Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

18

KNIGHT TO B6

Back to Federal Plaza

Mike left the safe house in Bayonne a little before two in the morning, hyper, full of adrenaline from the explosion, and rage pounding through her from the murder of three of her friends.

She drove Louisa’s pool car, and the sucker was fast. There was next to no traffic at this dead-night hour and she made it back to Federal Plaza in record time, and who cared if she broke a few traffic laws along the way?

As she drove down the ramp and into the silent garage, she wondered how long the adrenaline would last before she bottomed out and keeled over. No, the rage would keep her upright and alert.

She parked the car, tossed the keys to the agent stuck on night duty—Prother was his name—and he gawked at her. She’d forgotten what a mess she was. She nearly smiled, waved him quiet. She stopped the elevator at the twenty-second floor and hit the kitchen, pulling out sodas and apples from the refrigerator. Her last meal had been too long ago and there was a long night to get through.

She found Nicholas and Gray in the conference room, papers spread out on the table, both tapping furiously on their respective keyboards. She set down the sodas and apples. Nicholas didn’t break stride. “Thanks. You okay?”

When the words wouldn’t come out, he looked up at her.

“Mike?”

“Of course. Fill me in.” She slid a Coke to Gray, opened her own.

Nicholas said, “Gray and I managed to stop the cyber-attack on the oil companies. I recognized the signature of a German hacker, but Menard told me he’d been killed a few days ago.”

“This has already gone international?”

“Yes.”

She pushed hair out of her face, jerked it back into a ponytail. How odd, even her scalp hurt. “Someone’s covering their tracks, then. You think your hacker friend was hired to do the work, then eliminated when they didn’t need him anymore? But who did it, Nicholas? He was killed in Germany and COE is here.”

Nicholas smiled at her. “Our question exactly.”

“Tell me about this hacker.”

“Gunther Ansell. His work is legendary, but he never could resist attaching a bit of flair for others to see so they could admire his architecture. He’s made a living hovering on the borders of society. But this time he trusted the wrong people. If we’re right, he was killed after he provided COE with the worm.”

Gray said, “One of the COE people must have flown over to Germany and killed him. In and out, fast.”

Nicholas added, “These people are playing for keeps, and this plot has been under way for a while, since it takes time to build software this sophisticated, able to break through firewalls and seize control of an entire system. It required a vast amount of planning and coordination. This was not easy to pull off, nor was it the work of a single person.”

“How long would it take?” Mike drank half her soda, felt the caffeine rush zing her brain.

“Weeks, even if they’re really talented. An attack of this scale? To find the funding—Gunther’s code is wildly expensive—develop the software, plan exactly where and when to gain entry? Plus time it to a bombing? It’s possible we’re looking at months of back-end work.”

Mike saw a chessboard in her mind, saw chess pieces moving slowly, one space at a time, getting into the proper position. It was hard to get her brain around all the complicated and unexpected moves COE had made, all the while sticking with their penny-ante refinery explosions. “But why did they waste time killing Mr. Hodges? He did nothing, nothing. And you know Larry Reeves is most likely dead, probably buried in the rubble at Bayway.”

Nicholas was stroking his hand over his chin. “What they’ve done, killing three agents—this group has to know we’ll come after them with everything we’ve got.”

Gray said, “Nicholas is right. They’ve declared war.”

It didn’t make sense to Nicholas, but he now knew the FBI would focus their incredible resources on this group. Did they want to go out as martyrs?

Mike finished off her soda and crushed the can. “We’ve got to find them before we line them all up and fire our cannon. Where are they? Who is their leader?”

Nicholas said, “We now have some light, Mike. What with the hiring of Gunther, the massive attack, we know they have ties to the hacktivist community. It changes everything. There are probably others ready and willing to help with whatever COE needs, since it appears the group has unlimited funds. Maybe even Anonymous.”

Mike said. “But to date, Anonymous has held government websites hostage and stirred up trouble in places like Ferguson, whipping the populace into a frenzy. But Anonymous doesn’t bomb refineries and take electric grids down and preach for people to stop importing Middle Eastern oil.”

Gray looked thoughtful. “Yet.”

“I know,” Mike said, “yet.”

