“I won’t bother trying. You did us a favor by hauling out the trash.”
Gavin glanced up from the desk where he sat, the bid letters all opened. “Looks like the Iranians put in the highest bid.”
Foley frowned. “Not the Chinese?”
“China was a close second, and Russia third.”
“The sanctions must have really put a hurt on old Yermilov,” Clark said.
“The Iranians obviously found other investors to sweeten the pot,” Jack said. “Or sold a shit-ton of weapons-grade uranium.”
Foley turned to Watson. “You would have turned over our national security apparatus to the Iranian mullahs?”
Watson fought back a grin. “I was planning on giving all four of the bidders the algorithmic key. They would have been as busy screwing each other over as you guys.”
“And made a lot more money for you,” Jack said, “collecting all four bids.”
Watson smiled defiantly. “You’re damn straight.”
“Eventually, they would have figured it out and come hunting for you,” Foley said.
“With the kind of money I would have made? Good luck finding me.” She took another sip of water.
Foley checked her watch and said to Clark, “An hour before the Iranians arrive. We need to get moving.” She said to Watson, “We’re going to wire you back up, so don’t get cute.”
As per Foley’s instructions, each of the three bidders were texted that they had won the bid, and each was scheduled to arrive at a different time and a different location around London that Foley had prearranged.
To protect Watson from kidnapping by a bidder too cheap to pay up, Clark would drive Watson to each location, using SDRs to avoid any chance of a tail, while the rest of the team would screen in two other cars for further protection.
Foley also couldn’t allow the three bidders to tail one another. She mobilized local CIA assets to ensure this didn’t happen. Her plan would only work if each of them thought they had won the bid exclusively.
Foley handed Watson three thumb drives.
“Each of these contain an algorithmic key that will give them limited access to a controlled area of the IC Cloud. When they log on, they’ll see they’ve purchased the real deal.”
“Let me guess. You’ve put something else on those drives.”
“When they connect to our cloud, our cloud will connect to them. We’re the ones who will gain unlimited access to their computer systems.”
“They’ll figure out what you’ve done, eventually,” Watson said.
“Not before we’ve raided their cookie jars.”
“So after I’ve held up my end of the bargain and pulled off this intelligence coup for you, what do I get out of all of this?”
“A traitor’s noose, I hope,” Clark said.
“I doubt that will happen. Hanging women isn’t very politically correct these days,” Watson said, smirking.
“There’s an alternative solution that’ll never make the papers,” Clark said. “Trust me on this.”
“Or you can take my offer,” Foley said.
“Which is?”
“You’re not going to like it. But it beats an early grave.”
Foley was right. Watson hated it.
But she took it anyway.
86
THREE HUNDRED MILES DUE WEST OF THE AZORES
Foley flew back to D.C. on the same Boeing C-40B jet she’d borrowed from the 89th Airlift Wing at Joint Base Andrews the day before.
The C-40B was the military version of the 737-700 business jet and, like the President’s much larger Air Force One, deployed secure data and comms for the fifteen cyberwarfare experts she brought on the flight over to London. Between them and the hastily assembled working group at the NSA, they had managed to build, test, and deploy the three algorithmic keys with the worm needed to carry off Foley’s espionage coup: the penetration of the Chinese, Russian, and Iranian computer intelligence systems.
The cyberwarfare experts—men and women, mostly in their twenties and thirties—specialized in offensive cyberoperations. Several were elite members of various armed forces Cyber Mission Teams, in joint service to U.S. Cyber Command.
The only addition to the flight manifest was the new passenger, Amanda Watson, cuffed and secured by two of