Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [117]
“Terrorists. Muslim terrorists.” Jeff could scarcely believe his own words. This was all so unreal. He lifted his hand and looked at the blood for an instant.
“What would they want with viruses?” Ivana asked.
“These are very sophisticated ones,” Jeff said. “And very special. They destroy computers.”
“Vlad wasn’t like that,” Ivana insisted. “He used to be, but not anymore. He told me he’s been building viruses for a European security company to test against their software. They kept asking for more sophisticated ones, so he said he built some very tough viruses, with encryption and cloaking characteristics. He said they were very pleased.”
“They lied to him,” Daryl interjected. “They’re using the rootkits he designed to launch an attack against America and Europe. It’s going to hurt, even kill, a lot of people if we don’t stop it.”
“Vlad is dead. So is my father. I can’t help you.” Ivana’s face was set as she made another sharp turn, the tires squealing as the car leaned violently to the side.
The sudden movement made Jeff’s shoulder throb. “Easy,” he cautioned.
“What do I care? My husband and father are murdered. What do I care?”
“We’ve lost people we cared about too,” Jeff said. “Other people are dead and more are going to die if we don’t stop this. Your husband was used. His work has been put to a very, very bad purpose. You can’t leave it like this. You just can’t.” As he spoke, Ivana placed her hand on her stomach. Could she be pregnant? Jeff wondered. Maybe that was the way to get through to her.
“Think of the future,” Jeff said. “Did your husband keep records?”
Ivana was now crying, her face streaked with tears. “He kept all his work in an external drive.”
“The police will be at the apartment by now,” Daryl pointed out.
“Not there,” Ivana said, shaking her head. “We were moving. The drive is at our new apartment.” Ivana swerved the car left, then right, her jaw clenched shut.
Jeff thought. “As long as you have it, you’re in danger. That’s why they killed your husband; it’s why they’ll keep trying to kill you and anyone else around it. Give it to us. They’ll know we have it, and you’ll be safe. Please,” he added, his voice hoarse with desperation, “the lives of thousands depend on you.”
Ivana started to tell them to go to hell, then placed her hand over her stomach again. She paused to think. “There is an expression that should be Russian. Perhaps you know it. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ So I help you.”
61
MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
DMITROSVSKY ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3
7:37 P.M.
“Excellent,” Manfield said as the car they were following came to a stop. The taxi driver had been skilled in keeping up.
Vakha eased his car to a halt, then sat idling as they watched Ivana exit the Lada, followed by Daryl and Jeff. With Ivana leading the way the three entered one of the newer apartment buildings that had sprung up about Moscow in the last decade.
“The same as before,” Manfield said. “Ease up to the front. I won’t be long. Thank you, my brother.”
Vakha grunted, then watched the assassin exit his taxi. Once again he wondered what he was up to. A Chechen who looked and behaved like the perfect English gentleman. There was a story in that, but Vakha was sure he would never learn it.
The man paused at the Lada, looked inside momentarily, then entered the apartment building. Vakha engaged the clutch and crept slowly toward the front entrance.
* * *
With every passing moment Ivana’s despair gripped her more tightly. In a few short minutes she had lost her father and husband, the two most important men in her life. She’d seen how the gunman had looked at her, had noted the muzzle of the weapon paused for an instant on her heart before swinging to her father. She’d nearly died. She wished she had.
The doors to the elevator opened on the ninth floor. “This way,” she said to the Americans. At her new apartment she fumbled with her keys before opening the door, turning on lights as she entered.
Not even an hour ago Ivana had stood here with her father filled with dreams