Terminal Justice Read online

  “Most of you know each other,” he began, “with the possible exception of Gerald Raines and Leonard Wu, both of whom are with Child Touch Ministries and are hitching a ride with us to Ethiopia.” David had heard of Child Touch and had seen their heartrending ads on television. They specialized in feeding and sheltering children, especially those orphaned by war.

  These men, however, didn’t strike David as the type who would involve themselves with orphans. It was a subjective opinion, he knew, and one that wasn’t based on any more information than the personae projected by the men. Both seemed pleasant enough on the surface. Wu wore khaki pants, a dark brown polo shirt, and a casual pair of slip-on shoes, an outfit that seemed to match his youthfulness. David judged him to be in his late twenties, trim and thin of frame, fitting the stereotypical image of a Chinese. Raines, a stocky dark man with a pencil-thin mustache, appeared to be in his late forties and wore loose-fitting jeans, running shoes, and a long-sleeve dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. While the men differed in dress and age, they both possessed the same wariness, something David saw in their physical manners, clipped fragments of conversation, and the occasional exchange of glances that carried unspoken messages.

  A.J. handed out a single piece of paper to each person. “This is our final itinerary,” he said, “or as final as it can be at this point. We will be traveling over and into a few hot spots, so this may change. As it stands now we will fly to New York today, where we will spend the night.” A.J. smiled, “My father insists that we take in a Broadway play. His treat, of course. Then we fly to Rome. I’ve arranged a two-day stay there so that we can all do a little sightseeing. David, you must see the Basilica. I know you’re not Catholic, but I promise you’ll be impressed. From Rome we will fly to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia for a three-day stay, then to Mogadishu in Somalia. All of this is subject to change—especially Somalia. We’ll go if we can. If not, we will spend more time in Ethiopia. Are there any questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “Okay then. Our luggage should be loaded with the supplies, so all that remains is for us to hop into the van.” With that, A.J. rose from his chair and started for the door. The others were quick to join him.

  “Call it in the air,” Special Agent Woody Summers said into the phone as he prepared to flip his lucky Kennedy half dollar into the air.

  “Wait a minute,” Stephanie Cooper retorted. “How do I know you’ll tell me the truth? I can’t see the coin over the phone.”

  “That’s the problem with you CIA types, always so suspicious,” Woody replied humorously. “I am a duly authorized keeper of the peace and protector of our country. I am a highly trained agent with many years of experience. I never lie.”

  “And I am a highly trained CIA operative who specializes in foreign terrorist groups, and I trust no one, especially special agents of the FBI.”

  “I’m crushed at your lack of confidence in me,” Woody said with mock despair. “Have I ever misled you in any way?”

  “We’ve never met before, so you’ve never had the opportunity to mislead me.”

  “We’re getting nowhere fast,” Woody said. “Heads I go there, tails you come here. Fair enough?”

  “No, but flip the coin anyway.”

  Woody flicked the coin and let it fall on his desk where it bounced twice before falling flat. “It’s tails. This must be my lucky day. If you leave soon you shouldn’t encounter too much traffic.”

  “I’ll bet it’s tails. For all I know, it’s standing on its edge.”

  Woody laughed. “I can assure you it didn’t land on its edge.”

  “All right, all right,” Stephanie said, resigning herself to the inevitable, “I’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  “I look forward to it.” Then in a horribly executed imitation of Humphrey Bogart, he added, “This could be the start of a beautiful relationship.”

  Stephanie groaned and hung up.

  “You made good time,” Woody said as he quickly assessed the woman in front of him. Stephanie Cooper stood five-eight and had brown, wavy hair that cascaded to her thin shoulders. Her face was lightly freckled and sported a slightly turned-up nose and keen dark brown eyes that reflected her quick wit and high intelligence. He felt an immediate attraction to her, but quickly dismissed it. He was, after all, a married man, and judging by the ring on the finger of her left hand, she was a married woman. Besides, this was business, and as much as he liked to joke around, he was very serious about his work.

  “Nice office,” Stephanie replied. “You FBI folk even get art on the wall.”

