3 Lies (34 page)

Clint motioned for the men to sit at one of the workstations. He unlocked a drawer, withdrew his personal laptop, and joined them at the table. It had been three months since he’d packed the computer away, but it booted without complaint. Clint located the files with the product information he needed.

Doug read the list of electronic equipment on board the Hatteras. Clint thought the Tranata RADAR system was his best bet. The company was a client, but, according to the records, the model used on the Hatteras was manufactured prior to installation of CatSat technology.

“Give me another one.”

“Furmano. They make a depth finder.”

Clint typed in the name. “Not yet. I guess Todd hasn’t closed that deal.”

“SeaCommer.”

“C-O—”

“M-M-E-R”

“What model number?”

“The JL10-1comm system.”

Clint tried to quiet his expectations. “What’s the serial number?”

“78121116-6683”

“It’s here. It’s on the list.”

Doug exchanged glances with Merlin. “Now what?”

An idea gnawed at Clint. “I don’t know yet. Let me think.”

When they developed the computer chips for CatSat, Clint had designed a fail-safe switch into the silicon level of the system. Every CatSat chip ever produced carried this firmware. Clint could send transmissions, capture instructions, or lockout all other access. He needed to make sure that a disgruntled programmer couldn’t take over his own product. With a single command, the entire CatSat system answered only to Clint—from anywhere in the world.

He needed remote access so he didn’t have to stay at CatSat headquarters. The building was too far from Beth, the Hatteras, and the action. And reminded him too much of Paige.

Clint could get files from the CatSat servers via the internet anytime. But he wasn’t sure what files he needed, and an on-site download took a fraction of the time. Time which ticked quickly for Beth.

He opened the file manager and started the download to his laptop: marine product files, transmission logs, logger data, anything and everything he thought he might need and didn’t already have loaded or wasn’t up-to-date: Currency was king. He’d been out of this world for over ninety days. In the world of information, three months was a dangerous lifetime.

“What the hell happened? You said no one else would get hurt?”

“I don’t have time for this. Things are on the move.”

“What happened to ‘partner’?”

“You’re the junior partner. Remember? Is the money in place?”

A lengthy pause. “Yeah.”

“Good. Then you have nothing to worry about. The mission will be over by tomorrow, and then it’s business as usual.”

“Will those guys keep their mouths shut?”

“Just worry about keeping your own mouth shut.”

Merlin drove the streets of Boston, with Doug and Clint in the rear. Clint studied the files. They needed a plan. Devising a plan was futile until they understood the enemy. Even if they weren’t certain, Clint wanted to eliminate at least one possibility from his list of ugly suspicions.

He opened the CatSat file that contained the past two months of transmissions. The files showed the programming updates sent to vehicles, machinery, equipment, systems, and weapons across the globe. The instructions effected new functions, modified features, or—like Gordon Bankston’s car found dead on a Louisiana roadside—rendered the unit disabled.

The question had haunted Clint since he heard about Bankston’s car. Bankston told the auto club that the car quit working. He thought it needed gas. But when the road crew came by, Bankston was gone. The police report said the tank was a quarter-full, and the engine fired-up immediately.

The vehicle responded exactly the way it would have if given disable instructions by CatSat, the same instructions they used to assist law enforcement agencies.

Only Todd or Clint could have sent those instructions. Unless someone else found a way into their data transmissions. He knew it was a crazy idea, but Todd Westerfield was one of the few men with the resources, daring, and a pair brass enough to blackmail the United States Supreme Court. But even if Todd could, why would he? Clint struggled to find a motive.

He didn’t like the idea that anyone at CatSat was capable of harming Beth. He hoped he was wrong. Expected to be. But with all the other horrendous nightmares around him going live, this one had to be examined. With Beth’s life at risk, he couldn’t let sentiment erode his diligence.

Doug fidgeted next to him in the back seat. “How’s it going? Find anything?”

Clint held up his hand. “Give me a few.”

He decrypted the transmission file then entered the VIN from Bankston’s car into the search box. He hit the enter key. And held his breath.

