The Red Syndrome (15 page)

Before falling asleep, I thought about Saleh. Who was he? Even more
important, who was the guy at the bank who could decipher and follow
the instructions? I'd like to talk with him. Then it dawned on me. Very
recently I'd read in a magazine that a rare manuscript by Abu Yusuf
Yaqub ibn Ishaq al-Kindi had been found in a forgotten archive in
Turkey. The story had attracted my attention because the manuscript discussed monoalphabetical encryption. In addition, I knew I'd heard that
name before. Mussa, my Mossad Arab customs instructor, came into my
mind. With his own unique flourish on combining fables, proverbs, and
daily wisdom, he'd told us that the Arabs proudly claim Abu YusufYaqub
ibn Ishaq al-Kindi, who lived in Iraq in the ninth century. The Arabs call
him the firstArab philosopher, he'd said while touching his gray mustache.
All previous known Arab philosophers were not pure Arabs. AI--Kindi was a
prolific writer who wrote two hundred forty-one books. Keep their pride in mind, and familiarize yourself with other subjects ofArab pride. Believe me, it
will always prove to be an asset when you make a professional contact. From
Mussa we learned that al-Kindi had been a mathematician; now,
according to the magazine article, it appeared he had been a clever code
breaker as well.

The article described how in the newly discovered manuscript, alKindi had outlined exactly the method of breaking an encrypted text in a
mono alphabetical cipher. Had the encryption method for the messages
sent to the bank been chosen because it was connected to a subject of
Arab pride? It would explain why they had chosen such a simple encryption. The connection, if any, was too vague. But still. I combined it with
the Arab name mentioned in the decrypted message. It's a beginning, I
concluded, before falling asleep.

I woke up first with a backache. A garbage truck in the street was making
its annoying early-morning noises. I hadn't slept so badly in a long time.
I looked in the bathroom mirror: My eyes were red and my cheeks
sunken. Not a happy sight to show a woman in whom you're taking a
growing interest on your first morning together, albeit after a night spent
apart. I was making tea when Laura walked into the living room wearing
the T-shirt I had given her. She wasn't wearing a bra. I forced myself to
take my eyes off her breasts.

"Do you want tea?"

"Any coffee?"

"Sure. Sleep well?"

"Great," she said while stretching her hands up, lifting the T-shirt
above her knees. "Wanna continue breaking the message?" She was energized, while I was still numb. She had slept in a comfortable bed, and I'd
been feeling every loose spring on my old sofa.

"We only need to break two. I managed to decipher the first one."

"How did you do that?"

"Professor Klebanov's table was way off the mark. I calculated a new
one and the rest was easy."

"Easy?" she repeated.

"Well, not that easy, but I did it in three hours."

We sat at the kitchen table, and while sipping from a thin glass teacup
I said, "I'm done."

"These guys aren't that sophisticated," she said.

"I guess not," I answered. "They used the same key again. A big no-no."

"Let me see what the message says," she asked.

I yawned and stretched my arms and hands out. "No, let me read it to
you."

WE ARE CONFIRMED THAT THE SCIENTISTS WILL DELIVER THE
CARRIERS TO ERADICATE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF INFIDELS
MEETING IN ROME ON FEBRUARY TWENTY AT HOTEL MAJESTIC
BE THERE ONE DAY AHEAD OF TIME DO NOT TRAVEL TOGETHER
IF THERE IS NO APPEARANCE GO SEVEN DAYS LATER TO PARIS
AND WAIT AT HOTEL BRAVADO FOR CONTACT DO NOT ATTEMPT
TO CALL US OUR BROTHER IN NEW YORK WILL CHANGE ACCESS
CODE TO AUSTRIAN BANK ACCOUNT IF TRANSACTION FAILS
SALEH

"That's terror money!" she cried, then grew pale.

"There's no question about it. This is a conspiracy that conducts itself
more like an espionage ring than money launderers intent on blackmail,"
I said, taking new resolve from the facts. "The word infidels, the encryption, the secrecy, the alternative meeting places; that's a terror cell buying
something lethal, nothing less." Laura was already busy working on the
third message with the enthusiasm that she'd lacked last night. But after
some time she turned to me again, troubled.

