Vatican Knights (15 page)
Authors: Rick Jones
There are
options in every situation. Since Shari had not agreed to an all-out alliance
and the timeframe to secure the pope’s well-being was becoming increasingly
limited, Kimball opted to appropriate information from Agent Cohen.
Pertinent information took time to
gather and analyze, and not a moment was to be wasted.
In the vault beneath the Sacred
Hearts Church, Kimball Hayden aided Leviticus in sorting through the electronic
gadgetry required to maintain surveillance on Shari Cohen. Although Kimball had
the skills to set up shop, Leviticus was the expert in computer and electronic
surveillance.
He meticulously studied every
component necessary to capture pertinent data. First he chose a Keystroke
Logger program, a downloadable disc that records and obtains passwords and
encryption keys and bypasses all security measures.
Next was a laptop computer, a
Plexiglas parabola dish, a receiver, wireless headsets, several tiny audio
bugs, and a mini-thermal imaging camera.
He mentally ticked off the items
and shot a thumbs-up to Kimball. “That should do it,” he said.
“How long to get in and out?”
“The camera and dish can be set up
inside the mobile unit here at the archdiocese. The bugs will have to be placed
in the high-traffic areas of her residence and inside the phones. You can do
that. But to download the software—” He cut himself off, his mind calculating.
“I’d say anywhere between twenty minutes and half an hour. It all depends on
the speed of her computer, not to mention the time I’ll need to disable any
detection ware she may have.”
Too long
.
“You have fifteen
minutes . . . tops.”
Leviticus wasn’t sure of the
targeted computer’s specs or whether it had the capacity to download his
program that quickly. “I can’t force this, Kimball. It’ll depend how
cooperative her computer is.”
Kimball stared at the wild tangle
of gadgetry on the table. “Do what you can,” he said. “We’ll need to be in and
out of there quickly.”
Leviticus nodded agreement and
gathered the equipment.
Kimball’s option was about to be
initiated.
#
Washington, D.C.
September 25, Early Afternoon
Shari
fumed. She
understood the president’s
frustration, since he was the one under international scrutiny, but to
humiliate her in front of everyone in that room was wrong. Given what little
she had to go on, she was doing her best.
Her anger subsided as she turned
her Lexus onto International Drive, the street where Israel’s largest embassy
in the world was located.
After showing her credentials to
the guard at the gate, she was detained until every facet of her identity could
be confirmed through the international data banks. Once done, she was finally waved
through.
When she entered the embassy she
was amazed by the immensity of the building’s rotunda. The cathedral ceiling
was several stories tall with tiers of floors visible from the foyer. Alongside
the information booth a massive directory was anchored to a black onyx wall.
The directory stretched almost twenty-five feet in length. Shari traced her
finger along the pane until she came to Defense & Armed Forces Attaché. The
first name listed was that of A. Obadiah in Suite 312.
After taking a crowded elevator to
the third floor, she got out and made her way to an open reception area.
Sitting behind a semi-circular Lucite desk, a receptionist with a
well-cultivated smile greeted her.
“May I help you?”
Shari flipped open her credentials
wallet. “I’m Special Agent Cohen of the FBI. I called yesterday asking to speak
with Mr. Obadiah the moment he returned from his trip.”
The receptionist nodded her
recollection. “Yes, of course, I remember. He did receive your message because
I gave it to him personally along with his other messages. Is he expecting
you?”
“Actually, he never returned the
call.”
The receptionist’s plastic smile
evaporated from her overly cosmetic face. “Well, that’s probably because he’s
very busy.”
“I’m sure. But could you please
ask him if I can have a moment of his time? It’s important. I promise it won’t
take too long.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here,”
she stated.
After dialing Obadiah’s extension
the receptionist spoke into the lip mike in a falsely jovial tone, and then
informed Shari that Mr. Obadiah was on his way to greet her.
In less than a minute, Abraham
Obadiah entered the reception area wearing a smile that appeared genuine and
pleasant. The contrast between his pale complexion and raven dark hair gave him
a vampire-like quality which made his lips appear redder than they actually
were. Beneath his chin was a horrible pink scar in the shape of a wedge.
“Agent Cohen,” he said. “It’s a
pleasure to meet you.”
With a gesture of his hand, Team
Leader directed Shari to his office.
