The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (21 page)

“I didn’t realize the FBI ran locations like that. I’d figure this would be CIA.”

“They shouldn’t, and with the FBI presence you can rule out the CIA. The house is like a shadow. It’s owned by the BR Corporation, and it looks like a shell company. Most of the other cell phones in the vicinity trace back to BR Corp as well. One of them has been turned off, but there are three that still have an active cell signal there. The phone tied to the FBI agent was also turned off at the location. Most of the other signals they picked up were from area residents.”

Jack Turner turned to his friend and said, “This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me about it.” Simpson read the rest of the analysis and said, “There’s a pay-as-you-go phone that stands out as well. It can’t be traced to anyone, and it’s also been turned off.”

“The Russians she mentioned?”

Simpson nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. I’m sending a note to have the analysts at The Shop put all the numbers on alert and add them to our proximity zones.”

Turner gave him a quizzical look. “Huh?”

“If one of the cell signals comes online, we’ll know. If it’s nearby, your phone will give you the heads up even quicker.”

“Gotcha,” Jack Turner said. “At least I think I do…”

“Are you ready to do this?” Simpson asked.

“You already know my opinion. Hitting this location is a bona fide bad idea. Especially now that it sounds like we’ll have three for company.”

Simpson couldn’t disagree. His friend was absolutely right. There was a personal element in this, and he couldn’t deny that it was affecting his judgment. He himself was even starting to question what they were doing when his cell phone rang.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Addy, sorry to call again,” Matilde Soller said.

“It’s okay, Bella, don’t be.” He nodded at Turner.

“There’s something else, something I’d forgotten to tell you, and I think it’s important. I can’t believe I didn’t mention it before. I don’t know…I just wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re under a lot of stress right now,” Simpson said. “What is it?”

“Maria’s boyfriend. He was with Max when he was killed,” she said with great concern. “His name is Francis Millar. We call him Etzy. I can’t believe he had anything to do with Max’s death, I just can’t. He’s wonderful. I know it in my heart. People are after him, Addy. He’s scared. Scared to death.”

Simpson had his answer. She had just connected the dots. He looked over at Turner and asked her, “Have you told your husband?”

“Oh my God, yes. Maximillian flew off the handle when I told him I’d called you. He’s lost it. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but please be careful.” Her voice started to crack up. “He said he’s coming after you. Well, in so many words. You know how he can be. I’m so sorry for bringing you into all of this.”

Simpson ended the conversation with his best effort to comfort the grieving mother and then turned his attention back to Jack Turner.

“Well, my friend. We have our connection. You should be a fortune teller. Apparently the senator has already lost his mind, so this isn’t going to make things any worse.” Simpson flashed him a big grin and then explained the new developments. “This is part of the operation now, so we don’t really have a choice.”

Turner furrowed his brow. “Yeah, right. I can smell your epiphany,” he joked, alluding to the bullshit. “So you’re telling me if her daughter wasn’t a part of the operation, you’d have backed off?”

His friend nodded emphatically and smiled.

“That explains why we’re already here,” Turner pointed out as he pulled the truck to the side of the road.

Simpson worked the display on his tablet, and a quiet whirring emitted from the back of the pickup truck. He worked the touch-screen controls, and the flying machine lifted into the sky and headed toward the target house a half a click down the road. In less than five minutes, the PMD II had canvased the location with its array of advanced surveillance technologies.

“There’s nobody on the floors above ground, but the sensor isn’t powerful enough to get all the way down to the basement,” Simpson said.

“Always a catch with these gadgets, isn’t there?” Turner smiled and motioned to Simpson’s phone. “That reminds me. You might want to turn your ringer off so your old flame doesn’t get you shot up when she calls back.”

Both men burst out laughing. It had been a long time since either of them had carried out an operation in the field, and they were rusty. After a quick gear check, the men set off on their way.

