The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (42 page)

Sokov managed a curt nod and headed back to the server room. The Russian knew they were cutting it too close for comfort, but if he could finish everything in the next twenty minutes, there would still be enough time to transport the files to their backup site in Virginia. Just in case.

MOST PEOPLE WOULD think of it as a suicide mission, but most people weren’t wired like Trent Turner. He had inserted himself in between the two approaching patrols and his Uncle Jack’s escape route. Their guards were down, so it was fairly easy for the operative to maneuver into position. He heard them talking. They were American, and that explained the sudden increase in forces. Hired guns.

Based on the information the PMD had sent and his own observations, he knew the men had divided into pairs. He had secured some fishing line to a series of bushes and used the sound and motion to slow and redirect the soldier’s progress.

“Clear, over,” he heard Jack Turner broadcast over the comms.

Trent breathed a sigh of relief knowing his uncle had made it out. “Copy that. I’m going to dump my gear and cause a big ruckus. Looks like our new guests are locals for hire.” He slowed his pace. “Do me a favor and get that rescue party in here before their boss tries some of that crazy Cold War shit on me.” He was only half joking. “I don’t want to get my twig and berries electrocuted off, if you know what I mean.” Trent imagined both men laughing and added, “I mean it. I’m giving you up before I’ll let myself go through that sort of cruel and unusual punishment, over.”

“I’ll get you out of there, kiddo. Don’t you worry, over.” Jack’s voice conveyed lightheartedness, but it was laced with concern.

Millar was nervous and sensed the danger. “Poor Man’s got your back too, Finger, over.”

Distracting the enemy with the bushes had taken care of Trent Turner’s immediate problem, and he’d just sent a message abroad from his XHD3 in case things didn’t work out as expected. Executing the next part of his plan would be where things got tricky. This was something that could easily get him killed. He no longer had a visual on the soldiers, so he needed some help.

“Poor Man, I’m flying solo now. I ditched my kit. I’ve just got the comms. I’ll switch from throat to open mic and ditch them just before I make my move, over.”

“Copy that, over,” Millar confirmed.

“Keep the PMD right on top of me, twenty meters max, and tell me where the Tangos are. When I give you the signal, give them a haircut with the PMD on the side farthest from me, over.”

“Copy that, over,” Millar confirmed. His voice was shaky, showing the effects of knowing that someone’s life was hanging in the balance.

Turner knew this would be risky but considered it his best move, since they knew so little about the Bratva’s operation. He knew he could evade the security details for a while and possibly make it out, but there were no guarantees. There was another reason he wanted to make it inside sooner rather than later, and it came in the form of two words: Victoria Eden. This represented his only chance of pulling the violinist out of there before her nightmare became unforgettable.

If he didn’t make any mistakes, his plan would put him in control of the situation, and that’s the way he liked it.

Millar helped Trent navigate to a location he had made note of earlier. The operative considered his bold play as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Two men approaching fast from the east, over,” he said nervously as the men closed in.

“I’ve got visual, over,” Trent confirmed.

There was a tense pause.

“Poor Man, go, go, go,” Turner ordered as he stashed his comms under a fallen metal sign and switched the line to open mic in one motion. The operative charged the two soldiers, reaching them just as the PMD hit the apex of its dive.

Downtown hotel, Chicago, IL

ETZY MILLAR AND Dennis Zander were stunned, mouths wide open, staring at the display. The last thing they saw before the video feed had frozen was Trent Turner’s aggressive approach toward the two men. They had followed the rest of the action with the sound transmitted by the operative’s microphone. First they heard a bunch of shouting, and then they sunk down in their chairs at the sound of gunshots. The scene had escalated, and muted conversations were heard in between commands that were barked out.

By the time the video feed had been restored, there were three bodies on the ground. Millar was scared. None of the men were moving. He thought Trent was the body sprawled out in the middle, but he couldn’t be sure.

The hackers were jolted from their immediate shock when the door opened and a dark figure entered the room.

