“Load it onto one of my personal USB drives and use it to break in.”

Gavin whistled. “That might be a problem.” A long silence followed.

“Gavin?”

“Thinking.”

Paul heard keys tapping on the other end of the line.

Gavin finally spoke up. “Any chance you have the model and serial numbers for it?”

“Yes, actually. I’ll forward those right now.”

“Good. It just so happens I know a gal over at NSA who’s put together something that might do the trick.”

“Can you get it from her?”

“Are you kidding? What woman can resist my masculine charms?”

Then we’re screwed, Paul thought. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

“Besides, she owes me a favor. Let me reach out to her. But you still might have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Most security systems require two-factor authentication. Even if you grab the encryption code and load it on your drive, you’ll probably need her personal passcode to break in.”

“I’ve got that covered, thanks.” Paul didn’t tell him that the two-factor passcode for the CIA software was actually his. “Anything else?”

“I should be able to get that snatchware to you in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Not soon enough.”

“You don’t think I have anything better to do than run errands for you?”

“It’s Jack we’re talking about. Twenty-four hours won’t work.”

Gavin sighed. “Fine. I’ll figure something out. Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Gavin. For Jack’s sake.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Gavin rang off just as the rain broke. Paul collapsed his umbrella and shook it out, suddenly excited by the possibility that his long shot of a plan might actually have a chance of working.

—

The wipers on his Toyota rental minivan slapped away the heavy monsoon rain thudding against his windshield as he turned toward Changi Airport. He followed the white arrows on the red asphalt lanes toward the pickup area outside the stunning glass-and-steel structure of Terminal 3.

While he made the run to the airport, the German left his Ukrainian and Bulgarian associates back at their posts in order to keep a close watch on Paul Brown.

The noise of the rain pounding on his roof suddenly stopped when his vehicle passed beneath the large steel overhang in front of the terminal. He spotted the lone figure with the smart leather satchel and flat driver’s cap standing by the giant number 4 gate marker, just where he should be. The German recognized the narrow-shouldered man instantly. He’d never worked with Wolz before, but knew him well by reputation. Everyone in the organization did. So did the foreign intelligence services. But no one knew Wolz better than his victims.

The German shuddered.

Wolz’s narrow face sharpened even further with displeasure, either because of the inclement weather or because of the fact he had to wait nearly two minutes before being picked up.

Or both.