The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (23 page)

Turner laughed and tossed the bag on the bed. “She wasn’t going to get past this.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a book entitled
Coping with Loss
—
Honoring the Memory of a Loved One in Life
, written by Dr. Charles Reed.

“Holy crap.”

“I’ll pass it along to you when I’m finished,” Turner said. “The author is a genius.”

Millar nodded appreciatively in response. He was surprised that a man like him was affected by death.

“Besides,” Turner continued, “she would have had a hell of a time getting past this.”

He reached inside the back and began to pull. The sound of Velcro being torn apart filled the room. He tilted the bag toward Millar to show him a locked Kevlar compartment, where the weapons were stored.

“I should have guessed,” Millar said.

“You’ll figure out how things work soon enough. So where are we with the botnet?”

The hacker had connected his computer while they’d been talking and relayed the progress they had made with deploying a module, and what he had heard about the Federal Reserve.

Trent told Millar how the FBI had kept him out of the press, and then lightened the mood with his story about his first encounter with Victoria Eden.

“It looks like it’s going to be a long night,” Millar said.

“Indeed.”

Millar looked at the operative, and fear crept into his eyes. “So, I haven’t really thought about it until now,” the hacker said, “but what do you think is going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know, Etzy. What I can tell you is this: if you help figure this out”—he gestured to the laptop—“you’ll make a lot of friends. Influential people who might be able to help you get your life back on track.”

Millar appreciated the straight answer. “Then there’s a chance…you know, that things will be okay?”

“Definitely. Don’t give up hope, but we’ll need a few miracles.”

The hacker nodded and took a deep breath.

Turner changed the subject. “We could use some coffee.” He smiled, thought of Victoria Eden, and knew what Millar was thinking. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay away from Starbucks. I don’t think they’re open this late anyway.”

Lucky Stone Quarry, Ashburn, VA

EVENGI BARANOV WAS annoyed with having been left behind in such a dump. His comrades had taken off to their primary location in Virginia with the two girls they had snatched up. The Russian had no food, no women, and no Internet connection. His only entertainment was the stack of faded trade magazines in English fanned out on the table in front of him. He was chosen to wait for a delivery that was scheduled for later in the evening.

It took him a couple of tries to find a place that would deliver food at this hour. He made sure to turn off his cell phone once he’d finished making the calls. He had already caught considerable flak for leaving it on when they had picked up the girls. In fact, that was why he was the one stuck in the dingy trailer. He had managed to finish off an entire pizza and chased it down with most of the two-liter bottle of Coke he’d ordered.

It only took a few minutes for his stomach to grumble its dissatisfaction with his menu choice. The toilet situation at the quarry was questionable. The Johnny-on-the-spot just outside the trailer was filled with enough excrement to produce an eye-watering stench, and its throne had been splattered by the stories of past intestinal transgressions. He was a former Spetsnaz soldier, so he had no problems taking a dump in the woods, but the thing that pissed him off was the bare cardboard tube stripped of its toilet paper. His intestinal urgency increased as he went inside to grab his used dinner napkins. He made a beeline for a copse of trees and shrubs across the gravel driveway.

The sweat-inducing stomach cramps had almost gotten the best of him by the time he found a tree to lean against. He amused himself with thoughts of just how good it could feel to take a shit. He drew comparisons to his job, and the euphoric feeling he had after they had dispatched of the three FBI agents.

His tree-leaning contemplations were interrupted by the sound of tires crunching gravel from the main road. It was too early for the expected delivery, so he cleaned himself up and crept to the edge of his cover, where the bushes bordered the road.

He saw a car parked on the side of the road with a light tint to its windows. He was unable to make out any human silhouettes inside, but he could see the outline of the seats and the rearview mirror. He realized the driver must have gotten out while he was busy finishing up his business. He sensed the car wasn’t parked there by chance. Adrenaline began to course through his veins and his mind sharpened.

His predatory drive took over as he silently weaved his way through the bushes to catch a view of the trailer. It was slight, but he saw it: a subtle shift in light in the shadows. He stared intently until his eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, and then he saw him. His weapon was drawn, and he was carefully working his way toward one of the windows in the trailer. His movements told the Russian his visitor was highly trained. He’d left his Makarov pistol inside the trailer, so he would have to take care of this the hard way.

A car passing on the main road momentarily broke his concentration. The thought of the takedown excited him. Only twenty feet separated the two men, and he would have the element of surprise. He got that feeling again, the heightened sense of power just before playing God. He needed to time his attack perfectly.

TENSION BEGAN TO build as they took the exit for Shreve Mill Road and headed toward the quarry. This would mark the first time Agent Cathy Moynihan would knowingly go into a volatile situation with a relative stranger. Images of the dead men at the FBI black site unsettled her. Once Jake Sanders told her they were heading to Virginia to intercept the suspects, she went quiet for the first time since they’d met.

She had run through training exercises in her head on the way there in an effort to build her confidence. Her mind-set was shaken when Sanders broke the news that they would have to take care of this without any backup. He had explained that they didn’t know who they could trust within the bureau. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. His responses made it clear that he knew she wasn’t buying the bullshit he was selling. She was far too smart to march forward with blinders on.

Moynihan gripped the steering wheel tight in order to stop her hands from shaking. They were only minutes away when she said, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” Sanders asked.

She glanced at him quickly and said, “Your friends. I know it must be tough to function right now, after what’s happened…”

“That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” Sanders joked. He was trying to brush it off, but she knew better.

“Well, if you want to talk about it at some point…I’m here to listen. Okay?”

He looked over at her for a long moment and finally said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She looked over and flashed him a nervous smile. “Almost there.”

