Authors: Nathan Goodman
26
After lunch with his dad, Cade’s mind went blurry. His head hurt, and he was racked with guilt. The weight of his dad’s cancer pushed on his chest like a three-hundred-pound barbell. On top of his dad’s health, this seventeenth floor crap was mind numbing. Rupert Johnston was taking his orders from William Macy, and Macy’s temper was combustible. Never a smile, never a nod hello, and then, out of nowhere, Macy would explode in anger. Whatever was driving him was driving him hard, and Cade couldn’t get out of the way.
Cade would watch the two men in meetings from behind glass walls. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but every meeting ended the same way—yelling. Johnston’s anger was visceral. It looked like he would burst a blood vessel in his forehead during the shouting matches. Then he would storm out and slam the door to his office. Tensions weren’t just high, they were out of control.
Cade no longer worked a normal schedule. His days were dragging later and later than the last. And tonight, he hadn’t left the office until eight thirty p.m. Down in the garage he climbed into his car a whipped man. It was close to nine when he got home, flopped down on the couch, and turned on the news.
“We’re going live now to Montana, the apparent scene of another bombing. We’re moments away . . . yes, we’re going live to the scene outside of the township of Shelby, Montana, to a news conference with Montana Attorney General John Farr.”
Silence folded over the scene and then was interrupted by the sound of camera shutters firing away.
“Folks, if you can settle down please, we can begin.” The Attorney General paused again. “I have the unfortunate responsibility to pass along the news that approximately ninety minutes ago, Montana joined the sad list of places to suffer what appears to be a terrorist attack. I’ve just toured the area behind me . . . the devastation . . . it’s hard to put into words.” Farr struggled but won the battle over his emotions.
“Here in the town of Shelby, this annual event represents the largest bonfire in the state of Montana. Most of Shelby’s town residents normally attend.”
A flurry of hurried reporters’ voices tried to speak over one another. The reporters began shouting. The tallest voice overshadowed the rest. “Do we know how many casualties?”
“The number of casualties is unknown at this time. We anticipate that over one hundred people would have been in attendance here.” The words rolled off his tongue like thunder.
“And how many wounded? What hospital were the wounded taken to?” continued the reporter.
Farr stared at his feet as though the answer might be written in shoe polish on his Florsheims.
Seated in the shadows of the bright camera lights, Sheriff Doris Thompkins struggled to her feet and put her hand on the Attorney General’s shoulder. Gauze bandages stained in dark dried blood clung to her face and hand. The Attorney General stepped aside with an expression that decried a mixture of reverence and relief. Sheriff Thompkins’ blank pallor gazed forward into the sea of reporters and bright lights. She made eye contact with nothing. The hand dangling at her side trembled. In a low voice devoid of emotion, she said, “There were no survivors.”
A hush fell over the group of reporters. None knew how to react. No one wanted to be the one to ask the next question.
After a moment, one reporter stood up with a sullen face and asked, “Are you sure it was a terrorist attack? Could the explosion have been caused by a gas main, or a grain silo, anything?”
Attorney General Farr put his arms around Doris’s shoulders and helped her back to her seat.
“Let me turn that question over to the FBI.”
“My name is Special Agent Stephen Bolz. I lead the task force investigating the spate of terrorist incidents that have occurred in this country over the past eleven months. Although this explosion is an early stage investigation, we’re treating it as a crime scene. Let me be perfectly clear. There is no other working explanation outside of a deliberate attack. The geographic area has no city services, no gas lines, no sewer lines; there are no grain silos, no factories, no fuel dumps. The sheer size of the blast zone indicates that this was no accident. Whatever caused this explosion was manmade and deliberate.”
There was a man standing behind Bolz wearing a distinctive blue FBI windbreaker. Cade leaned forward on the couch and squinted at the television. Cade looked harder at the man. “Holy crap,” he said, “that’s Kyle.”
Bolz continued, “We’ll bring you more information as we have it.” The press conference ended in abrupt silence.
Cade dialed Kyle without hesitation.
“Agent MacKerron,” answered Kyle.