“Nice work, Etzy,” Jack Turner said.

Millar started to breathe again when he recognized the voice. “Thanks, but Trent went down,” he said with grave concern.

Zander was speechless, his gaze darting between the two men and the computer screen.

Turner tightened his lips before he spoke. “Don’t worry. Trent knows what he’s doing.”

“But.” Millar gestured to the laptop’s display.

The three of them watched the video feed showing the three men being taken into the main building.

“It’s all going according to plan,” Jack said.

He looked like he believed what he said, but Zander wore a sour look of disbelief. “That’s crazy,” he said.

Turner smiled. “Trent would call it ballsy, so let’s humor him, okay?” He tossed his gear onto one of the beds. “Now we’ve got someone on the inside,” he said confidently.

The words did little to calm Millar down. “He wasn’t moving.”

“Over the years I’ve learned not to doubt that kid,” Turner said flatly. “He knows what he’s doing, there’s no doubt about it.”

“You’re not even the least bit concerned?” Millar asked.

“I didn’t say that.” Turner’s tone was measured. “He’s family—of course I’m concerned.” He sat on the bed and took off his boot to check his injury. “But I’m not worried.”

“I’m going to pick up some reinforcements,” Turner said. “I got a call on my way here and they’ll be at the airport within the hour. How much fly time does the saucer have left?” he asked as he slid his boot back on.

Millar looked at the readout from the PMD and said, “Not long. Twenty minutes.”

“Land it with some juice left, just in case,” Turner said as he grabbed a fresh battery from Trent’s bag. He pushed the button on its side to verify it had a full charge. He figured it should last a couple hours. “I’ll call you in a couple minutes so we can do a quick swap before I pick up the cavalry. We need to keep tabs on that compound.”

The hacker’s brain was still frazzled as he watched Jack Turner stand up with a pained grimace, grab one the bags at the foot of the bed and limp out the door.

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

ABSOLUTE PERFECTION. SHE possessed the beauty of a goddess, but the cold metal chair she was perched upon told a less glamorous story. It had been a long time since Victoria Eden had felt so alone. The Russian had left her locked in the room, and she imagined the walls slowly closing in around her. She was a creative individual, so it wasn’t unusual for her to find herself lost in thought, but the fact that she had been unable to imagine anything other than her imminent demise had been disconcerting.

“Have you made up your mind?”

The sudden sound of his voice caused her to jump, but she didn’t turn around. She knew he had frightened her on purpose, and she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing the fear in her eyes.

“Well, Victoria?” Pavel Kozlov pressed. There was a sudden sharpness in his voice.

She didn’t respond immediately, sensing the Russian was struggling with the situation. Her beauty had been an asset in life for the most part, but she was convinced his conflicted reaction was more than skin deep. He was one of those men who had decisiveness and brutality in their DNA. She decided it must have been the way she played the violin that had put indecision in play. She turned her head to him. Her eyes met his, and in a twisted moment, his gaze invaded her, and it was as if he were pondering the idea of somehow keeping her for his pet.

“Listen, thanks for letting me play in the show,” she said, her tone marked with frustration. “I really appreciate it, but I really should be going.” She turned away.

Kozlov laughed the sort of laugh that wasn’t intended to convey humor. Eden twitched when she felt something touch her hair. It must have been his hand, but she was too scared and repulsed to turn and look.

“Perhaps you need a little encouragement,” he said. His voice was cold and hostile.

The loud pounding of a fist on the door caused her to jump again. There was a sudden flurry of activity out in the hallway. Kozlov opened the door, and he spoke in Russian to someone. The tone was urgent, and he left without saying another word.

TRENT TURNER BEGAN to regain consciousness as they strung him up. He wasn’t sure if they were securing him to a wall or some sort of torture device. He knew better than to open his eyes and try to assess the situation. Wherever he was, it was cold, and he could tell by the musty smell that it was damp. His body ached in several places, but physical abuse came with the territory, and he didn’t notice anything alarming.

