Russian dolls? All inside each other. Maybe they can break the first doll. It would take maybe one month. But inside is another doll. And this computer is the smallest doll, hidden inside all the others, man.” He laughed, displaying rotting teeth that seemed strangely at odds with his porcelain skin.
By that afternoon, Rygg was teaching Marin the basics of Krav Maga, so he could use him as a practice opponent, when Sasha opened the window of his room and peered out. His face was paper white against the dark interior. He said something to Marin, and Rygg caught the word ‘ Alpensturm .’
“Come,” Marin said. They went inside, and Rygg sat on the bed while Marin peered at the computer screen. He talked with Sasha for a while, then turned to Marin.
“It seems that our ship has reappeared.”
“Where is it?”
“It was off the coast of England, two days ago. The operator heard its call signal. The Alpensturm disappeared on April 7th. But now it seems to have reappeared, for a few hours, at any rate. It went past the Dover cliffs on the 24th. Yesterday.”
“So it’s out of the Baltic and is headed south. But to where?”
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in detailed preparation, going over maps and code words, again and again. He got Marin to test him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just take a map?” Marin said at one point.
Rygg shook his head. “Everything memorized. Safer. Another thing – tell Sasha to use the computer as little as possible.”
“Sasha is very good. The best.”
“All hackers have big heads. They think they can’t be broken. He may be very good, but somewhere on the other side is someone better. So I prefer all communication in person. No one can hack my brain.” He tapped his forehead twice.
Marin had prepared a briefcase for Rygg. It contained papers, a laptop, a few CDs and a memory stick. He had Rygg look through the papers. Many were identical to ones he’d just been going over in Oslo.
Rygg looked through it, and nodded in admiration. The laptop contained his spreadsheets, documents, music, photos of his daughter. “You’ve done your homework,” he said.
Marin shrugged and jerked a thumb to the back room. “Sasha,” he said. “There are no walls for Sasha. We could look into your company and take what we needed.”
Marin placed the laptop and papers inside the briefcase and snapped it shut. “Now, this briefcase is like a normal briefcase, but it has two small differences. First, look here.” He turned the case upside down and peeled back the leather from the bottom. He pried at the corner of the case, and a little door slid back, revealing a slot. “In here,” Marin said, “you will place whatever the contact gives you. Maybe documents, maybe a disc. But for now, it contains an envelope with ten thousand dollars. This envelope you will give to the contact upon receipt of the information.” He slid the door into place again, then covered it with the leather and tamped it down flat. “And look.” Turning the case upright again, he peeled back the leather of the handle. In a recess in the metal, a knife lay. Its blue steel glinted. “You will never have to use this, I hope,” Marin said. “But it is there. To be safe.” He opened the briefcase again, flipped open the folder, and took out several scraps of paper. They had been roughly ripped from newspapers and magazines. Marin spread them out, and Rygg leaned over them, thinking they must contain background information. The articles were on oil reserves in the North Atlantic. Marin chose one of the clippings. “You will keep these together,” he said. “But this one is special. You see, it has the picture of the iceberg? This is the one you will give to the contact. He has the other half of the page. He will ensure that the two halves match exactly.”
Rygg nodded. Marin placed the clipping with the others. “Which article?” he asked Rygg.
“Iceberg.”
“Good. How do you
By that afternoon, Rygg was teaching Marin the basics of Krav Maga, so he could use him as a practice opponent, when Sasha opened the window of his room and peered out. His face was paper white against the dark interior. He said something to Marin, and Rygg caught the word ‘ Alpensturm .’
“Come,” Marin said. They went inside, and Rygg sat on the bed while Marin peered at the computer screen. He talked with Sasha for a while, then turned to Marin.
“It seems that our ship has reappeared.”
“Where is it?”
“It was off the coast of England, two days ago. The operator heard its call signal. The Alpensturm disappeared on April 7th. But now it seems to have reappeared, for a few hours, at any rate. It went past the Dover cliffs on the 24th. Yesterday.”
“So it’s out of the Baltic and is headed south. But to where?”
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in detailed preparation, going over maps and code words, again and again. He got Marin to test him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just take a map?” Marin said at one point.
Rygg shook his head. “Everything memorized. Safer. Another thing – tell Sasha to use the computer as little as possible.”
“Sasha is very good. The best.”
“All hackers have big heads. They think they can’t be broken. He may be very good, but somewhere on the other side is someone better. So I prefer all communication in person. No one can hack my brain.” He tapped his forehead twice.
Marin had prepared a briefcase for Rygg. It contained papers, a laptop, a few CDs and a memory stick. He had Rygg look through the papers. Many were identical to ones he’d just been going over in Oslo.
Rygg looked through it, and nodded in admiration. The laptop contained his spreadsheets, documents, music, photos of his daughter. “You’ve done your homework,” he said.
Marin shrugged and jerked a thumb to the back room. “Sasha,” he said. “There are no walls for Sasha. We could look into your company and take what we needed.”
Marin placed the laptop and papers inside the briefcase and snapped it shut. “Now, this briefcase is like a normal briefcase, but it has two small differences. First, look here.” He turned the case upside down and peeled back the leather from the bottom. He pried at the corner of the case, and a little door slid back, revealing a slot. “In here,” Marin said, “you will place whatever the contact gives you. Maybe documents, maybe a disc. But for now, it contains an envelope with ten thousand dollars. This envelope you will give to the contact upon receipt of the information.” He slid the door into place again, then covered it with the leather and tamped it down flat. “And look.” Turning the case upright again, he peeled back the leather of the handle. In a recess in the metal, a knife lay. Its blue steel glinted. “You will never have to use this, I hope,” Marin said. “But it is there. To be safe.” He opened the briefcase again, flipped open the folder, and took out several scraps of paper. They had been roughly ripped from newspapers and magazines. Marin spread them out, and Rygg leaned over them, thinking they must contain background information. The articles were on oil reserves in the North Atlantic. Marin chose one of the clippings. “You will keep these together,” he said. “But this one is special. You see, it has the picture of the iceberg? This is the one you will give to the contact. He has the other half of the page. He will ensure that the two halves match exactly.”
Rygg nodded. Marin placed the clipping with the others. “Which article?” he asked Rygg.
“Iceberg.”
“Good. How do you
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