By the time they reached the black site, the PMD II had already determined a clear route to the front door that would avoid setting off any alarms. Simpson touched the hood of the black SUV they passed in the driveway and confirmed the vehicle hadn’t been driven recently. The PMD flying above disabled the motion sensors in front of the house as they moved silently to the front door.

They stood perfectly still and listened intently.

Island Industries, Brooklyn, New York

THE LAST FEW weeks had been extremely stressful for Dr. Charles Reed. The avalanche of bad news had started with his daughter’s arrest and the revelation that she was a drug addict. His level of anxiety had been freshly topped off knowing the man who had caused his unexpected resignation from Island Industries was calling on him. Reed sat at the desk in his sleek modern office, the damp smell of rain clinging to his clothes. He let the phone ring three more times and finally answered it, but chose not to speak. He’d never found himself in a compromised situation like this before, and his mind was reeling.

“I didn’t realize Island Industries was in the business of assassinating US citizens,” FBI Director Frank Culder said.

There was a long pause while Reed carefully considered his response. “I’ll give you credit,” he said. “You certainly have an active imagination.”

“Tell me, Chuck, is Simpson that far gone? I mean really. Killing the son of a US senator isn’t the most intelligent use of company resources, wouldn’t you say?”

Reed’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re the one who’s fallen off the deep end.”

“Careful, careful,” FBI Director Frank Culder warned.

The doctor raised his hand to his forehead and said, “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you know more than you’d like to admit. I’m sure Shelly would appreciate it if you filled me in.”

Reed took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to try to stay calm. His resignation was an attempt to protect Island Industries from the man on the other end of the line. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Culder would try to cash in on dropping his daughter’s possession-with-intent-to-distribute charge. She was all he had left, and he was planning to leave his job for Chicago to straighten her life out in just over a week. He was so close to being off the hook, and now he wished he’d have quit without giving any notice.

“Speak,” Culder insisted.

He didn’t appreciate being spoken to like a dog, but he wasn’t surprised, considering the source. The FBI director had it in for Island Industries. He had been trying to prove it was more than just a run-of-the-mill security firm since the day Addy Simpson opened its well-guarded doors.

“Soller’s kid getting himself killed has nothing to do with us,” Reed said impatiently.

“Interesting, Chuck. The information I have points straight to Island Industries,” Culder said.

Reed hated when people called him Chuck. He clenched the phone and said evenly, “Your information is wrong.”

“DARPA.”

“What about DARPA?”

“They don’t work with many people.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Reed said dismissively.

“A young man named Francis Millar was with the senator’s son when he was killed.”

“And why should I care about that?”

“He’s on a flight from Dulles to Chicago as we speak.”

Reed closed his eyes and tried to maintain his composure. “Don’t you try to bring my daughter into this. That’s—”

He laughed. “Oh no, that’s merely a coincidence.” The FBI director cleared his throat obnoxiously and said, “What’s not a coincidence is that the man a few places behind Francis Millar in the security line was in possession of a DARPA-made handheld device.”

“Oh come on—”

“You know, Chuck. You’ve seen them, and I imagine you might even have one held up to your ear. They look like an everyday smartphone. You’d think nothing of it unless, of course, you’ve had the pleasure of visiting our friends in Arlington.”

Reed could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead.

“Fortunately for both of us, one of my analysts is, shall we say, in the know. Which brings me to you. How convenient, no?”

Reed’s mind went straight to Trent Turner. Their operatives were some of the chosen few who had access to the DARPA-built devices. Turner recently went dark, and there was no other person who would be boarding a commercial flight with something from DARPA on his person. He needed to choose his words carefully.

“I can assure you there was no operation carried out to eliminate the senator’s son,” Reed said confidently.

“Your little girl—do you think she would survive in prison? That’s one way to clean her up.” Culder’s smile came through in his voice. “A good friend of mine is looking out for her as we speak. I figured I’d let you know in case you were getting any crazy ideas that your good friend Addy can help you.” He paused to let his words sink in. “It would be big of you to sacrifice a couple decades of her life to make sure she was safe. Well, from the drugs anyway.”

