McKinney was still trying to grapple with it. “But . . . I’ve seen documentaries on plane crashes—can’t you go through the wreckage and find out—”
“What? That the parts were made in China? Everything’s made in China. Whoever’s doing this is using off-the-shelf components—the same chips and circuit boards used in computers and game consoles. What we need to do is get ahold of the firmware that runs them—their brain. But immediately after they attack, these drones climb to about twenty or twenty-five thousand feet—then self-destruct. And when I say ‘self-destruct,’ I mean they shred themselves. Explosive residue on the few pieces we’ve found shows it’s pentaerythritol tetranitrate—Primacord—basically explosive rope. Used for cutting steel.”
Foxy twanged the kora. “What the Finnish army calls anopin pyykkinaru—‘mother-in-law’s clothesline.’” Another twang for emphasis.
Odin cast a look at him, then turned back to McKinney. “A chemical trace dead-ended to a batch of det-cord stolen from a demolition project in Cyprus two years ago—no suspects. The explosive cuts the drone into confetti, and at that altitude the wreckage spreads across twenty square miles. What we’ve found so far wouldn’t fill a garbage bag.”
Hoov called out from the back of the plane. “No suspicious radio traffic during the event.”
“As expected.”
McKinney held up her hand to silence them. “What. The. Hell. Is going on? Why is someone trying to kill me?”
The Albanian guy named Foxy raised his eyebrows. “You really don’t know?”
“Because I’m an American? Because of the Karbala attack? If that’s the case, you need to evacuate the entire research station.”
Odin drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Unfortunately it’s more personal than that. Someone is targeting you specifically, Professor McKinney.”
She was utterly at a loss. “I study ants.”
“That is the reason someone’s trying to kill you. Because of your particular expertise.”
“My expertise . . .” McKinney leaned back in her seat and just stared at him for a moment. “Who the hell are you people?”
“We’re with the U.S. military.”
“The U.S. military.”
“Yes.”
She eyed them. “You don’t look like U.S. military.”
“Well, that’s kind of the whole point.”
“I want to see credentials. Now.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Well, it’s how I work. I’m sort of funny that way.”
“We’re the people who just saved you from certain death. That’s all you need to know about us.”
“As far as I know, you kidnapped me, blew up my cabin with a stick of dynamite, and put together some drone highlight reels.”
Odin looked back at Foxy.
Foxy shrugged. “She’s got a point.” He lowered the kora and dug into his bag. In a moment he produced a folder, which he passed forward.
Odin took the folder. “I don’t have any latitude to tell you who we are. That could put our mission in jeopardy.” He withdrew a document, glanced at it, and then passed it along to her. “Are you familiar with any of these people, Professor McKinney?”
Still irritated, she hesitated before accepting the piece of paper. It was a printout of the front page of The New York Times, just a few days old. The headline read SIX DIE IN STANFORD BOMBING. The names of several of the victims had been helpfully highlighted in yellow by someone: Lei Li, Vijay Prakash, Gerhard Koepple . . .
“God, there’s been a bombing at Stanford now too?”
“Were you familiar with these researchers or their work?”
“No. I’ve never heard of them.”
“You’re sure, Professor? Never bumped into them at a conference? Never read any of their academic papers?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m sure.”
Odin took the printout back. “You have one thing in common with these researchers, Professor. Both your work and theirs was found on a file server in Shenyang, China. Part of a cyber espionage pipeline that was spiriting advanced technology out of the West. At first we suspected North Korea’s Unit 121, a cyber warfare group, but that’s not where the trail led us.”
She was speechless.
“The people who stole the Stanford researchers’ work also made a point of taking yours.”
“But my research isn’t secret. I make it available to the entire scientific community.”
“Well, they had your work and your tools before you published. Which means they broke into Cornell’s network. Which means you were one of only two researchers in the world they were interested in. We have people searching for the network breach at Cornell, but what I’m concerned with is what knowledge you have that they wanted. And now that they’ve tried to cover their tracks by killing you, we know it’s important to whatever they’re planning.”