Net Force - Tom Clancy [110]
He forced himself to take several deep breaths. Easy, Vladimir. All is not lost.
He re-ran his security scans. There were no other signs of the intruder, so he was good, whoever he was. But there was no way to avoid breaking the trip if you went down certain electronic corridors. Like very fine strands of spider silk, the trips were always placed with utmost care, put in places short of where most would begin to look for them. Even a passer-through looking for such wards would usually miss them. Theyd be strung across at knee-level, nearly invisible, offering so little resistance theyd never be noticed. If you stepped over one, chances were you would then break the next one. Once broken, the threads could not be restrung.
It could have been a coincidence, some hacker exploring, but he did not believe that, not for a moment. No, he was sure that it was a Net Force operative, using the information gathered during the chase. Had the positions been reversed, had he been tailing somebody in VR, he could have tracked somebody with what he would have gotten during that run. As much as it galled him to admit it, if he could do it, so could someone else.
He had underestimated them once. He would not do so again.
So. Either they knew who he was, or they were close to figuring it out. If it was still the latter, with the resources of Net Force at their disposal, it would be only a matter of time.
And then? Ah, then was when it would get interesting. They had no hard evidence, he was certain of that. And in order to get such evidence, they would have to probe a lot deeper into his system than they could possibly have managed thus far. And if they did know who he was, they would know how impossible that was going to be. They would know his capabilities. The key to his cipher existed only inside his brain, it was not written down anywhere, and they couldnt legally force him to divulge it. Without the key, his coded files might as well be blocks of iron-nobody could open them, nobody.
Plekhanov leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and considered the problem. Knowing who he was was not the same as proving what he had done. He had, of course, run scenarios in which Net Force or some other law enforcement organization had uncovered his identity before his plan came to full fruition. As unlikely as that possibility had seemed, he was too old and too experienced to have not at least considered it. In his worst case scenario, they knew who he was and they had proof of what he had done-the net rascals, the bribery, the killings, all of it.
There was a point beyond which even that would not matter. Once his people came to power, he would be practically invulnerable. Extradition requests would not be denied outright. That would be impolite. An investigation into the charges against the valuable and honored friend of the people would, however, eventually come to the conclusion that it was not in the best interests of the country to turn him over to the Americans. Not that his people wouldnt throw him to the wolves if they thought they could get away with it. They would. Fortunately, the newly elected officials would not only owe him for their jobs, there would exist also a detailed record of how they got those jobs. To abandon him to the beasts would mean those responsible would fall off the sleigh with him. He had learned a long time ago that self-interest was more dependable than any amount of gratitude.
This was distressing, of course. A blot on an otherwise perfect plan, but not crippling, not this far along. He would keep a careful watch on things, proceed with extra care, but keep going as before. Ruzhyo was in place. Any sudden activity from Net Force, and the Rifle could be fired to offer them more confusion. Past a certain point, nothing they did would matter, and that point was fast approaching.
Wednesday, October 6th, 7:06 p.m. Quantico
Michaels was still chewing on the news that Ray Genaloni was dead, along with his mistress and a bodyguard, as he wound the meeting down. Richardson had already