“Cool Mac, dude! Holy crap, I just saw you on WBS News. Are you okay? I thought you were working bank robbery. What are you doing at a bombing in Montana?”
“Cade, I can’t talk about it right now. But yeah, I’ve been transferred. And, Cade, you’re not going to believe why.”
“Why? What do you mean? Kyle . . .”
“Can’t talk now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’ll see me tomorrow? Kyle, what does that mean?” But the phone was dead. Confused and exhausted, he turned off the TV and shuffled into the double bed still covered by the comforter he’d had since tenth grade. As his head hit the pillow, sounds from a thumping bass guitar droned in the background. The neighbors were having another party.
Well, it is Tuesday, after all. Why wait till Friday?
27
The next day at lunchtime, Cade was still tired. He needed to get out, at least for a short time. At the stroke of noon, he was out the front doors and onto Peachtree Street, walking towards the mall.
Across the street a man stood reading his paper, his reflection silhouetted against the black glass of the sprawling Atlanta Financial Center building. The man turned and walked in the same direction, parallel, but well behind Cade. In his left hand he keyed the small radio transmitter. “Secure channel,” he said in a low voice.
“Channel secure,” came the crisp reply.
“Subject heading north on foot.”
“Roger that, subject heading north. Keep your distance. Don’t make contact,” said the voice.
At the corner, Cade waited a moment as a MARTA bus cleared before crossing Peachtree Street.
“Copy that, no contact . . . hold one. New course, subject crossing Peachtree. Could be headed to Lenox Mall.” A car’s horn blared on the busy Buckhead thoroughfare.
“Roger that, assets are en route. ETA two minutes.”
“Copy, assets ETA two minutes.”
Cade walked through the main entrance of the mall and worked his way all the way to the back of the enormous facility and into the bustling food court. Descending the escalator, bright springtime light glowed through skylights down onto the marble floor below. A sea of people moved about as if woven into a tapestry of humanity, each disorganized thread with its own purpose. Restaurant tables spread across the wide indoor area as aromas competed, each trying to outdo the other. Cade walked past several restaurants where employees stood in front, holding plates of food, little toothpicks pointing straight to the day-lit ceiling.
“Sample, sir? Sample?”
Cade put up his hand. But as he came to the last restaurant on the right, he slowed. The line was long, as usual. His favorite place boasted sizzling teriyaki chicken that when cooked, steamed as though angry at the piping hot skillet they sat on. The staff struggled to keep pace with demand. Another mountain of fresh marinated chicken was brought out from the back and dumped unceremoniously on the scorching surface. Patrons moved down the line, their plates steaming with fresh white rice, grilled vegetables, and dark, rich teriyaki chicken. Cade already knew he would eat here and started to walk past a pretty Asian sample-giver when she stepped into his path, blocking his way.
“Sample, sir?” she said, holding a skewered piece of dripping chicken.
“Oh, no thank you,” said Cade.
“Have a sample. Meet Cool Mac in the employee stairwell, directly behind you. Don’t ask questions. Meet Cool Mac in the employee stairwell directly behind you.” She pushed the toothpick into his hand and turned towards another customer.
Cade stared. Cool Mac? What the hell?
“Sample, ma’am? Yes, ma’am, teriyaki chicken, just $6.99. Sir, a sample for you? Teriyaki chicken.” The sample-giver backed up, paying Cade no more attention. “Sample, sir, teriyaki chicken . . .” Cade glanced across the rows of tables behind him and saw the stairwell door.
Cool Mac is here? Kyle?
Cade walked towards the stairwell door but felt stupid, like he was being watched and this was all just a prank. It felt like something out of the movies. Still, no one outside of Kyle’s closest friends ever used the nickname Cool Mac. He pushed open the door into the echoing stairwell. The door closed behind him with a heavy metallic thud, the sounds of the busy food court muffled behind him. A janitor whose gray uniform was stained with yellow mustard trotted down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Cool Mac, top floor. On the right is a door marked ‘Employees Only.’” The man turned his back to the door and pushed it open. Cade’s confused eyes followed him as he disappeared into the food court.
