agreed to do the job. But he wondered whether his old friend from Delta might have been commissioned to kill him if he had said no. If the people behind it were as serious as the man said, it would be absolutely essential to keep the contents of the then-destroyed document secret until they had a chance to find another operator to carry it out.
Thorn was then given a second sealed envelope. This one contained a long list of telephone numbers with area codes from all over the country. Each one had a separate date next to it. In order to communicate with his employers and to receive instructions or critical intelligence, he was to call each of the numbers listed on the dates printed next to them. From the time heâd started, about five weeks ago, there were a total of forty-five numbers, one for every other day, for a period of ninety days. By then the job was to be completed.
When Thorn called the first number, he found himself listening to instructions from a digitized voice synthesizer. He was told to repeat several lines of the verse âMary had a little lambâ¦â andso on. Finally the instructions on the machine told him that in the future it would not be necessary to identify himself by name or in any other way, but that he should call one of the listed numbers every two days for further updates and information.
Thorn guessed that they were using voice-recognition software to identify him, a digitized voiceprint that could not be replicated by anyone else. Any other person calling in and the machine would shut down. The phone numbers on the list were no doubt patched through to wherever the voice-mail and message machine was located. The equipment could be sitting in the middle of an empty room anywhere in the world. If they cleared all messages and instructions each day, anyone seizing the box would get almost nothing by way of information. And they couldnât tap the phone line because it changed every other day. Because of the voice synthesizer, there was no way for Thorn or anyone else to pick up on an accent.
It was a onetime venture. Whoever did it would never work again. The risks were enormous, but so were the rewards. The initial offer was two and a half million dollars. That was his fee, but with the proviso that money was no object. The success of the mission was everything. Who else but the Middle Eastern merchants of terror would have that kind of money?
They agreed to cover the cost of the ordnance, all the transportation, and the crew. And Thorn was not above padding these to increase his take-home pay. He was already thinking along these lines when his eyes caught the headline near the left side of the screen. A single column about two inches long:
âSenate Staffer Found Deadâ
Dateline: Alexandria, VA.
âPolice are still investigating the death of a staff member for the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence who was found dead in his Alexandria apartment last month. The victim, James Snyder, 23, was found dead following an apparent drug overdose. Police are looking for anyone with information regarding the victim orhis whereabouts on the evening of August 2. They are asking anyone with information to call the Alexandria Police Department, Investigation Bureau.â The phone number followed.
Thorn had been following the little bits and pieces of news ever since the kidâs murder. From the news stories it didnât sound as if the cops had any particular suspicions. It was standard procedure to look for witnesses who might have seen the person in the hours before he died, if for no other reason than to narrow down the time of death.
To the extent that Thorn was capable of such feelings, he had a fleeting pang of regret. It lasted a couple of seconds. He had nothing against the kid. It was the luck of the draw. Thorn picked him as the pigeon to gain access because he stood out.
Thorn had observed three young guides from a distance for more than an hour before
Thorn was then given a second sealed envelope. This one contained a long list of telephone numbers with area codes from all over the country. Each one had a separate date next to it. In order to communicate with his employers and to receive instructions or critical intelligence, he was to call each of the numbers listed on the dates printed next to them. From the time heâd started, about five weeks ago, there were a total of forty-five numbers, one for every other day, for a period of ninety days. By then the job was to be completed.
When Thorn called the first number, he found himself listening to instructions from a digitized voice synthesizer. He was told to repeat several lines of the verse âMary had a little lambâ¦â andso on. Finally the instructions on the machine told him that in the future it would not be necessary to identify himself by name or in any other way, but that he should call one of the listed numbers every two days for further updates and information.
Thorn guessed that they were using voice-recognition software to identify him, a digitized voiceprint that could not be replicated by anyone else. Any other person calling in and the machine would shut down. The phone numbers on the list were no doubt patched through to wherever the voice-mail and message machine was located. The equipment could be sitting in the middle of an empty room anywhere in the world. If they cleared all messages and instructions each day, anyone seizing the box would get almost nothing by way of information. And they couldnât tap the phone line because it changed every other day. Because of the voice synthesizer, there was no way for Thorn or anyone else to pick up on an accent.
It was a onetime venture. Whoever did it would never work again. The risks were enormous, but so were the rewards. The initial offer was two and a half million dollars. That was his fee, but with the proviso that money was no object. The success of the mission was everything. Who else but the Middle Eastern merchants of terror would have that kind of money?
They agreed to cover the cost of the ordnance, all the transportation, and the crew. And Thorn was not above padding these to increase his take-home pay. He was already thinking along these lines when his eyes caught the headline near the left side of the screen. A single column about two inches long:
âSenate Staffer Found Deadâ
Dateline: Alexandria, VA.
âPolice are still investigating the death of a staff member for the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence who was found dead in his Alexandria apartment last month. The victim, James Snyder, 23, was found dead following an apparent drug overdose. Police are looking for anyone with information regarding the victim orhis whereabouts on the evening of August 2. They are asking anyone with information to call the Alexandria Police Department, Investigation Bureau.â The phone number followed.
Thorn had been following the little bits and pieces of news ever since the kidâs murder. From the news stories it didnât sound as if the cops had any particular suspicions. It was standard procedure to look for witnesses who might have seen the person in the hours before he died, if for no other reason than to narrow down the time of death.
To the extent that Thorn was capable of such feelings, he had a fleeting pang of regret. It lasted a couple of seconds. He had nothing against the kid. It was the luck of the draw. Thorn picked him as the pigeon to gain access because he stood out.
Thorn had observed three young guides from a distance for more than an hour before
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