out of hand. But the coincidence between your report and the fact he worked on this very problem sent chills down my spine. And in that nosing around I told you about, I discovered that my computer had been searching the NRO workstation you identified in your report. The problem is, I never accessed that workstation. I checked the date and time in question and thought I was losing my mind until I pulled up my Uber receipt for that night. Bottom line is someone accessed my computer to check out the NRO workstation without my knowledge.”
“And you suspect Fung?”
“Your report practically confirms it. He was the last person in the office after me that night. If I didn’t know any better, it’s almost as if he wanted to leave my digital fingerprints on that machine to point at me if some problem were ever discovered.”
“Isn’t your computer biometrically passcoded?”
“Yes, but the Red Team has developed a device called PassPrint to overcome that kind of security and—”
Watson shut her eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”
“What?”
“Larry was the point person heading that up.”
“How do you want to proceed?”
“Let me start by first rechecking the satellite software all over again and running a new diagnostic. I think it’s important we find tangible evidence that this really is a problem. Not taking anything away from your people, but correlation isn’t proof. I’d like to nail that down, and if I can do that, it might yield more clues.”
“How long? Time is not our friend here.”
“I can have something to you by EOB today at the latest.”
“Good. While you’re banging away on that, I’ll have some of my people begin a discreet inquiry into Mr. Fung.”
“Yes, please do, and discreet is the operative word. He’s innocent until proven guilty, and if we’re wrong about him and he finds out what we’re doing, he’ll be outraged and I’ll lose one of my best people for no good reason. Worse, he’d blab about this thing all over town just to ruin our reputation. Maybe even sue us.”
“I understand completely. We’ll keep everything under wraps. I look forward to hearing from you by end of business today.”
“Will do. And please keep me posted on anything you find out about Larry.”
“You have my word on that,” Foley promised.
The video call ended and Mary Pat texted the director of the NSA’s counterintel outfit, referred to in the media as the Q Group, requesting assistance on the Fung matter.
* * *
—
CHIBI read the text exchanges between Foley and Q Group a few hours later, highly amused.
70
CIELO SANTO, PERU
The overnight flight from Dulles to Jorge Chávez in Lima was the fastest Jack could find, but it still had a layover in Dallas. His only luggage was a carry-on Osprey Farpoint 40 backpack toting the bare essentials.
Arriving a little after five in the morning, he splashed his face with cold water in the men’s restroom after he deplaned. He grabbed a venti drip, dark roast, no-room Starbucks coffee, waiting until seven before boarding a one-hour puddle jumper to the regional airstrip near Anta in Carhuaz Province north of Lima.
In the colorful and scrupulously clean little town of a few thousand, Jack found the store he’d located on the Internet, where he purchased a flimsy but serviceable folding knife and a disposable lighter, two items he couldn’t carry on a plane. They were already over eight thousand feet, the air cooling considerably from Lima’s. A snowcapped peak loomed in the distance beyond the low hills surrounding the town.
From Anta he caught a brightly painted GMC school bus that made the long and winding climb high into the Andes. The bus was crowded with locals, mostly working-class men, to judge from their callused hands, worn clothes, and meager belongings. Short-statured, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and sharp, broad noses, the indigenous Quechua rode shoulder to shoulder in grim silence. The man next to Jack on the bench seat sat silent as a stone the entire trip, staring wordlessly out of the windows. Jack didn’t mind. He didn’t feel like talking anyway.
Two hours into the four-hour trip, the blue skies darkened and rain fell like Noah’s flood. The unexpected torrent surprised Jack; this wasn’t the rainy season, according to his brief weather research. This far south of the equator, the weather was flipped from Virginia’s. It was supposed to be approaching Peruvian summer, but the chill air suggested the mountains hadn’t checked their calendars yet.
The steepening climb slowed the straining engine, and the bus rumbled through the