  Woody knew that Stephanie was taking stock of him. He was shorter than most men, but not unusually so. He had black hair and a thick mustache to match. “I added the art. It’s a hobby.”

  “You paint?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I have a sensitive, artistic side.”

  “No doubt. I didn’t think that computer jocks enjoyed the fine arts.”

  “That’s a stereotype,” Woody said glibly. “I know a computer jock who can even read.”

  Stephanie smiled. “You’re quick, Agent Summers, I’ll give you that. What say we get to work?”

  “Have you had lunch yet?” he asked.

  “Five minutes and already you’re asking me out?” she asked curtly.

  “No. My wife discourages dating on my part, unless it’s with her. I haven’t had lunch, I’m hungry, and I thought we could talk in the cafeteria.”

  “Oh,” Stephanie replied, slightly abashed. “I get hit on a lot, and I tend to overcompensate. It’s still hard for a woman in this business, you know.”

  “I can imagine. Is the cafeteria okay?”

  “That will be fine.”

  Ten minutes later they were in the expansive cafeteria of Washington’s FBI building. Woody was eating a turkey sandwich, and Stephanie was drinking a diet cola.

  “Okay,” she said with authority. “We know our assignment. We are to discover who has been breaking into the CIA computer. Since the crimes have taken place on U.S. soil, your agency is involved. That’s why you’re here. Since I specialize in foreign terrorism, especially technical terrorism, I’ve been asked to represent the Company. Tracking down criminals is your stock and trade, where do you suggest we start?”

  Woody swallowed hard and took a drink of milk from the small carton on his tray. “We start at the beginning. What did they take and when did they take it?”

  Stephanie laid open a file. “Over the last two years, one hundred and fifty attempts have been made to pirate CIA computer files. Only three have been successful. All of those occurred in the last year. Most of the attempts are by amateur hackers who think it might be fun to find a crack in our system. Other agencies like the Atomic Energy Commission, the Secret Service …”

  “And the FBI,” Woody added. “We get our fair share of hackers too. What makes the three successful attempts unique?”

  “Success, for one thing. In each of those attempts the perpetrator was able to steal one or two files before our system could shut it down.”

  “The system shuts down the access by itself?”

  Stephanie looked chagrined. “Normally, yes. But on these three occasions they had to be shut off manually. We don’t know what the hacker’s doing different, but it works—which surprises me.”

  “Why surprise?”

  “With the level of encryption we use, I thought it would be impossible to gain unauthorized access to our computers.”

  “Nothing’s impossible,” Woody said stoically. “In fact, it’s a misconception that the more our technology advances the safer we are. Actually, the more dependent we become on technology, the more vulnerable we become. Every new technological advance opens doors for new crimes and new terrors. No matter how sophisticated we are, there will always be those who can find a way to break through that sophistication. We think that we can build a technological barrier between us and the bad guys, but the bad guys are smart too. There will alway
s be someone who will find or create a way to break a system down. Information was safer before the days of computers. In the old days, a person had to physically break into an office or home. Now any reasonably educated teenager with a computer and modem can access millions of files worldwide.”

  “But surely our systems are a little more advanced.”

  “True. That’s why there have only been three successful attempts, and they were probably done by the same person. What did they take?”

  “Satellite photos of East Africa.”

  “East Africa?” Woody said with surprise. “That is interesting. I would have thought that someone sophisticated enough to get into the CIA system would want more than satellite photos. What could they use them for?”

  “They’re from an orbiting platform that allows us up close and personal photos of almost any area in the region. It helps us keep track of ship traffic in and around the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden.”

  “How close?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “We are on the same team, you know,” Woody said seriously. “I need to know so I can start thinking about who could use such photos.”

  Stephanie remained silent and unmoved.

  “Okay,” Woody said with resignation. “I’m going to assume that your little eye in the sky can read a newspaper on the ground. Now, if that’s true, who would be interested in such photos. Any ideas?”

