Zero Day: A Novel Page 29

  “He’s dead. Those men in the hallway killed him,” Jeff said.

  Annie nodded in approval. “Ahh. She’ll be glad to hear that. When I first met her, I never could have imagined she could be so tough. These Russian women…”

  “How is Ivana?” Daryl asked. “I saw her go down and there was a lot of blood before she fled.”

  “She’s fine. The wound wasn’t serious, though there was initially some bleeding. She had a terrible headache when she arrived. But she’s okay. Physically, anyway.” Annie sighed. “She spent a lot of time on my computer and didn’t want to be bothered. She’s very good with them.”

  “When might we see her?” Daryl asked.

  Annie folded her arms. “What do you want with Ivana? Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”

  “To be frank,” Daryl said, “what we really want is the external drive she took with her.”

  “And why would you want that?”

  Leaning forward, Jeff told Annie who they were and what they did. He explained about the concentrated virus attack and how Ivana’s husband had provided the essential cloaking portion of the virus. “If we can get his information, we still have five or six days to get it into the hands of experts who can prepare signatures and patches and distribute them while there’s still time.”

  Annie looked stunned. “Do you really think it’s as catastrophic as all that?”

  “They tried to kill us in New York City and again in Moscow,” Jeff said. “They killed the woman I was working with on the virus and her boss and even sent the same gunman to Moscow to kill Ivana’s husband. He tried to kill Ivana and us as well. I’d say that they certainly think they have something to protect.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Annie said, turning quite sober.

  “It’s important we speak with her,” Jeff said.

  Annie set her cup down. “I understand and I believe you. But Ivana isn’t here, and neither is the external drive you want.”

  64

  PARIS, FRANCE

  5ÈME ARRONDISSEMENT

  GRAPHISME COURAGEUX

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5

  6:51 P.M.

  Dufour checked the front door to the offices to be certain it was unlocked. The visitor could arrive at any time. Dufour stood at the entrance and scanned the room. The employees had been gone for more than an hour, leaving behind their usual mess. It looked like what it was, a busy graphics company. It would arouse no suspicion.

  He returned to the back office, leaving the doors between the rooms open, something he’d never before done. In the room from which he and Labib had launched the cyber jihad against the West, Dufour said to the two men, “I’m going to stay up front. She could come any minute. Are you ready?”

  Labib was seated at his usual computer, but this evening he was ashen. He merely nodded. Fajer was half-sitting, half-leaning against a table. He was calm and, as always, in command. “Yes. We are ready. Be certain she is alone and lock the door behind her before she sees us so she has no escape.”

  “It will be done.”

  The e-mail had arrived early that morning. Someone claiming to be the wife of the Russian, Superphreak, said he had been murdered and demanded to know what Dufour had involved him in.

  At first he’d been startled by the message. He’d forwarded it to Labib, busy on the computer behind him. “Read this. What should I do?”

  Labib read the message, then picked up his cell phone and called his brother, explaining about the e-mail. Fajer listened, then told him, “Ask what she wants. Get more information from her.”

  Dufour had rapidly typed and sent a message. It became apparent that the woman knew little about what her husband had been doing. He told Labib as much.

  “Assure her we are on her side.”

  Dufour wrote that they themselves had been in danger. They deeply regretted her loss. Was there anything they could do for her? How did she get his e-mail address? Her reply was electric:

  Date:

  Tues, 5 September 08:25 —0700

  To:

  Xhugo49

  From:

  IvanaK434

  Subject:

  help

  The people who killed my husband are after me. I have the external drive of his work and they want it. I found your email on it along with a lot of other information I don’t understand. I want to warn you.

  “Read this,” Dufour said without bothering to forward the message to Labib, who came and read it over his shoulder.

  “What do you think she has?” Labib asked, his voice rising a bit in excitement.

  “That crazy Russian might have backed up everything on an external drive. It could be all the work he did for us, every rootkit we’re using, even some of the viruses.”

  Labib didn’t have to stop and think. “Try and get her to come to Paris with the drive. Or at least tell us where she is.”

  Dufour and Ivana exchange several more e-mails. She refused to say where she was and seemed hesitant about coming to Paris. By that time Fajer had arrived and Labib showed him the messages. He grunted. “Looks as if the Chechen did the job. I wonder if he’s still after her.”

  “Haven’t you talked to him?”

  “No. No one’s answering the cell phone he got in Moscow. I don’t know what to make of it. If you can get her here with the drive, though, that threat will be finished. The Chechen won’t matter. We’ll see to her. Dufour?”

  “I’ve told her she is in great danger, that it is essential we see the information she has, that we can protect her.” He looked up for approval. “I also told her that her husband was a great man and we were honored to work with him. I suggested we meet in a park or somewhere neutral, but she refuses. She says if she comes, she’ll come right here, so I’ve given the name of the company and our address. It was the only way. She’s just a woman. There will be no problem.”

  Fajer agreed. “Any reply?”

