Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [129]
Daryl thought for a moment again. “The one by the airport.”
The driver audibly sighed. “Which airport? There are two with Hiltons.”
“Charles de Gaulle.” That, Daryl decided, should be far enough away.
* * *
Daryl checked them into a suite, then helped Jeff bring Ivana to their room. Removing the shower curtain, Jeff spread it across one of the two beds and helped Daryl lay the Russian there.
As Daryl began removing Ivana’s clothing, Jeff went back downstairs, asked the desk clerk where he might find an all-night pharmacy, and walked the two blocks to it. There an Arab clerk rang up his collection of bandages, Tylenol, and tape.
“Here,” Jeff said as he entered their room. The wound was still oozing blood from around the wet towel Ivana had pressed to her shoulder. “I’ll be in the business suite if you need me,” he said, to give the women privacy as Daryl closed and taped the wound.
The business suite was open twenty-four hours a day. A sleepy young woman smiled and asked him to enter his room number and name on the sign-in sheet as she gestured toward any of the free computers. Jeff had the room to himself. At one of the computers he connected the precious hard drive and scanned it for content. Separating the source code and executable files, he zipped them, then uploaded the files by FTP to a secure drop site. He sent an e-mail to Daryl’s office alerting them to its presence, even though she’d be calling in a few minutes. The simple process seemed anticlimactic to him after so much running and so many deaths. He felt let down and stupefied, didn’t move from his seat for a few minutes.
When he returned to the room, Daryl had finished. Ivana was sipping from a cup and gave Jeff a weak smile before collapsing onto the pillows. Within minutes she was asleep.
“It’s off,” he said. He still couldn’t believe that part had come so easily. After all the blood, there should have been more to it. He was exhausted and imagined Daryl must be too. He tentatively examined his shoulder. The wound had bled a little again, but otherwise didn’t feel too bad.
Daryl nodded. “I’ll call the office, then take a shower.”
Later, Daryl and Jeff lay in bed, speaking in whispers. “Does she need a doctor?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. She wasn’t cut very deeply, and the bleeding’s stopped. She won’t go to one, anyway.”
Jeff said nothing for a long time. He felt Daryl’s deep, steady breathing and decided she’d fallen asleep. Almost to himself he said, “We were very lucky.”
“Yes, we were,” she murmured.
* * *
“You don’t have to leave just yet,” Jeff said at the airport the next day. Daryl was back at the hotel, in contact with her office.
“I do,” Ivana said. “I have a father and husband to bury.” She was dressed in clothes Daryl had bought that morning and looked exhausted. “And my mother needs me.”
Jeff took her arm and drifted with her to a wall away from the busy concourse. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”
“It was not your fault. It is fate. You helped kill the assassins. I am in your debt.” She looked at this American and wondered how he could have done such things. He seemed so gentle.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Jeff didn’t want to let Ivana go, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. She’d shown a toughness he’d never imagined possible for someone who was so clearly not usually a violent person. He wondered for a moment what the world would think if they knew the whole story. Would they condemn her husband for what he’d done? Or laud her for risking everything to undo it? He doubted that in all his life he’d ever meet someone like her again.
“Nothing.” Ivana leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “God bless you both.”
* * *
“Did she get off?” Daryl asked as Jeff entered the suite.
“Yes. She hid the pain very well, I think.”
“She’s a tough lady.”
“That would describe her. For sure…” Jeff’s voice trailed off. “Any progress with saving the world?”
Daryl looked tired, but had that determined look he’d grown to know when she was on a mission. “The code is encrypted, but NSA’s working on cracking