to his handheld computer. What they had so far was pretty minimal. Heather Daniels had been en route to Port Blair on a supply ship with a bunch of other missionaries, and they’d left out of Singapore. But there was a lot of water between those two points and hundreds of places to hide. He replayed the audio from the call.

Daniels’s voice didn’t waver as she spoke, but the tension in her tone spoke volumes as the fear behind the words resonated from the recording. The man who made the ransom demand, on the other hand, didn’t sound rattled or tense at all. He was direct and matter-of-fact and the forceful slap had likely come from someone else, not the man speaking. He also wondered what the audio techs might be able to pick up from the background once they’d had time to dissect the whole recording. Bolan checked the time and decided that Brognola was likely still at his office.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number from memory.

“It’s me,” he said when the big Fed answered.

“Let me turn on the scrambler. Done. Have you had a chance to review everything we’ve got so far?”

“I have,” Bolan said. “It’s not much to go on. Once we have everything that we need, Heather Daniels is likely to be dead if she isn’t already.”

“Agreed, but we’re working on it. We have come up with a theory that might fit.”

“Let’s hear it,” Bolan said.

“We’ve got an intelligence report on the region that mentions rumors that the KP Branch of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil have reformed in that part of the world.”

“The LTTE?” he mused. KP Branch was the group’s nickname, taken from the initials of its top operative, Kumaran Pathmanathan. “I thought the Sri Lankan government had finally put an end to those guys.”

“That’s the common belief,” he said. “But this group, calling themselves the Ocean Tigers, is operating a lot more like a military than a bunch of pirates. They’re organized, efficient and deadly. Their tactics are way too familiar.”

Bolan considered the information briefly. “It fits,” he agreed. “Do you have anything else on them?”

“Nothing concrete, but if this is the LTTE back in action, then you’re heading into a hell of a hot zone. They’ve always been the real deal, and if this is a reformation of the KP Branch, there’s even more going on beneath the surface than just piracy.”

“Interesting,” Bolan said. “What do we know about this KP Branch?”

“They were pretty secretive and mostly dealt with weapons smuggling, explosives and dual-use technology. They wreaked havoc in that part of the world for a long time, and destabilizing the government was their specialty. Supposedly they went out of business when their leader was arrested. It’s the dual-use tech that worries me.”

“What do you think they might be after? Civilian stuff with military applications?”

“That’s the most likely scenario,” Brognola said. “So maybe someone stepped into the role of leader and is taking them in this new direction. We just don’t know precisely what that direction is or who the man running the organization might be, but I do know that they can be formidable and if they are setting their sights on political captives their appetite has gotten a little bigger.”

“At least it’s a place to start,” Bolan said. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“One thing,” he said. “But I’m reluctant to mention it, since I know you’re already reluctant. It’s about the woman, Agent Michelle Peterson.”

“What about her?”

“She wasn’t lying when she said she did field ops for the CIA and the NSA, but she ended up getting pulled from the field toward the end of President Daniels’s last term. It was only his intervention that got her a spot on his personal detail.”

“Why was she pulled?” Bolan asked.

“She had a mission go bad. Really bad. She was working a case in Libya and was taken. They held her and tortured her for two months. When she finally got out of there, it was six months before she could walk again. They wanted to retire her, but the President intervened and she ended up assigned to him. According to her file, she was diagnosed with severe PTSD.”

“That’s not all that surprising, considering what happened to her,” Bolan said. “Not many people can live through a situation like that without problems.”

“That’s true,” Brognola said. “But I wanted you to know. Despite the fact that he’s no longer in office, President Daniels has an enormous amount of influence with the current administration, and he and this woman are obviously close. And she might be unstable. If something goes wrong, it could come back and bite us right on the ass. I tried to talk him into letting you go this alone, but he wants someone who is interested in his daughter’s safety and will make it a priority. He knows that any other operative will put the mission first and he wants to make certain that his daughter isn’t collateral damage. He can talk a big game about her not being the objective, but I guarantee that she is Agent Peterson’s objective.”

