Rules of Deception

The ring.

He studied the numbers engraved inside: 2-8-01. February 8, 2001. Where had he been? The Sudan. It was during the dry season when the flies were unmanageable. But the date held no special significance for him, and as far as he knew, it hadn’t meant anything to Emma either.

And then it hit him.

It wasn’t Emma’s wedding ring. It was Eva Kruger’s. He’d been reading the date incorrectly. Americans list the date as month-day-year. But Eva Kruger was Swiss. She would engrave her a

2-8-01.

As he stared at the numbers, an uncomfortable cold burrowed into his stomach.

On August 2, 2001, he and Emma Everett Rose had wed in a simple private ceremony in Cortina, Italy. No relatives. She’d insisted. Not from his family and not from hers. No one from work, either. “This is our day, Jonathan,” she’d said. “The day I give my true self to you.”

In his outer pocket, he carried the Palm PDA he’d found at Blitz’s. Emma’s flash drive was still plugged into it. With deliberate calm, he powered up the handheld computer. The icon bearing the name “Thor” popped into view. He clicked on it, and a request for a password filled the screen. He entered the numbers from the ring.

The screen blinked and the word “Accepted” appeared.

He was in.

The screen glowed blue. A single tab appeared at the top center marked “Intelink.” The word flashed from bright to brighter like a neon sign advertising a vacancy. He clicked on it. For a moment, nothing happened. His stomach dipped. Another dead end. Then the screen went white and line after line of text scrolled across the display. The text was written in a kind of shorthand, each entry preceded by a date, time, and code name that identified the sender.

The most recent entry read: 8-2; 15:16 CET. Cormorant.

Today’s date. Sent at 3:16 in the afternoon from someone calling themselves “Cormorant.”

Rook penetrated Thor. Attempt at termination failed. Rook injured and fleeing. Request meet to brief on details.

The posting before it was time-stamped three hours earlier at 12:10 CET; sent from Hawk.

Subject: availability new Mercedes armored sedan. Spoke with Daimler-Benz HQ. No new vehicles available through end March. One used: Color: black. Leather: grey. 100k km. Price: E275,000. Await yr. confirmation.

A web log, thought Jonathan as his eyes sca

He scoured the screen for a web address, but none was listed. He accessed the file directory, then checked the browser software. The default address was at http://international.resources.net. The name meant nothing to him.

He returned to Intelink’s main page. More entries:

7-2; 13:11 CET. Falcon. A message sent the day before from Falcon.

Confirm Robin compromised. Cease all communication. Await instructions HQ.

7-2; 10:55 CET. Cormorant. Rook contacted self. Referenced Thor. Rook in possession of Robin’s PDA. Stated Robin killed. Confirm.

7-2; 09:55 CET. Falcon. Transfer approved.

7-2; 08:45 CET. Robin. Request transfer Sfr. 100,000 to account at BPT. Replacement lost funds.

Jonathan reviewed the text. “Cormorant” was Hoffma

He scrolled back through the numerous posts, searching for a specific time, a date. He saw it. Tuesday. The day after Emma’s accident.

5-2; 07:45 CET. Falcon. Nightingale lost in climbing mishap. Rook alive.

There it was. Emma was “Nightingale.” Jonathan was “Rook,” as in chess piece. The castle. Or was it “Rook” as in con, to deceive? That made more sense, he thought angrily. And then he realized that he was wrong on both accounts. If all the agents had been given avian code names, then so had he.

Rook. The British cousin of the crow, but a larger, more aggressive bird altogether.

Devouring line after line of text, he retraced the events of the past few days as viewed from the other side. Here was Blitz stating that the car was in place in Landquart and that the baggage claims had been sent to Emma’s hotel. Then came Emma’s reply that the mail had been delayed due to an avalanche on the train tracks and that she would pick up the bags the next day. The postings were sent at six-thirty in the evening the night before their climb.

Jonathan looked up. The busy restaurant was swirling around him. The lights were too bright. The voices too loud.

Emma had been in contact with her network all along.

Just then, a new line appeared on the display. The letters blinked to make sure they caught the reader’s attention.

A live posting.

8-2; 21:56 CET. Falcon. PJ landed 20:16 ZRH. En route to hotel. Meeting confirmed 9-2; 14:00 Belvedere. Bring shipment advice. Trade for Gold.

Tomorrow, February 9, at two p.m. He knew of the Belvedere Hotel in Davos. A five-star palace for the rich and famous. But who was P.J.? And what was the “Gold” he pla

And then, almost instantaneously, a response from Cormorant. Confirmation copied. Hoffma

The letters blinked for five seconds, then assumed their normal amplification.

For the first time, Jonathan noted a tab at the bottom of the page marked “Reference.” Clicking on the word, he was rewarded with a list of hyperlinks. More code. The date, followed by a name he’d come to know well. ZIAG. Zug Industriewerk.

He opened the first link.

It was a bill of lading detailing the contents of a shipment from ZIAG to Xanthus Medical Instruments in Athens. Two hundred advanced global positioning handheld navigation systems. Technical specifications as noted. Price: twenty-thousand Swiss francs per unit. To ship Friday, February 9, from Zurich to Athens aboard Swissair at seven in the evening.

Was this the shipment advice mentioned in Falcon’s earlier instruction to Cormorant?

He clicked on the other hyperlinks. More of the same. Detailed invoices. Not GPS navigation systems but insulin pumps, vacuum tubes, carbon extruders. Shipped December 10, Zurich to Cairo via Nice. Shipped November 20, Zurich to Dubai. Shipped October 21, Geneva to Amman via Rome. The final destination always in the Middle East.

The shipments dated back several months. The first had been made on October 12, a little more than six weeks after he and Emma returned from the Middle East.

As Jonathan reread the list of goods, he realized that he’d been right when he’d told Hoffma

But who was P.J.? And what was he doing coming to the World Economic Forum in Davos?

Jonathan finished his meal and paid the bill in cash. Leaving the restaurant, he stopped in an adjoining kiosk and looked over the selection of newspapers. Nearly every one featured a headline related to the World Economic Forum. He purchased two Swiss newspapers, as well as the Herald Tribune and the Financial Times. Folding them under one arm, he crossed the parking lot to the Mercedes.

Turning into his aisle, he found himself staring into the beams of a slow-moving car. It took him a moment to make out the sirens on top. He kept his pace steady, walking directly toward the police car. The cruiser advanced at a crawl. A two-man patrol. A handheld spotlight illuminated one license plate, then the next. He reached his car and got inside. A moment later, the cabin was flooded with light. He waited, breath tight in his chest. The illumination made it easy to see the newspaper on the seat beside him. A photograph on the front page of the Neue Zürcher Zeitung showed a Middle Eastern man delivering a fiery oration. The caption identified him as Parvez Ji