No Strings Attached: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eight (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“A she?” J.P. asked in surprise. “You know who that is?”

“I think her name is Feng Mei,” I said. “She’s the woman from the bar. The hacker who took the money and code and tried to kill me.”

Sam looked at me in surprise. “How can you be sure that’s her from just this glimpse?”

“I can’t be a one hundred percent sure, but I feel comfortable with a 96.7 percent certainty. I have a photographic memory. The shape of her face, cheekbones and mouth is familiar. Too familiar to be a coincidence at this point.”

“Even with the sunglasses obscuring her face?” Sam asked.

“Even with the sunglasses obscuring her face.”

J.P stared at me openmouthed. “So, the woman you encountered at the hotel bar is both a hacker and an assassin? Of this level?”

I glanced at Slash and he nodded. “Apparently so,” I said. “It’s not a stretch. She did a good job of almost killing me. If Slash hadn’t called the police while she was chasing me and showed up in time to save me, I’m sure I would have been dead.”

Slash tensed beside me and I pretended not to notice.

Marek shook his head. “Chasing someone to kill them on the spur of the moment is a lot different than a hit of this magnitude. The planning and execution that went into this had to be a long time in the planning.”

“Looks to me like they just needed a name and an address,” I said. “Exactly what they stole with the hack.”

“There had to be easier ways to get that than a hack into the NSA,” Sam protested. “Come on, people, this is nuts.”

“It’s not nuts.” I crossed my arms against my chest. “You can’t just go poking around in databases at the NSA. You have to have a reason, a need-to-know for being in that particular database. Every name, every keystroke is logged. A hack is one way to circumvent that without arousing suspicion.”

“A heck of an expensive way,” Sam said.

I shrugged. “Whatever gets the job done.”

“So, what are we saying here?” Charlie said, aghast. “That the hack was for murder?”

Slash studied the frozen picture of the driver. “Maybe. We can’t rule it out.”

Charlie unzipped his coat. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “But it doesn’t make sense. I’m with Sam. Why a hack? An insider threat at that level could have simply memorized Grant’s address. It has to be something else.”

“What if they didn’t need or want just one address?” I offered. “Maybe they aren’t sure who they are looking for, so they’re going down a list. Or they intend to take out everyone in the department.”

The room felt completely quiet, so I felt like I had to clarify. “I’m not saying this is what that is—I’m just throwing possibilities out there.”

“So what
are
you saying?” Sam looked alarmed. “Are we next?”

“Possibly.” I glanced at Slash and he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “It’s as good a guess as any at this point.”

“But why?” Marek asked. “What’s the motive?”

“Revenge,” Slash said, taking my elbow. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

“Wait,” Marek said. “What do you mean by revenge? Where are you going?”

Slash glanced over his shoulder at Marek, his eyes dark. “To put a stop to this. I’ll report to Trevor later. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

To my surprise, we didn’t drive to my apartment or Slash’s. Instead Slash drove directly to the Zimmermans’.

“It’s almost four o’clock in the morning,” I reminded him as we got closer. “Normal people are often asleep at this hour.”

“They’re not normal. Neither are we. They’re awake.”

When we got to the driveway, sure enough, the lights were on in the house. Our FBI detail pulled up to the curb and turned off their headlights. I was
almost
getting used to them following us around.

Slash and I walked to the front door. Before we could ring the bell, Elvis opened it. “Did you get my message?”

“I did.”

I glanced sideways at Slash, wondering when Elvis had contacted him and why.

We walked inside. Xavier was madly typing something on a keyboard in the living room command center. He lifted a hand in greeting and then pushed his swivel chair down a long table before checking something on another monitor. He made a notation on a piece of paper and stuck the pencil behind his ear.

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming at this hour.”

“We were already awake,” Slash said. “What have you got?”

“We’ve got a confirmed trail to the Red Guest,” Elvis said. “Want to see?”

“Absolutely.”

Elvis led us to a laptop hooked up to a large screen. He sat down and pulled up several windows. “Take a look at this. I worked backward from the data you gave me on the intrusion into the NSA. My focus was where did the information go once they were in and had gathered what material they wanted? What trail did they leave on the way out?”

