“That’s how it’s supposed to look,” said Berg. “What do you think, Rich?”
“Can you bring up an image of their neighborhood?” asked Rich.
Gupta brought up a Google Earth satellite image of a wooded lot on a golf course. An expansive patio featuring a pool and hot tub. The level of detail they could glean about the property from this publicly available tool was disturbing.
“Nice and private. Easy access to the backyard from the golf course. We won’t even have to drive up to the house, until we’re ready to leave. And it doesn’t look like a gated community,” said Rich. “Can you confirm that?”
The image shifted a few times, zooming in to street level on a few of the roads leading into the neighborhoods surrounding the golf course. No gates.
“I say we start with William Barber,” said Rich.
“Looks about as good as it gets,” said Berg. “Not too far of a drive from the Ozarks, if we manage to strike gold.”
“Seven hours and thirty-seven minutes,” said Gupta.
“Harrison Jeffries will be our backup plan,” said Rich.
“Rich?” said Marnie. “Or Karl?”
Rich took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t we just digitally package this entire room and send it to every media outlet in the country? Put it in their hands and let the chips fall where they may. Post it online if they won’t take it seriously,” said Marnie. “I’m not doubting this team’s abilities, but we are talking about a long shot strategy here. Exposing the entire network, or at least what Helen uncovered, would effectively shut it down, right?”
Rich glanced at Berg, who addressed what Devin considered to be an excellent suggestion.
“It’s tempting, but here’s why I fear it won’t work,” said Berg. “One: The Russians will deny everything and feign outrage. Two: We have things like due process, courts, evidentiary standards, and a whole list of other safeguards designed to protect our own citizens, and everyone on Helen’s list is entitled to them, particularly the second-generation sleepers who were born in the US. The names would be public, so the government couldn’t pull any of their secret shenanigans. And all of the first generation is deceased, so they can’t confess. Wilson was the last alleged sleeper, and Helen shot him to death after stuffing him in the back of her trunk. This is sounding crazier by the minute to the public and the ACLU—and the Department of Justice task force assembled to investigate this bombshell conspiracy theory.”
“But it would draw an unhealthy amount of attention to the conspiracy—and the network,” said Devin. “Stopping it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The alleged sleepers would leave their jobs, because that’s what a normal person assumed by colleagues to be a spy would do, so we would have accomplished that much. But then what? The most dangerous sleepers may be the ones your mother didn’t find.”
“This would make national headlines. Defense and technology companies would start to dig into their employees’ backgrounds,” said Marnie. “Especially employees that fit the profile.”
“Would it make national headlines?” asked Berg. “Because of the lack of any verifiable evidence, even the National Enquirer would pass on the story. The libel danger would be very real. Anyone losing their job anywhere to the McCarthy-esque purge that followed would have a strong case against whichever media outlet ran the story. This would have to be published online, anonymously, and my guess is that a few billion dollars’ worth of Russian-backed Bitcoin would quickly push the story into online obscurity. I’m not saying we won’t end up taking this public at some point. But we need tangible evidence before we consider putting this out there, because we’ll only get one shot at bringing this into the public sphere—and it’ll need to be our best shot.”
“Then we do it the hard way,” said Marnie.
“In my experience,” said Rich, “there is no other way.”
“I knew he was going to say that,” said Devin.
CHAPTER 35
The Jeep Wrangler crept along the rutted, gravel-dirt road, Felix Orlov rapidly alternating his attention between the map on his satellite phone screen and the seemingly impenetrable, untamed forest passing down the right side of their vehicle. He couldn’t imagine trying to reach this place in the dead of winter. The 6.2-mile trip up Bear Creek Mountain Road on a clear June day had been sketchy enough.