The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (45 page)

Turner answered the comment with a painful blow from the butt of his weapon.

“Another sound, and I’ll use it to turn you into an eunuch,” Turner said, knowing the Russian’s intention had been to give away their position.

Kozlov’s eyes were spiteful, but held no doubt about the operative’s intention to follow through on his promise.

The group continued to navigate through the maze that made up the old steel plant’s subterranean level. Dennis Zander was in the hotel watching the live video feed from the helmet cams on Throaty and Manion and providing direction. The place was littered with rusted-out machinery in disrepair. A mildew smell hung in the air, which had mixed with the sulfurous remnants of gunfire.

It wasn’t long before they encountered heavy resistance from the Bratva’s former Spetsnaz contingent. It happened as they reached a large central area that appeared to be the hub of the compound. Two hallways shot out from the vaulted room in front of them like the top half of a lowercase
Y
.

“Either one of those two hallways in front of Throaty will take you there,” Zander said nervously to the sounds of another barrage of fire.

The shots had come from the hallway to the left and had forced them to take cover low.

“Heckler, you still have the exit covered, over?” Throaty asked.

“Roger that. Nobody’s going in or out the front door without paying for it, over.”

Jack Turner was down but not out. He had been given a quick shot to numb his foot that sent him back into the action, albeit from a distance. Putting down for-hire contractors wasn’t a part of the plan unless absolutely needed, but the Russians inside were definitely on the menu. The problem would be trying to tell them apart.

Jack had taken position on top of a building across the street with an MK 11 Mod 0 sniper rifle fitted with Leupold scope, a swivel-base bipod, and a QD sound suppressor that hushed its deadly 7.62 x 51 mm NATO rounds. He had enough preloaded magazines to take down the small army.

He had been given a lowlight tablet display that received real-time information about combatant locations from the PMD scouting above. It worked in tandem with the custom scope fitted to his weapon and fed vital information to the small LCD display housed inside. The details it provided were used to locate the enemy and make the weapon deadly accurate for a lone operative. Used in conjunction with the PMD, it was modern technology’s answer to a spotter.

Trent Turner motioned toward the shots that had just echoed through the hallway behind them. “Looks like we’ve got more company,” he said. The situation was getting tense. He could hear enemy reinforcements getting closer.

“Who the hell are they shooting at?” Manion asked.

Turner turned to Throaty and Manion and said, “That’s a damn good question.”

Kozlov Bratva hideout, Leesburg, VA

HE WAS BACK, and he was pissed. FBI agent Cathy Moynihan knew the yellow-toothed Russian would return. It was an eventuality she’d been contemplating over and over in her head. After the blow she’d dealt to his groin, she was sure he’d want a little payback. He had come alone, as she suspected he would. A vicious combination of hatred and anger projected from his eyes as he stared her down. That was something she’d planned to use against him.

She broke the silence. “Well, well,” she said. “How’s the you know?” Moynihan pointed her index finger downward, waist high, and wiggled it back and forth with a mocking whistle. “Oh, excuse me.” She flashed a cheeky smile and wiggled her pinky instead.

The Russian looked like a volcano ready to blow. Melody Millar and Maria Soller both were on the edge of their seats, watching intently. This was something they’d all discussed, but the situation was completely unpredictable. They didn’t have a choice. The cell signal for Soller’s service provider wasn’t strong enough to reach her iPhone.

Soller and Millar exchanged nods, and both of them began to scream at the top of their lungs. It caused the Russian to jump, and Moynihan started to laugh. She rather enjoyed pushing the Russian’s buttons.

Within seconds, footsteps were stomping toward the room. Soller and Millar wore masks of fear despite knowing Moynihan had planned to taunt the man into action before the others arrived. Moynihan was still laughing, and when she pointed her finger at the Russian, he erupted with an uncontrolled fury. He charged at her hard and fast, and this time he was ready. Soller and Millar screamed louder as they watched the man unload on the FBI agent.