Cade’s feet shuffled their way up the steps as echoes reverberated off beige cinder block walls. The casual-soled shoes thudded against the steel steps. He was nervous but really a little bit more bewildered than anything. On the third flight of stairs, Cade stared at a set of doors marked “Employees Only.”
Now what?
thought Cade.
I suppose there’s a secret knock?
He started to put his hand on the knob but then withdrew it. It was as though he thought the handle might be red-hot. To his surprise, the door handle turned, and he pushed it open.
28
“Hey, man,” said a jubilant Kyle MacKerron.
“Cool Mac!” Cade laughed. “What the hell are you doing to me, man? You’ve gone all 007 on me.”
There were three other people in the room seated at a heavy steel table. Each stood up as Cade entered—two men and one very attractive female. Cade’s eyes stopped on her. He tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Otherwise it looked like a business suit convention in the small, cement room.
“Hey, sorry, man. It couldn’t be avoided,” said Kyle. “Don’t worry; we’re going to explain everything. This is Special Agent Stephen Bolz out of our San Diego office. He’s in charge of . . . ah, well, he’s in charge of what we’re going to explain to you. This is Special Agent David Stark, the agent in charge of the FBI’s Atlanta field office.”
Cade shook hands with the men. “And this is Special Agent Jana Baker. Agent Baker is working with us on this case. Come over here. Let’s sit down for a minute.”
“We don’t have much time,” said Jana, sitting on the edge of the table. “We don’t want him to be gone too long.”
“Much time?” said Cade. “What, am I going to be late to pick up my date for the prom or something? Kyle, what’s going on? What is all this? What are you doing in Atlanta?”
Kyle looked at Cade then back over to Agent Bolz with a question in his eye. Bolz nodded, signaling his approval.
“Have a seat,” said Kyle. “Cade, we’re here because of you.”
Cade looked at each person around the table in turn.
“What? You’re here for me? This isn’t about that time in Statesboro that I stole that state trooper’s hat is it? I can explain . . .”
“Cade. There’s a problem. A real problem. And no, it’s not about that time you stole that state trooper’s hat.” Kyle looked down at the table. “I’ll just say it. We think there’s a problem with your employer.”
“My employer? Well sure there’s a problem. There’s a bunch of assholes working there.” Cade laughed, but no one else did. “What kind of a problem?”
“You’ve seen the news over the last several months. About all the bombings?” Kyle looked sideways at Cade.
“The bombings? Yeah. What about the bombings? What’s that got to do with Thoughtstorm?” Cade was on the edge of his seat, his shoulders tensing.
“Cade, what we’re about to tell you is classified,” said Kyle. “I’m not joking about that. It’s classified. We had to get clearance from the director to brief you on this.”
“Brief me on what?”
“We’ve traced an individual we believe to be involved in the bombings to your office. In fact, we’ve been investigating your company, Thoughtstorm, and we believe there’s something very wrong there.”
Cade looked like a kid who’d just dropped the gum out of his new package of baseball cards and couldn’t find it.
“What? Wait, I’m lost. You’re saying somebody at Thoughtstorm is behind the bombings? We send e-mail. Are you out of your mind? What’s this got to do with me? I mean, other than the fact that I apparently work for The Firm.”
Jana let out a tiny giggle then cleared her throat, trying to maintain a professional appearance. She glanced at the other agents and took over the conversation.
“Mr. Williams,” she began.
“Cade. Call me Cade.”
“Cade, a few days ago, I recorded a conversation between a known terrorist and an unknown individual of Jamaican descent.”
Cade stared at her. He was disoriented with the entire conversation, but her attractiveness was disarming. He struggled not to look at her body.
“I’d like to show you some photos,” she said.
She began reaching for the photos when Agent Bolz interrupted. “Mr. Williams, we believe there is an advanced terror cell operating within the contiguous borders of the United States.”
Cade stared at his chiseled jaw and perfect hair. It was like looking at a mannequin.
“We believe they are highly sophisticated and are responsible for all of the bombings,” said Agent Bolz. “We further believe that the terrorists are using a very advanced, encrypted form of electronic communication to coordinate their activities.”
