Wired (13 page)

“Why
do I suddenly feel like a worm right before the fisherman sticks it on a hook?”

“Look,
Mr. Desh, you represent an unprecedented opportunity to finally get a handle on
this woman. We have to seize this chance. Will you help us?”

Desh
considered. There was still something about Smith that he didn’t quite trust. His
gut told him there was far more to this story. But regardless of Smith’s
ultimate motivations, there was no question Kira Miller had to be stopped. And
Desh knew that, alone, he was overmatched. And even if he refused to help
further, this wouldn’t stop Kira from coming after him again if she was intent
on doing so.

Desh
frowned deeply and then nodded. “Okay . . . Smith. I’ll help you.” He waited
until Smith turned from the road to glance at him and then locked onto his eyes
with a laser-like intensity. “But this time we’re going to do it my way.”

20

The
darkness was beginning to gradually give way to the coming dawn, and tiny
flecks of water appeared on the windshield as the early morning drizzle that
had been forecast arrived on schedule. In another month this same precipitation
would result in snow flurries. Smith set the wipers to a ten second delay
between strokes and waited for Desh to spell out his terms, the silence of the
twilight drive broken only by the intermittent squeaking of the wiper blades.

“Pull
off here,” instructed Desh, pointing.

Smith
raised his eyebrows. “A shortcut to your apartment?” he asked.

“No.
It makes more sense for you to drop me at Griffin’s apartment. I need to
retrieve my clothes and watch,” he explained. “Not to mention my SUV.”

Smith
said nothing but exited the highway as instructed, decelerating rapidly to a
stop at the end of the long off-ramp. He glanced at the gas gauge and proposed
they stop for fuel. Less than a minute later they pulled into a nearby gas
station. While Smith began to fill the tank the gnawing in Desh’s stomach
reminded him just how hungry and thirsty he had become. He also realized that
he didn’t have his wallet with him and was forced to borrow ten dollars from
the black-ops officer, feeling slightly foolish.

Desh
entered the store’s mini-mart and pulled a thirty-two-ounce bottle of water
from the cooler and an orange juice for Smith, and then tore two bananas from a
fresh bunch near the register, both for himself, and walked to the counter. The
entire time he watched Smith attentively through the transparent storefront to
make sure he didn’t open the trunk and try to regain access to his weapons. He
and Desh appeared to be on the same side, but that didn’t mean Desh was
prepared to trust him. Whatever was going on, and whoever could be believed,
the stakes were very, very high, and he was determined to err on the side of
paranoia.

A
number of nagging questions still gnawed at him. If Kira Miller really did have
some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world in her pocket as
Smith suggested, then why hadn’t she had them use their influence to call off
the manhunt? And how was it that she wasn’t better protected? The beneficiaries
of her therapy would have an enormous vested interest in her welfare and
survival. If she died, so did their longevity. Even if she had refused
bodyguards, they would have activated armies of guardian angels, staying in the
shadows but ensuring that the Smiths of the world didn’t get nearly as close to
her as they had at the motel.

There
was far more going on than Desh understood. He was convinced he was fumbling in
the dark, feeling the elephant’s trunk and being persuaded it was a snake. He
needed to go back to basic principles. If he believed Kira Miller really had
been able to optimize her intelligence, it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe
she had also successfully developed a longevity therapy. And if this were the
case, then all bets were truly off. Smith portrayed himself as being on the
side of the angels, and maybe this had largely been true in the past. But what
about now, in this situation? What would Smith do if he really did have Kira in
his grasp? And what about the people above him? Could Desh trust this group to
do the right thing once they had her? Would they simply pry the secret from her
and give it to the world? It would take but a single weak link for her to bribe
herself to freedom or for someone to take her place. She was the key to
unlimited power, and if only a single corrupt person was in the loop, he could
obtain her secrets for himself, kill her, and disappear; potentially becoming
even a bigger monster than she had been.

Desh
believed that dangerous character traits such as megalomania, sadism, and
sociopathy tended to be enriched in populations of people who had risen to
positions of power and influence. This enrichment was even more pronounced at
the top of organizations such as the CIA and the military, to which people with
these pathologies tended to gravitate preferentially. This was especially true
of Black Operations divisions, which existed in the shadows and had little
accountability. Not that there weren’t plenty of good men high up in the chain
of command of these organizations with a passion for serving their country and
doing what they thought was right. But all it took was one bad apple at or near
the top, and Desh was convinced that with a lure this seductive the odds that
one existed were almost a hundred percent. So even if Smith was a saint,
turning Kira over to him and his agency could be a disaster.