He had taken two of their men out, so he had expected to be roughed up. He chose the route of incapacitation rather than elimination. Keeping them alive was something he thought might play in his favor. The Russians were just getting started with him, though, and his thoughts turned to how evil an interrogation by a man like Kozlov could be. Turner knew he would need to keep his head on straight, so he wiped the thought of extreme torture from his mind.

“He was alone,” a voice said.

“How can you be so sure?”

Turner recognized the second man. It was Pavel Kozlov.

“You know the layout. It doesn’t take long to clear this place with twenty men—”

“Eighteen,” Kozlov interrupted.

Turner could sense the tension build between the two men. Now he knew the amount of firepower they would be dealing with.

“Right,” the man said. “Before we get too comfortable, forty grand. In cash.”

Trent Turner knew Russians were critical by nature and smiled inside as he listened to the Bratva leader size up the American. Treating him like shit wouldn’t do him any favors, so he was enjoying the radio show. He heard a rustling sound before Kozlov said, “Here’s your money, plus a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus.”

He felt a slap on his face he assumed was a stack of bills, before Kozlov said, “For him.”

Turner knew the money would smooth over the previous conversation, so a rift between them when the shit hit the fan would now be unlikely.

“Works for me,” the man said. “He didn’t have a radio or ID on him, so it looks like he was flying solo.”

Turner had to fight back a smile. He knew what the man had said would match any MO that Kozlov would have assumed for him. Based on the timing of events, the operative suspected it was his recent job in Europe that had exposed him. He had been there alone.

“I trust your people are in place to deal with any other unwanted visitors?” Kozlov said.

“That they are. I’ve given your men some radios so we can stay in touch.”

“Good, and the men he took down? They’ll be okay?”

“They’re unconscious but alive. They’ll live.”

“I’m impressed,” Kozlov admitted. “Most people who have had a run-in with him don’t survive.”

Turner could sense the Russian’s glare on him.

“We’ll be sure to tie up this loose end quickly,” Kozlov added. “We wouldn’t want any more surprises.”

Downtown hotel, Chicago, IL

THINGS HAD FINALLY settled down enough for Etzy Millar to connect with The Shop using his computer. Dennis Zander was able to lay out what he knew about the underlying software that made up the Russian’s botnet. He had only been working on one aspect of the operation, information acquisition, but he made it a point to learn as much as he could from his roommate and the other hackers he had gotten to know. Zander was able to confirm much of the information they already knew but shared some new details with the analysts that he hoped would prove useful.

“It’s in Northern Virginia somewhere,” Zander said, referring to the Bratva’s backup location. “Near the airport. It’s off a main road close to one of the big data centers.”

“So you’ve been there?” Cynthia Grayson asked.

“Once,” Zander said dismissively. “It was at night. I rode in the car with the courier to set a server up with my stuff. I wasn’t familiar with the area, and he took a lot of back roads. The only thing I really remember was seeing signs for the airport.”

“Did you ever connect to the servers there to remotely transfer files?” she questioned.

“No. No way,” Zander said. “Dmitri, the Russian hacker guy who ran the operation, wouldn’t allow it. They were pretty paranoid about stuff like that. The funny part is that I was supposed to be blindfolded when we got close to the place, but the courier forgot to put it on, and by the time he realized what he’d done it was too late.” Zander thought about what else he knew that might be helpful. “I overheard a lot of their conversations. The backup location was to stay off-line, and they would only bring it up if something happened to the place in Chicago. I would encrypt the account files I was responsible for and put them on a USB drive for delivery. Same with the others.”

“You mentioned a courier?”

“Yeah. The courier drove back and forth with the files and the encryption key updates. He didn’t say much. I’m not really sure if he could speak English. I had to hit the bathroom on the way there, and it took me a minute to get him to understand.”

“Were they the encryption keys for the files?” Grayson asked.

Zander thought about it for a moment, knowing any details would help to narrow things down. “That and the botnet, I think. My Russian isn’t that great, so I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

“The keys were different? One for the files and one to control the bots?”