Dr. Charles Reed didn’t think it was possible to feel any lower than he had for the past couple of weeks, but his life had just sunk to an all-new low. He was being asked to choose between his daughter and Addy Simpson, a man—a friend—whom he had great admiration for and who had trusted him implicitly. His heavy heart didn’t leave him a choice.

“A problem cropped up here recently,” Reed said reluctantly.

“What kind of problem?”

“One of our operatives went dark.” He cringed with betrayal as he said the words.

“Interesting. And this is recent?”

“The same day Soller’s kid was shot, but I’m telling you,” he said defensively, “there’s no way he pulled the trigger.”

Culder laughed. “And what makes you say that?”

“Let’s just put it this way. He’s not that sloppy.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not him,” he said frankly. “He would never make a careless move like that. Never.”

“And what about him going dark?” Culder asked curiously. “Would you have said he would never go dark before it happened?”

“Look, Culder—”

“His name? I want his name.”

“It depends on the day of the week. I’m telling you, he’s not your man.”

“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Reed knew he’d been backed into a corner and said, “Trent. You can take your pick of last names.”

“Give me photos of him, anything you have,” Culder demanded. “We didn’t catch him on the security cameras like your friend Millar. Make young Shelly proud of Daddy for keeping her out of jail. I’ll expect to hear from you soon,” he said before ending the call.

The Shop, Northern Virginia

THE MOOD AROUND The Shop had been somber from recent events, but a call from the President of the United States sent a wave of excitement through the CDWG division. Pronounced “Sea Dog” by those on the outside, the acronym stood for Cyber Defense and Warfare Group, but it was also referred to as The Shop by the operatives from the clandestine side of the house. The team was led by Dr. Cynthia Grayson, an MIT alumnus who was a pioneer in the field of information security. She had been personally recruited by the CEO to head the most critical division of one of the world’s leading technology firms.

“That was fast,” Grayson said standing over the desk of one of her top analysts. “You’d think the Federal Reserve would take at least thirty minutes to hack.”

Thom Peterson smiled. He was leaned back in his chair wearing a Foo Fighters T-shirt and plaid shorts, which was a stark contrast to Grayson’s gray business suit. “I don’t think I’d be here if anything took me that long.”

“Good point. Let me know what you find.”

“Sure thing. I’m inside their DMZ at this point. I have at least one more layer before I’ll be able to get to the workstations.” He looked up at his boss with great concern. “I’ll need at least ten more minutes,” he said sarcastically.

She smiled and headed to The Bunker to check the progress on the bot software they had been reverse engineering. There were LCD monitors bolted to the walls of the futuristic hexagon-shaped room, with five developers at work around a six-sided table in the middle. The group of analysts looked up in unison as she entered.

“Almost there,” the lead analyst said. “Etzy helped us get a new module deployed onto one of the bots he installed. We’re almost ready to propagate it out to the rest of the botnet. It’ll take some time to reach them all because of the way the botnet is set up to communicate.”

“The sooner the better,” Grayson said.

“I know. The more systems we have the module installed on, the faster we’ll discover all of the nodes. Hopefully we’ll have enough detail to figure out what they’re up to before they pull the trigger.”

“Good work,” Grayson said. “We’ve never dealt with anything this complex before, so be extremely careful. Who knows what sort of traps they’ve set for us.”

The analyst nodded in agreement. “We’ve been sifting through the code and didn’t see anything that would report any changes back to a server. The footprint of this botnet will be limited, since each bot was installed manually. Fortunately it’s not the same situation as a self-propagating worm, where it can spread all the way to Timbuktu in a few hours.”

“Good, but just because you don’t see some sort of tripwire, doesn’t mean they haven’t left us any presents.”

“I know. We’ve got it under control. Whoever they are, they’re too smart not to have some sort of early-warning system. We’ve tested the install on all of the systems we’ve built in-house with the bot software running, and adding a module didn’t set anything off. I think we’re ready to push the module out, but if you’d like to—”