#
Leviticus
was not
only quick, but meticulous. He had
placed the Keystroke Logger program within Shari’s PC to obtain addresses and
information that would enable him to hack into every database she visited.
Hopefully, enough data could be gleaned to provide them with some solid leads.
While Leviticus downloaded the
program, Kimball was securing the audio bugs in high traffic areas, when he
came upon a curio cabinet bearing nothing but framed photos. In one shot Shari
was alone, smiling, beautiful. In another she posed for a family portrait with
the husband and kids, but the smile appeared false, a mere gesture for the
camera. Other photos showed snippets of time, captured mostly when they were on
vacation: at Disneyland, at Sea World, at Lion Country Safari. And another
photo stood alone off to one side, as if in homage.
The photo showed an older woman
whose face had seen harsh times. Kimball knew the look well. He had seen it
many times in Third World countries where innocent people often fell prey to
the harshest brutalities. But what this woman had witnessed must have been
something beyond human comprehension. It was written all over her face. Yet
there was toughness about her, an unfeigned courage. And Kimball had seen the
same thing in Shari’s picture, a certain strength imbued with beauty.
He opened the door to the cabinet
and traced a gloved finger around the edges of Shari’s photo. Her smile was
dazzling, her teeth pure white, and her almond-shaped eyes gave her a truly
exotic appearance. Underneath it all he could see the strength handed down to
her by the old woman. They were both magnificent.
Then, “How much longer?”
Leviticus never pulled his eyes
away from the monitor. “Almost there,” he said. “I’m running a scan to see if
everything’s doing what it should be.”
Once everything was in place, the
hardware tested and the computer downloading the program faster than
anticipated, Leviticus shot a thumbs-up. Everything seemed to be in order.
Whatever information Shari Cohen
possessed would soon be acquired through cyberspace. But Kimball knew this was
an absolute long shot, and so did Leviticus.
Once the location was sanitized,
they left the premises as quickly and quietly as they had entered.
#
Abraham
Obadiah spoke
with a thick accent. “I apologize
for not getting to you earlier,” he said. “But I’ve been busy . . . just
getting back and all.”
“Of course.”
“I understand you wanted to see me
regarding the pope, yes?”
“I do.” She reached into her
purse, pulled out the CD, and held it up in plain view. “As you know we are
working with several intelligence agencies throughout the world regarding the
pope’s kidnapping, and Mossad sent us information regarding the eight members
of the Soldiers of Islam.”
“And I do hope you found what you
were looking for.”
“To a degree,” she said, placing
the CD on the desktop.
“So why come to me?”
“Well, for one thing, your name is
on the disc.”
Obadiah’s features remained
neutral as he unknowingly traced his fingers across the scar at the base of his
chin. “I was the one who created the data?”
“Your signature is on the CD,
yes.”
He shrugged and flipped his hands
into the air as he spoke. “It’s possible,” he said. “And you say Mossad sent
you this information?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s simply because all
agencies in Israel work in collusion with one another. Information gathered is
accumulated into a single informational body. And, of course, data from Mossad
is often shared with the Attaché and vice versa.”
“I understand that, but my
question is why would Mossad send encrypted data on low-level documents such as
dossiers, knowing that valuable time is being wasted trying to decode
encryptions that our equipment can only fractionalize?“
“You’d have to ask Mossad.”
“But it’s your name that’s
attached to the encryptions. I thought maybe you could help me break this
down.”
Obadiah looked steadily at Shari.
His fingers continued to stroke the scar on his chin.
“Mossad sent you information that
was attached to the body of text regarding the Soldiers of Islam but not
specifically related to it,” he said. “The reason why it’s encrypted is because
the non-related issues hold no value for you or your investigation. Only for
Mossad. Therefore, Mossad makes decipherable only the information your agency
asks to see.”
“But why would Mossad attach such
data to the body of information regarding the Soldiers of Islam if the data
itself is not related to the topic? That doesn’t make sense.”
Obadiah was losing patience. She
was pressing him, and hard.
“The encryptions are somewhat
similar to your Freedom of Information Act, which, if I may candidly say, is a
joke since more than seventy-five percent of your government’s documents are
blacked out before they reach the public eye, leaving the balance of the
information useless.” Obadiah set his eyes on the CD. “The encryptions work on
the same principle.”