19

QUEEN TO C5

Nicholas cracked open another soda. He took a sip, yawned, and stretched. “Tell me what you think.”

Mike said, “My gut tells me it’s got to be the new member, the person who’s come on board recently and changed the group’s focus, changed what they originally perceived their purpose to be—namely, to disable oil facilities that import Middle Eastern oil. It sure fits with the over-the-top cyber-attack.”

Nicholas was drumming his fingers on the table, never taking his eyes off her. She had bloody good instincts, and, he admitted to himself, he believed she was right, since that’s what he’d been thinking too.

She said, “You’ve made the connection to this German hacker, COE launched, and you countered a massive cyber-attack. They’ve thrown down the gauntlet. Why, we don’t know. While you guys do your fancy computer work, I’m going to pull every bit of camera footage from the area surrounding Bayway and from Bayonne and Mr. Hodges’s house. Maybe someone slipped and we’ll have the leader’s face on film.”

Zachery stepped into the conference room, dragging. He sat down hard in the chair at the head of the table. Nicholas slid a soda his way. He took it, opened it, drank half, then set the can on the table. He looked from Mike to Nicholas.

“I thought I told you two to go home,” he said. “Instead, you walk in on four murders, three of them our own people, and you, Nicholas and Gray, stop a cyber-attack. The head of ConocoPhillips called to say thank you.” He fiddled with the Coke can. “We lost three good men tonight. I want to know why. Tell me what you’ve discovered.”

Nicholas ran Zachery through everything they knew or suspected, including his call to Menard and Gunther’s murder, and ended with Mike’s plans to gather all the video feeds from Mr. Hodges’s house and the refinery.

Zachery shook his head. “Who could have guessed? I mean, cyber-attacks? Talk about shifting gears. But you pulled the plug on them, by what means I probably don’t want to know. But you also know they won’t stop. Not only that, it seems like they’ve taken one huge step from the road they were on, new game, new rules, and who knows where it’s leading?”

Nicholas sat forward. “Gray and I have a line in now. I’m confident we can begin tracing the attack and have names by morning. There’s a start.”

Zachery massaged his forehead. “All right. Set things up. Nicholas, write up a warrant to go after everything Gunther Ansell had on his computers, if they even exist anymore, and Gray, get Interpol to release their files to us. I want to know everything this hacker has done, thought, or planned for the past year. Mike, put in your requests for the video feeds. And then . . .” He gave them a crooked grin. “Then I want all three of you to go home. No, don’t argue. All of us need some sleep.”

He rose. “We’ll tackle this again in the morning. You’ve done excellent work tonight, but it’s time to shut it down.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll meet again at eight-thirty tomorrow—this—morning. If I see any of you a minute before, I’ll make you clean all the toilets on the twenty-third floor.”

Gray said, “Sir, we must get my team going so they can follow all the threads on the cyber-attack. Nicholas stopped the main event, yes, but there’s no telling if they’ll regroup and try again. With luck, we can protect all the systems and get the companies running normally by morning. It’ll be bad news if we don’t. Shanghai is reporting steady sell-offs in the oil and gas sectors. When the markets open here, there could be a huge mess.”

“Very well. Call in some of your people, give them instructions, then get some sleep; you’ve been at it over twenty-four hours. All of you, that’s an order.” He paused, shook his head. “Another order.”

Twenty minutes later, Mike stuck her head in Nicholas’s cubicle. “Ready to get out of here?”

“I am. Gray gave his people instructions and left. I got the warrants in and sent some threads into the ether.”

“And I’ve got in a request for the Bayway video feeds.”

“I’m sure Nigel could be convinced to put together a tray if you’d like to come to the house.”

“Sounds tempting, but a shower and my very own bed wins hands down. Get some sleep, Nicholas; you need it as much as I do.” She touched her fingers to her bruised face. “I gotta say, though, your pretty face looks better than mine. It’s going to take a gallon of makeup to make me presentable. I’ll see you back here at eight-thirty.” She gave him a little wave and was gone.

He watched her walk away down the hall, shoulders straight, head up, clothes ripped and black, straggly ponytail swinging. He rubbed his hand over beard stubble and his fingers came away black with soot. He was tired, sore, and frustrated. Zachery was right, things could wait until morning.

