Enemy In the Room Read Free

special code memorized as a nursery rhyme seventy years
earlier in his native Egypt.
    The founder of one of the world’s largest
communications, television, movie and technology companies had long
since become bored with the view from the top of Midtown Tower,
even though there were windows on three sides. At least twice a
day, and usually more often, he took time to review his Real Time
Intercepts, or “RTI” as it was referred to by the few who knew of
its existence.
    As he read the afternoon’s summary in
silence, he typed questions for further study by his two RTI
lieutenants concerning intercepts from a cabinet member in Syria
and a NATO commander in Germany.
    Twenty minutes later he closed the RTI
program and, using a code name and encryption that made these
communications untraceable, he emailed one of several stock brokers
whom they used in Singapore, where the markets were just opening.
Knox placed two large buy orders, and one sell order through a
chain of dummy companies maintained for that purpose. Simon North,
a retired British Air Force general with his own consulting company
in London, received an email with only a previously authenticated
code for the sender, instructing him to contact a specific person
at NovySvet Aerospace in Moscow. Finally Trevor folded up three
reminders and placed them in his coat—two for tomorrow’s meeting
with Paul Burke, head of USNet’s U.S. operations, and one for David
Sawyer in real estate.
    He rose and unlocked a small closet, then
took out his prayer rug, spread it on the inlaid parquet floor, and
removed his shoes and socks. He turned to the sink in the same
closet, washed his hands and feet three times, then his face. After
passing a hand over the whole of his head, wetting his still dark
hair, he knelt and prayed out loud in Arabic, La ilaha illa
Allah. Muhammad rasul Allah (“There is no god but Allah.
Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.”). He recited the first surah
of the Qur’an from memory and went through his ritual prayer. Then
he gave Allah thanks for the church bombing the day before, which
was being covered extensively by all the media, An obscure
RTI-funded foundation paid the salary of the campus imam who
befriended the student a year ago, and another even more secret
source would soon send a large payment to his family. Trevor ended
his prayers by giving thanks for the last few hours’ intercepts,
which would bring more opportunities.
    When finished, he returned the rug,
straightened his shirt, and put on his shoes and socks. He unlocked
the office door and glanced around his desk to be sure that all the
devices were set on standby, the drawers locked, and the security
light on.
    Phyllis Jordan, Knox’s personal assistant,
entered from the reception area in response to a small light on her
desk. They had been together for many years, starting when Knox had
arrived in America at age twenty and was little more than an
assistant at the radio station owned by his Egyptian immigrant
uncle, whose son Ellis had created a vision for telephones and
computers.
    Gray haired and dwarfed by her tall boss,
Jordan was a totally loyal gatekeeper. “It’s time to leave—you’ve
got the Cinema Group meeting tomorrow morning in Los Angeles.”
    Coming around his desk toward the one wall
in his office with no windows, covered instead with awards and
pictures of himself with important people from the past four
decades, he touched a button beneath the chair rail. A door opened
to a paneled hallway leading through an exercise area to his
apartment.
    “Yes. My workout clothes are in the hamper.
Tell them to power up the helicopter. I’ll get my coat and head to
the roof. Do you have the university awards packed?”
    “In your briefcase.”
    “Good. I’ll call early from L.A. We’ll do
the Operations and Real Estate updates by video conference, right
after lunch here. Let Paul and David know in the morning.”
    “Yes, sir. Have a safe trip.” She smiled