Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [103]
Fajer would show them that Arabs were strong, that there was no God but Allah. For all his personal wealth and power, he was secretly certain that Westerners despised him. The women he bought pretended enthusiasm, but he knew they looked at him with contempt because he was an Arab and a Muslim, just as did the men with whom he did business. Without his money the West would condemn him to the most menial of places. Soon, very soon, he would set all that right.
* * *
George Carlton stepped off the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport and punched in Fajer’s number. Answer, you bastard, answer!
“Oui?”
“I’ve arrived. Where do we meet?”
“How was your trip, George?”
“Fine, just fine,” Carlton grunted. “Where do we meet?”
“You know the Notre Dame Cathedral?”
“Of course.”
“Take a taxi to the left bank of the river, immediately opposite the cathedral. You will see a small park just east of the famous Chat Noir cabaret. I will be seated there awaiting you. Say in one hour? And do not be so agitated. There is no reason. You have wasted a trip to a most beautiful city. Perhaps after you have had some rest, I can show you the sights.”
Carlton clicked off the phone.
* * *
It seemed to Fajer that fall would come early to Paris this year. He sat on a bench at the small park and smoked a Habana cigar as he waited for the American. The triangular park touched the street beside the Seine. On the other two sides the expanse of grass and trees touched three-story apartment buildings, with two narrow alleys running away at an angle. Notre Dame loomed just across the river. Fajer wondered idly how it would look remade as a mosque.
Carlton had been useful over the years, but never so much as in these last few months. Until two weeks ago, Fajer and Labib had known with certainty that no one in the U.S. government who mattered had detected their jihad. The information had allowed Labib to launch ever more sophisticated malware into the electronic maze of the Internet. He’d been willing to risk creating a far larger pool of hackers than he’d originally contemplated; today ten times as many viruses and variants were in the ether as they’d intended, all thanks to George Carlton.
Fajer had not been surprised at the ease with which the American had been seduced and bought. His experience in business was that all Westerners were for sale. It was merely a question of finding the price or that lever unique to the individual. It wasn’t all that difficult. With government officials, it was even easier.
All and all, Fajer was pleased with Carlton, but this sudden meeting was troubling. Two weeks before the American had passed on information that told him US-CERT was targeting their viruses. Fajer had been agitated at the news, but Labib had assured him it made no difference at this point. Still, it was disturbing.
Two Frenchwomen walked by Fajer on their way to work and he eyed them appreciatively. He had to admit the women of Paris had a certain grace and fashion sense he’d never seen elsewhere. It was as if the women in London and New York aped their French sisters.
Fajer wondered for a moment what it would be like in Paris on September 12. Though the bulk of the attack was against the United States, many of the viruses also targeted European computers, and of course the entire structure of the Internet would be under attack. Would he notice anything from this same bench? Would there be chaos in the streets? Or would the damage be confined to office buildings and financial institutions? He’d planned to be home in Riyadh for the event but now reconsidered. Why deny himself the pleasure of witnessing disaster firsthand?
A taxi pulled to a stop fifty feet away, and he saw Carlton climb out. Paying the driver, Carlton looked about, squinting in the morning sun, spotted Fajer, then walked toward him. The man was still wearing the suit he’d flown in and had not shaved.