Commander-In-Chief Read online

  DataPlanet would have been a nearly perfect CIA front, but it had, in fact, started organically and only later become involved with U.S. intelligence. A CIA officer noticed an opportunity in the company and, over time, developed an informal “relationship” with the owners, themselves former defense contractors with high security clearances. Most of the work the firm did overseas was unrelated to the mission of the U.S. intelligence community, but from time to time CIA and NSA electronic intelligence specialists accompanied men like Herkus Zarkus into the field, using the lineman-technician cover to move virtually anywhere in Central European nations where Russian intelligence had many eyes and ears. And while the company techs and the intelligence operatives actually did install the high-tech networks in houses, towns, and buildings, they also sometimes added a few optional extras to the nets, allowing electronic surveillance in parts of the world where Agency techs working out of embassies would not have been able to avoid scrutiny by opposition intelligence services.

  In this case, it had been explained to the technician that his two “tag-alongs” would not be doing any technical work of an electronic intelligence nature on this op. They would, instead, simply need to go to a number of different locations and take pictures with a special camera.

  On the flight over, Dom and Ding had watched an hourlong video that served as a crash course on working as fiber-optic technicians. After this they sat through three more hours of Lithuanian language study, which was effectively nil, but they did learn a couple dozen phrases that might prove useful in a pinch.

  Chavez spoke Russian, but here in Lithuania only seven percent of the population spoke Russian daily. That said, Russian was understood by many here, and Ding’s Lithuanian was only what he had on his iPhone translator and what little he’d picked up on the flight over.

  Herkus brought the men to his office in the center of town, and here they had coffee and chatted for a while, then he got down to business, showing the men a PowerPoint presentation on the legitimate work they’d be doing here in the region. It was straightforward, and not too terribly technical, because Herkus himself would be with them every step of the way.

  They needed to know only the basics so they could act naturally in their covers and get on with the real reason they were over here in the first place.

  In the late afternoon they piled back into the DataPlanet van and drove through the city, ending up on the third floor of an old building in the Old Town. This was a CIA safe house. Herkus had been instructed to drop the men off here and then pick them up for work early the next morning.

  • • •

  Dom and Ding had just gotten their luggage into their rooms when there was a knock at the door. Dom looked through the peephole to see two men wearing blue jeans and insulated jackets.

  “Yeah?” he asked through the door.

  One of the men answered, “Mary Pat sent me over. You should be getting a text to that effect just about any second.”

  Dom checked his phone and saw nothing, but Chavez entered the foyer of the apartment, looking at his phone. “It’s okay. Just got a text from Clark. It’s the CoS.”

  Caruso opened the door and let the men in.

  “You must be Dom,” one of the men said. He extended a hand. “Pete Branyon. Good to meet you, and welcome to Lithuania or, as we like to call it, tomorrow’s ground zero.”

  The CIA chief of station Vilnius, Peter Branyon, entered the room with his security officer, Greg Donlin. After shaking Dom’s hand, he walked toward Chavez. “I’m Pete. Domingo, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Branyon said, “When I got the cable that you’d be coming over to help, I was surprised, to say the least. But since you come on the recommendation from the DNI, that’s good enough for me. Mary Pat Foley’s office is all the bona fides I need.”

  Branyon and the two newcomers sat down in the small living room, while Donlin stood near the window, keeping one eye on the street outside.

  Branyon said, “We swept this apartment for bugs just before you arrived. We’ll do it every day, just to be sure, but we don’t expect you’ll garner too much attention from the opposition.”

  Ding said, “Can you fill us in on the situation?”

  “Sure,” Branyon replied. “As I’m sure you know from the news, Valeri Volodin has convinced a sizable portion of his nation that Ukraine is inhabited by Nazis, all Russia’s neighbors want to destroy them, and American spies are running amok here in Lithuania.” He chuckled. “I’m pretty sure none of that is true, but I can promise that third assertion is absolute bullshit. We aren’t running amok, we are barely treading water. We spend all our time trying to keep tabs on Russia’s spies on the ground here, and working to discern Russia’s intentions.”

  Ding said, “I’m sure you’ve been told, but we’ve been given an assignment by the DNI. But when we’re not doing that, we’re available to help your station any way we can. Our cover is fiber-optic linemen, so we should have pretty good freedom of movement.”

  “Yeah, DataPlanet can get you guys anywhere you need to go. They are one hell of an asset. Me and the rest of my covered case officers can’t go anywhere without doing a lengthy SDR, but DataPlanet is so ubiquitous around here the Russians don’t bother with them.”

  Chavez said, “Mary Pat told us your station was a little short-staffed.”

  Branyon said, “We were barely able to keep up with our work as it was, then the LNG regasification facility on the coast was blown up. A few days later, the Russian train transport was attacked here in Vilnius. Now we’re up to our eyeballs in problems and marching orders from Langley. Half the world thinks Lithuania is looking like it is going to be the epicenter of the next war.”

  “Anything we can do to help out your station?” Dom asked.

  “I know you guys have plenty of work to do, but it sure wouldn’t hurt for us to have a couple more sets of eyes looking out for Little Green Men near the border.”