  The computer pinged. The three men gathered before the monitor and read:

  Date:

  Tues, 5 September 09:08 —0700

  To:

  Xhugo49

  From:

  IvanaK434

  Subject:

  help

  I’m afraid and confused. I am taking the train and will be in Paris sometime tonight. I will come straight to your address. Please help me.

  Fajer straightened up and smiled. “Excellent. We’ll have a reception waiting for her.”

  65

  MILAN, ITALY

  TICINESE-NAVIGLI DISTRICT

  VIA CHIESA ROSSA

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5

  6:52 P.M.

  “She isn’t here? But her mother told us she was staying with you,” Daryl said.

  “She was here until lunch. But she’s gone now.”

  “What happened?” Jeff asked. “Did she think she was in danger?”

  “No, not that.” Annie shook her head. “She used my computer to access the external drive. Apparently Vlad even ran his e-mail from there. She contacted one of his Internet friends and told him her husband was dead.”

  “Which friend?” Jeff asked, trying to recall all the cyber handles he’d seen. My God, he thought, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. He and Daryl exchanged a worried glance.

  “I’m not even certain she told me the friend’s name,” Annie said. “I know I didn’t think it was my place to ask.”

  “What did she learn?” Daryl asked, ignoring Annie’s attitude.

  “She was told that Vlad had been working for a company in Paris, possibly run by Arabs. That it must have been them who had her husband killed.”

  “Did she give you any names, or an address?” Daryl asked.

  “No.” Annie’s expression remained unyielding.

  “What’s Ivana up to?” Jeff asked, raking his hand through his hair, desperate to find a way to recover the disk.

  “It was
all crazy,” Annie said, shrugging. “She was writing these e-mails, pacing back and forth waiting for answers, drinking coffee. Then her mother called and they talked. Not long after that she was back on the computer. Then she packed and left.”

  “For where?” Daryl asked.

  “Paris, of course.”

  “Why go there?” Jeff said, recalling for an instant that Paris was where Carlton had been murdered.

  “She told me she had the address where the men worked. They told her if she brought them the external drive, they could protect her.”

  “She believed them?” Jeff said, stunned at the thought.

  “No, she didn’t,” Annie said, sitting back in her chair, eyeing them both evenly. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on.”

  “Doesn’t she realize this is probably a trap?” Daryl asked incredulously.

  “I think she knows that. She’s planning on it. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. She can be very, very determined once she sets her mind on something.” Annie paused. “She took my brother’s gun with her.”

  Jeff looked at Daryl, then back to Annie. “We need to see that computer.”

  66

  PARIS, FRANCE

  5ÈME ARRONDISSEMENT

  GRAPHISME COURAGEUX

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6

  1:56 A.M.

  It was nearly two in the morning when the airplane from Milan landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport outside Paris. Jeff and Daryl took a taxi from the stand and gave the driver the address for Graphisme Courageux.

  The driver looked at it, then in French said, “This is a business. It will be closed.”

  Daryl answered. “We know. Go there anyway.”

  The man gave a very Gallic shrug, then put the car into gear.

  “Do you think we’re in time?” Jeff asked.

  “Annie said she took the TGV train to avoid airport inspection, for obvious reasons. I looked at the schedules, and we’re arriving at about the same time.”

  “Do you really think she means to try and do it?” Jeff asked.

  Daryl recalled Ivana and tried to see the angry Russian as an avenging angel. “Annie does—and after what they did to her family, I don’t doubt it.”

  * * *

  Ivana Koskov stepped from the taxi two blocks from the Graphisme Courageux office. She had the driver point the way for her, paid him, then stood watching as he drove off and was well away. She lit a cigarette.

  The streets were quiet at this time of the morning. She’d always imagined coming to Paris, but never like this. All she’d brought with her from Milan was a shoulder bag with a change of underwear, some toiletries, the external drive, and, of course, the heavy gun.

  On the speeding train locked in the restroom, she’d hefted the weapon several times. It was a revolver so she’d had no difficulty seeing that the gun was loaded. She’d looked but she could find no safety. She was certain all she had to do was point the thing and pull the trigger.

  Ivana did not doubt her ability to kill these men. She just wished she could be certain that she’d hit what she aimed at. If she knew she’d killed them, whatever happened to her afterward didn’t matter.

  For a fleeting second she thought of the baby growing inside her. If she lived, she hoped the French authorities would let her mother raise the child. If they didn’t, it would grow up in France, and that had to be better than living in what Russia was and was becoming. And if, as she feared, she died? She pushed that thought from her mind.

  * * *

  Dufour fell asleep about midnight. Labib had joined him in the front office, keeping a silent vigil through the windows. Behind both men, sitting in the hallway in a chair he’d pulled from the back office, sat Fajer, fingering the shafra.

  Fajer had considered using a gun, but such a weapon would be loud and the Paris police were notoriously efficient. No, a knife would do. There was no reason to be suspicious of the ease with which they had drawn her to them. She was, after all, only a woman.

  A light shower had fallen in Paris shortly after midnight. Couples had scurried from doorstep to doorstep on their way home. Now the streets on the Left Bank were nearly clear of life. The rain had left the cobblestones slick with patches of water that reflected the streetlights.

