“You’re talking about launching the cyber equivalent of a nuclear-tipped missile, just because somebody looked at you sideways in a dark parking lot. And unlike a nuke, once a cyber weapon like Malice is loosed, it is out there for anyone to discover and turn back around on us.
“This isn’t a fire-and-forget system. The moment it detonates, you have to send a team into the blast zone, right into the rubble, to physically recover it. Every device it has touched, every packet of data it has stowed away inside, all of it has to be accounted for. That’s what you don’t understand.”
“I do understand,” Nicholas countered. “That’s why all I want is access to the source code. I don’t want the entire missile. I only want its guidance system.”
“So you can do what? Play Frankenstein? That could end up being even worse.”
“Lydia, I know you don’t like any of this.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” she replied.
“Which is why we have to do it this way.”
“First you tell me that for your hack to be convincing, you’ve got to turn over all my personal emails, including ones that are a little too personal. Then, you drag Malice into this—something I shouldn’t even be discussing with you.”
“If there was another way to do this,” said Carlton, “we wouldn’t need to ask.”
“There has to be.”
“There isn’t,” Nicholas replied. “Believe me. For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been trying to come up with one. Your personal emails, along with Mr. Carlton’s, are the Trojan horse. They’re the only means by which we can get Malice into the pipeline and figure out who ordered the hack.”
“I can tell you right now that Bob McGee is never going to authorize this.”
“You let me worry about Bob,” said Carlton. “What I need you focused on is coming up with a plan to get Nicholas inside the Center for Cyber Intelligence.”
“Inside?” Ryan repeated with a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Malice can only be accessed from inside,” Nicholas stated.
“You know you’ve got a bit of a reputation at the CIA, right? They’ll go batshit if they see you in there.”
“Which is why nobody can see him,” Carlton clarified.
“Any other requirements?” she asked, turning to face him. “Maybe he can ride out of Langley on a unicorn.”
The Old Man smiled at her. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”
Ryan didn’t smile back. Instead, she asked, “How much time do we have to put this together?”
“Nicholas needs to go in tonight.”
Ryan stood up from the table.
“Where are you going?”
Walking out of the study, she replied, “To start a hot bath while I look for some razor blades.”
CHAPTER 48
* * *
* * *
MALTA
“I’m not riding in a fucking ambulance,” said Gage as he looked out his window at the approaching vehicles.
“Yes, you are,” said Harvath. “Haney too. That’s an order. We keep a low profile and we don’t cause any trouble. That goes double for the nurses. Understood?”
Gage nodded and Haney flashed him the thumbs-up.
When the jet came to a complete stop, Staelin opened the cabin door, extended the air stairs, and said, “On behalf of your anonymous flight crew, we’d like to thank all of you for flying Central Intelligence Airways this afternoon. We know you have a choice when traveling to faraway lands to interact with extremely bad people, and we appreciate your choosing CIA.
“Please check your seatbacks and overhead compartments for any weapons you may have brought on board and remember, you were never here.”
There was a round of applause from the team, Staelin bowed, and they deplaned.
In addition to the ambulance waiting to take the two wounded team members to the Naval hospital, there was an older passenger van, and a black SUV with tinted windows.
Standing outside the SUV was Deborah Lovett, who had recently arrived from Rome. A tall, attractive woman in her midthirties with long blonde hair, she looked more like an Eastern European tennis star than a CIA case officer.
“Let’s guess which vehicle is here for Harvath,” said Morrison.
“A hundred bucks says he’s kicking himself for using up all his ketamine,” replied Gage.
Harvath shook his head as he helped retrieve bags from the plane’s cargo hold. The air smelled like salt water and jet fuel.
Once Gage and Haney had been loaded into the ambulance, he told Staelin, Barton, and Morrison, who were on their way to base housing, that he would catch up with them in a couple of hours.
Picking up his bag, he walked over to Lovett and introduced himself.
“Do your friends want a ride?” she asked, after they shook hands.
Harvath looked over his shoulder and then back at her. “They’re not my friends.”
She smiled as he opened her door for her. Closing it, he was almost positive he heard Barton shout some sort of an insult his way, but it was drowned out by a pair of F-18 Hornets as they went screaming down the runway.
Hopping into the passenger seat, he asked, “Where are we headed?”
“To the SCIF,” she replied.
SCIF stood for Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—a secure room in which classified information could be briefed and discussed.
Lovett was dressed in a black pantsuit, and while it likely had been intended to showcase her professionalism and downplay her attractiveness, it failed. Harvath tried not to look at her and instead focused his eyes on the airfield beyond the windshield.
As they drove, she provided him with an update. “We received confirmation that the Libyans picked up Halim and the satellite phone salesman. They also liberated the refugees at the compound. The Red Crescent has them now.”
Harvath was glad to hear it. “Any blowback from the firefights?”
She shook her head and he made the mistake of looking at her as she did. Once he locked eyes with her, it was difficult to look away.
Fortunately, she had to pay attention to where she was going and broke contact.
“Libyan government forces took credit for the losses that the Libya Liberation Front militia suffered,” she said. “That’s a good PR coup for them. Which, I heard, was your idea.”
“Wasn’t me,” he replied. “I’m not that smart.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.
“That’s us up ahead,” she stated as they approached an unremarkable two-story building whose only distinguishing features were the antenna arrays and clusters of satellite dishes on the roof.
Pulling into a parking space reserved for military officers, Lovett grabbed her credentials from the center console, a briefcase from the backseat, and, with a smile that displayed her perfect white teeth, motioned for Harvath to follow her.
He remembered being shown into a similar facility by a similarly attractive CIA officer at Al-Dhafra Air Base outside Abu Dhabi. She had turned out to be extremely good at her job. Harvath wondered if Lovett would prove to be as well.
Showing her ID to two Marines standing guard in the lobby, she led Harvath through a series of security doors and down a long hall.
Its walls were lined with pictures of aircraft and assorted commendations from American units that had been based at Sigonella over the years.