  “Which border?” Dom asked.

  “A damn good question. Russia could send sappers in from either the east or the west, since Belarus is to the east and Kaliningrad is to the west. But my main concern is the east. Belarus is friendly with Russia, as I’m sure you guys know, so even though Kaliningrad has a lot of Russian troops on our western border, if there is an invasion Russia would be idiots not to hit from both directions. If you guys are laying cable to the east it will put you in the little villages and on the highways close to the Belarusan border. Just keep an eye out. We have a network of agents in the towns there by the border, but the rules say you guys can’t have any involvement with agents, so I’ll keep working that myself.”

  Ding said, “Sorry, Pete, it’s not my place to say, but you are the CoS. Is it really a good idea for you to be traveling near the border?”

  Branyon shrugged. “I’m a hell of a good case officer. Just because I’m station chief doesn’t mean I can’t still get out into the populace. I do my SDRs, I move light and low-profile, so I don’t have much to worry about.” He nodded toward Donlin. “Greg here keeps me safe.”

  Greg Donlin had barely spoken, but he said, “I keep warning him about the dangers. He keeps overruling.”

  Chavez said, “Well, okay, but if you need any help from us involving your PERSEC, just shout.”

  Branyon raised an eyebrow. “You guys aren’t carrying weapons, are you?”

  “No,” Dom said quickly. “I think my partner is talking about help getting you away from a fight.”

  Ding nodded. “Yeah, Dom and I aren’t here to go up against Russia’s Army. I guess we’ll just have to leave that to Greg.”

  Greg Donlin sighed. “I’ve got a pistol, but I’m an armored division or two short if I have to fight the Russians.”

  The men laughed, a moment of gallows humor, nothing more, because if Russia decided it wanted to move into Lithuania
, there wasn’t a damn thing anybody sitting in this little living room could do to stop it.

  23

  Jack Ryan, Jr., met Christine von Langer, née Hutton, at a café on the Rue Notre Dame. When she first walked in the room, he was happy to see she absolutely looked the part of a woman of means. Mature, stately, and attractive, she wore chic clothes that looked expensive, and she held a fur coat over her arm that must have cost a fortune.

  As she shook Jack’s hand and sat down, placing her Hermès bag on the chair next to her, she gave him a wide smile like she’d known him his whole life.

  “Sorry, Mrs. von Langer, but can I ask why you are looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You just remind me so much of your father.”

  “I guess it makes sense that you would know my dad, but John didn’t mention it.”

  “Can’t say I knew him well, but I had occasion to work with him from time to time.” She lowered the wattage of her beaming smile a little. “I don’t do politics, it’s never been my bag. Working in the government, under administrations of all different persuasions, I just found it better that way. But I knew your dad to be a hardworking man of impeccable character. That’s good enough for me.”

  “Thanks. I hear that a lot, but I can’t help but just think of him as Dad.”

  With a serious eye she said, “They beat him up in the press over here, you probably already know that.”

  Jack gave a half-shrug. “They beat him up at home, Mrs. von Langer. I’m pretty sure it bothers my brother and sisters and me more than it bothers him.”

  “Please. Call me Christine. Okay. Down to business. John says you are private sector, this is financial forensic accounting, but this might lead to something that traces back toward Moscow.”

  Jack said, “It most definitely traces back to Russia, probably to Moscow, perhaps even to a specific building in Moscow.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Kremlin or Lubyanka?”

  “Either/or.”

  With a smile she said, “I love it already, Jack. I’m in.”

  He told her exactly what he needed her to do; she asked a few questions about her target. He could tell she was a little disappointed she didn’t have more to her role, but she was certainly game, and he had no doubts she’d do one hell of a good job.

  When he was finished she said, “This lawyer . . . do we think he’s corrupt?”

  Jack thought about that a moment. “He definitely knows the kind of money he’s working with, and I doubt he’s into the art for the sake of art. He is an adviser for this offshore trust, so he’s funneling money into the art, paying inflated prices, obviously either as a kickback to a Russian or as a way to replace dirty money for clean money. So, in that respect, he’s corrupt but . . .” Jack’s voice trailed off.

  Christine von Langer said, “But we’re talking about a lawyer here in Luxembourg, where ethics are . . . murky.”

  “Right,” Jack said.

  The fifty-six-year-old woman said, “I will have to be honest with you, though, I left the company twenty years ago. I’m not exactly up on the newest tech.” She started to ask about the technology she’d be using for the operation, but before she got very far, Gavin Biery entered the café. Ryan motioned him over and made the introductions.

  He immediately opened his backpack and revealed a black box the size of a hardcover book, with a digital screen and a few buttons.

  Gavin said, “This is an RFID emulator.”

  Von Langer’s eyes flitted around the room nervously while Ryan reached over and put his hand on the backpack, closing it. “That’s okay, Gavin, we can do that later.”

  “Oh . . . okay. Sorry.”

  It was an uncomfortable moment, more for Christine than for Jack, because he was used to Gavin doing awkward things when out in the field. Jack dispelled the awkwardness by saying, “I want you to know how much we appreciate your help, Christine.”