No match found.

Some relief, but not enough for satisfaction. Anyone smart enough to send the disable transmission was too smart for the search to end here. Over the last two months, there were exactly forty-seven transmissions. Clint needed to compare this to the entries from the logger.

The logger was an R&D project that recorded every transmission that CatSat broadcast. It was an open CatSat chip, no different from ones in the field. It constantly monitored the CatSat frequency looking for updates. Instead of changing programming, the logger recorded the incoming instructions. While the logger recorded everything, as could any hacker that knew the CatSat frequency, no one could decode the specific transmissions without a key. The R&D team analyzed the transmissions for efficiency, accuracy, and modified the data streams for simulations. Only the team that worked in the R&D lab knew about the logger. Or cared.

Over the same two-month period, the transmission list from the logger contained sixty-one entries: fifteen more than the official CatSat log.

While Merlin waited at another red light, Clint decrypted the last three entries and searched again for Bankston’s VIN. A part of him didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to be certain. It was like opening a drawer at the morgue.

Bankston’s VIN came up in two different transmission files. Clint’s stomach dropped. The first transmission was the disable routine used on cars fleeing from law enforcement. It put a chokehold on the fuel injectors, starving the engine of fuel. The second transmission returned the car to its original state.

Todd had sanitized the log.

Clint slumped against his seat. Todd had Beth and eight other innocent people kidnapped. And how many people were dead because of him? But why?

Clint’s whole body felt like his mouth did after a root canal. But he didn’t have time to indulge his anger. He initiated the routine to lock Todd out of CatSat and give himself sole access to the transmission protocols.

Doubt nipped at his conscience, but it had to be Todd. No one else could have done it. If the others in the lab had found a way to access the transmission, they would have remembered the logger. But not Todd. Because he didn’t know about it.

Todd thought he’d gotten away with it too. An untouchable. Beth’s welfare meant nothing to him. Clint’s anger rekindled. If Mr. Flash had shown more interest in the company’s operation, he’d have known about the logger. The dumb bastard.

Clint ran a search on the logs, CIA operation name: Splintered Bench. Five hits. He quickly skimmed each file.

“Doug. I think we can send a message to the Hatteras.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I also may know who the inside man is at CIA.”

The color seeped from Doug’s face. He licked his lips but seemed to stop breathing. “Who? How?”

“I ran a search on the operation name. I found it in five files. The same name ended all five messages. Who do you know called Babbage?”

Beth tried to sit up, but the pressure in her swollen extremities pinned her to the mattress. Vonda propped a pillow behind her head.

“Are we still moving?”

“Not for some time now.” Vonda smoothed Beth’s hair from her face. “You’ve been sleeping.”

Maxine held Emmy’s legs up in the air. Beth couldn’t see the girl’s face from her vantage. “Headstand?”

“Fortunately, she’s only bored silly.” Maxine frowned. “She’s quite the little trooper. More guts than I had at her age.”

“Hey.” Vonda said, “Right now is all that counts, honey, and you’re as gutsy as anybody I’ve ever met.”

Beth reached for Vonda’s hand. “You ladies are my heroes, you know that?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Vonda looked at Maxine. “Right, girlfriend?”

“Right. This time, we’re ready for the bastards.”

Doug digested the news with the others. Billionaire, playboy Todd Westerfield was working with Natalie to pervert a vote of the Supreme Court. Damn. He should never have left her that message. She knew Clint was involved and that they could find the messages she sent with her code name. Babbage. Babbage and Mr. Flash. Doug figured she dated somewhere up the ladder from his rung, but it took an elevator to get that high. Natalie a traitor. It leveled all his fondest fantasies.

Clint said, “The COM system on the Hatteras is text-message capable. Babbage sent the instructions via CatSat transmissions directly to the chips embedded in Hatteras’ COM system.” He closed the lid on his laptop. “Babbage, your Natalie, instructed the leader on the ship, code-named Zuni, to ditch the van, kill Louie, scuttle the Grady White, and then take shots at us. It’s all here.”

Merlin pulled the car over to the curb. “A fine bunch of cutthroats.”