He punched a couple keys on his laptop. Most of the things, anyway.

20

BISHOP TO G4

Brooklyn

Andy yelled, “You killed Ian, dude, you killed him, your best bud, your mentor! I liked Ian; he thought I was funny.” Something in Matthew’s eyes stopped him in his tracks. He whispered, “Can you believe he wanted to protect her? I mean, what was that all about?”

Matthew stood stock-still in the middle of the carnage, the Beretta hanging loose in his fingers. He looked away from Andy, down at Ian, then at Vanessa, saying nothing.

“And dude, you shot her dead, too. I thought you didn’t want to kill people.” Andy’s eyes suddenly glowed with a mad light. “Hey, way to go!”

Matthew barely registered Andy’s freak show. He’d always known Andy was crazy, but now he could feel the sick excitement rolling off him in waves. It turned Matthew’s blood to ice. He couldn’t stand it. He yelled, “Shut up, you idiot, or I’ll shoot you, too.” And he knew in that moment he meant it, anything to shut that crazy mouth, close those mad eyes forever.

Andy stared at him. The mad mania was gone; he looked ready to burst into tears. “Matthew, what are we supposed to do now? I mean, Ian did everything, he planned stuff and told us how to do things, and when to act; he always told me when I did a good job. And what about bombs, Matthew? Don’t we need more bombs? Vanessa built all our bombs. Are you going to use your own bombs now . . . ?” His voice trailed off.

Yelling at Andy didn’t help. Matthew had killed his friends, but the initial horror of what he’d done was gone now. It didn’t matter anyway, there was no going back. He was the leader again, and the leader said, “Andy, stop your worrying, I’ll see to everything. Haven’t I always taken care of us all? You need to pack up everything, right now. We’re leaving in three minutes, okay? Move it.”

Andy was wringing his hands. “But we can’t leave them here, Matthew.”

“I said get everything we need, I’ll take care of the rest. Two minutes, Andy. Move!”

Andy rushed to disconnect the computers and monitors while Matthew gathered the bomb bags, the suitcases, a bag of groceries from the kitchen. He was careful not to look down at Ian and Vanessa, lying drenched in their own blood.

Both men were careful to give the bodies a wide berth. It took longer than Matthew wanted to disassemble all of Andy’s equipment, and three trips to the van.

“Start the van. I’ll be right back.” Matthew grabbed a can of Andy’s special gas, his own formula, designed to make things go up in flames in a heartbeat, and started back up the stairs.

He heard Andy’s excited voice behind him: “Hey, Matthew, let me do it. Please, let me light it up.”

“I told you to start the car,” Matthew called back, not looking at him. “I’ll be right down.” No way was he going to let Andy burn down the neighborhood.

Inside, he forced himself to look down at Ian, sprawled on his back, his plaid shirt black with blood, his eyes open, staring up at Matthew. He felt a punch of pain. Andy was right, Ian had been his friend and mentor, taught him everything, but in the end he’d chosen her, not Matthew. And he couldn’t forgive that, ever, and he dumped some gasoline directly on Ian, then turned to take one last look at the woman he’d wanted, but not quite trusted, not quite, but it was close. Had he loved her? Perhaps, in moments when he was desperate to have sex with her. Tonight, though, in the aftermath of their brilliant success, his blood roaring through his body, he knew he would have told her everything and she would have skipped out, dancing because she’d won.

She was dead; it was all over. She lay on her side, her white shirt covered with blood, her hair floating in it. He felt bile rise in his throat. No, no, he’d done the right thing, the only reasonable thing. She’d betrayed him. Who was she? Some sort of spy, an agent? He didn’t know, and now it didn’t matter. She would burn with Ian.

Matthew turned away from her and methodically poured gasoline all over the apartment, but he didn’t pour any on her. He said her name aloud, one last time, “Vanessa,” and tossed the gasoline can in the corner. He threw a lighted match in the hall beside the stairs, listened to it whoosh as it caught the carpet on fire. He ran down the stairs. He never looked back.

21

BISHOP TO G5

Brooklyn

Vanessa floated.