"I can't seem to crack it. They must have used another system of
encryption, or applied special cryptography security."

"We should talk to Hodson immediately," I said. This time, it was
really urgent. I made the call.

Forty-five minutes later Laura and I were sitting in his office in 26 Federal Plaza.

"What's on your mind?" He sounded almost friendly.

I told him how I'd gotten the ciphered messages, and that we'd been
working on them.

"Has it been deciphered by NSA?" Hodson asked. "I didn't see it in
today's mail."

"No, it hasn't. We broke it last night."

He gave me a dismissive look, as if to say Yeah, right. "And?" he finally
said.

"It could be a matter of money laundering as well, but as we see it now,
it concerns national security more than anything else."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying we're facing terrorists, not run-of-the-mill money launderers."

He sat up in his chair and leaned toward me. "Let me see that!" he
ordered.

"The two messages we cracked concerned instructions to someone,
telling them to transfer money to a number-coded Austrian bank account
to purchase, and I quote, `the carriers to eradicate hundreds of thousands
of infidels.' We haven't been able to break the third one."

"Let me see them," he demanded again.

I gave him the messages, encrypted and deciphered.

"How long have you had these?"

"Since six o'clock last night."

"I didn't see you here last night."

"I made copies of the messages and we worked on it at home after
hours."

"Are you nuts?" he yelled at me. "You removed classified information
from the office without my permission? What else have you done?" I was
reminded of my third-grade teacher, who'd used the same language when
she thought I needed to be disciplined. But the mustache made a difference; she had one, Hodson didn't.

Laura was pale and sat there quietly biting her lips.

"Who said it was classified?" I retorted calmly. "The bad guys know what
it contains, while we don't ... I mean, you didn't, until a few minutes ago."
I was teasing him; nobody gets to yell at me without a retaliation of some
kind, even if he is a top bureaucrat. "So it's the reverse of a leak. The leak's route usually runs from the guys who know to the guys who don't, not the
other way around." He couldn't have missed the sarcasm in my voice.

"Now they could know that we know," Hodson pointed out.

"They don't. I kept it for a few hours, worked on it with Laura, and
brought it back. Nothing was left behind at my home."

"All right, I'll deal with you later. What's your read on the messages?"
he asked Laura.

"As Dan was saying," she said in a subdued voice, "they were coded
messages. Not too sophisticated an encryption, I must say, but still it took
almost all night to crack them."

"Get to the point," Hodson said impatiently. I was enjoying this catand-mouse game, but for a change I was the cat.

"The bottom line," I said, "is that someone in Europe is willing to pay
two point seven million dollars for carriers of materials potent enough to
kill several hundred thousand people. That person or these people must
have had an insider at Eagle Bank who could read these messages; there
should also be a source of the money at the bank, a depositor who has sufficient funds available in his account and who can authorize, or authorize
someone on his behalf, to withdraw and transfer the money. That doesn't
sound like a one-man operation. It reeks of a terrorist network."

"Any more details?" Hodson asked.

"We still need to break the third message. We were unable to," said
Laura.

I added, "There could be other messages that didn't pass through
Lipinsky; I think we should look for them."

"I'd let the NSA boys do the deciphering job, since it's theirs and not
yours," Hodson snapped.

I waited for more berating. I also wondered how NSAs G Group,
which is responsible for eavesdropping on all communications emanating
from, or being sent to, the United States, had missed these messages.

"Any more bright ideas?" he asked. He was serious, despite the sarcastic
tone.

"Yes," I said, "I think we should start working on the bank in Salzburg.
It might lead us to the suppliers of the carriers."

"No name of a beneficiary for the money transfer to Austria?"

"No. Just an account number. It could be in the third message, but it
seems unlikely."

"Why?"

"Because that's how money launderers work. Why put down the name
of a beneficiary when you have a coded account? Maybe Saleh wanted to
keep the identity of the ultimate beneficiary secret in case the message
was intercepted and deciphered. Simple communication security. There is
some talk there about an access code, so we may be talking about two- or
three-party transactions, not necessarily your ordinary transfer of funds
from one account holder to the other."