“They’ve already killed two guys from this team, we think.” Doug rallied. “But they’re also smart. By sending the messages from CatSat directly to the ship’s COM system, it completely bypasses the systems at CIA headquarters. The guys on the ship would never know the real origin of the message.”

“So what kind of message are you going to send?”

Clint looked at Merlin then back at Doug. “Let’s arrange a rendezvous. We can send coordinates and wait for them to show up.”

“What if they don’t?”

“We could spend the next month sweeping the ocean for them. Beth will be dead long before that.”

“Pull up a map,” Doug said. His phone rang. Caller ID: Natalie. No. Can’t answer that one, even if she is still his boss. He hit the ignore button. “I should get clearance from headquarters.”

“Go ahead, either way, I’m getting Beth off that ship tonight.”

Doug took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Agreed.” He called Posey first and told him about Natalie. Posey said she’d kept to herself that day, but otherwise, all seemed normal. Sasha was helping him research the changed orders, but the evidence still condemned Natalie.

Doug called Chester again, finally connected with his cell phone, and unloaded.

“I’m damn sorry, son.” Chester said. “I got your message and left immediately. I had no business sending you to a turkey shoot. I expected it to be a false report, thought the experience would be good for you. It’s a shame about Natalie. I had a better opinion of her than that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll have someone at Headquarters take her out. I’m already in Boston, and I’ve got a tactical unit en route.”

Tactical unit. Of course they might need fire power, but the fact made Doug uneasy. “Absolutely sir. Clint Masters has the ability to give instructions to the crew. We plan to set up a meet. What do you suggest, sir?”

“It’s a good idea. Remember, these guys are our guys until they prove otherwise. We want to secure the situation if we can. The tactical unit is purely a last resort.”

“Understood.” He noticed Clint trying to get his attention. “Excuse me a moment, sir.”

“Here. Tell him this is the spot.” Clint touched the screen at Marblehead, a city up the coast from Boston. “Merlin said there’s an abandoned pier in deep water that’s big enough for the Hatteras and will provide good cover.”

“Aye. And it’s not so populated in case there’s more shooting.”

“Is the Director in?” Natalie stood in front of the assistant’s desk. With the events of the last few days, last few hours, all her plans unraveled. She knew coming here was a major risk.

“He is, but he’s on a call. Is it urgent?” The young man looked her over as did so many men. If it helped, so be it. Getting the Director to act might be her last hope. He didn’t need to know the whole truth. She’d keep the background details to herself. It didn’t matter now what she’d already done. She only need to secure his approval for the next phase of her plan.

She leaned in. “Quite urgent. I need to speak with him in private.”

Natalie had met the Director of the CIA on a couple of occasions. Like anyone at his level, he was intelligent, politically savvy, and not prone to sycophancy. Any skills she had in persuasion would be under the severest of scrutiny. She hadn’t gotten this far by being timid.

The assistant disappeared into the inner office for several minutes before returning. He left the door open for Natalie to enter. “Director Murchison will see you now.”

Natalie inflated her lungs and stepped into the office. The Director stayed behind his desk when she entered. He met her gaze with a glare.

“Officer Warda, what timing. I was just going to send for you.”

She crossed her arms. “What did you want, sir?”

“Have a seat and tell me everything you know about Operation Splintered Bench.”

They met Chester at a hotel in Marblehead. Clint used the drive-time to determine the exact location of the old pier and compose the message to the kidnappers on the Hatteras. He paced an opposite path from Doug in the hotel room. “I’ve got to be on that ship.”

Chester shook his head at Clint. “There’s no way I’m letting a civilian on board during the middle of a mission.”

“There’s already nine civilians on the Hatteras. You’d never be able to contact it without me.”

“I’d like to tell you that I don’t want to see you get hurt, but frankly, it’s my ass on the line here.” Chester tugged at his pants. “Personally and professionally. If I let anything happen to you, the Director’s going to send me to watch the camels hump. Me and Bryant go aboard.” He thumbed toward Doug. “No one else.”