  “I am happy to be involved. I hope if your . . . organization needs me in the future they won’t hesitate to ask. My husband is gone and my kids are doing their own thing. I’ve got hobbies and diversions, but . . . nothing as cool as this.”

  They all went back to Jack’s rented apartment on Place de Clairefontaine. Here Gavin set up his equipment and gave Christine a primer on how the scanner worked. After a few minutes of this—Gavin would have spent all day on the details if Jack didn’t hurry him along—Jack walked Christine through the best way to use the skimmer to steal the information off Frieden’s building access badge. She’d merely have to get it within three feet of Frieden’s access card, and keep it in the same position for at least three seconds while the antenna of the little device passively stole the coded information on the card.

  With the technical and physical aspects of the job behind them, Jack and Christine worked together on a backstory that would have Frieden excited to meet with her. She would tell the attorney that she needed to set up an offshore, and was looking for an attorney to serve as the director. Frieden regularly represented such clients, Jack knew from his investigation into the man, so they both agreed that, despite the fact he was already making money working with a Russian oligarch, the prospect of taking on a client like Christine von Langer would be very appealing to him.

  • • •

  The next morning a call to the office of Guy Frieden earned Christine an invitation to get together for coffee that afternoon. They met and sat across from each other in an outdoor café. Christine kept her purse on the table with the skimmer on while she told an impressive story about a scheme by a half sister to use the courts in the United States to grab a share of Christine’s European riches. A property deal between the two women went bad, according to Christine, and her sister was sending lawyers to the courts in Germany in an attempt to settle her claim.

  The Luxembourger nodded throughout the story with the necessary gravity to express concern, and then he assured the wealthy American that protecting estates from unmanageable relatives was one of the reasons he went into this line of work and one of his most fulfilling duties as an attorney. He talked about the way he would set up a trust to sequester money Christine’s husband had bequeathed to her and keep the German courts from having any access to it.

  While Christine sipped her coffee and listened to the attorney, the real work was being done inside her Hermès handbag. The reader pulled the information off the card as if Frieden were swiping it at a security kiosk in his building, but Christine’s reader did it secretly and from farther away.

  After coffee Christine said she’d be in touch, and she left on foot. She did a forty-five-minute SDR, passing once through the Gare de Luxembourg, the main train station, where Jack sat drinking espresso at a stand-up table next to a bakery, his eyes out for anyone trailing behind or interested in Christine. He saw nothing that aroused suspicion, and this gave him and Christine one more layer of certainty that she was not being followed.

  They met back at the apartment and Christine passed the reader to Gavin, who had his equipment set up in the kitchen. With a kiss good-bye to Christine and more effusive thanks for her help, Jack sat at the kitchen table and watched the Campus IT director work.

  He extracted the info from the reader via a digital SD card and he programmed it into an RFID tag machine. Gavin had brought a photo of Jack from a file on the Campus network, and he affixed this on the card, along with the name of the building and other information represented on the cards held by building employees.

  Last, he attached a black neck lanyard that perfectly matched the one worn by the employees of Frieden’s building.

  All totaled, Gavin finished the job in under thirty minutes. He held it up for Jack to look at.

  Jack asked, “How sure are you it will be accepted by the scanner?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Jack looked at Gavin with incredulity.r />
  “I’m serious, Ryan, find some other part of this op to stress about. That was a breeze.” Gavin then handed over an electronic device to unlock Frieden’s office door and asked Jack if he remembered how to operate it.

  Jack said, “You’re kidding, right? You put me and the guys through two days’ worth of training on that gadget.”

  “And now that training will pay off,” Gavin said, with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. He also handed Jack a completely nondescript thumb drive. “Here’s your RAT. It’s just like the one Ysabel used down in Rome. Get it into a port on any networked device in his office, wait nineteen and a half seconds for the program to upload, and then pull it out. After that, you’re done, I’ll take care of the rest remotely.”

  Jack and Ysabel had joked in Rome about Gavin’s precise instructions to wait nineteen and a half seconds. They both agreed the first nineteen seconds went by quickly, but that last half second felt like an eternity.

  Gavin returned to D.C. that afternoon on a commercial flight, and Jack spent the evening in a local gym, trying to undo some of the damage he had done over the past weeks wining and dining Ysabel and sitting on his ass all day.

  • • •

  The next morning at eleven a.m. Jack stood in a doorway six floors below his rented office and watched Guy Frieden and his secretary leave their building, the same as they had the previous four days. He knew they were headed to a café around the corner from Frieden’s office on the pedestrian shopping street. As soon as they disappeared up Grand Rue, Jack crossed the street, a purposefulness to his walk that gave an air that he did this every day.

  He wore a gray suit under a brown Fendi wool overcoat and he carried a black leather Tumi bag. His beard was trim and neat and he wore Tom Ford clear-lensed eyeglasses with no correction to give him even more of a professional presence.

  He entered the building and marched up to the counter, waved the badge Gavin made for him over the reader, careful to glance away from the camera that recorded his entrance while he did so. He was rewarded with a green light and a rotating turnstile. He pushed through and headed for the elevators, continuing the appearance of utter relaxation.