Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t too late. World War III wasn’t inevitable. Because no one had predicted Freya wouldn’t blindly follow orders. No, she’d enlisted a badass Green Beret to help her, and together, they could put a stop to this.
She cracked her knuckles. It was go time. “Guard the tunnel,” she said to Cal, her focus on the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Investing in bitcoin.” She’d moved some of Drugov’s money into bitcoin before the op, so the accounts were set up and the USB key to access her wallet was in her pack.
She grabbed the key and plugged it in. She would scatter the money into dozens of transactions, all for different amounts, so no one could find the money by searching for a single matching transaction.
Multiple transactions as she was doing would drive up the price and value of existing coin. No one already invested would complain about that. She was making everyone richer. In spite of the air-conditioning, sweat dripped down her neck. She pulled off the hood that covered her hair and kept working.
Dozens of bitcoin addresses were generated and stored in her wallet. The wallet lived on the key. Once the transactions entered the blockchain, the only way the money could be accessed was with the USB drive. A three-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar memory stick.
It would take time for the transactions to process—ideally, she’d do this over the course of days—but she wasn’t about to be picky. At least the files could upload to the cloud as the transactions processed. This computer was likely the financial heart of Lubanga’s operation. This was where he moved his money around. She could have the mother lode of financial data for Lubanga’s entire organization. Even better than what she’d gotten from his laptop in Dar.
Lubanga’s extreme caution with online communication and financial transactions explained this remote outpost. For the center of his operations, he needed a computer with reliable and unlimited power, a very good satellite connection—Mobutu provided those with his dam and satellite dish array—and people with the technical skills to maneuver in the financial world, the dark web, cryptocurrency, and cryptosecurity.
CIA monitored this region for SIGINT but the area was something of a black hole for radio and satellite signals. Given this set up, there had to be some highly effective signal blockers in place—provided by Russia, if she were to guess.
A courier with the USB drive containing the money and these instructions must’ve been on that afternoon flight today. This wasn’t the sort of thing one trusted to email.
She searched the desk for a portable storage device, finding several in a drawer. She slipped all the drives into the pocket that concealed her passport, then took a screen shot of the instructions and included the image in the file upload. She’d do everything she could to avoid taking the fall for this bullshit thievery. The US Attorney General would be interested to see his name on the list of payouts. That right there could be her saving grace—or her downfall if he was corrupt and wanted to bury this.
Next, she searched the unconscious man’s pockets, finding another USB drive. His private drive? Maybe, but it was fair game. This guy was in league with a man who could further destabilize Africa and the Middle East. Lubanga was no rebel leader, no liberator. He was greed, avarice, and rotten to the core.
Goddamn Seth. What the hell could possibly be his motive? She had no doubt he’d destroyed the paper trail that showed she’d reported the money and turned it over to the CIA. She was recovering the money, but would anyone believe she hadn’t taken it in the first place?
The data on this computer could be crucial to proving her innocence. Seth could be the owner of one of the numbered accounts on the distribution list. What was the payout for treason? What made a man who’d devoted his life to the CIA turn to the dark side?
As these thoughts buzzed through her brain, she set up the final transfers. She took money earmarked for soldiers and a coup and turned the dollars into bitcoin. She watched the progress bar as it slowly processed the movement of money from one cyber home to another, recording it all on her bitcoin key.
Cal stepped back into the room. “We need to hurry. I heard something in the tunnel to the north. Could be someone coming.”
She nodded. “Almost done here.”
He returned to the tunnel.
The upload progress indicator was at eighty-five percent. The speed at which the files transferred proved the internet connection was faster than anything they had at Camp Citron.
The progress bar reached a hundred percent, and she pocketed the USB upload device. They had what they’d come here for as far as intel, but now she could strike a blow. She plugged in another of her USB drives and initiated the program that would find this computer’s online backup and corrupt the files.
While the virus attacked Lubanga’s cloud storage, she quickly calculated the amounts for the last bitcoin purchases and launched the transactions. They were still processing, but they could complete without her being logged in. Same for the virus, now that it was activated it would destroy the files even after the computer was shut down. She had the bitcoin addresses in her wallet, which was all she needed. She pulled the virus from the first USB port and her key from the second and tucked both into her backpack with the other drives. It was a shame the bitcoin key was too big to swallow.
Cal stepped back into the doorway. “Someone’s definitely coming.”
She stood and paused, staring at the CPU. A hacker as good as the unconscious guy must be could trace what she’d done. He might even have a keystroke recorder running on this computer.
She needed to destroy it. This would make noise, but people were coming anyway, and this was the only way to ensure no one could immediately trace what she’d done.
She pulled a knife from her pack and stabbed through the case, ripping off the front. She yanked out the hard disk, then pulled her pistol and shot into the disk six times, evenly spaced.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Cal’s words were shouted, but then, there was no need for quiet after the sound of gunshots.