Had she heard Matthew’s voice? She wasn’t sure, but her brain knew enough to keep her still and silent. There was always danger when you spent half your life undercover, and tonight she’d stepped right in it.

Being awake opened the floodgates and she was suddenly swamped in pain. She smelled her own blood, knew the pain would get worse and worse and she could die.

Matthew had shot her, after he’d shot Ian. Ian had tried to save her, despite the fact that he had to know it was her phone and she wasn’t really one of them. No, she couldn’t think about that now.

There was something else—she smelled smoke. Matthew had set the apartment on fire.

She didn’t want to, but she touched her chest, felt all the hot sticky blood, her blood. It was bad, really bad. She managed to raise her head. She didn’t see any flames, but she heard them in the hallway, whooshing along the threadbare carpet toward the living room. Smoke was creeping in; soon the room would be gray and she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

If you don’t get out of here now you will die. Tie up your chest and go.

Pain ripped through her when she sat up. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to move. She could barely breathe. She figured her lung had collapsed and her chest was filling with blood. The smoke was getting heavier now, the sound of the fire getting closer. She realized it was blocking the hallway to the stairs. No hope for it. She dragged herself to her feet, holding on to a chair for support. She looked down at Ian, then quickly away; there was nothing she could do for him.

She had to get to the hidden access to the roof, the only way out. It was their bolthole, one of the reasons Matthew had chosen this apartment.

The ladder to the roof was inside the closet in the master bedroom. She would make it, she had to, she had no choice. She dragged herself down the hallway, using the wall for support, to the bedroom, then into the small closet, with the ladder at the back.

She imagined she heard her dead father’s voice loud and clear as she climbed that ladder, each step so hard, nearly impossible, but there he was, saying over and over, Be glad of the pain, it means you’re still alive. Now get out of there, Nessa, do you hear me? And it comforted.

His words became a mantra her mind whispered again and again as she began her climb up the ladder in the closet. When she finally crawled out onto the pebbled roof, she collapsed to the ground, coughing. Blood spattered out of her mouth and she sucked in air, but never enough. Smoke was billowing up all around her.

She crawled to the fire escape, her only chance, since the building itself was now burning.

Her father’s voice kept at her, yelling now over the pain, pushing her, pushing her. She crawled to the ledge. The ground looked a mile away, but she knew it was only three stories down. I can’t make it, Dad, I can’t make it.

And again his frantic urging: Don’t you let that crazy bastard win, do you hear me, Nessa? You move, and you move now! Vanessa felt a bolt of fury and swung her legs onto the metal tread of the fire escape.

She heard sirens. She had to get away before they got here. She couldn’t be captured, it wasn’t an option.

She clutched the quickly heating side bars. Down, down, get moving.

Something tore inside her. The pain crashed over her, a tsunami. She felt blood running down her arms. The sweater she’d bound around herself was soaked with her blood. Her father’s voice died in her mind.

She was nearly down when she fainted and fell, boneless, to the hard asphalt.

22

KNIGHT TO A4

Upper East Side

Manhattan

Nicholas wasn’t surprised to find Nigel in the kitchen, reading a book, a lead crystal lowball of Talisker Storm, neat, sitting by his elbow.

“Waiting up for me?”

His butler raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and sighed. “I see you’ve ruined yet another pair of pants, that lovely Spanish leather jacket your father gave you for your birthday, not to mention the bespoke shirt from Gieves and Hawkes. And the shoes? My, Mr. Gunderson would weep to see them.” Another sigh, a shake of the head. “They go in the trash bin as well. Barneys rejoices. And Barneys’ children, since we’ll be paying their college tuition for years to come.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“You and Agent Caine were at the Bayway Refinery, weren’t you?”

Nicholas nodded.

“And that means, then, that you two plunged into the flames and rescued workers? That explains the missing sleeves, the black face.”

Nicholas saw the carnage again in his mind and nodded again, numbly.

Nigel paused for a moment, saw what a tight rein Nicholas had on himself. He lightly laid his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “You did well. Now, what can I do?”

