The Geneva Strategy

  “Who was piloting the drone?”

  “That’s the real problem. Somebody accessed the drone’s dashboard. They piloted it remotely.”

  “We’ve been hacked,” Castilla said. He did his best to keep his voice even, but the idea of the drone program in the hands of a bad actor was enough to make his mouth go dry in alarm.

  Perdue sighed. “So I thought, but our IT guys insist that it’s impossible. They say drones go haywire all the time and crashes are frequent.”

  “Are they aware of the fact that two of the parties with partial drone passwords have been kidnapped? That one has been recovered but the other is still missing?”

  Perdue nodded. “They are aware, sir, but they still believe that the recent password change and firewall bolster make the drones resistant to a cyber attack. They think that this situation is a case like the one in Arizona.”

  Castilla frowned. “What case in Arizona?”

  “An apprentice military pilot decided to take a drone out for a spin despite the fact that he wasn’t yet certified to fly one. He crashed it, of course.”

  “Is there any evidence that this drone was piloted by someone within the program?”

  Perdue rocked his hand back and forth. “Not yet, but the investigation is just beginning. I suggested that they also review the clearance of everyone in the program as a precaution. If someone on the inside piloted the drone, it may raise the specter of a double agent in the system.”

  “Which is worse than a pilot taking a drone on a joyride.”

  “We’ve changed all the passwords on every existing drone once again and took several offline until we can figure out where it’s coming from.”

  “Ideas?”

  “If it’s been hacked? Iran or China.”

  Castilla groaned. “Not Iran. We’ve just opened up communications with them and they do this?”

  “Perhaps it’s payback. They claim to have finally reverse-engineered the Sentinel drone they captured inside their airspace a few years ago.”

  “Their ability to do that was always in question,” Castilla said.

  “Could be China. They’re expert hackers.”

  “Sure, but to what end? The Chinese hack to steal corporate trade secrets to allow them to reverse-engineer our products and advance their own technological push. We haven’t seen any incidents where they’ve taken an aggressive, militaristic stance against the U.S. Why now?”

  “I have no idea, but we have a team in Croughton working on it and hope to have some clearer answers soon. In the meantime we’re keeping the information flow contained. We’re just lucky it shot at a CIA house and no civilians were involved. It was recorded on radar by entities outside of Croughton, of course, and we received a call about it. We told them that we had a glitchy drone without mentioning the fact that shots were fired. So far they seem to have accepted our explanation.”

  “Tell the CIA to halt all drone movement out of Djibouti as well until they can figure out how this one went rogue.”

  “They’re not going to like that. Especially since the drone in question has been taken offline and was nowhere near Djibouti. They have several missions nearing fruition and a halt would mean tracking the target to a new location. It takes thousands of man-hours to isolate some of these terrorist ringleaders enough so that a drone strike is possible and a delay would mean starting all over again. Their budget is approved by the appropriations committee and they’ve been warned not to incur any cost overruns.”

  Castilla slammed his hand on the desk and Perdue jerked in his seat.

  “I don’t care. Offline isn’t good enough. The CIA reports to me on the implementation of the drone program. The last thing I need is a drone carrying Hellfire missiles being manipulated by an outside source. If something like that occurs there won’t be enough money in the world to make it right. Tell them I said to halt it.” Castilla’s voice was sharp and Perdue sat up a bit straighter.

  “Of course, Mr. President. I’ll contact them immediately.”

  “And as soon as you know something funnel it to me. I’ll try to keep away from any conversation on the UK side until I hear from you.”

  “Will do,” Perdue said. He strode to the door and as soon as he closed it Castilla punched a number on his phone. When he heard Fred Klein’s voice he didn’t bother with niceties.

  “I’ve just had a conference with Perdue over the drone in the UK. I understand Russell was involved.”

  “I had a call in to you. I suppose you’ve just heard the gist of what I was going to tell you.”

  Castilla stood and started pacing. “Any news from Russell?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s gone dark. The last bit of information I received was that Dr. Taylor died from wounds she sustained during the car chase. Before she died Taylor claimed that her kidnappers wanted her to aerosolize her memory drug. She claimed to have done it, but it resulted in wildly unpredictable effects. Shortly after our conversation it appears as though Russell tossed her phone so I’ve been unable to reach her, Smith, or Beckmann.”

  “What about Howell?”

  “Recovering. I’ve asked him to head to Croughton to poke around and ask some questions. He retains excellent contacts with MI5 and will go in that capacity. Nothing will be said about Covert-One.”

  “Other than the news of Dr. Taylor, did Russell say anything else?”

  “She wanted all the information we could obtain on Katherine Arden. It turns out we have quite a bit of it, because the NSA has been collecting her conversations for almost two years.”

  Castilla sat back down. “Attorney-client privileged information?”

  “NSA hasn’t bothered to parse it out.”

  “I thought Congress made it clear since the leaks that attorney-client conversations are to be off limits.”

  “Those with U.S. citizens under indictment were always supposed to remain privileged. The situation with foreign clients is not as clearly defined and the American Bar Association is pushing hard to extend the protection.”