“Then it does have something to do
with the Soldiers of Islam. Something you wanted blacked out.” She leaned
forward. “Mr. Obadiah, we’re talking about three pages of encryptions here. I
need you to tell me what’s on those pages.”
His black eyes snapped at her,
then back to the disc. “Those three pages contain nothing regarding the
Soldiers of Islam. That is the truth.”
“Then what does it contain?”
“Information that is not for your
eyes, so if I may have the disc—” He reached for it, but her arm reacted with
the quickness of a serpent’s strike as she snatched it from the desktop.
Obadiah shook his head in
response, thinking her action to be juvenile. Then, coldly, he said, “That information
is the property of the Israeli government.”
“That was given freely to the
American government.”
After a slight hesitation he waved
his hands at her. “No matter,” he said. “The data cannot be decoded by your
software, as you have already stated.”
She placed the CD in her purse,
hardly believing the turn in the conversation. One moment he was congenial, the
next he was distant and uncooperative. “You still want to be evasive as to
what’s on this disc, Mr. Obadiah?”
“As a representative of the Israeli
government, I’ll file a grievance with your government if you wish to pursue
this further. We gave you the requested data regarding the Soldiers of Islam in
good faith. And now you wish to hold us accountable for the part of the
informational body that, as I have already expressed to you, has nothing to do
with the terrorist regime.”
“Mr. Obadiah, we both know you’re
being vague for a reason. What that reason is I don’t know. But I’m going to
find out. If you wish to file a grievance, then do so.”
Obadiah didn’t move from his chair
as Shari stood.
“I’ll see myself out, thank you.”
The man had no intention of
showing her the way but added one last comment. “I will get that disc, Ms.
Cohen.”
“That’s between you and my
government. So have fun with your grievance.”
As she was leaving, Team Leader
once again traced the tips of his fingers across the blemish of his scar.
He now had a thorn to contend
with.
Shari was
frustrated beyond belief. Her meeting with Abraham Obadiah didn’t go as
planned, and she was no closer to decoding the CD than when she first received
it.
As she left the building, she
examined the CD and let out a guttural moan of annoyance that drew the
attention of those within ten feet of her.
After picking up her weapon from
the gatekeeper armory, she drove back to the JEH Building and parked the car.
For a moment she fought back tears, overwhelmed with frustration. When she
finally gained her composure, she grabbed her purse, got out of the car and
made her way to the elevator.
After speaking with Obadiah, Shari
felt uncertain of the affinity between Mossad and the American government. With
Mossad being the proxy eyes and ears of American espionage in the Middle East,
Obadiah could have enough pull to reclaim the disc. In case she did have to
turn over the original, she had to secure the backup CD.
Obadiah may get one disc, but not
both. Shari was determined not to relinquish the data unless a direct order
from the Chief Commander required her to surrender all forms of data contained
on the disc for the sake of political camaraderie.
Before heading to her desk, Shari
went to the vault and quickly punched in her PIN code. When the bolts pulled
back and the door opened, she zeroed in on the correct aisle and shelf and
retrieved the backup CD.
The jewel case felt good in her
hands; the disc shined like a newly minted coin. Even if Obadiah filed a
grievance, she still had this.
When she returned to her desk she
immediately loaded the CD. What came up on the monitor caused her heart to
hitch in her chest.
The data was gone.
“No, no, no . . .” She tapped
furiously on the keyboard, trying to pull something up, anything. And then the
realization set in that the CD held no data to recover. It was simply blank. It
was possible that the disc was improperly burned, but she highly doubted that.
And with these discs bearing embedded codes that cannot be duplicated, she was
down to the original disc, which she would somehow have to safeguard before it ended
up being appropriated.
Apparently, Abraham Obadiah’s
influence ran deep within the American government, she thought. He was capable
of getting results, and quickly.
More than ever, Shari was
suspect.
For a long time she sat there
staring at the blank screen, stewing over the possibility that the American
government was involved in a cover-up.
#
Embassy of Israel, Washington,
D.C.