“Yep. Are you doing okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “You?”

“You don’t need to be worried about me. I’ll take the lead. You just watch your ass. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to it.” He looked over at her with a sly smile.

They both laughed and it broke the tension.

“Gee, thanks. I guess?”

“I mean it,” Sanders said.

“What? The comment about my ass, or worrying about you?”

He laughed again and this time shot her a wink. “Both.”

From the satellite image they had brought up on Google, they knew the quarry had a thin border of trees that surrounded it and there was a trailer near the entrance. A gravel driveway ran from the road through the property and continued past the trailer to the back of the quarry, where it snaked through the mining areas. Tractors and heavy equipment were parked near the trailer at the time the image was taken, and there were several large buildings scattered around the site.

“Okay, are you clear on the plan?” Sanders asked.

“Definitely.”

“Okay, run it by me again.”

“Sure. I’ll douse the lights early and park the car before we get to the driveway, so we have cover from the tree line. As we’re rolling up, I’ll check the woods for a good spot to cut through. You’ll head around by way of the driveway and check the trailer while I backtrack to the cut-through spot and head toward the trailer from there. After that we’ll just have to wing it.”

“You’ve got it.” He smiled and their eyes met. “Good luck.”

She sensed he was distracted, that something other than losing his men had him deeply concerned, but she could also see that his words were sincere—it was in his eyes.

“Thanks, you too,” she said.

SANDERS WATCHED HER disappear into the trees and admired the view while he could. The order from Director Culder weighed heavily on his mind, but this was a business where you did what you were told or you didn’t stay around for long. He realized it would be tough to make her death look like an accident, but he knew he’d figure something out—he always did.

He crept around the driveway and used the machinery lined up near the trailer for cover. The smell of oil was strong and his footfalls light and silent. His primary weapon, a standard-issue Glock 23, was already drawn as he made his way through the shadows. The weight of the weapon stowed in the small of his back was distracting. It was the gun he planned to use on Agent Moynihan, and feeling its weight prompted him to search for a sign of her across the gravel road.

A thin beam of light from a passing car sliced through the trees as he neared the trailer. He stood still and listened for movement, the dominant sound being his own heartbeat. Sanders emerged slowly from the shadows and worked his way toward one of the windows in the trailer. He moved to the door and heard the faint shuffling of feet on gravel grow louder just before his world went black.

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

THE BRATVA BOSS gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and his soldier sat down.

“What do you have for me?”

The soldier cleared his throat nervously and said, “It’s Dennis Zander. He got away from me in a bar.”

Kozlov’s face twitched with anger, but he didn’t speak.

“He was scared,” the soldier continued, “so I think he is the one that you want. There was nothing else I could do in that situation.”

Kozlov shook his head. “This is not good news.” His anger began to boil, and he raised his voice. “We can’t have any of these hackers running around telling the world what’s been going on here, you idiot!”

The soldier lowered his head. “It will not happen again.”

“I should think not,” Kozlov yelled.

“I didn’t realize he had so much information about our operation. Your orders were not to kill him on sight, or the job would have been done.”

Kozlov balled his fists and took a deep breath. “He has enough to make things difficult, but not enough to take us down.”

“I will go back out and find him.”

“No. I need to send someone who can get the job done.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave.”

He watched the soldier leave his office and was tempted to put a bullet in his head, but decided against it only because of the mess it would make. He picked up his phone and placed a call. Dimitri Sokov answered on the first ring.

“’Allo?” he said.

“It’s Zander, one of the Americans,” Kozlov said.

“I know. I just sent Mikhail to your office to inform you.”

“How much damage can he do?”

“We’re examining his code now. I want to make sure he hasn’t left us with any surprises. We review the code changes weekly, so I should know within the hour.”

“Good.”

Kozlov considered his conversation with Khrushchev. This was a golden opportunity for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics to rise up from the ashes. He visualized the hammer and sickle, a feared symbol of power, and it sent a wave of excitement through his body.

“We may need to move the operation up,” Kozlov said. “It could be risky to put it off any longer.”

Zander getting away had been the second dose of bad news this evening. Earlier, Bruce Campbell had informed the Russian that Francis Millar had escaped, and Kozlov was deeply concerned about the individual who had helped him to get away.

“They lost the hacker in Washington again,” Kozlov explained. “It looks like he is working with our friend from Switzerland. The American.”

Sokov was silent while he considered the connection. “I will run the selection algorithm on the most recent dataset so we can pull down a new set of targets.”

“Do whatever you need to do to get it done,” Kozlov demanded. This time his voice was markedly more intense.

“The most recent encryption keys were sent to Virginia and should be arriving soon, but we’ll need to pull the recent information from the banks and then send an update of the targets. It might be possible to have things ready by Monday. I will try in case you decide to move forward.”

Kozlov was angered by his response. Everything was riding on this operation. “Try?” he snapped, violence seeping into his voice.

“We will be ready if you need to launch the attack on Monday,” Sokov confirmed.

Lucky Stone Quarry, Ashburn, VA

SHE USED A metal chair in the trailer as an anchor for his restraints. Veins protruded unnaturally from his arms and demonstrated that the plastic tying him down wasn’t there for comfort. Agent Cathy Moynihan had strapped the attacker securely when he was unconscious. The job was a difficult one, given the difference in size between the two of them. That didn’t matter much to a woman with her qualities. She was tough and resourceful, and always found a way to get the job done.

The last fifteen minutes had been difficult. At first she thought Jake Sanders was dead, but it turned out he had been incredibly lucky. He owed his life to the FBI agent. She had the instincts and presence of mind to act under pressure and was able to stop the Russian from delivering a mortal blow.