  Klein’s voice was mild, but Castilla could hear an underlying thread of anger. While Fred Klein ran a covert group of operatives, he tried to never employ them to spy on American citizens and had been a vocal objector to the several CIA-sponsored domestic surveillance operations over the past few years.

  “You’re angry about it,” Castilla said.

  Klein’s sigh was audible over the phone. “I am. No one knows better than I that we live in a very dangerous time, but I just can’t help but think that the day we begin to turn on our own is the day that we’re finished as a democracy. We’re beginning to swallow our own tail.”

  “Tell me about the drone. Any ideas?”

  “None. I’m hoping Howell can find out more. But you may recall that we’ve changed the passwords once already and this drone still took flight. Whoever these hackers are they’re quite good.”

  “If they’re hackers. Perdue reported that the source isn’t confirmed as of yet. I’ve already ordered all of the drones taken out of commission until we figure out what’s going on here.”

  “That’s the second piece of bad news I have for you today. When reports of this got out Djibouti began to inventory their drones and they found that six are missing.”

  Castilla stood and resumed his pacing. “Why didn’t Perdue mention this?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. I got this information just a few minutes ago from a source of mine.”

  “Stolen?”

  “They’re not sure. The manifest lists them, but a physical check run today couldn’t locate them. You may recall that the entire drone program moved nearly overnight from Camp Lemonnier to Chabelley Airfield after a series of crashes, the final one into a neighborhood. They’re thinking that these fell through the cracks somehow.”

  “And how likely is that? It sounds like they’ve been stolen. Size and reach?”

  “Various. One the size of a hummingbird with under an hour flight time, one much larger t
hat can fire multiple NATO rounds in automatic or semiautomatic mode, and a third that carries two small rocket-propelled grenades. The last three are unarmed video surveillance drones. All three can fly for eighteen hours without refueling, are equipped with radar refracting paint, and have an anti-radar array in their belly.”

  “We have got to find Rendel. He’s the last kidnap victim still missing and linked to the drone program. There has to be a connection here. Has the Department of Homeland Security or the FBI gotten any closer to finding him?”

  “No. And with Smith trying to stay below the radar in the embassy action and Russell gone dark we have to assume that their investigation is stalled until we can get them some more intelligence.”

  A sharp rap at the door echoed in the room. “Come in,” Castilla said. Perdue burst into the office. His face held a frantic expression and he began to speak, stopping when he saw the receiver in Castilla’s hand. Castilla held up a palm to still him.

  “Please keep me informed,” he said to Klein and hung up. “You look terrified. What is it?”

  “The other shoe just dropped. The Iranian ambassador is calling. He says that he has information that a drone was used to disperse a chemical weapon that just killed almost thirty people and left two in a severely disoriented state in a small village at the border with Iraq. He said that the preliminary information he has shows that the drone came from the U.S. base in Djibouti. They’re decrying our use of chemical weapons.”

  Castilla stilled. It was at times like these that his much-admired ability to keep focused during a crisis came to his aid. He took a deep breath and kept his voice level.

  “What does Djibouti say?”

  “They’re flatly denying any involvement. They say that they’ve disabled every drone in their control.”

  “Which leaves six drones outside of their control. Their inventory revealed that some drones are unaccounted for.”

  Perdue groaned.

  “I’ll need everyone in the situation room, now. Where’s the secretary?”

  “Nearby. She’s in Israel but perhaps she can meet with Iranian diplomats to settle things down while we investigate.”

  “I need Rendel found, now.”

  “I agree. I was told that all available personnel are on the search, but they’re coming up empty. And Djibouti asked if we have any information on the chemical that may have been used. They say the preliminary reports are that the people went crazy, but in different ways. Some screamed and dropped dead, others laughed as they stabbed their neighbors and then they stabbed themselves. They continued to laugh as they bled out. The Iranians provided grainy satellite footage.” Perdue put a shaking hand to his head. Castilla felt a wave of sympathy for him. “Should I alert USAMRIID? Chemical weapons are within their purview, aren’t they?”

  “I’ll handle that. You gather everyone to the sit room,” Castilla said. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” Perdue strode out and Castilla redialed Klein. “More bad news,” he said when Klein answered.

  “I’ve heard. It sounds suspiciously like the troops in Djibouti.”

  “Agreed. We need someone in USAMRIID to review Taylor’s research. The minute you hear from Smith put him on it as well. I’m calling Rick Meccean. He’s headed to a conference in Geneva that will be attended by some of the top pharmaceutical companies in the world. Perhaps someone there will have a researcher who can give us ideas for an antidote for this drug.”

  “The Saudis have identified Smith in the video feed. We’ll need to deal with them very soon. They’re pushing for an Interpol red notice to go out on him and possibly Taylor and Arden. They haven’t realized yet that Taylor was killed.”

  “And I’ll tell the Saudis what I think about them holding a U.S. citizen hostage. They’d better not issue that notice. This is shaping up to be a cataclysmic international catastrophe. I guess I don’t have to tell you what will happen if another one of our lost drones takes to the sky with a chemical weapon on board. Let’s stop it now.”