As
Desh walked slowly back to the car, completely oblivious to the drizzle hitting
his face, he was hit by a stark realization. If he really believed his own
logic, there was only one way he could be absolutely certain the longevity
therapy would be unveiled for the benefit all the people of the world: if he
did so himself. It was a troubling thought. He had no wish to take matters into
his own hands, but unless he could find a flaw in his logic it was a prospect
he could not ignore.

A
few minutes later they were back on the road. Smith took a sip of orange juice
and turned to his passenger. “All right,” he said. “We’re refueled and I’ll
have you at Griffin’s in less than an hour. So what do you want?” he asked
bluntly.

Desh
slowly chewed and swallowed a large piece of banana, organizing his thoughts. “First
of all,” he began. “I’m in charge. You and your men take orders from me.” He
scanned Smith’s face with keen interest, watching for his reaction.

“Go
on,” said Smith noncommittally, sliding back the center console to reveal two
cup holders and shoving his plastic orange juice container into the one nearest
him.

 
“Secondly, kill the listening and homing
devices immediately. The only thing these devices and your surveillance will
accomplish is guarantee Kira Miller never tries to contact me again.”

“They
didn’t stop her the first time,” noted Smith.

Desh
shook his head. “I know how she thinks,” he said firmly. “The reports all say
she’s brilliant. And she is. But I know she’s also something far more
dangerous: she’s savvy. And she doesn’t make mistakes. She knows you’ll try to
use me to get to her and she’ll be more careful than ever.”

“We
can track you in a way she can’t detect.”

“
Really
?”
said Desh skeptically. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. You’re
underestimating her. Trust me, she’d smell you if you were in the next galaxy. I
don’t think she’ll come within a thousand miles of me now, knowing that I’m
bait. But if she does and then catches your scent, she’ll bolt and we’ll never
have another chance.” He stared at Smith with an unwavering intensity. “I want
your guarantee on this.”

Smith
paused in thought and then sighed resignedly. “Okay,” he said finally, clearly
not happy about it.

“Good.
I’ll continue my efforts to find her as I was tasked to do, since I don’t think
she’ll come to me again. And Smith,” he added, “I
will
call you in when
I find her as per the original plan.” He paused. “Just so you know, I also
intend to continue working with Griffin. He’s very good at what he does and my
gut tells me he’s a good man. It goes without saying that the no surveillance
rule goes for Griffin and anyone else I’m working with as well,” he added
pointedly.

“Can
he do an effective job for you without having a glimmer of what’s really going
on?”

“I
think so, yes,” said Desh. He popped the last piece of his first banana in his
mouth, swallowed, and then chased it with a long drink of water.

“So
now let’s turn to point number three,” said Desh. “I have to have full
authority to capture her myself. I have the tranquilizer gun I borrowed from
your colleague, and I can add other non-lethal weaponry to my arsenal. If I’m
wrong and she does come after me again, I won’t pass up the chance to take her
down.”

Smith
frowned and looked unconvinced.

“Trust
me,” added Desh. “Your fountain keeper is in good hands. I’ll only act if I
think I have to. Otherwise, I’ll call you in. And I won’t use lethal force.”

“It’s
not like I have a choice,” muttered Smith. “If you’re in a position to capture
her and I’m not there, you’re going to do whatever the hell you want,
regardless of what I agree to.”

“I
will
take her alive. And I can’t be bought. You’ll just have to trust
me.”

Smith
drained the last of the orange juice as he considered. “Okay,” he said, shoving
the empty juice container into the cup holder. “I’ll agree to your conditions.”
He eyed Desh intently. “But I have one of my own. My men told me they
discovered you had used the cell phone you had, ah . . . borrowed, to contact
Jim Connelly. From now on,
I’m
your only contact. You agree not to
contact Connelly again no matter what happens. We know there’s a mole at
USASOC. Calling the colonel plays right into Kira Miller’s hands.”