“Why are you telling me this? I’m not getting it,” said Cade.
Bolz didn’t skip a beat. “You work at a firm that offers very advanced, encrypted forms of electronic communication.” He let that sink in for a moment, studying Cade’s reaction. “You work for a company that is supplying communications technology and infrastructure to terrorists.”
Cade’s blank look decried nothing of the upheaval dancing in his gut.
“I work . . . I work for . . . you’re saying I work . . .” Cade’s face flushed, and his breathing went erratic. He didn’t know how to react.
Agent Jana Baker pulled out a manila envelope and withdrew an eight by ten, black and white photo. She placed the photo in front of Cade.
“Have you ever seen this man?” she said. “His name is Waseem Jarrah. He’s a known terrorist from Syria.”
Cade looked at the photo but couldn’t focus. He was no longer aware of Jana’s attractiveness. He felt sick. He simply shook his head from side to side.
She held out another photo.
“How about this man? Have you ever seen this man?” The photo was of the Jamaican.
Cade again shook his head in the negative.
“Almost done. Cade, look closely, have you ever seen this man?”
The third black and white photo was a little dark, but clearly distinguishable was a man in a business suit, white shirt, and a distinctive buzz cut. Cade’s face dropped.
“Oh shit,” said Cade. A wave of heat wafted out from under his collar and up across his jaw. It was William Macy.
Jana looked at Bolz whose gaze had never left Cade’s face. Bolz was fishing for any hidden meaning in Cade’s expressions, reading him like a book. Bolz jumped up, his chair slinging backwards across the floor and slamming into the cinder block wall. “How do you know this man?” Bolz yelled as he pounded the table.
Rattled, Cade stammered, “He, he, he works at Thoughtstorm. He’s on the same floor as me. He seems to run things up there. This is William Macy. Well, that’s just what I call him because he looks so much like the actor William Macy.” Cade looked down, his eyes tracing the table. “I don’t even know his real name.”
“Bullshit!” fired Bolz. “That’s not good enough. Who—is—he!”
Cade felt he was under attack. “I said I don’t know.”
Kyle jumped up to intervene, putting his hands on Bolz’s shoulders.
“Okay, okay. Let’s all calm down here. Agent Bolz, I’ve made it clear that Cade would never be tied up in anything like this. He’s not the enemy. We need his help to fight the enemy.” The words rolled off his tongue like a John F. Kennedy sound bite.
“Oh yeah?” said Bolz, looking squarely at Kyle. “Are you willing to bet your career on that, rookie?”
Kyle looked down at Cade who had turned white as a ghost.
“Career, my ass,” said Kyle. “I’d bet my life on it.”
Bolz paced to the edge of the room, his hands rubbing the back of his stiff neck. “All right, all right.” He turned back and looked at Cade. “I’m sorry. I had to check. I had to see your reaction. Let’s start with what you do know. When did you first see this man?”
“It was a couple of weeks ago. I’ve always worked on the sixteenth floor, but I was called up to the seventeenth that day. I’d never been up there before. The floor was always
restricted
.” The word tasted of venom.
“Why did they call you up there?” probed Bolz.
“Thoughtstorm provides large-scale e-mail marketing software. We send huge e-mail jobs for customers. Anyway, there was some big situation up there. Something wrong with one of the servers.” Cade looked down with confusion on his face. “I don’t know why they needed me. I never knew what happened to whoever else used to work up there.”
“And that’s when you first saw him, this person you call William Macy?” quizzed Jana.
Cade looked at her blue eyes. “Yeah, I saw him pretty much right away. He was on the server floor, standing way down one of the rows of servers, arguing with some other business-suit-wearing pinheads.” Cade glanced at Bolz and Kyle, dressed in their dark blue business suits. “Sorry, when I see a guy in a business suit, I call him a pinhead. No offense.”
For the first time, Bolz smiled. “Could you hear what they were arguing about?”
