Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [67]
“Theft.”
Fajer looked in pain at the word. “I assure you this is as unpleasant for me as for you. What I require is quite simple. I must know if the government is alerted to an extensive network engaged in planting code on a large number of computers. That is all.”
“The government is a big place.”
“Of course. I mean within your province. No more.”
“For how long?”
Fajer shrugged. “I’m not an expert on these things, but as I understand it, the worms, if that’s the right word, are being quietly planted now. Once enough are in place, then at a predetermined point they will all be activated at once. I have explained that I can only assist this one time.”
“Does anyone know about me?”
Fajer looked horrified. “Of course not! My word of honor! It is assumed that someone in my position has contacts. I was just asked to use them. This unpleasantness repays an obligation, and I will be considerably in your debt. You’ve been very helpful to me these last years, and I’ve come to regard us as friends. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. If there was any other way, you can be assured I’d do it.”
Carlton took time to retrieve a bottle of water from the minibar and open it. He took a sip, then said, “I don’t know…”
“My personal guarantee to you will be one million dollars, half to be paid now, half when the operation is finished, sometime before the end of the year.” Carlton was motionless. “In addition, you will be paid five percent of what is collected.”
“How much will that be?”
Fajer smiled. “I have no faith in such a figure. It seems too ridiculous. I asked the same question and was told your share would be no less than fifty million dollars.” Fajer stopped, stubbed one cigarette out, then elegantly lit another.
Fifty million dollars! Carlton’s mind raced at the possibility. He could retire at the end of the year, begin his new life. But did he trust Fajer? Was he hearing the truth? An Internet financial scam seemed plausible enough, but it was very different from what they’d been doing. It was outright theft, and if a den of thieves fell apart, who knew how it would end?
“Are you quite certain I’ll be kept out of it?” he asked. Risk, his broker often said, was directly associated with return.
The Arab placed his hand to his heart. “On my honor.”
Carlton willed himself to slow down, to think this through, but he found his mind a fog. Fifty million dollars! He couldn’t get past the number. “I can do this.”
“Excellent,” Fajer said, smiling. “We will continue with the drops as before, and I still desire the kind of information you’ve been providing. There is no change in that, but I ask you to set up an electronic mail system for contacting me in the event you learn something definitive on this other business. I will leave it to you.”
That had been just over two months ago. The first half million was safely in his Aruba account, invested in a balanced portfolio. Carlton stepped from the car and walked to a picnic table where he sat, as if lost in thought. Instead, he surreptitiously scanned the area to be certain he was not being observed. Satisfied, he walked to a tree as if to urinate. As he stood there, he slipped the disk into a hole. A few minutes later he was on the highway, expecting to be home within the half hour.
31
LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM
SOUTH LAUREL ROAD
THURSDAY, AUGUST 24
7:09 A.M.
Brian Manfield awoke with a start.
He’d slept with his window undraped so that the first rays of the rising sun flooded the small room with light. He hated alarm clocks, though one was set on the stand beside his bed. He reached across the naked back of the young woman and switched it off.
In the bathroom Manfield turned on the shower and, as he waited for the water to warm, urinated at great length in the toilet. Finished, he climbed into the shower, where he washed and shaved. Six feet two inches tall, weighing 185 pounds, Manfield was fit and worked to stay that way. With thick dark hair and deep blue eyes inherited from his mother, he was exceptionally handsome. After toweling off,