This wasn’t good enough. The CIA could still retrieve data from a shot-up drive. Lubanga might have his own team who were just as skilled. It would take time—days, maybe weeks—but still, it could be done. She needed to burn it. “I need aerosol. And a lighter.”
He grabbed her arm. “We’ve got to go.”
She scooped up the drive and crammed it into her pack. She’d burn it later.
She stumbled as she followed Cal down the tracks heading south, into the darkness of the tunnel, blind without her NVGs.
He cursed as he pulled her deeper into the darkness. He wasn’t wearing his goggles either. She heard him fumble with his pack in the dark, then he grabbed her hand, his steps becoming surer.
Shouts sounded behind them. It was hard to guess how many men, given the echoing of the tunnel.
“Of all the stupid bullshit.” His whisper was concealed by the shouting behind them. “Jesus. I knew you’d sacrifice anyone, but I didn’t think you’d do it like that. Motherfucker. What were you thinking?”
“Without the drive, Lubanga is crippled. Gorev is crippled. It might contain all their financial data. I toasted the computer’s backup with a virus. They might be able to recover some of the data, but it will take time. It’s possible we just wiped them out financially.” She managed to dig her NVGs from the side pocket as she ran.
“Couldn’t you have waited to shoot it?”
Able to see now, she quickened her pace, and they sprinted along the tracks. There had to be an out up the line somewhere. She didn’t want to believe this was a dead end, but it was that fear that forced her to take action and shoot the hard disk. “No. Not if they catch us. If the drive were intact, they’d get it back and be up and running in a matter of hours.” Plus they’d have her bitcoin key.
“They’re more likely to catch us thanks to the shots.” His words were low and punctuated by panting breaths as they ran.
“If they do catch us”—she took a shallow breath, the need for speed making it hard to talk—“the disk is damaged. It would take time to restore the data—and that’s only if they have the required skills.”
They ran past alcoves and piles of debris, and she wondered if they should tuck down and hide or keep moving. But stopping could mean capture; only moving offered hope of escape.
The sound of a motorbike behind them triggered alarm. Shit. She’d sort of counted on their pursuers being stuck on foot as they were. She hadn’t seen a bike in the tunnel, but there was a lot of mining debris lining the walls. The bike—or bikes, from the sound of it—could have been in the piles by the broken mine cart and she wouldn’t have noticed.
Cal swore and ducked into a deep alcove. He pulled her back against the wall, tucking her into the darkness just as light reached the opening to the tunnel. The bike’s headlight would have caught them had they remained on the tracks.
The engine sound roared near, and Cal launched himself into the tunnel. Her NVGs glowed with the added light from the bike as he clotheslined the rider. The bike toppled and slid while Cal fought the man. Another bike skidded to a stop just short of running over both men. The rider from the second bike leapt from the vehicle and charged her, pulling his gun as he did so.
She had two bullets left in the magazine. Better make them count. She squeezed off one shot. The man dropped. Center mass.
She stepped into the main tunnel to see Cal had the first rider in a chokehold, the man’s gun-filled hand pinned to the ground under Cal’s knee. She turned to the second bike and used her last bullet to fire at the tank, causing gas to leak. The old bike seat was torn, revealing ancient foam rubber inside. With her knife, she cut out a thick chunk of foam and slit the side. She plucked the hard disk from her pack and placed it under the flowing stream of fuel, soaking it, making sure gas showered the bullet holes and saturated the disk inside, then she tucked the drive in the slit in the foam and placed the bundle under the leaking tank.
She really should have matches. Why didn’t she have matches? Cal had them in his pack, but he was busy.
She turned to the body of the man she’d shot and checked his pockets. The computer room had smelled of cigarette smoke, giving her hope these men were smokers.
Cal released the man he’d been fighting. The man slumped over, unconscious or dead.
As she laid fingers on a lighter, Cal righted the first bike and climbed on. “Let’s go,” he said.
“One second.” She grabbed a cigarette from the man’s pocket and lit it, coughing and feeling slightly dizzy as she inhaled. She hated cigarettes, but it would burn longer and ensure the gas caught, thoroughly destroying the disk.
She climbed on the motorbike behind Cal, then tossed the cigarette. It landed in the pool of liquid. A heartbeat later, the stream lit and the vapor ignited with a satisfying foomp.
Cal twisted the throttle, and they shot down the corridor, heat from the blaze caressing her cheek as she looked over her shoulder to ensure the disk burned. Her NVGs flared bright, and she lifted them, settling the goggles along her hairline as she watched the flame.
The flash disappeared, but the foam remained, engulfed in orange-and-blue flame.
She tightened her grip on Cal as they sped down the dark tunnel. A gradual curve and there was only darkness behind them. She faced forward. Cal had turned off the headlight, navigating with his NVGs. With her goggles seated above her eyes, there was nothing for her to see in the unrelenting darkness. She’d put them back on in a moment, but for now, she rested her forehead against Cal’s pack and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.
The first salvo in the battle to prevent Lubanga from seizing power had been fired. Now they were off, racing down a dark tunnel that might not have an exit.