“A little bit. There was something really wrong with a big e-mail job they were sending. The server was going haywire. These guys were arguing. They were freaking out about the e-mail job. It was failing. I’d never seen anyone react like that in my life. Why freak out about an e-mail job? I mean, it’s not life and death.” Cade closed his eyes and thought back to that moment when he first walked onto the server floor on seventeen. “But, when they were arguing, I could swear I heard him say something about Tucson.” Cade stopped. Everyone stared at him.
Tucson
. He had said Tucson.
“Wait, wait, wait just a minute,” Cade said, in complete denial of what he was thinking. “You don’t mean to tell me this William Macy asshole has something to do with the bombing in Tucson? That that e-mail job had something to do with the bombing in Tucson? But what about . . . I mean, it can’t be . . . what about all those other bombings . . . you’re saying . . .” Denial morphed into terror as color again drained from Cade’s face.
“Cade, calm down, calm down,” repeated Kyle.
Jana leaned down. Her blonde hair was in a long pony tail which then dripped off her shoulder. In the smoothest voice Cade had ever heard, she said, “Cade, look at me. Look at me.” His breathing was irregular and his skin clammy. But staring into her eyes was the only thing that kept him from passing out. “Calm. Just calm down. Take a deep breath with me.” Her eyes were a serene blue with little flecks of green around the edges. Together the colors reminded him of the clear blue-green waters off of Rosemary Beach. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. His breathing became more regulated and with less gasping. “Now, Cade. Just think for a minute. What were they sending out? What was in the e-mail? Did you see it? Did you see who they were sending it to? Take your time. Just tell us what you saw.”
Cade breathed in deep and exhaled, still staring into Jana’s eyes.
Agent Stark looked at Bolz who looked at Kyle. The three men were thinking the same thing—Agent Baker’s presence was unmistakably a good thing. This wasn’t just an attractive female; she was really good at this. Cade was the most important witness in this entire investigation, and she had a calming effect on him. They had to have his help. Without him, they were sunk. Everything was riding on this one man. Having Kyle, who knew Cade well, was very helpful, but Jana Baker provided the fountain of calm that Cade needed. Jana had only been an agent for a few months, but she was operating on her own plane. Her skill leading this witness down the path she wanted him to go was something normally not seen until an agent had been in the bureau ten or fifteen years.
Cade said, “Yeah, I saw the e-mail. It was just a regular marketing e-mail. Nothing unusual. Just something with some weekly newsletter content and a sidebar that promoted their product.”
“Cade, why was this e-mail job such a big deal? You say the job was failing. What do you mean?” questioned Jana.
“When I got up there, they were freaking out that the e-mail server was about to crash. I didn’t see what the big deal was. If it crashed, all that would happen is that un-e-mailed items would get sent right after the server rebooted. But it was like they thought the world would end if anything interrupted that job. And there was something else strange. All of our servers have redundant backups, so normally, if a job fails, the paired server picks up the slack and keeps on sending. For some reason, there are no backup servers on the seventeenth floor.”
Jana started to ask about the lack of redundant servers, but stopped. “So you have no idea why they thought this e-mail job was so important that it couldn’t possibly be interrupted?” said Jana.
“No, none,” said Cade, “and when I say they were freaking out, I mean this was like DEFCON 5 or something. Sirens were sounding, strobe lights were, well, strobing. Did you ever see
Alien
? I mean, this was all Sigourney Weaver, the spaceship’s going to blow kind of stuff. People were screaming. I thought I was onboard a nuclear submarine.”
Jana stood up, her perfect eyebrows the picture of concentration.
“So we have what appears to be a normal marketing e-mail, a non-normal situation where a server might crash, and a really non-normal reaction to the potential of the server crashing.”
“Right,” said Cade.
Bolz wanted to interrupt and inject his own questions, but he bit his tongue. He could see Jana at work, and it was an awesome thing to behold.
Twenty-eight years old, two months in the field, and she’s better at leading a witness than me
, thought Bolz.
Kyle stood at the edge of the room, watching, learning everything he could.
“And you’ve been permanently moved up to seventeen?” said Jana.
“Yeah, thrill of my life.” Cade was not serious. He shook his head side to side. “Since I work there now, they’ve been having me look at what was going wrong, and look at ways to prevent it.”