Bolan sighed. “We’ll just have to hope she’s tough enough to handle it,” he said. “I prefer to work alone, but the President insisted, so I’ll just have to make the best of it. I can always find a convenient place to stick her if she becomes too big of a problem and then deal with Daniels later.”

“It’s your mission, Striker, but taking her into the field might be a good way to get yourself—or her—killed. I’ve never been willing to lose an operative to satisfy the politicians, even the President.”

“I appreciate the heads-up and I’ll let you know if things are becoming problematic. You’ll get back to me with any additional intelligence? We need to get moving on this quickly if Heather has any chance of coming out of this at all.”

“I should have more for you in a few hours,” he said.

“Thanks, Hal. We’ll talk soon.”

Bolan clicked End on his cell phone and flipped back through the file one more time. There were things he would need in country and even more than usual if he couldn’t convince Peterson to stay in the States and provide support. He knew she wouldn’t, just as she likely knew he’d try anyway.

Bolan wasn’t a sexist. He’d met any number of women capable of doing good work in the field. It was never a question in his mind of capability, except on an individual level, and it had nothing to do with gender. But in his experience, a woman in the field could be distracting, and in a situation that was personal—as it was in this case—a person was less likely to make objective decisions and that almost always ended badly. Bolan knew that he personally operated most effectively when he worked solo, pulling support from individuals in the area who could serve as resources to the needs of the mission at that particular moment, rather than dealing with the complexities of a partner or a full team.

He pulled out his laptop and booted the system. After going through the installed security protocols, including thumbprint and retinal scans, he opened his contacts folder and began to search through them. One name came to the top of the list, but Bolan almost groaned aloud at the thought of dealing with this man. Still, Bashir Faizal, for all his flaws, was as good as money could buy and in this case, it might not cost him anything.

Bolan picked up his phone and began to dial. Bashir’s resource phone, as he called it, required a password. When Bolan heard the tones he dialed the password and waited as the call rerouted. He got an answer after two rings.

“This is Bashir.”

“Hello, Bashir. Matt Cooper.”

“Ah…my old friend! Long time. Who can I help you blow up today?”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on blowing up that drug boat, but who would have thought they booby-trapped their own stash?”

Faizal laughed. “I told you they would,” he said. “Remember?”

“I remember,” he said dryly. “Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Same old Cooper, no sense of humor for these things,” he said. “All right, I’ll let it go for now. How can I help you? I still owe you for saving my life.”

“You owe me twice, as I recall,” Bolan said.

“You only risked yourself one time for me, my friend. The other time you were saving your own skin and I got to tag along.”

“Fair enough. I’m putting together an op in that part of the world, somewhere in the Bay of Bengal, if my intelligence holds up. Hostage rescue.”

“The Bay is bad news, Cooper. The word is that the Ocean Tigers are prowling those waters these days and they aren’t like normal pirates.”

“Who are the Ocean Tigers?”

“I don’t really know who they are—no one does—but I do know that they are a patch of bad that you don’t want to get pricked by.”

“Are they the kidnapping kind?”

“They have ransomed some. But if it’s them, then you may just as well save yourself the trouble of coming. Decent pirates treat their prisoners like they would treasure, because this is how they make their money. The Tigers, they only ransom a handful of their prisoners, and then they still play games, making people pay and pay. The rest they toy with, making demands no one can meet, then executing them as some kind of political statement. Military and law enforcement ignore them because they’re too dangerous to tangle with and have too much money. Not like the Somali pirates at all.”

“Hence the need for an operation, Bashir. I’m going in before they have an opportunity to execute this particular hostage.”

“Does this one hold state secrets or something? Diplomat’s daughter?”

“Bashir, I’m about to change the operation target to you.”

“Fine, fine, what do you need?” he asked. “If it’s not too outrageous, you’ll get it.”

“I’ll get everything I need because your life—twice—has to be worth at least that,” he growled.

Faizal laughed again, and agreed to get him whatever he needed.

Bolan ran through his list and hung up the phone with Faizal before he could ask him more questions. He picked up Daniels’s picture and ran his finger along the side of it again. He couldn’t put his finger on why this mission was nagging at him until he thought about how much Peterson cared about the young woman. He sighed as he put the picture down.