"Okay," said Hodson. "I'll talk to the Office of International Affairs at
the Criminal Division of the Justice Department to prepare a Mutual
Legal Assistance Treaty request to the Austrian Ministry of Justice."

"It might take a long time," I commented.

"I know. We'll let the Austrian desk at State know when the MLAT
request goes, and ask it to cable our embassy in Vienna to tell the
Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs that it's important for the Ministry
of Justice to get this executed quickly."

"My experience with the Austrian legal system is that they're extremely
bureaucratic. By the time the government is satisfied with the material
submitted, which is not guaranteed, they would ask a court in Salzburg
to issue a warrant ordering the bank to disclose the account. By that time,
I could have circled the globe on foot."

"Dan, you do your job. Investigate. Let the lawyers handle the Austrians."

"Of course," I said. "What I meant is that we have no time. Even if the
Austrians surprise us with the speed of their work, it may not be fast
enough."

"I hear you. What about the recipient of the messages at Eagle Bank?"
Hodson asked. "Anybody we know? The solution could come from that
angle."

"Maybe." I reminded him about Fazal, the disappearance of Lipinsky,
his death, and the possible connection between the two.

"Detective Mahoney called me this morning about Lipinsky's homicide. Another thing you forgot to report," grunted Hodson. His anger
was mounting and his face became red.

"A simple matter of priorities. I was about to tell you, but I thought the
alarming nature of the messages should take precedence." There was no
apology in my tone.

Hodson didn't comment. But he continued as though nothing had
happened. His ability to switch moods from anger to business as usual
was remarkable. I should learn how to do that.

"Is it possible that Lipinsky was wasted because he saw the messages?
That makes Fazal a prime suspect," I suggested.

"Is anyone sitting on his tail?" Why was Hodson asking me? He should
know after his conversation with Mahoney.

I answered anyway. "We're not. NYPD is investigating the missingperson-turned-homicide case, so maybe they're making sure he won't just
be in the wind."

"Mahoney told me that you had asked him to question Fazal as a witness, not as a suspect."

"I did. I didn't want to scare him off until we clear the fog. So has
Mahoney done that?"

"Apparently."

"Are we doing any independent checks on him?"

Hodson nodded. "We're running a background check. I should have it
momentarily."

He pressed his intercom. "Lynn, make sure they include in the Fazal
report a search in the Counterterrorism Database, and the CIA's database
as well. Also get me FBI's International Terrorism Operations Section;
they need to send their representatives here. This matter seems to be
going in their direction."

"I hear that there are problems in pooling together the databases," I
jumped in, though I knew I was out of line.

Hodson didn't even blink when he snapped, "Dan, I am familiar with
our procedures." Reminding him of the rivalry between the agencies, 9/II
notwithstanding, was worse than stepping on his toe.

Hodson pressed the intercom again, "Lynn, get me Detective Mahoney
on the phone."

A moment later he continued. "Mahoney? This is FBI Assistant Director in Charge Hodson. I hear you're watching Malik Fazal." Apparently not
waiting for an answer, he added, "We're taking over, it's become a federal
matter."

Hodson's face color changed all of sudden from red to Irish purple.
"What do you mean he disappeared? What kind of police work are you
guys doing? When did that happen? Let me talk to your lieutenant. Ask
him to call me the minute he walks in." He slammed the phone on its
cradle. "The SOB disappeared. Mahoney says Fazal didn't show up to
work yesterday morning. They were watching his office, not his home.
Budget problems," he muttered in disgust.

"John," said Hodson to his assistant on the intercom, "put out an allpoints bulletin on Malik Fazal, and put him also on the lookout list; alert
all law enforcement agencies that he's wanted for questioning. Run a
computer check on all airlines and passenger ship manifests. But other
than that, don't spread the word in the street that we'd like to talk to him.
This has to be kept quiet, for now."

Lynn Harris, Hodson's blond all-American assistant, entered the room.
"I spoke to the Treasury Department," she said. "According to their
records, Malik Fazal was the bank officer who routinely signed the
Suspicious Activity Reports for Eagle Bank."