  “We’ve been thinking about that,” Stephanie said. “I talked to our people who specialize in the area, and we’re coming up blank. There are no serious international terrorist groups in Somalia or Ethiopia. It’s a troubled area, that’s for certain, but most of the fighting takes place between rival tribes or clans. Somalia used to host a Russian military base years ago, but that base was given back to the Somalis. There is no present military value, although the northeast end of the country—the Horn of Africa—is situated at the Gulf of Aden, which provides direct access to the Red Sea. We have people looking into that possibility.”

  “But you said these were extreme closeups.”

  “I said no such thing. You inferred it.”

  Woody chuckled, “So I did. The files that were stolen, did they deal with the Gulf of Aden?”

  “No. They were of Mogadishu and surrounding areas.”

  “What areas?”

  “Other cities—Marka, Kismayu. All port cities.”

  “That’s a famine area, isn’t it?”

  “Very much so.”

  “So we need to ask some basic questions: Why Somalia? Why those cities? Perhaps a clan leader wants information. But that’s not likely. They probably already know where their enemies are. So who else needs closeup satellite photos? Someone outside of Somalia most likely. The UN? Nah, probably not. If they wanted that information, they’d just ask for it. Another country? Unless I’ve missed something, Somalia has little to offer another country but trouble. If not a foreign government or someone in Somalia, then we are left with businesses, associations, or individuals. Who does business in that land?”

  “Not many companies. Most shipping done now is the receiving and unloading of foodstuffs. The recent clan uprisings that ran off most of the United Nations also ran off most foreign business. So I guess that leaves relief organizations and … and … what? I can’t think of anyone else.”

  “There are still others, including criminal elements, so we have to keep our options opened. How many relief groups are working in Somalia?”

  “Dozens,” Stephanie said as she riffled through the file folder she had brought. Woody watched as she furrowed her brow, an act that made her all the more attractive. She withdrew a page of paper and started counting the names on the list. “We show about two dozen, including groups from France, England, Italy, and the United States.”

  “You’re the expert in terrorist groups,” Woody said. “Do you know any group that would be interested in a thoroughly beat-up country?”

  “Some might be interested. Several groups might make some use of the direct sea access to Egypt or Jordan, but there are better ways and more friendly countries to set up a base of operations. Drug cartels don’t seem too likely.”

  “What are the odds of my seeing those pictures?” Woody asked.

  “That’s not up to me, but I will check on it,” Stephanie replied. “Why do you want to see them?”

  “I’m not sure really. It may be a wasted effort, but sometimes clues come unexpectedly. It might help me get into the mind of our thief.” Woody paused before he asked the next question. “Have you folks considered that you have a mole?”

  “An agent selling information?” Stephanie said. “Why is that everyone’s first thought? Most of the people who work for us are unselfish. I can assure you that the CIA is not filled with double agents like the media would have everyone believe.”

  Woody raised both hands in an act of surrender. “I’m not impugning you or the CIA, but we both know that organizations like ours have their share of people who can be manipulated, threatened, or just plain bought. You had Aldrich Ames who spied for Moscow for almost a decade. The man made $69,000 a year, yet he paid $540,000 cash for a house. He even had a suspicious lie-detector test. The British discovered too late that Harold Philby was working for the Russians. The Pentagon, the navy, every major institution has had those in its ranks who sold out. And we at the FBI are not exempt. This is not a personal thing. The easiest way to get into a computer system is by buying the code. That’s not the only way, but it is the easiest way, and we can’t overlook it.”

  “You’re right,” Stephanie said. “We are looking into that possibility, but we think it’s unlikely.”

  “You’re probably right, but if we are going to catch the person who’s helping themselves to your files, then we can’t leave a stone unturned. Listen, go back to your office and see if you can get copies of those pictures. In the meantime, I’ll keep this list of relief agencies working in Somalia and see what I can find out. What say we meet again tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Agreed, but this time we meet at Langley. No more coin flips.”

  “All right,” Woody said with a broad grin. “Fair is fair. I’ll see you then.”

  13

  “WELCOME TO ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA,” A.J. SAID AS their plane taxied toward the terminal of the Bole International Airport. “You are now in one of the oldest independent countries in the world, at least two thousand years old. I hope everyone is dutifully impressed.”