  Ivana drew a deep breath, walked toward the shadows on the right side of the street, then moved slowly toward the address she had for Graphisme Courageux. She shifted her shoulder bag well back behind her left arm and firmly gripped the revolver in the pocket of her light jacket.

  For a second she realized she was likely walking to her death, but she pushed the thought back. Some things you had to do, and this was one of them.

  As she crossed a narrow street to the block where the address was, a taxi came up behind her. She turned and watched as it slowed, then stopped about twenty feet from where she was standing. The American couple she’d last seen in Moscow, the handsome young couple she’d thought dead, emerged from the vehicle. The taxi drove off, and the couple, spotting her, ran toward her, the man holding the shoulder where he’d been shot.

  “Ivana,” the woman shouted. “Don’t do this.”

  “Stay back,” Ivana warned. “I have a gun. I don’t want to hurt you, but you aren’t going to stop me.”

  “It won’t bring your husband back,” Daryl said. Ivana looked frail for such determination. A large bandage covered one side of her head, and her face was pale.

  “You have to be Russian to understand why I must do this.”

  “The external drive. Do you have it with you?” Jeff asked, thinking of the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of lives that might be at stake.

  “Of course. I may need to show it to them to get close. Now go away from here.”

  “Give us the drive and then we can all talk about what to do next. Please,” Jeff pleaded.

  “No. I need it. Walk away.”

  “Let us call the police,” Daryl said

  “Why?” Ivana said, seeming genuinely perplexed. “How do I prove these men killed Vlad and my father? Think about it. Everything was done by computer. It was a virtual killing, except for the blood of my family.”

  “The assassin is dead,” Jeff said.

  “How do you know?”

  “We saw it,” Daryl said. “Those men in the hallway managed to kill him.”

  “Good. Very good.” Ivana’s voice was hard, and bitter.

  “Ivana, please…,” Daryl begged.

  “Enough! Turn and leave, or I will shoot you too. I mean it!” Ivana drew the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at them. “Go!”

  Jeff took Daryl’s sleeve and drew her back. “We’ll wait,” he said.

  “Good. If I miss one, you can kill him.” Then Ivana turned and walked briskly away from them, returning the revolver to her pocket.

  Jeff and Daryl watched as the slim woman paused at a door, tried the handle, then entered without hesitation.

  “Keep an eye on that door,” Jeff shouted at Daryl before running toward it, then turning right down the alley.

  Daryl moved toward the door herself, uncertain what she should do. A long minute passed. Then she heard a gunshot.

  * * *

  Dufour was startled from his sleep when the bell over the front door chimed. He jumped to his feet, nearly losing his balance. They had left the night-light on so as not to attract the attention of the police patrol, who were used to it. The front office was almost entirely in shadows.

  Only then did he see the woman, standing just inside the door.

  Labib also rose from his chair. “You startled us,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Ivana said.

  “English, perhaps?” Labib said, switching languages, moving slowly toward her.

  “Yes, English is fine. My name is Ivana. Are you the men I e-mailed earlier today?”

  Dufour had gathered himself by now. “Yes, I am Xhugo. It is a pleasure to meet you in person,” he said in heavily a
ccented English. “Allow me.” He moved toward her, closed the door, then locked it, all the while smiling.

  Ivana shifted her place slightly so he could not reach her, pretending to look scared. Could these men really be the killers of her husband and father? It didn’t seem possible. The man nearest her appeared to be a teenager, while the other, though older and clearly an Arab, looked as if violence was far beyond him.

  “We are sorry for the loss of your husband. But you are safe now, here with friends. We greatly respected his work. You have the external drive?” Labib asked, coming from around the desk into the waiting area where Ivana stood.

  “Yes. I have it.”

  “Show us,” another voice said from behind the Arab. Ivana looked and a taller Arab stepped from the shadows. Though the office was darkened, a light from outside caught his face fully for just an instant.

  Yes, she thought, here is the killer. “I have it right here.” From her pocket she drew the weapon.

  * * *

  Jeff ran down the alley, then turned left at the next opening. He found a series of back doors; all the public entrances and exits to the businesses faced the street. These were unmarked, from what he could see, in an alley with almost no artificial light. He moved urgently along the doors as quickly as he could, listening, looking in where possible. His sense had been that Ivana had entered not quite halfway down the block; he rushed past the first doors, then slowed as he estimated the location.

  Then he heard the gunshot. Running to the next door, he heard a second, then a third, shot from behind it. He tried the handle but the door was locked. Pressing his shoulder against the door, he pushed as hard as he could. Stepping back, he heard a fourth, then a fifth shot. He rushed the door. As he struck it with his good shoulder, the lock gave and he tumbled into the back office.

  * * *

  “Gun!” Dufour shouted in Arabic when he saw the weapon clearing her hand. He pulled away from Ivana, though part of him said he should rush her before she could fire. The young woman pointed the gun at him and shot once, striking Dufour squarely in his chest.