"Right." Murray snorted. The only people able to leak stuff like this were the people you trusted, people who'd passed a serious background check done by special agent is of the FBI. Only a trusted and checked-out person could really betray his country, and unfortunately the FBI hadn't yet learned to look inside a person's brain and heart. And what if it had been an inadvertent leak? You could interview the person who'd done it, and even he or she couldn't reply that it had happened. Security and counterespionage were two of the hardest tasks in the known universe. Thank God, he thought, for the cryppies at NSA, as always the most trusted and productive of his country's intelligence services.
"Bill, we have a two-man team on Kirilenko almost continuously. They just photographed him having a pint with a chap at his usual pub last night," Cyril Holt told his "Six" colleague.
"That may well be our man," Tawney said.
"Quite possible. I need to see your intercepts. Want me to drive out?"
"Yes, as quickly as you can."
"Fine. Give me two hours, old man. I still have a few things on my desk to attend to."
"Excellent."
The good news was that they knew this phone was secure in two different ways. The STU-4 encryption system could be beaten, but only by technology that only the Americans had-or so they thought. Better still, the phone lines used were computer generated. One advantage to the fact that the British telephone system was essentially owned by the government was that the computers controlling the switching systems could randomize the routings and deny anyone the chance to tap into a call, unless there was a hard-wire connection at the point of origin or reception. For that bit of security, they relied on technicians who checked the lines on a monthly basis-unless one of them was working for someone else as well, Tawney reminded himself. You couldn't prevent everything, and while maintaining telephone silence could deny information to a potential enemy, it also had the effect of stopping the transfer of information within the government-thus causing that institution to grind to an immediate, smoking halt. "Go ahead, say it," Clark told Chavez.
"Easy, Mr. C, not like I predicted the outcome of the next World Series. It was pretty obvious stuff."
"Maybe so, Domingo, but you still said it first."
Chavez nodded. "Problem is, what the hell do we do about it? John, if he knows your name, he either already knows or can easily find out your location-and that means us. Hell, all he needs is a pal in the phone company, and he starts staking us out. Probably has a photo of you, or a description. Then he gets a tag number and starts following you around."
"We should be so lucky. I know about counter surveillance, and I have a shoe-phone everywhere I go. I'd lone for somebody to try that on me. I'd have you and some of your boys come out to the country, do a pick-and-roll, bag the fucker, and then we could have a friendly little chat with him." That generated a thin smile. John Clark knew how to extract information from people, though his techniques for doing so didn't exactly fit guidelines given to the average police departments. "I suppose, John. But for now there's not a damned thing we can do 'cept to keep our eyes open and wait for someone else to generate some information for us."
"I've never been a target like this before. I don't like it."
"I hear you, man, but we live in an imperfect world. What's Bill Tawney say?"
"He has a `Five' guy coming out later today."
"Well, they're the pros from Dover on this. Let 'em do their thing," Ding advised. He knew it was good advice-indeed, the only possible advice-and knew that John knew that, and he also knew that John would hate it. His boss liked doing things himself, not waiting for others to do things for him. If Mr. C had a weakness, that was it. He could be patient while working, but not while waiting for things to happen beyond his purview. Well, nobody was perfect.
"Yeah, I know" was the reply. "How are your troops?"
"Riding the crest of the wave, man, right in the curl and looking down the pipeline. I have never seen morale this good, John. The Worldpark job just lit everybody up. I think we can conquer the whole world if the bad guys line up properly."
"The eagle looks pretty good in the club, doesn't it?"
"Bet your sweet ass, Mr. C. Ain't no nightmares from this one… well, except for the little girl. That wasn't fun to watch, even if she was dying anyway, you know? But we got the bastards, and Mr. Carlos is still in his cage. I don't figure anybody else is going to try to spring his sorry ass."
"And he knows it, the French tell me."
Chavez stood. "Good. I gotta get back. Keep me in the loop on this, okay?"
"Sure will, Domingo," Rainbow Six promised.
"So what sort of work do you do?" the plumber asked.
"I sell plumbing supplies," Popov said. "Wrenches and so forth, wholesale to distributors and retailers."
"Indeed. Anything useful?"