  Castilla hung up, took a deep breath, and headed to the situation room.

  49

  Smith, Russell, Beckmann, and Arden all watched as the French coastline came into view. Winter maintained a stony silence as he piloted the vessel, but Smith noticed that he was smoking a cigarette, presumably one of Beckmann’s. While Smith deplored smoking he had to admit that in this case it had worked as a peace offering and he wasn’t going to argue against it. His relief at leaving behind the UK and its myriad cameras was profound.

  “Is it safe to pass by so close to Calais? Won’t they see us and wonder where we’re going?” Russell asked.

  “The border patrol is overworked and in disarray. Their biggest concern is immigration toward the UK, not in the French direction, because to be an illegal on the Brit side is infinitely more appealing than on the French side.” The boat rose and fell on the waves and Smith steadied himself by holding on to the back of the copilot’s seat. He handed the binoculars to Arden.

  “Hear any drones?” she asked. Russell scanned the sky.

  “Impossible to hear anything over the roar of the engine,” Smith said. “But I didn’t see anything. I’ll be relieved to get to Dieppe and head inland just the same.”

  They landed at a tiny harbor an hour later as the evening sky was darkening. Winter pulled into a small dock that appeared to be attached to a private home. He’d taken the last few miles slowly, explaining that the water was shallow, shoals prevalent, and the dock illegal but generally ignored by the authorities. Smith breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped off the boat back onto dry land.

  “There’s a jeep and a motorcycle at the back of the house. I’ll take the cycle, I suggest you all take the jeep. Keys are in a magnetized metal keyholder attached under the chassis at the left front corner. Leave it somewhere safe and get me a message about where to find it,” Winter said. He stepped up to Arden and gave her a hug. “Be careful with this crew.”

  “You know I will,” she said. Winter put his hand out to Beckmann. “Thanks for the smoke.”

  Beckmann returned the gesture.

  “Let’s go,” Russell said.

  “I’ll stay behind and close up the boat. I don’t need to know which direction you decide to go,” Winter said.

  Smith jogged down the dock and up a small rise toward the back of the house. To the right he saw a carport, and underneath it the jeep and motorcycle. He retrieved the keys from the holder and started the car. He drove around to pick up Arden, Beckmann, and Russell. Ten minutes later he was on a main road headed in the direction of what he hoped was Paris. No one spoke. Arden sat up front with him and stared out the side window. Smith switched on his phone and waited until it obtained a signal. When it did he dialed Klein. The call rolled into voicemail, as it usually did.

  “I’m checking in. We’re near Dieppe and headed toward Paris,” he said.

  Less than a minute later the phone rang.

  “So glad to hear from you,” Klein said. “I was concerned when I heard about the drone.”

  “So you know. Any information on what’s going on?”

  “Only that it did, indeed, launch from Croughton, but that they are claiming that someone else controlled it. And it wasn’t Djibouti.”

  “Russell thinks we have a mole.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s just as possible that a hacker has accessed the drone program passwords. It’s still imperative that we locate Rendel,” Klein said.

  “Agreed. Any further intelligence on his possible whereabouts?”

  “None, but I have some bad news.”

  “Hold on a minute.” He drove a bit farther and pulled over at a wider section of the two-lane road. “I’m ready.”

  “Interpol has issued a red notice for you. The Saudis put pressure on them. It’s clear that the Saudis think they’ll have a stronger bargaining position if you’re in custody. We’ll work on getting it rescinded.”

  “I have a false passport. I’ll use it until you
can get the matter cleared up.”

  “I’ll have another one waiting for you at a house outside Geneva. You need to get there sooner rather than later.” Klein ran down the drone strike and the theory that Taylor’s drug had been used. “We’ve put two scientists at USAMRIID on the project to review her research, but there’s a piece missing.”

  “What piece?”

  “A report that she claims to have written. We have an email where she refers to it and claims that she encoded a portion, but we couldn’t find anything on her hard drive or in print.”

  Smith stared into the inky blackness around him. Something niggled at the outer edges of his memory, but he was so tired that he was having a hard time retrieving the thought. After a moment more it came to him.

  “Before she disappeared she gave me a manila envelope that contained a report. Brand is aware of it, because he said he’d accessed it on USAMRIID’s main database. She scrawled my name in blue crayon on the front cover. There are a series of numbers below my name. It looks like a date, so that I never thought about it, but perhaps it’s the encoded location of a second report?”

  “Where is this envelope?”

  “Desk side drawer.”

  Klein gave him the coordinates for the safe house outside Geneva.

  “There’s a conference beginning tomorrow afternoon. Some of the biggest pharmaceutical players in the world will be there, as will Richard Meccean. I’m going to have the researchers at USAMRIID put their findings on the secure network for you to access. Any insight about this drug that you can bring to the table will be appreciated. There is also a large weapons stash at the house as well as secure communication devices.”

  “Got it.” Smith hung up and pulled back onto the road.

  “Where are we headed?” Beckmann asked.

  “Safe house outside Geneva. We need to be there before tomorrow afternoon. But we need to split up long before the Swiss border.”