Chapter Six
Lincoln was dressed in a European-cut charcoal grey business suit,
white shirt, conservative tie, communist sun red dress pocket square
prominently displayed, and black wing-tipped Florsheim shoes—every bit the
British businessman going about his appointed rounds that morning. Sybil sat
inside a dingy little tea house two blocks away from the building of interest
to them both—an imposing twelve-story building off Datong Road in a public,
mixed-use area of Pudong in Shanghai.
The building—known to every intelligence organization in the
developed world—housed PLA Unit 61398-- also variously known as APT 1, Comment
Crew, Comment Panda, GIF89a, and Byzantine Candor--the MUCD [Military Unit
Cover Designator] of the People’s Liberation Army advanced persistent threat
unit known by all to be the main source of Chinese computer hacking attacks.
61398 specialized in the theft of confidential business information and
intellectual property from United States commercial firms and of planting malware
on enemy computers. It operates under the 2nd Bureau of the GSD [People’s
Liberation Army General Staff Department, Third Department].
Prior to their arrival, the ODNI had communicated by its top
secret methods with one Zhang Ling Min--a trusted employee of Apt 1 division of
61398—alerting him to an impending meeting with a high ranking U.S.
Intelligence officer and to prepare a cover story to fit a visit to Shanghai
East International Hospital at 150 Jimo Road, in Pudong. He had the perfect
arrangement: his wife was in the late stages of her first pregnancy and needed
to see her doctor for an “important visit”.
Mr. Zhang had expected this event for several days. He called his
wife to inform her that they were going to the hospital, to pack a bag, and to
meet him at the door of their community residential complex. Lincoln watched
Min walk out of the front door of the 12 story block building and over to the
parking lot. They exchanged glances confirming that Min had recognized
Lincoln’s red pocket square.
The three went in separate cars: Sybil and Lincoln in a definitely
used old Geely MK sedan that was once silver in color. Zhang Ling Min drove his
company car, a gleaming new white Chery SUV, reserved for senior officials of
the company. Min picked up his wife, and the three conspirators entered the
hospital complex through separate entrances. Min dropped his wife off at the
ob-gyn clinic with instructions that she be certain to obtain a certificate of
attendance.
Sybil and Lincoln were sitting in the chapel donated by the
Episcopalians with nearly full confidence that no one would interrupt them. Min
entered, looked around; and seeing no one, walked quietly and sat one row
behind the CIA agents.
Sybil and Lincoln greeted him as a friend.
Min looked several times at Sybil before saying, “Mrs. North, how
you have aged. The last time we met, you were a chic modern forty-year-old
Chinese fashion model.”
Sybil and Lincoln laughed.
“Stresses of the job, Min. It takes its toll.”
They spoke English, although all three were ready to switch to
Mandarin immediately if a worshipper should appear.
“I know you do not have much time, Min; so, I will get right to
the issue at hand. We are seeking a mass murderer who seems to be killing
people indiscriminately around the world. The only real lead we have is a
signature buried in the encrypted text that leads directly to APT 1. Frankly,
the finding was a little too easy and obvious. Maybe, the killer—who calls
himself ‘Beelzebub’—is not as good with a computer as we first thought; or he
made a mistake—everyone does occasionally—or he is purposefully including
misinformation to throw us off. We need to track him…or her…or them down before
there are more massacres; and even worse, war between accusing nations.”
Min maintained an Oriental inscrutable expression as most Chinese
authorities did. But, he was obviously thinking.
“I think the misinformation option of the most likely. We, at APT
1 have been targeting American companies exclusively for the past six months. We
are inside Wells Fargo, Chase Manhattan Bank, Trump Hotels, American
Airlines…and, let’s see…Boeing. Probably a few others, but that’s all I know
about for the time being. What I don’t know is important. I have no knowledge
of current attacks of governmental, defense, or medical entities. I have never
heard of any misinformation mission to create chaos by pitting nations against
each other in cyberspace. I, if anyone, should know of such secret intelligence
initiatives.”
Sybil had no good reason to doubt Min—his real name. He was born
in Minneapolis, educated at UC Berkeley in computer science, and recruited by
the CIA after he received and reported overtures from Chinese 61398 operatives.
All of his information sent to the CIA and the ODNI had been rated A++, and he
had never come under suspicion of being a double-agent.
“I know this will be touchy work, Min, and maybe dangerous. But,
we need to know. Does anyone in the Third Department have any questionable
communications with local or foreign entities that might be related to
terrorism or to this Beelzebub character. It is only a matter of time before
the Chinese, or the Russians, or the Islamists, or the Filipinos launch a
warning shot over the bow. I have influence with the Americans, of course, but
I can’t remain convincing much longer without objective evidence. I’m sure you
know that there was a close call between the Filipinos and the PLA recently.
The American DOD stepped in from behind the scenes and quieted things down. We
have hawks in our military and in our intelligence services who are just
waiting for an excuse.”
“I will get my trusted people on it. It probably won’t be easy. If
the Chinese are involved, it will be very deeply hidden; so, I will have to dig
deeply and be exposed to threat of being caught.”
It was part of his job; so, he nodded, got up, and left the
chapel.
“I take it you trust him, Sybil. You pretty much exposed our whole
hand in that conversation,” Lincoln said with genuine gravity.
“In this business, a lot depends on trust. Min and I have a strong
mutual trust. Now, my friend, we must get to other areas of potential capable
enemies. I am going to go from here to Moscow. I want you to head back to Salar
de Uyuni. I have a hunch nagging at the back of my mind, that the incredibly
valuable lithium market has something serious to do about this Beelzebub
business. You need to dig deeply, mine everything possible from the electronic
devices. I am sure there is a connection.”
“Far be
it from me to cast doubt on one of your famous hunches. I will give it my best.
As my favorite detective would say, ‘the game’s afoot.’” [Lincoln knew the
saying had originated with Shakespeare King Henry IV Part I, 1597, but he still
liked to credit Sherlock Holmes.]
Neurosurgeon turned Author who writes with Gripping Realism
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