He pulled up another window, shifted to another string of code. “I can tell you they left a very complex trail. I’m not done tracing that down yet and I’m not sure it will lead anywhere worthwhile. But what was more useful at this point was to run an exhaustive comparison of the extraction data to the code you gave me from last month’s hack into the Transportation Security Agency. The hack you suspect came from the Red Guest.”

“And?” Slash leaned forward intently studying the code.

“It’s a match. I can say with near certainty that whoever followed the instructions for the hack worked for the Red Guest. There are other little nuances in the code that support that, but bottom line is, it’s the Chinese.”

Slash looked over his shoulder at me. “There you go. The Red Guest on a platter.”

I blew out a breath, leaned against the back of a table. I didn’t know what to say. What
could
I say?

Elvis spoke. “I’ve got more news.”

“Good or bad?” Slash asked.

“I don’t know,” said Elvis. “I suppose it’s all in your perspective.”

“And that means?”

“Jiang Shi, the leader of the Red Guest, is here in Washington right now.”

Chapter Twenty

“
What?
” I pushed off the table, incredulous. “Shi is
here
?”

“Yep. He’s in Washington as part of an official Chinese diplomatic delegation.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Don’t laugh,” Elvis said. “A special conference sponsored by the joint US-Chinese Partnership for Cybersecurity Peace or better known as PCP.”

Oh. My. God. The irony.

“You have
got
to be kidding,” I said.

“I wouldn’t kid about something so ugly,” Elvis said. “Slash was right. Apparently China is on a mission to spread peace and cyber cooperation in order to soothe the anger at all the high-profile hacks that have been traced back to them.”

“By bringing their biggest hacker to the US in this capacity?” I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “It’s a slap in the face.”

“Agreed,” Elvis said. “Arrogance at its worse.”

Slash who had been quiet up to this point, finally spoke. “It’s all good.”

“Good?” I threw up my hands. “What could possibly be good about Jiang Shi being in our neighborhood?”

“Saves me the trip.”

“For what?” I asked.

Slash remained silent.

It took me a second to get there. “Wait. Slash. You’re not thinking about snatching Jiang Shi. He’s a Chinese citizen.”

“So is Quon.”

“That’s different. Quon was caught in the act of kidnapping and torture,” I argued. “Besides, he wasn’t on US soil and he certainly wasn’t part of an official delegation in the nation’s capital.”

“Jiang Shi is murdering people.” His expression was cold, remote. “Even if he’s not pulling the trigger, he’s pulling the strings. Same thing.”

“What?” Elvis said in shock. “Shi is murdering people? What the hell don’t I know?”

Slash tersely filled the twins in about Grant’s murder and my identification of Feng Mei as the probable hit woman.

Xavier blew out a breath. “Dude, that’s unbelievable. A hit on the director of IAD? Unbelievable.”

“You’d better believe it,” Slash said. “That’s what things have come to.”

I needed to bring the testosterone down a level before things got more out of hand. “Regardless of what’s happened, Slash, you can’t go down this road.” I reached over and brushed my fingers with his. “There are rules of engagement.”

He didn’t answer.

I shot an exasperated look at Elvis. “Tell him I’m right, Elvis. Please.”

Elvis avoided eye contact. “I’m sorry, Lexi, but I can’t do that in good conscience. We’ve just confirmed the Red Guest sanctioned the hack, which, by extension, includes the hit on Grant. Grant was a great guy—Xavier and I knew him personally. If the Red Guest is trying to kill you and killing employees at the NSA, then I’m with Slash. I’m not saying we
have
to do it, but I’m not taking it off the table either.”

Had the freaking world gone crazy?

Panicked, I glanced at Xavier. “Xavier, please tell me you’re not going along with this, too.” My voice had taken on a desperate, pleading tone.

Xavier closed his eyes. “Man, this is beyond ugly. But Slash and Elvis are right. If the Red Guest is shacking up with Quodan and sanctioning hacks and hits on the NSA, I can’t in good conscience say no. If it can be done with the approval of either the CIA or FBI, then I say do it. Cut off the head of the serpent and you hurt the body. It’s been a historical option for thousands of years.”