The door swung open, and the American entered the room, followed by the Russian who wore the utility jacket. Moynihan was losing to her attacker but still managed to frustrate him with speed and determination. The American took a few hits as he worked to separate the fight. This was the opportunity the FBI agent had been waiting for.

She struggled to turn around so she could grab hold of the railing with both hands, but the yellow-toothed bastard proved too strong. Fortunately, the hand that was cuffed didn’t break in the scuffle. Moynihan continued to strain for the railing with her right hand, but it remained just out of reach. All would be lost unless she could pull off her part of the plan.

The Russian continued to maul her, until they finally shifted toward the wall, where she was finally able to lock her fingers around the railing. She suddenly thrust out her powerful legs, kicking the Russian into the other two men. They slammed into the soldier with the utility jacket, and he fell backward toward Soller. She quickly stuffed her iPhone into one of the pockets on his utility jacket. Maria Soller had pointed out that there was no lingering smoke during her trip to the bathroom, so she reasoned the soldier had been going outside to smoke his cigarettes.

Moynihan slumped into her chair and watched the three men face off. She was breathing heavily and had been hurt, but not too badly. Soller nodded, and a sense of relief came over her. Now they just needed a little luck for the phone to find a signal.

“What the hell are you doing?” The American soldier yelled at the Russian. “Stay out of this room. Do you hear me?”

The Russian spat at the FBI woman and stomped out the door. The others followed.

Seconds later the heavyset man entered the room with his laptop and spoke with urgency to the man in the utility jacket. He was speaking in Russian, so Moynihan couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

THE CONSTANT EXCHANGE of cover fire had helped them work their way through the building. They had no way of knowing how many men they were up against, but Jake Sanders understood he and Rudy Pagano were in serious trouble. The distinct streams of gunfire provided them all of the information needed to come to that conclusion. The force they were up against was much bigger than they had expected.

As they approached the end of a long hallway, gunfire erupted from the large room they were about to enter.

“Shit, this is getting messy,” Sanders said.

Pagano nodded as both men slapped fresh magazines into their weapons. The exchange of fire in front of them had died down. They heard Russians yelling on the other side of the room.

“What the hell is going on in there?” Sanders asked.

He watched Pagano crane his head around a piece of machinery to get a better look. The operative headed inside, and he quickly followed.

“It’s hard to see anything in here,” Pagano said. “It looks like a group of guys are in the middle of the room, and there are some on the other side dug in near that hallway on the left.” He had a puzzled look. “It sounds like the other guys are Russians too.”

Sanders turned toward the hallway they had just come from. He could hear the footfalls of men behind them as they got closer and said, “Great. This is gonna be messy.” He knew they wouldn’t last long if they were taking fire from two sides.

Pagano tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I’ll try to move in and get a closer look.”

Sanders nodded and shored up his position so he could keep their chasers at bay. His eyes darted from the hallway to Pagano as he inched forward using the industrial machinery for cover. He contemplated their situation and wasn’t sure if it was worse than being surrounded by the enemy. An unknown force had entered into the equation, and he knew they would soon be overrun from behind. The shouting between the Russians grew louder and more heated. It sounded like something was about to go down.

The Shop, Northern VA

WHEN CWDG DIRECTOR Cynthia Grayson spoke to the most powerful man in the free world, it typically meant there was some sort of crisis—and this was no exception. In fact, it had the potential to be the most significant cyber threat to the United States she had ever seen. She cleared her throat before pressing the button to place the call, and was immediately connected to the White House Situation Room.

“Yes, Cyndi,” President Vincent Cross answered.

“Mr. President,” Grayson started, “we’ve been able to confirm the presence of the bots in several financial institutions. The attack is widespread, but we don’t have all of the targets at this point in time. We’re also aware of something involving the Federal Reserve, but we have reason to believe it to be a different attack vector.”