“Will
you tell him it was you and your men who crashed the party tonight and fill him
in on the longevity angle?”

Smith’s
expression turned to one of disbelief, as if Desh had lost his mind. “She’s
doubled
the span of human life,” he said emphatically. “There’s no greater secret in
the world. It’s on a need to know basis. And Connelly still doesn’t need to
know.” He frowned and shook his head. “If we don’t keep this under wraps we
could have dozens and dozens of factions all warring with each other trying to
get their hands on her. You think this Op is a clusterfuck now—” He raised his
eyebrows and let the thought hang. “I’ll tell him it was me at the motel, but
that’s where I’ll stop.”

Desh
considered. “Agreed,” he said. “We have an understanding.”

Desh
directed Smith to turn right. “I’ll expect you to send me an e-mail message
with the locations of all bugs and homing devices you’ve planted anywhere near
me or anyone I’m working with.”

Smith
nodded.

“Oh,
and check the list twice, will you,” added Desh pointedly. “I wouldn’t want you
to accidentally forget any.”

21

David
Desh stood in the parking lot of Griffin’s apartment and waited for Smith to
drive out of sight. Satisfied, he returned to where he had parked his Suburban
and removed a sleek leather case from the passenger seat, which contained
state-of-the-art bug detection equipment and an inch-thick sheaf of
hundred-dollar bills, compressed tightly by a money clip. Connelly had provided
a ridiculously large advance and Desh had withdrawn far more than just
Griffin’s retainer from the bank the previous morning. Case in hand, he quickly
made his way back to Apartment 14 D. He had walked down this same hallway, and
into an ambush, only the night before; yet it seemed like ages ago.

Griffin’s
apartment was unlocked and the giant was sprawled out on the floor right where
he had been left, although he was now breathing more deeply and Desh guessed he
could be awakened at any time. He carefully cut the plasticuff bracelet from
around Griffin’s wrist and tossed it into the kitchen trash along with the link
Kira had removed the night before.

He
removed the bug-detection equipment from the leather case and began a careful
sweep of the apartment. Proficiency at detecting and removing listening devices
was critical in the executive protection business. Fleming had the most
advanced equipment made, which was out of the price range of all but the
wealthiest private citizens. Desh found two wireless bugs and placed them in a
soundproof container he pulled from the case. Smith had assured Desh he would
kill all bugs immediately. Desh didn’t believe him for an instant.

Desh
changed into his own pants, pulled his cell phone from the pocket where it had
spent the night, checked it for messages, and rearmed himself. He retrieved his
windbreaker and zipped it over the gray sweatshirt to hide his shoulder
holster. His shirt and undershirt had been cut from his body the night before
and were ruined. He gathered them up, along with the sweatpants, and piled them
nearby for later disposal.

This
completed, Desh gently shook Griffin until he began to stir.

Griffin
opened his eyes and appeared to be in a fog, struggling to make sense of the
man standing before him. Finally, a name and a context must have swum into
place to match the face. “David Desh?” he mumbled drunkenly in disbelief.

“Yeah.
It’s me. Time to wake up.”

“Why
am I on the floor?” he asked, confused.

“How
do you feel?”

Griffin’s
brain hadn’t quite finished rebooting and his responses were slow. “Great,” he
said at last, almost in surprise. “Never felt better.”

Desh
nodded. Kira Miller had assured him this would be the case and in this, at
least, she hadn’t lied.

While
Griffin roused himself and finally got up, Desh made a pot of coffee. Several
minutes later Griffin joined Desh at his kitchen table, sipping the coffee
gratefully.

“You
had a visitor last night,” began Desh. “Do you remember anything about it?”

Griffin
searched his mind but finally shook his head in frustration. “Not a thing.”

“It
was Kira Miller.”

“
Kira
Miller!
” repeated Griffin in alarm.

“Don’t
worry. She just knocked you out and left. She used a benign drug. You’ll be
fine. And she won’t trouble you again, I guarantee it.”

“What
did she want?”

“Me.”

Griffin
looked at Desh as if seeing him for the first time. “You really look like hell,
you know that?”

Desh
smiled weakly. Given that he was sleep deprived, unshaven, uncombed, and had
spent part of the night inside the trunk of a car, he didn’t doubt it. “Thanks.
I feel like hell too.”

