Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [110]
A small, nondescript car pulled up to the curb, dropped off Bob Ash-ford, and then took off in the same direction as the van.
“Do we have any idea who he is yet?” asked Harvath as Ashford approached.
“We think he may be a former Yemeni Intelligence Service operative, but we’re not sure.”
“Based on the way he conducted his surveillance detection routes, he’s had formal training. And if that’s true, he won’t be an easy interrogation subject.”
“Suffice it to say that the people he’s just been handed over to will get to the bottom of who he is, sooner rather than later,” said the MI5 man. “Trust me.”
Harvath didn’t doubt it. There were certain things the Brits did very well and were able to keep away from the press. One of those things was the interrogation techniques they used to drain intelligence from suspected terrorists.
He was about to ask if the techniques involved things the American press found so hateful like calling terrorists names and hurting their feelings when Casey emerged from the Internet café and hurriedly walked over to them.
“I think we may have caught a break, but we’re going to need some real muscle in there.”
“Let’s get to it then,” said Harvath.
He took a step forward but Gretchen put her hand against his chest and stopped him. “Not your kind of muscle, Prince Charming,” she said, turning to look at Ashford. “His.”
CHAPTER 53
Once Casey explained what she wanted and why she believed the café manager not only had it, but was lying to her about it, Bob Ashford went straight inside and turned the woman’s world upside down.
Law enforcement in the U.K. had exceptional powers to deal with terrorism. Ashford also had an incredibly powerful personality. He had a way of being polite, yet terrifying all at the same time. He left no room for argument and was very clear about what would happen to the manager if she didn’t cooperate, immediately.
When he asked her for identification and began to question her about any past difficulties she might have caused for police, her tough facade crumbled.
Within minutes, she had not only confessed to the café’s keystroke-logging program, but had explained how it worked and had blamed it all on the café’s owner. Casey had been right. The café not only spied on its customers, it probably trafficked in their personal data as well. Without an Iron Key, very few people were safe anywhere.
Ashford didn’t much care about what the café did with its other customers’ data. What he wanted was what the man they had apprehended outside had typed into his computer.
The manager pulled up the information for the terminal and printed out all of the man’s keystrokes. Unfortunately, there weren’t very many. He had logged on to his Skype account, searched for another Skype user named Jamal, and made one call before leaving the café and being taken down.
Casey sat down and pulled the man’s Skype account back up, but he had deleted everything.
“I just did a search for any accounts with the name Jamal,” she said.
“And?” asked Harvath
“And there’s so many, Skype doesn’t even list them all. Without knowing which drop-down menus he clicked to focus his search, we won’t be able to zero in on him.”
“What about going to Skype directly?” said Ashford. “They have London offices.”
“You can try, but they’re not going to do anything other than talk to you without a judge’s order.”
Harvath removed one of his cell phones and sent a text message to Nicholas. Moments later, a response came back. Yes. The Israelis are rumored to have already cracked it.
Excusing himself, Harvath stepped outside and called the Old Man.
“Did you get him?” Carlton asked when he picked up his phone.
“We did. He ran SDRs for about an hour and then slipped into an Internet café where he made a Skype call.”
“Do we know who he called?”
“No. All we know is that it was another Skype user named Jamal. The Brits can lean on Skype via their offices here, but that could take a while. Word on the street is that the Israelis have cracked Skype.”
“A few months ago, I