Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [30]
Nina blinked. "On the memory stick. That was fast."
"When I opened the device up, it was clear the interior circuitry was manufactured in North Korea. The chips were made at their number two microchip plant in Pyongyang, and it was probably assembled there, too. But what is interesting is the fact that this stick was further engineered at a later date. It was retrofitted with the USB port, and inside I found some routers manufactured in Mexico."
"Any clue who did the retrofitting?"
Captain Schneider shook her head. "Not yet. But I did find this."
She reached into her folder and took out a digital photograph. "This is the surface of the main bus port, magnified fifty times. Note the serial number..."
Nina took the printout. A sequence of thirteen numbers and letters was stamped in the polymer surface.
"You can trace this?"
Captain Schneider nodded. "Given enough time. There are about five thousand firms in the United States, Mexico, and Canada licensed to manufacture this bus port. Each of these firms have thousands of clients who purchase these ports..."
"So you're saying it's impossible?"
"Not at all," Captain Schneider replied. "The Defense Department, the NSC, the Commerce Department, even the State Department keep tabs on the sale of such technologically sensitive devices. One of them is bound to have this serial number on file, but that's a lot of information to process, and from a lot of different locations."
"How can I help?" asked Nina.
"I need access to a computer with a large memory and a random sequencer. That's the only way I'm going to be able to collate so much data in a short time frame."
Nina didn't hesitate. She touched the intercom button.
"Jamey here."
"I want you to set up Captain Schneider at a station that interfaces with the mainframe. She needs a random sequencer and DSL access," Nina said.
"Roger. I'll put Milo on it. The sequencer should be up and running in five minutes."
"Okay?" Nina said to Captain Schneider.
"That's great. Thank you," Captain Schneider said, rising. "I should be able to determine precisely which computer firm did the retrofitting within the next few hours."
5
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 1 A.M. AND 2 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
1:04:12 A.M. EDT
Tatiana's Tavern
Jack was treated like a guest. Yuri directed him to a private restroom in the back of the tavern. The old man even provided bandages and disinfectant for Jack's cuts and scrapes. As he was cleaning up, Jack heard engines outside in the parking lot. There were no windows in the bathroom, so he toweled off his face and slipped his shirt over his head.
In a typical New York neighborhood, shots fired in a bar would have brought down police, ambulances, press, and maybe even a fire engine. Since the gunfight here, however, the only sirens Jack had heard were in the far distance — the likely response to the JFK plane crash.
Tatiana's itself was isolated, the lone occupied building along a stretch of auto graveyards and vacant lots. The only way police would have known about the gunfire was if one of the patrons had called 911, and Tatiana's patrons clearly wanted as little to do with the police as its owner. So Jack wasn't all that surprised when he discovered the vehicles that had pulled up outside were not part of any government arm — local, state, or federal.
Yuri met Jack at the door and escorted him into the tavern area. The space was now filled with a dozen men, young and old, lean and fat. All of them appeared to be Eastern European, with blond hair, fair skin, and light eyes. They spoke to one another in Ukrainian. The bodies of Arete's men were gone. Alexi's corpse had vanished as well. The men swept the floor, moved broken tables and chairs outside. A carpenter hammered at the shattered, bloodstained floorboards. Others were slapping plaster and fresh paint on the bullet-riddled walls, while two bearded men, armed with AK-47s, guarded