September 25, Mid-Afternoon
Abraham
Obadiah sat
in the embassy’s conference
room with captains of industry from Russia, Venezuela and Israel. Under normal
circumstances, collaboration amongst this group would be a geopolitical
impossibility, given the anti-American sentiments of the Russians and
Venezuelans and their open disdain for American allies. But on this day, commerce
took precedence over prejudice.
The conference room was designed
to be impervious to information appropriation, devoid of any listening devices.
There were three representatives
from Russia, two from Venezuela, and four from Israel. All held an air of
self-importance.
“Gentlemen, please, the news is
good,” said Obadiah. “We’re on track with the cause, and everything is running
smoothly.”
Vladimir Ostrosky, a reigning
member of the Russian Parliament, examined Obadiah, with studious eyes, trying
to penetrate his veneer. He found the man enigmatic and difficult to read.
“According to our sources,” Ostrosky said, “that is not entirely true.”
“Really? And what exactly are
your sources telling you?”
Ostrosky leaned forward and placed
his elbows on the table. Slowly and deliberately, he clasped his hands and
interlocked his fingers. “I’m told, Mr. Obadiah, that a certain agent from the
FBI is looking into corners where
she
should not be looking.”
Obadiah nodded in affirmation.
“There’s no need to concern yourselves with Ms. Cohen,” he stated. “She will be
dealt with and the problem will be quashed.”
“If I may ask, how so?” This came
from Hector Guerra of Venezuela, a man with soft, doughy features and a
pencil-thin mustache that complemented a set of equally thin lips. His collar
was so tight around his neck, folds of flesh curled over its edges.
Obadiah hesitated, seeking a
politically correct response that would allay these inquisitive concerns.
Apparently the Russian and Venezuelan sources were quick and accurate. And
these men were well-armed with damaging information.
“It’s true that Ms. Cohen is
looking beyond the box, but that’s her job.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,”
Guerra insisted.
“Let me finish,” Obadiah said,
raising a hand. “I assure you, I assure all of you, that Ms. Cohen will be
factored out of the equation by the American principals.”
“And the CD?”
Obadiah was startled by this
question but tried not to show it. Apparently their sources produced as well
and as quickly as Mossad, who was the best in the business. To know about the
CD was impressive. “We’ll have the CD in our possession soon,” he said.
“And the copies?”
“There are no copies. Our people
at the CIA intercepted all incoming data from the Mossad leak and destroyed it.
And the leaks themselves have been dispatched. The backup copy within the vault
of the FBI has also been destroyed. The only disc in existence is the one Ms.
Cohen possesses.”
Ostrosky measured Obadiah with
eyes so black they were seemingly without pupils.
“Gentlemen, please relax,” said
Obadiah. “Everything I tell you is the truth. Within a year there will be no
more economic hardships for our countries and no more dependency upon Arab
states. Our industries will flourish and enjoy the full support of the international
community. ”
“And Yahweh?”
“He continues to be the forerunner
in the cause and will use the United States to spearhead the change, since
alternative fuels are still fifteen to twenty years away.”
Ostrosky leaned back in his chair.
“And you can guarantee our anonymity?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s good,” said Ostrosky,
“because I would hate for history to remember me as a monster rather than a
prognosticator of a better future.”
“The pope’s death will not be tied
to any man in this room. I assure you.”
“You better, Mr. Obadiah, because
our political reputations, if not our lives, would be in jeopardy if the truth
of our participation was known.”
“I agree.”
“If that CD is worth the life of
the woman who possesses it,” said Ostrosky, “then it must hold damaging
evidence, a record of what we are doing.” Suddenly his brows dipped sharply
over the bridge of his nose, punctuating his point. “You must not fail to
repossess the CD before she has a chance to turn her battle into a crusade.”
“Trust me,” Obadiah said. “Ms.
Cohen will never get that opportunity.”
“Make sure that she doesn’t.”
Hector Guerra reclined in his
seat. “There is also the matter of a Venezuelan leader who is quite
anti-American. Bringing him into the circle will be impossible.”
Obadiah was quick to respond. “Our
American constituencies will see to it that a Venezuelan leader who is
pro
-American
will be in place within ninety days of the pope’s assassination.”
The Venezuelan nodded. “I don’t
think I want to know how that’s going to happen.”
“Let’s just say that everything
has been examined from every possible angle. Any more questions?”
There were none.
“Then let’s talk about the future
of our countries.”