Chapters (83)
A second later, a new passcode dialogue box generated by the copied CIA file opened. The copied CIA file was now ready to launch. That meant a copy would run from the Dalfan machine without the CIA drive inserted. Paul sighed, relieved.
Tomorrow he would copy the CIA file from his laptop to an encrypted Dalfan USB drive, then install the infected drive onto a Dalfan desktop. The copied CIA program would ask him again for his verification code, and once he entered it, the program would launch and his mission would be complete.
At least, that was the plan.
There was still one problem. He needed to acquire an encrypted Dalfan USB.
But how?
25
The next morning, Jack did two of his three S’s in quick succession and brushed his teeth. He pulled on a pair of chinos and a blue oxford shirt with a pair of his favorite urban hiking boots—super-comfortable and just dressy enough for the business-casual atmosphere at Dalfan. They were also waterproof. There was the strong possibility of thundershowers again today.
He’d promised Paul he’d be down in twenty minutes, and his watch told him it had already been twenty-two. But Jack needed to do one more thing before heading out the door.
He pulled out his iPhone and tapped on his Photo Trap app—the best ninety-nine cents he had ever spent, as far as he was concerned—and then went around to his closet, his clothes drawers, and his bathroom sink. At each stop, he pressed the + button to record the date and time of an initial photo. Later this evening he would come back and stand in the same position and take secondary photos and then compare them on the app by hitting the manual flip function, which switched back and forth between the comparison photos to see if anything had been moved.
It was standard operating procedure at The Campus to establish personal security checks when on assignment—foreign hotel rooms were notorious surveillance traps for any visitor, especially Westerners. But beyond electronic devices, it wasn’t uncommon for hotel security—or, worse, national security personnel—to enter one’s private hotel room and search around in person for contraband.
Of course, this wasn’t a Campus assignment, but the habits drilled into him by Ding and the others were hard to break, including this one. For an extra thirty seconds of effort, the Photo Trap icon would scratch an itch that would otherwise drive Jack crazy, and would keep Ding’s nagging voice silent. Besides, Clark told him to always trust his gut, and Jack’s gut was telling him to stay vigilant.