listening. He was good at it. Nobody thought he was a threat. He even caught up on OAKLEAF. Which was progressing in fits and starts. The Russians hadn’t made breaking into their military Internet easy.
He saw Irlov and another Russian, Nikolai, the smartest programmer he’d ever met, every six weeks or so. Once in a while Nikolai helped him solve some minor technical problem so he’d look good at Tailored Access.
Actually, he kinda liked Irlov. Mostly they met in random parking lots and hotel rooms, but a couple of times the Russian had arranged for cooler stuff, like a Turkish bath in Philly. Old-school spy stuff, like Brian was a real secret agent. Irlov usually slipped him a few hundred bucks at the end of every meeting. Nothing huge, just enough to remind him that they were partners.
* * *
For the next couple of years everything was copacetic.
Until Brian, not for the first time, found himself hard done by. The two million was almost gone, and yeah, their life had improved. But he wanted more.
“Don’t you think it’s time for another app?”
“Even NSA might notice if you sell two apps no one uses.”
“Money makes the world go round.”
“Don’t be greedy, Brian.”
“Just ask the folks in Moscow, huh?”
A pause. “You’re sure you want me to do this?”
“Yes.”
* * *
Their next meeting was a month later, a strip-mall Chinese restaurant in those same Maryland exurbs where his wife had refused to live. The Taste of Beijing, molded plastic booths and pictures of the food behind the counter. The place empty at 2 p.m. Rebecca wouldn’t have been caught dead in here. Funny part, the food was good. Brian had learned over the years, Rebecca’s snobbery blinded her to certain simple pleasures.
“Anything on GALAPAGOS?” A Tailored Access project to infiltrate the wireless systems of the private yachts owned by Russian oligarchs and Saudi princes.
“Lots.” Brian snacked on his sesame chicken. “Did you ask?”
He saw Irlov didn’t even know what he meant. Then comprehension dawned. “About the money? Of course. There’s no budget.”
Irlov was obviously lying, annoying Brian more than if he’d just said no.
They went back to eating. Brian wasn’t even sure why his back was up. Two million was real money. And Irlov might take care of him again eventually. If he played along.
But he didn’t want to play along. No more begging for respect. Not with his wife. Not with this Russian.
“GALAPAGOS,” Irlov said.
“I can’t remember.”
“Brian. The people I work for will not take this lightly.”
Brian shrugged.
“Just work with me. Please. Give me some time.”
Brian felt like he’d made his point, had Irlov moving the right way. Plus he wanted to think through, was he really going to push the Russians?
“GALAPAGOS, yes, we’ve made progress—”
* * *
Two nights later he was lying with Rebecca, postcoital, spooning.
“You may not see much of me for a while,” she said. “We think there’s a new mole. High-level.”
“Russian?”
“Why else would I care?”
“At CIA? That would be fun.”
“It would. We’re not sure yet. Maybe downtown…” The White House. “Could even be your shop. Whoever it is has great access.”
Could even be your shop. Brian hoped she didn’t notice the sudden uptick in his heartbeat.
* * *
A month later the OAKLEAF team had an emergency call. It lasted four hours, ended with grim faces. Within a day the outlines of the disaster leaked to the rest of TAO. A billion dollars gone. Total reboot.
Like they knew we were coming.
He called Irlov, demanded an off-schedule meeting. Twenty-four hours later they were at a rest stop on 95 in Maryland. Cracked asphalt and pigeons and screaming kids. The ugliness suited Brian’s mood.
“You’re gonna burn me.”
“What?”
“You just blew up a billion-dollar project. You could have been subtle about it, strung them along—” And then Brian realized. “But no, you wanted to stick it to them. You figure sooner or later it leaks, the New York Times runs the story, black eye for the NSA.”
“I don’t make those decisions.”
“Gonna use me like a whore, you need to pay me like one. Where’s my money?”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, you did. Don’t be greedy. Or what? You’ll out me? Please.” After their last meeting Brian had read up on the history of American agents for the Russians. They often went dark for months or years. The Russians never gave them up. Why would they? Handing Brian over would just mean they could never use him again.
“Two million dollars. And not in some Swiss account. Money you could use.”