  “I didn’t know it was so mountainous,” David said with surprise.

  “Good coffee-growing altitude,” A.J. replied, and then speaking to the whole travel party he said, “Just a reminder to everyone: Our elevation is pretty high, so if you feel dizzy or have trouble breathing, be sure to tell someone right away. Don’t overexert yourself for a few days. As your briefing papers told you, this is the rainy season, but the drought has cut into that. Still, we may see a few short rainstorms while we’re here. Also, and I know I don’t need to say this, but let me say it anyway: Don’t travel alone or into any of the outlying regions. This country is still unstable, and even with its new government there is still tribal violence. Democracy has not eased the age-old tensions between the Afar, Tigrean, Oromos, and others. Things are better, but I would be more comfortable knowing that everyone was hanging around the hotel.”

  “What do we do now?” David asked.

  “Leonard and I have to say good-bye,” Gerald Raines interjected. “Someone from the Child Touch orphanage is picking us up. It’s been great traveling with you. We appreciate the lift, A.J.”

  “My pleasure, gentlemen,” A.J. replied. “Be careful out there.”

  “We will,” Wu answered. The two men shook hands with the other travelers, gathered their luggage from the rear of aircraft, and quickly deplaned.

  “Sheila has made arrangements for transportation to the hotel,” A.J. said. “The National Tourist Office has provided cabs that will take us directly there. We’ll r
est while I make contact with the U.S. Embassy and our field teams. Now if everyone will find their Ethiopian visas we’ll be on our way. Oh, one last bit of advice: Don’t drink the water.” Several of the team chuckled. “I’m serious. Tap water here is not potable, so don’t drink it. Bottled water will be provided in your rooms. Now let’s enjoy the land of Ethiopia.”

  The hotel was the best in Addis Ababa, but it still fell short of the five-star hotel they had occupied in Rome. The hotel was a metaphor for Ethiopia itself: grandeur and majesty, pockmarked with holes of poverty and conflict. The advice that A.J. had given on the plane was just what he had called it—a reminder. David, like each member of the crew, had been given a briefing book on each country they’d visit. The section on Ethiopia had contained all that A.J. had said and more. The country could be the poster child for world hunger. In the early nineties it had suffered one of the most devastating famines in contemporary history. David, tired from the travel and now suffering from jet lag, lay on the bed in his room, with the briefing book propped on his chest.

  Ethiopia was a land filled with diversity. Its highlands accounted for almost half of all those found in Africa, yet it also had hot grasslands and the Great Rift Valley, which was still geologically active. He had been surprised to learn that 80 percent of the mighty Nile River’s water came from the vast mountainous area of the country, yet the land had been frequented by drought and famine. There had been four famines previous to the one Ethiopia was experiencing now: 1972–74, 1984–85, 1987; and 1989–90. More than two million Ethiopians died of starvation during those years. If A.J. and his researchers were right, the present famine could match the total devastation of the other three periods combined. According to the briefing papers, Ethiopia was as varied in people as in geography. More than eighty languages could be heard within its borders.

  There seemed to be an unfairness to it all, David thought. A country as ancient and as ethnically rich as Ethiopia should be the crown jewel of Africa. Unlike all other African countries, Ethiopia had never been a settlement of Europe. It had always stood on its own. But recent decades had forced it to accept help from other countries to keep its people alive. What both puzzled and infuriated him was that none of the loss of life need have occurred. Sufficient food supplies could be delivered to the country in short order. The country possessed an international airport and, until the recent breakaway of Eritrea in the north, had two ports on the Red Sea. But neither weather nor terrain prolonged the famines, caused the large numbers of displaced people to flee across borders, or killed the innocent. No, it had been men who did such things. Men who could not live with one another because they were of different tribes. Men who felt the need to force changes on people as did the former leader of Ethiopia, Mengistu Haile Mariam, the young military leader who founded the nation’s Communist Party and, with the help of the once Soviet Union, became the nation’s president. Fourteen years later he resigned in the face of force. During his years in office he attempted many plans that led to the deforestation of land and the forced resettlement of a half million nationals who had been pressed into new and unwanted villages.