“Addy and I are still waiting for news on the Chicago operation. What are our options at this point?” the president asked.

“We have two, maybe three that I can see,” she said. “The first would be to continue our investigation and wait until we’ve learned enough to take the necessary action to prevent whatever they’re planning from happening.”

“The risks? And please, you know I respect your candor.”

She smiled a half smile. “We don’t know how long it will take for us to be in a position to prevent the attack. It could be twenty minutes, twenty-four hours, or even six months from now.”

“I see,” he replied.

She knew he wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t there as a pastry chef meant to sugarcoat things.

“Sir, I wish I could give you a better answer, but it’s just not possible. We’ve made a significant amount of progress, but it’s like any major investigation. We have no shortage of skill, but we’ll need a bit of luck to uncover the clues that will help us to make sense of their operation.”

“Understood. What’s option two?”

Grayson took a deep breath. “Shut down all major US financial institutions until we get a better handle on what we’re dealing with.” She could sense the president cringe on the other end of the line.

He took a moment to consider the option. “For how long?”

“It could be a couple of days, maybe more while they rebuild infected systems, unless we get lucky.”

Closing down the country’s financial sector for any period of time would bring forth disastrous results in the current economic climate. The economy had slowly begun its recovery from the combined effects of the real-estate-market crash, Ponzi schemes, and interest rate scandals, but times were still tough for much of the country. Despite the progress that had been made in terms of the economy, it was still a patient that needed to be handled in intensive care. Any problem in the financial sector significant enough to raise a red flag would breed irreparable distrust, and turn the economy into a terminal patient.

“That would have to be our last resort,” Cross finally said. “If the people lose confidence in the banking system again…we’ll be in for a long, destructive ride. Maybe if we had more details, but as it stands, we don’t even know what the risk is.”

“Agreed,” Simpson said. “Shutting everything down without pointing to a concrete reason wouldn’t be pretty.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before the president spoke. “Ms. Grayson, how much damage do you think they could do?”

“Significant damage, sir,” she said bluntly. “Which brings me to the third option.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s the same as option one, only we inform the banks of the possible threat. At least that way they’ll know to keep a close eye on things. They can do more system backups and keep them for a longer period of time just in case.” Grayson looked down at her desk and took another deep breath, trying to keep her disappointment with their progress at bay.

The president finally asked, “If it got out that we knew something was up, couldn’t it jeopardize your work?”

“Yes, sir, it could. One cowboy techie bragging on the Internet could blow it and give it all away.”

President Cross took a moment before he replied. “Ms. Grayson, can you pull this off? You know, figure this all out in time to stop it?”

She sat up and nervously rubbed her forehead. The gravity of the president’s question weighed on her. His words meant that he believed in her, and that was enough.

“I don’t know for sure, sir, but yes, it’s possible. My team is working extremely hard.”

“Then do it. Make it happen. I’ll take option number four. You’re our best option. We’re”—he corrected himself—“the nation is counting on you and your team over there, and there isn’t much time.”

Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

THERE WAS NO shortage of cover, but the Island Industries operatives were outnumbered and wouldn’t last long if they didn’t keep moving. The smell of oil from the dilapidated machinery was thick enough to taste, and their ammunition was limited, so they made sure each round was delivered with purpose. Brendan Manion signaled that he would check into the approaching chaos from the rear. Trent Turner and Throaty were charged to neutralize the aggressors in front.

“Damn gadgets!” Heckler said gruffly over the comms. “Looks like our FBI friends are in the neighborhood as well. Damned proximity alert fired off and I didn’t even notice, over.”

Turner cracked a brief smile at his uncle’s technology woes, and decided their best option would be to use the Bratva leader, Pavel Kozlov, to help them advance to the server room. He could see that Victoria Eden was on edge, and paid special attention to make sure she remained safe. The operative was surprised by how tough the woman was. Her ability to cope with, and even contribute to the situation by taking down Kozlov, had been a pleasant surprise.