“What
happened to you? And what are you doing here now?” Griffin scratched his head. “For
that matter, if she was after
you
, why knock
me
out?”

“I’d
love to answer all of your questions, Matt, but I really can’t.” He held out
his hands helplessly.

“Look,
David, this secrecy crap has to go. My apartment was broken into and I was
knocked out. I’m up to my
ass
in
this. I need to know what’s going on.”

Desh
sighed. “You make a good point,” he said. “Maybe at some point I’ll tell you
everything, but not right now. There’s too much going on and I don’t know who
to trust. It’s better for both of us if you don’t know any more than you do
already.”

“Then
find yourself another hacker,” snapped Griffin.

“I
don’t blame you for being angry,” said Desh sympathetically. “A known
psychopath and murderer has attacked you, and you want to know what you’ve
gotten yourself into. But I’m asking you to trust me. Eventually, I’ll tell you
everything.” He paused. “And I’ll throw in a fifty percent bonus as hazard pay
for what you’ve already gone through.”

“You
can’t spend money when you’re dead,” noted Griffin, unimpressed.

“I’ll
see to your safety,” Desh assured him. “This was a one time thing. It won’t
happen again.”

Griffin
eyed him skeptically but finally nodded. “Okay—for now at least,” he added
cautiously.

“Good.
Now that that’s settled,” said Desh, changing the subject rapidly so Griffin
wouldn’t have time to reconsider, “I want you to find everything there is to
know about Kira Miller. If it’s accessible by computer, I want it. School
records, guidance counselor notes, scholarly articles, books she buys online—hell
for that matter
anything
she buys online, from perfume to paperclips. I
told you about the two teachers from Middlebrook, her high school alma mater. One
was murdered and the other went missing about sixteen years or so ago. Find
anything you can about this. Newspaper articles, police reports; everything. I
want to build as complete a profile of her as is humanly possible.”

Griffin
studied him carefully. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “As long as we’re
still trying to find a mass murderer, I’m willing to take some personal risk. But
this had better not veer off into questionable territory,” he warned. He
pointed to the plaque on his desk. “Remember, I use my skills for good only.”

“And
that’s what I like about you, Matt,” said Desh smoothly. He sighed. “While
you’re working on this assignment, do you mind if I crash on your couch? I’m
exhausted. The prospect of driving home right now without any sleep is looking
pretty bleak.”

“
Mi
sofa es su sofa
,” responded Griffin, his amiable self once again.

“Thanks,”
said Desh gratefully. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Desh
re-opened his eyes with a start to find the massive figure of Matt Griffin
standing over him, shaking him roughly with an anxious but irate expression. Desh
glanced at his watch. He had been sleeping for almost two hours. Incredible. He
had closed his eyes just an instant before. He was still tired, but this period
of concentrated sleep would be enough to allow him to operate at a high level
for the rest of the day, if necessary.

“What?”
mumbled Desh worriedly as the rage on Griffin’s face began to register.

Griffin
thrust a scrap of paper in front of his eyes. ARE WE BEING BUGGED?

“No,”
said Desh aloud, shaking his head “We were, but I cleared them. Why? What’s
going on?”

Griffin
handed him a piece of paper. “You got an e-mail from Kira Miller,” he snapped.

Desh
bolted upright, now fully awake.

“Read
it and tell me what the hell is going on!” barked Griffin angrily.

Desh’s
heart pounded furiously as he turned to the message.

From:
xc86vzi

To:
Matt Griffin

Re:
Urgent! For David Desh

Matt
Griffin:

David
probably removed any bugs from your apartment, but remain silent about this
message and assume you’re being bugged until he indicates otherwise. Please
give this message to David immediately.

David
Desh:

I
bugged the sweatpants I provided to you as a precautionary measure. Once again,
I’m sorry about the invasion of privacy. I modified the bug to make it
undetectable by your equipment (Impossible—I know). I just finished listening
to the record of your conversations with Connelly and Smith that were forwarded
to my computer.

Desh
stifled a curse and clenched his teeth in fury. She was always one step ahead
of him. She had correctly named the two people he had spoken with during the
night, which meant she wasn’t bluffing. He was being outsmarted at every turn. He
retrieved the sweatpants he had worn the night before, opened the door, and
threw them as far down the hallway as he could manage. Griffin watched him
angrily, not saying a word.

