Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [35]
“I admit listing all of them as possible targets is speculative, but it’s speculation based on text,” Jeff said. “Those names came from various communiqués. They’re not only after what could be called hard targets, structures connected to our government and military, but also after our economic infrastructure and landmarks.” Jeff’s mouth was dry and he found the words difficult to form. “They’re very into symbolism. And Al Qaeda’s targeted the World Trade Center previously. Their purpose with those truck explosives was to topple one of the buildings into the other, taking them both down like dominoes.”
Carlton snickered. “They were wrong, weren’t they? In fact, Al Qaeda isn’t all that effective, if you look at their track record. And they certainly seem to prefer the Horn of Africa. It’s difficult to see them posing a genuine threat to us from … where are they? Afghanistan, of all places.”
“It’s all there,” Jeff insisted, pointing at the documents he’d assembled. “Most of it, at least. Enough.” Though he was struggling to contain himself his voice rose a bit as he said, “We need to do something.”
Carlton looked at him sharply. “Have you any idea how many threats a day are processed by the Company? Each one is given a score. If I pass this one higher up, it will receive, I’m telling you categorically, the lowest-priority score that exists.”
Jeff’s heart sank. “You can’t just sit on it,” he said in near desperation.
Carlton paused. “I’m not going to sit on it, as you put it. But we need more information or no one will act. I’m going to hold on to this for a few days. Don’t be concerned. There’s plenty of time yet. In the meanwhile, see if you can get me something with meat on the bones. But be assured that either way I’ll pass it along in time.”
Driven by a mix of frustration and fear, Jeff skipped his trip to New York City that weekend, and the one after, each time telling Cynthia that as much as he wanted to see her, he was buried by a pile of work and wouldn’t be able to relax even if he did come. With a passion born of desperation he worked eighteen hours a day, every day, pulling his two assistants from their IT assignments and instilling in them his own sense of urgency as he put them to work on the project. Accessing real-time chat rooms and other sources previously identified as Al Qaeda communication channels, what emerged was a terrorist plan on the fast track. Collecting intelligence wasn’t his job and shouldn’t be necessary: what he’d already done should have unleashed the enormous resources of the Company.
By Tuesday, September 4, after preparing a far more comprehensive presentation of what he considered to be a highly credible threat to America, Jeff went directly to Carlton’s secretary. “This is urgent. Will you see to it George gets this at once? He’s expecting it.” She’d smiled stiffly and taken the file.
He didn’t like leaving it that way, but given the nature of his relationship with his boss and the bureaucracy of the Company, his hands were tied. It wasn’t how he wanted to handle it; it was how he had to handle it if he wanted anything positive to happen.
Back in his office Jeff continued with his relentless schedule, sleeping on his couch, washing up and shaving in the restroom. Carlton e-mailed him that he’d forwarded the file to the appropriate teams, but despite his effort and long hours, nothing more of consequence emerged. Beside himself with anger and frustration, he called Cynthia in Manhattan on Friday, September 7. ARM’s offices were at the World Financial Center, just across the street from the World Trade Center.
“I