there...Trouble with that scrambler, I didn’t get an image of the guy taking the shot at me. But I did get one of the van going down the street, and where it ended up. I traced it to a train station. He got out and I lost him in the crowd after that. Never did get a real good look at him. But I did get a shoddy image when he got out of that van. Not enough for ctOS facial recognition programs. Still...from what I understand, you’re an expert on satellite picture enhancement. Is that right?”
“More or less.”
“I hope it’s more. Same enhancement issue. You know where to get any software relating to that? Something you could use?”
Wolfe snorted. “It’s on my laptop! I knew they were coming to arrest me, in Somalia—so I uploaded stuff that might be useful. Put it up in my own little corner of the cloud. And when I got out of jail I downloaded it onto my laptop. Which I swiped from...well, it doesn’t matter where I swiped the laptop from.”
“You stole a car the other day, too.”
“Yeah. I did.” He decided not to ask how Pearce knew that. “After they busted me, on a bogus pretence, I stopped caring much about the law. But I don’t make a profit on stolen cars, if that’s what you mean. I just borrow them now and then and leave them where they can be found. One of them had a laptop in it that hadn’t been used much...”
“I’ve been known to borrow a few cars myself. Listen—one thing I need from you is to take the scrappy image of the shooter who nearly took my head off. See if you can use that program and your experience to enhance it.”
“I can do that.”
“I’m transmitting it to the PC there. Upload your software to the PC—see what you can do.”
“That PC doesn’t seem to have wifi—”
“I have my own, for that apartment—when I want it to be there.”
“It’ll take me time to run the enhancement.”
“Then do it after you tell me your story...”
“I still feel funny talking to a television.”
“You’re talking to me, Wolfe. Go on. What happened in Somalia?”
Wolfe thought about it. He’d probably be dead now, if it weren’t for Pearce...
Wolfe took a sip of Scotch, and then he took the leap. “I was in an air conditioned trailer, on a CIA black ops base....”
#
I was in an air conditioned trailer, on a CIA black ops base, when I saw the takedown.
I shouldn’t be talking about the base, Pearce, but I’ll tell you this much: it was pretty well camouflaged on a little Yemeni island called Socatra, in the Gulf of Aden, couple hundred miles off the coast of Somalia. I was Army, Delta Force, not CIA, but we worked closely with the spooks and shared a lot of runways. Special Activities Division, Special Operations Group—I rubbed elbows with all those guys out there. Spook soldiers.
I was running surveillance drones over a compound about five klicks south of the eastern edge of Mogadishu. This was pure surveillance—no weapons on this kind of drone. Keeping it unarmed made it smaller, better for staying covert. I used the drones and the satellite surveillance detailing program to look for possible al Qaeda operatives, and now and then for some of those Gulf of Aden pirate dhows.
I remember being tired of that cramped trailer under its green and black cammie netting; tired of the monitors, tired of wearing the headphones. I was good at what I was doing. I was good at anything digital, electronic, computerized, remote controlled, so that’s how I ended up there. But I was starting to miss working in the field. When I was sent on missions into the field I used to set up likely sniper targets using infrared gear. I had to sneak a good distance in-country for that, all on my lonesome. Scary as hell but at least it wasn’t boring. Not like sitting in a trailer staring into monitors.
Before I was stuck in the trailer, I got caught out with my ass hanging out three times, when I was in the field—and three times I was lucky enough to fight my way
“More or less.”
“I hope it’s more. Same enhancement issue. You know where to get any software relating to that? Something you could use?”
Wolfe snorted. “It’s on my laptop! I knew they were coming to arrest me, in Somalia—so I uploaded stuff that might be useful. Put it up in my own little corner of the cloud. And when I got out of jail I downloaded it onto my laptop. Which I swiped from...well, it doesn’t matter where I swiped the laptop from.”
“You stole a car the other day, too.”
“Yeah. I did.” He decided not to ask how Pearce knew that. “After they busted me, on a bogus pretence, I stopped caring much about the law. But I don’t make a profit on stolen cars, if that’s what you mean. I just borrow them now and then and leave them where they can be found. One of them had a laptop in it that hadn’t been used much...”
“I’ve been known to borrow a few cars myself. Listen—one thing I need from you is to take the scrappy image of the shooter who nearly took my head off. See if you can use that program and your experience to enhance it.”
“I can do that.”
“I’m transmitting it to the PC there. Upload your software to the PC—see what you can do.”
“That PC doesn’t seem to have wifi—”
“I have my own, for that apartment—when I want it to be there.”
“It’ll take me time to run the enhancement.”
“Then do it after you tell me your story...”
“I still feel funny talking to a television.”
“You’re talking to me, Wolfe. Go on. What happened in Somalia?”
Wolfe thought about it. He’d probably be dead now, if it weren’t for Pearce...
Wolfe took a sip of Scotch, and then he took the leap. “I was in an air conditioned trailer, on a CIA black ops base....”
#
I was in an air conditioned trailer, on a CIA black ops base, when I saw the takedown.
I shouldn’t be talking about the base, Pearce, but I’ll tell you this much: it was pretty well camouflaged on a little Yemeni island called Socatra, in the Gulf of Aden, couple hundred miles off the coast of Somalia. I was Army, Delta Force, not CIA, but we worked closely with the spooks and shared a lot of runways. Special Activities Division, Special Operations Group—I rubbed elbows with all those guys out there. Spook soldiers.
I was running surveillance drones over a compound about five klicks south of the eastern edge of Mogadishu. This was pure surveillance—no weapons on this kind of drone. Keeping it unarmed made it smaller, better for staying covert. I used the drones and the satellite surveillance detailing program to look for possible al Qaeda operatives, and now and then for some of those Gulf of Aden pirate dhows.
I remember being tired of that cramped trailer under its green and black cammie netting; tired of the monitors, tired of wearing the headphones. I was good at what I was doing. I was good at anything digital, electronic, computerized, remote controlled, so that’s how I ended up there. But I was starting to miss working in the field. When I was sent on missions into the field I used to set up likely sniper targets using infrared gear. I had to sneak a good distance in-country for that, all on my lonesome. Scary as hell but at least it wasn’t boring. Not like sitting in a trailer staring into monitors.
Before I was stuck in the trailer, I got caught out with my ass hanging out three times, when I was in the field—and three times I was lucky enough to fight my way
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