Desh
was
furious
with himself, but forced
his focus back to the e-mail message, knowing that self-recrimination would
have to wait. He continued reading:

We need to finish our discussion.
I have precious little time now to provide details (I was planning to last
night) but a batch of the gellcaps I told you about were stolen years ago. There
is another enhanced human at large (or “golden goose” to use Smith’s
terminology). He is the one who is ruthless and has powerful people in his
pocket, not me. He is also the one behind the effort to find me. It is critical
that he be stopped.

Smith
is lying to you: the rival who stole my treatment is behind the Ebola plot, not
me.

I
know you don’t trust me, but trust this: Jim Connelly won’t live out the day if
you don’t act. You need to warn him and then bring him fully up to speed. You
called him and raised his suspicions and he’s in a powerful position to pry and
make life uncomfortable for the true psychopaths here. Like you, he is a man
who can’t be bought, so they will kill him to prevent him from learning the
truth. Don’t trust me, but please err on the side of caution. Stakes this high
bring out the aberrant personality types we spoke of like moths to a flame.

They
will kill you as soon as they come to believe you won’t lead them to me. They
will clean up behind you as well, which means killing Matt Griffin the first
chance they get.

Good
luck

Desh
looked up from the message in alarm and immediately was met by Griffin’s icy
stare. “Can you tell me what the hell I’ve gotten myself into?” he demanded. “Ebola
plot! What the hell does that mean? She says some group out there plans to kill
you and me both. You said I’d be safe. It sure doesn’t sound that way!” he
spat.

“Okay,
Matt, no more secrets,” said Desh, his voice calm. “You’re far more involved
than I ever expected you to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve the
truth. But I need to think through the implications of this e-mail first. How
securely was it sent? Could it have been intercepted?”

“No
way. She’s as good as it gets and my computer is a fortress.”

Desh
nodded, not surprised. As usual, she was careful and smart. But was the message
simply another of her manipulations? Desh was getting awfully tired of being a
pawn in a game for which he didn’t know either the rules
or
the players.

He
made a snap decision. Whether Kira had her own nemesis or not was something he
could consider at a later time. But her logic was sound and his gut told him to
take her warning about Connelly very seriously. Jim Connelly was a good man and
Desh agreed that he couldn’t be bought. But the jury was still out on Smith.

Desh
was annoyed with himself that even in his current paranoid mindset he had
failed to at least consider the possibility that Connelly’s digging would make
him a target. If Desh was going to survive this mess he would have to do
better.

“Do
you have a car?” asked Desh.

“Why
does that question make me nervous?” answered Griffin guardedly.

“Connelly
could be in someone’s crosshairs even as we speak. We need to get him in motion
immediately and set up a meeting with him so I can bring him up to speed. We
can’t risk taking my SUV. I’ll tell you everything I know on the way.”

“This
woman is a psychopathic killer. Why would you even
consider
following
her advice?”

 
“If she’s wrong, we’ll have wasted time and
inconvenienced the colonel. But if she’s right, we’ll have saved his life.” Desh
paused. “I assume you have a car, correct?” he persisted.

Griffin
looked ill but finally nodded unhappily. “What if I’d prefer to stay here and
let you meet with this Connelly by yourself?”

Desh
shrugged. “Suit yourself. But in that case I won’t be able to tell you what
you’re up against until I see you again. And you have to ask yourself if you feel
safer on your own right now—or with me.”

Griffin
frowned. “I’ll go,” he mumbled unhappily.

“Good.
Can you jump on the computer and find the midway point by car between here and
Fort Bragg, North Carolina?”

Griffin
sat at his computer and seconds later a satellite map appeared on the large
plasma screen. The image of the East Coast of the United States was almost
uniformly green and not a single sign of human habitation, including the
largest cities, could be detected. The Atlantic Ocean appeared as a much deeper
and more vibrant shade of blue than when viewed from the beach. Griffin
overlaid the satellite imagery with a driving map that highlighted the route
between the two locations, spotting a promising town almost immediately. His
hands flew over the keys.

“Emporia
Virginia,” he announced. “It’s a hundred and seventy-two miles from D.C. and a
hundred and fifty-five miles from Bragg.”