Slash finally stood, put a gentle hand on my back. “Breathe,
cara
. We’re not saying we’re going to do it. We’re just not ruling it out. Okay?”

“But you will consider alternative courses of action, right?”

“Of course.”

We spent the next few hours sorting through our options and discussing the technical parameters needed to construct the code. At some point, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and looked at the number.

Faylene’s Bachelorette Parties and Supplies.

I exhaled. “I’m sorry, guys. I’ve got to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I pushed the answer button as I walked out of the living room into the kitchen for some privacy.

“Hi, Faylene. What’s up?”

“I hope it’s not too early to call.”

I glanced at the time on my phone. It was already after nine o’clock in the morning. “You’re fine, Faylene. What do you have for me?”

“Well, I’ve put together a couple of package deals for you to choose between.” The raspy sound of her voice, coupled with the heavy Southern accent, made it difficult to understand her. “You can choose the basic, the upgrade or the full deluxe.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked

“Well, you have more control and more options with the full deluxe, but it’s more expensive. I can email you the details.”

“Perfect. Shoot the info my way.” I gave her my email address.

“There is also the matter of the menu, the goody bags, the games and the centerpieces.” she said. She started rattling off a long list of options. I tuned out about a second after she started.

“Whoa, Faylene, please stop,” I interrupted. I had no idea planning a party was so freaking complicated. “Look, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what you are talking about. Can’t you just do the regular thing? You know, whatever it is you do for everyone.”

“There isn’t a regular thing. Everyone is different. It might help if you tell me a bit about the guests and the bride.”

I blew out a breath. “The problem is I hardly know anyone who’s coming.” Anxiety was feeding my irritability. “It’s a bunch of the bride’s cousins I’ve never met and a couple of our mutual friends. I would presume the women are normal. The bride speaks multiple languages, has a petite stature and is allergic to cat dander. How the hell do I determine games or a centerpiece from that?”

Faylene sighed. “Okay, I see I’m going to have to change my strategy. How about I provide you with some options and all you have to do is click the box with the option you want.”

Oh, thank God. Boxes worked for me. Boxes were linear and logical. I could definitely handle boxes.

“Perfect, Faylene. Thank you so much.”

She probably heard the relief in my voice, because she chuckled. “By the way, my son, Junior, will be helping with the party. He’s a good boy. Got himself into a little trouble a few months back, but he’s keeping his nose clean. He’s excited to help me with the planning and setting up. You okay with that?”

“Sure.” In my opinion, the more minds working on this party, the better.

“Great. I’ll send you that checklist soon so you can read through it and decide what you girls want to eat, what games you want to play and what kinds of things you want in the goody bags.”

It sounded like a heck of a lot to do when I was busy trying to save the US government from the hackers from hell.

“Oh sure, Faylene. I’m on it.” I was so clicking the first box I saw on that sheet and leaving it at that.

I hung up and pressed the phone to my chest, partially relieved, but mostly traumatized. For me, planning a bachelorette party was equivalent to writing an automated code formatter in an obscure language while blindfolded. Except a bachelorette party was worse because it involved volatile variables such as giggling women, weird games, different kinds of alcohol and centerpieces. I needed an assistant, which, in my case, meant someone who could just take the damn thing over.

Who did I know that could do that?

Desperation caused me to flip through the contacts on my phone. My finger paused over one entry. Then, remembering I was desperate, I pressed the button. After two rings, she answered.

“Hi, this is Bonnie.”

“Hey, Bonnie. It’s me, Lexi. Hope I’m not calling too early.”

Bonnie was Elvis’s girlfriend. At this point, she seemed like the logical choice for the position of assistant, seeing as how her boyfriend was planning the bachelor party. They could bond over party planning. Perfect!

“Lexi?” Bonnie sounded surprised. “No, it’s not early. I’ve already been at work for a half hour. How are you?”

I moved into the laundry room in case either of the guys came into the kitchen and I lost my nerve. I needed to sound poised without the slightest trace of desperation in my voice. Although, if I was honest with myself, there was a strong chance I might beg.

