Page 79 of The Devil's Ransom

“Sir, yes, I can do that, but I’m telling you, this is a nation-state. No criminal gang would take such a high risk. This is an enemy of the United States flexing their muscles. I saw it all the time when I worked at the NSA and Cyber Command.”

President Hannister nodded and said, “We’re looking intothat, which is why we want you to take a look at the code. Find us an origination point—and crack it if you can.”

“I’ll give it my best shot, but the timeline is not conducive to success. I’m just being honest here, but it typically takes my crew about two weeks to a month to crack a code. A single day is asking for too much. Why not just pay the ransom?”

Kerry Bostwick, the director of the CIA, said, “We tried. Nobody’s answering on the other end. The procedures they sent don’t go anywhere anymore—which is why I think it’s the same crew. We short-circuited their ability to operate, and now we have nobody to pay.”

Hobbes nodded, thinking,Thatwon’t do. He said, “Perhaps, or perhaps it’s because they don’t really care about a ransom. Maybe it’s like I said: a nation-state bent on an attack.”

Nobody said anything to that, and he continued: “At least within a day I can give you an assessment of the origination, even if I can’t crack it. That might help.”

He hadn’t really decided whom he would pin the attack on yet. The most likely candidates were Iran and North Korea, both with robust hacking abilities, and both having used those skills against the United States.

Hannister said, “Evidence of a perpetrator with an origin point will help with the retaliation, but it’s not going to do anything to prevent a catastrophe.”

Hobbes liked those words. It would be just as he envisioned—a combination of theChallengerdisaster and 9/11. And reunification of the United States’ national purpose.

Chapter46

Branko was awakened at the crack of dawn by his phone bleating. He picked it up and saw a text from Nikita, complete with a map as an attachment picture.

Get up and meet me here. Follow the route I sent.

He rubbed his eyes, then texted,I just woke up.

I don’t give a shit. Get moving. Before the sun rises and people start coming out.

Okay, okay, let me get cleaned up and I’ll be on the way.

Be here in thirty minutes. And don’t deviate from that route.

Branko dropped the phone, a little aggravated that he had to put up with Nikita’s commands. But also a little scared.

He decided he’d take his sweet time showering and packing what little he had, mainly because the room he was in was outrageously expensive and opulent, and he hadn’t had any time to really enjoy it.

Called the “China Room,” it was on the third floor of a boutique apartment/hotel known as the Lesic Dimitri Palace, in the heart of old town Korcula. Built within a restored ancient stone building, it only had five rooms, all available for long-term rental,and all with a different worldly flavor to celebrate the esteemed explorer Marco Polo, who, according to local tradition, was from Korcula. The Arabia Room, the Venice Room, the India Room, all were distinctly different, and distinctly expensive to rent, but since it was on Andrei’s dime, Branko had paid for the China Room for close to a year.

Branko cleaned up, taking his time, and heard his phone ding again. He’d missed his thirty-minute window. He’d done it on purpose to show Nikita that he wasn’t Branko’s boss, but seeing the text asking where he was made him regret the decision. Nikita wasn’t a man to trifle with.

Maybe the delay wasn’t that smart.

He threw on his clothes, grabbed his backpack, and texted he was on the way. He looked at his watch, seeing it was just past six in the morning—way too early for him in his normal life. He finally looked at the map, confused by the directions.

The apartment was located at the end of the island, the water to the north across the street, and a maze of stone alleys to the south, but the location of the meet was at the supposed house of Marco Polo. It was now a museum and a stone’s throw from the apartment, a mere hundred meters away, but Nikita’s route took him away from the meet location, on a circuitous route that wound throughout the alleyways before coming back the way he’d left. He could cut his time to nothing if he just went straight to it, making his delay much less.

He decided to ignore the map and get there as quickly as he could to defuse any anger from Nikita. Nikita would have no way of knowing if he’d walked the ridiculous route around the old town.

He exited the lobby into an alley, looked left and right, saw no one, and cut away from the ocean shore of the island, movingdeeper into the heart of the old town. He slipped through one alley, then another, reaching a small courtyard with an overhanging arch, a set of stone stairs leading up to the purported house of Marco Polo. He went to the stairs and saw that the place didn’t even open until 9a.m.How is this going to work?

He mounted the stairs, went to the front door and thought about knocking, then heard footsteps behind him. Not wanting to look like he was breaking in, he refused to glance behind him, instead trying the knob, finding it unlocked. He turned it, pushed the door in a half inch, and it was jerked open, causing him to fall forward. Someone grabbed him by the hair and flung him into the room. He hit the floor, rolled upright, and saw Nikita in the doorway with a suppressed pistol, shooting down the stairwell into the alley. He saw gouges appear in the stone of the door frame, Nikita slam against the wall, then lean out again, returning fire.

Nikita paused, took a breath, glanced out, then slammed the door shut and said, “You fucking idiot. The time schedule is because we have a ferry to catch. The route was to see if you were followed. You were.”

Confused, he said, “What?”

Nikita snatched him by the hair again and said, “The route was to take out anyone following you. It’s why I designed it so early in the morning. You chose not to use it and were almost caught. Now we have no escape because I know there are men in the alley with weapons. Get the fuck up.”

Branko rose on unsteady feet and said, “Afghans? Were they Afghans?”

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