Долгий '68. Ричард Вайнен

yesterday. We feel certain they’re no longer an immediate threat, and in fact recommended that Homeland Security step down to a level-yellow alert.”

      “What were their names?”

      “Whose names?”

      Kim pressed the eraser end of a pencil into the spot between her eyebrows. “The Berzhaanians who were killed.”

      “Oh, let’s see. Ahmed bin Hoshel and Sabrout Al Javid El Thakur.”

      Not her guys, but she paused and double-checked her notes before she spoke. No. Not the same names she had received from Oracle, but she couldn’t reveal that source. “Hmm. They may very well have been leaders in Berzhaan, but the e-mails we’ve examined have all originated within the U.S. It’s a different cell.”

      “You don’t know that. They could have coded it from anywhere.”

      “Not exactly,” Kim returned. Patiently, she thought. “There are ways to track addresses, but it’s more a matter of a pattern of exchange. The IP addresses are American. It looks like it’s out of the Chicago area somewhere, as well.”

      “Is that so.” He coughed, a rattly, gray sound. “Don’t know how to help you, missy.”

      “I’m asking you to check out the possibility of a terrorist attack in Chicago.”

      “It’s done. The FBI has been over the city with a fine-tooth comb. Without a lot more information, I don’t see why we need to be wasting more man-hours and causing more unrest.”

      Kim could read between the lines: there was a lot riding on this election, and the incumbent Whitlow needed things to appear stable, even if they weren’t. “Look, Milosovich, I know you don’t like me, but how’re you going to feel when a bunch of civilians get blown up because you want to piss in my cornflakes?”

      “Give me something a little more substantial, and we’ll get right on it, sister.”

      Scott came back, dropped a file on his desk opposite hers and raised an eyebrow. Kim rolled her eyes. “How about I give you names?”

      “What names?”

      “Two people associated with the terrorist cell we think is planning this attack on Chicago. They’re based just outside of the city.”

      “Let me have ’em.”

      “Not without a guarantee that I can have some cooperation.”

      “What do you want?”

      “Whatever you’ve got on these men.”

      A short pause. She heard him rattling something. Maybe a canister of pens. “All right. Let me have ’em.”

      With some reservations, Kim said, “Fathi bin Amin Mansour and Hafiz abu Malik Abd-Humam.”

      Milosovich broke into a ragged, wet chuckle. “That loser? Abd-Humam is running a tire store downtown. He’s been here since his college days. Fathi Mansour…don’t know him.”

      “My intelligence says he’s a professor with no known terrorist ties. But we both know that doesn’t mean anything.”

      “I’ll look into it, see what we’ve got, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’m telling you the cell was castrated when the leaders were killed in Berzhaan.”

      “Hope you’re right.”

      “You know, Valenti, your arrogance pisses me off. I’ve been doing this since before you were born. You hotshot kids come in here with all your jargon and think you can save the world in five minutes flat, but it doesn’t work like that.”

      Kim struggled with an array of answers, from the unprintable to the compassionate. He was an old man on his way out. He knew it and resented it. She could understand that, but not at the risk of human lives. “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mr. Milosovich,” she said finally. “You’ll let me know if you turn anything up.”

      “You got lucky once, that’s all,” he said. “You broke a code.”

      “Well,” she said slowly, her nostrils flaring, “if it was lucky, then it was three times, because that’s the number of codes I’ve broken since I arrived at the Agency.”

      “Whatever.”

      “Great comeback. You know, I’m trying to be patient with you, respect what you have to teach me. But you have to respect my knowledge, as well. Computers are here to stay, and just because they scare you, and you’ve got your voice-mail password stuck to your desk and you don’t know how to collect e-mail without somebody setting the program for you, don’t take it out on me. I’m trying to help you!”

      “I don’t want your help.”

      “Fine. Whatever.” Kim hung up and let go of a howl. “He drives me insane!”

      Scott chuckled, stapling a sheaf of papers together. “Better call the FBI before he gets to them.”

      “I have a better idea.” Kim opened the Instant Messenger box.

      WINDTALKER2: Hey, Luthor, are you there?

      No answer. After five minutes, Kim reluctantly picked up the phone. She dialed his desk directly, but an electronic voice answered and said simply that her party was away from his desk. “Damn.” She punched in the key to be connected to a central number.

      A woman answered. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Margaret speaking.”

      “Hi, Margaret. Kim Valenti from the NSA here. Is Lex around anywhere?”

      “Not at the moment. You want his voice mail?”

      “No, thanks. I need to share some concerns I have over a possible terrorist alert in Chicago. Who’d be my best bet?”

      “I think you’re probably all right, Ms. Valenti. We just had a call from the CIA about the same thing.”

      “I’m sure you did,” Kim said as evenly as possible. “All the same, I’ll feel better if I talk to somebody on the bomb squad. Who else?”

      “I can put you through to Agent O’Brien.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Hold please.”

      “O’Brien here,” said a voice with the edge of a Spanish accent. The juxtaposition made Kim smile. She explained who she was and what her mission of the day was, but before she could finish, O’Brien interrupted her. “Right. I just took a call from the CIA, an agent Milosovich. He said your guys have been killed, so it’s not a problem.”

      Kim rubbed her temple. “Not my guys. His guys. My cell is located somewhere in the Chicago area, and they’re planning something big. That is a problem.”

      “With all due respect, Agent—”

      “Valenti.”

      “With all due respect, Agent Valenti, we’ve been over the city like dogs the past couple of weeks, sniffing out every corner.”

      “He told you I’m high-strung and prone to exaggerate.”

      “Words to that effect.”

      “Right. Is Lex Tanner around?”

      “Nope. They’re at the airport, going over it one more time, double-checking security standards. It’s unofficially code orange, but we don’t want to alarm the public.”

      “Can you have him call me when he gets back?”

      “Will do.”

      Kim was about to hang up when O’Brien said, “Hold up. Tanner just got here. I’ll put you through.”

      “Thanks.”

      She listened to the sound of Vivaldi piped through the lines for a minute, then a man said, “Tanner