“I’m...fine.” I didn’t add the qualifier—as long as you didn’t count that I’d been shot at, in a car accident, up to my neck in a matter of national security and at the scene of a murder all in the past forty-eight hours. I made a mental note to sound as cheerful as possible and not scare her off with vibes of extreme anxiety.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

I considered what would be the right answer. I couldn’t come right out and say,
Can you please take over Basia’s bachelorette party?
I’m totally desperate
,
have accomplished exactly diddly-squat so far and the party is this Saturday.
That might send her screaming in the other direction. Not that I’d blame her.

I could be honest and straight-out ask her to help me, but I was afraid that might give her the wrong idea. I didn’t need her
help
, I needed her to
take the whole thing over
. How should I phrase it so I got an answer I could live with?

“Lexi?”

Shoot. I was taking too long to decide what to say. I shouldn’t have called her out of desperation. That was stupid. I didn’t have any conversation notes. I had no strategy, no index cards for handy reference or persuasion points, and no outline of the conversation.

But I had to start somewhere or she would hang up. The phone felt slippery in my hand. This party planning was making me a total wreck.

“Right. Uh, well, as you know, Xavier and Basia’s wedding is coming up.” Thank God I’d said something.

“Of course, I know.” Bonnie sounded genuinely happy. “It’s so exciting. I’m really happy for them. They’re a wonderful couple. Perfect for each other.”

“Yes, they are.” Deep breath. “Elvis is planning the bachelor party.”

She chuckled. “It’s so out of his comfort zone, but he’s really working hard to do it right. I admire him for that. Don’t tell him I told you, but he asked me for help. I told him he had a duty to his brother to plan it by himself. It will mean so much more to both of them that way. Plus, he will have that important sense of confidence in his accomplishment.”

I closed my eyes. Why in God’s name had I introduced Elvis to a headmistress? She was all about building self-confidence and independence. While her sentiment was noble and would probably help Elvis gain the needed self-assurance, it also meant I was on my own. If she wouldn’t help her own boyfriend, she certainly wouldn’t help me.

I was as screwed as Windows 8.

“So, Lexi, why did you call?” she asked.

Great. Now I had to wind this up without sounding like a complete imbecile. “Ah, nothing, really. I was...ah...just making sure you are coming to Basia’s bachelorette party on Saturday.”

“Of course, I’m coming. I RSVP’d two weeks ago. Didn’t you get it?”

I had. Shoot.

“You’re right. I did get it. Well, nice talking to you.”

I started to hang up when she suddenly said, “Hey, Lexi, wait a minute. Can I ask you something?”

Oh, no! If she asked me for any details of the party, I was in serious trouble. If I tried to make something up, she’d know. She was a freaking headmistress. Of course, she’d
know
. Then she’d tell Xavier, and Xavier would tell Basia. Then Basia would know nothing was planned and I totally sucked as a maid of honor. Major stressing out—above and beyond the major stressing out
already
going on—would commence.

Not. Good.

I swallowed my panic. “Sure, Bonnie. Ask away.”

“You and Elvis are good friends, right?”

Okay, I hadn’t expected that. “Um, yeah. Best friends, actually.”

“Well, this is sort of an awkward question but I’m going to go ahead and ask anyway. I wondered if he had ever, you know, talked about me.”

I paused. The question seemed forthright, but was there a subtext I was missing? Why did she seem nervous?

“Has he talked about you? Of course, he’s talked about you, Bonnie. You’re his girlfriend.”

“I know
that
, but I mean in a way other than just a casual mention. Is he, well, serious?”

“Serious about what?”

“About me. About us.”

I pondered the question and then the reason why she’d ask. Why would she think I knew the answer? “What do you mean by serious?”

Now she paused. “I mean, is he out for a good time or do you think he’s looking for more in a relationship?”

I realized the question shouldn’t—
couldn’t
—be answered by me. “I really don’t know, Bonnie. Why are you asking me? If you want to know, why not just ask Elvis directly?”

She was quiet for a moment, then blurted out, “I’m in love with him.”