Nicholas snapped to. “There’s really nothing, but thank you. Please go to bed, Nigel. I’m fine. I think a drink might be a good idea, though.” He poured himself at least three fingers of Talisker and drained it in a single gulp. The liquor shuddered through his body, warmed him to his ruined shoes.

“Did that help?”

“Yes, yes, it did.” Nicholas eased into a chair, watched Nigel pour him another.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Your mother called. The news of the refinery explosion already made it to England. I told her I believed you were at Lincoln Center, watching a play.”

“That was well done of you, Nigel, thank you.”

“I don’t think she believed me for an instant, but bless her, she didn’t push it. You can expect a call from your father and grandfather tomorrow. Early.”

“Everything is all right back home?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” Nigel studied Nicholas’s face for a moment longer, then said, “You should soak up the Talisker before you go to bed. There’s cold chicken and orzo in the Sub-Zero.”

“No, I think I’d like to keep the bad away a while longer,” Nicholas said, and he nodded at the bottle of Talisker. “This will do nicely.”

Nigel didn’t move.

“What is it, Nigel? Is there really something going on at home I should know about? And you’re protecting me like you tried to protect my mother?”

“I’ve known you all our lives, Nicholas. I’ve seen you angry and frustrated, but not as much as you are now. I’ve seen you even dirtier than you are now, more banged up, seen you inches away from losing that infamous Drummond temper. But you want to know something?”

Nicholas’s eyebrow shot up. “Yes?”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

The Talisker spurted out of Nicholas’s mouth.

“No, no, Nigel, you’re wrong. All the bonkers crap that’s going on? No, no, I am not enjoying myself.”

Nigel merely shook his head. “I’d say you’re downright giddy. I was worried about all the change, but I’m glad to say the move to New York suits you very well. Your grandfather will be pleased to hear it.”

“You’re dead wrong about the giddy part—well, I hope you are—and you’re quite right: New York and the FBI suit me very well. It’s only a pity they don’t give agents clothing allowances. And stop talking to my grandfather behind my back.”

Nigel grinned. “I haven’t spoken to the baron. I’ve only spoken with my father. Oh, yes, he sends his very best. He said the family misses you and wonders when you might be home for a visit.”

Horne, Nigel’s father, was the Drummond family’s butler at their home in Farrow-on-Grey, and had been a part of Nicholas’s entire life just as Nigel had. A wave of homesickness hit him, or maybe it was the Talisker. He realized he missed the weekly breakfasts with his family. He missed the lime trees bordering the long drive, and the labyrinth gardens. He even missed Cook Crumbe’s awful porridge.

Nigel said as he came back from the kitchen, “I’m very sorry about the tragedy tonight. But now it’s time for you to get some sleep, Nicholas. Even for you, it’s occasionally necessary. Good night,” and Nicholas heard Nigel humming as he walked away.

Was Nigel right? Was he giddy? No, not that word, it was more that he knew he was completely and utterly involved, every single fiber in his body was sharply alive, turned on high. He’d accepted long ago that he was a predator, remembered his mother had told him he had the push-it-to-the-edge danger gene, and surely that was a good thing for the FBI. And this ridiculous COE group was still running free. But not for long. No, not for long.

And he had Michaela, and wasn’t that a bit of miraculous luck? He couldn’t imagine his life here without her. Like him, she was fairly bursting with life, ready to tackle anything, always straight ahead, that was Michaela. Did she have the danger gene, too? Yes, very probably.

As he washed out his glass, he admitted to himself that he was indeed doing well here in New York. And, evidently, Barneys was doing well, too.

He took a hot shower, pulled out his first-aid kit and smeared some burn cream on his palms, then climbed into bed, his mobile next to his head.

But he couldn’t sleep, too many unknown faces tracking through his mind, too many codes he had yet to untangle.

•   •   •

Mike was in her ancient bathrobe, eating a cold slice of pepperoni pizza, when her cell rang. She was tempted not to answer it, but of course that wasn’t an option.

Nicholas. No surprise he was still working. She wished she could give him all the freedom he wanted and fewer rules, but alas, she wouldn’t be that high on the FBI food chain for many years to come. And how high would Nicholas be by the time they hit forty?

Mike sat down at her small work desk, stared at the mess of papers—bills, mostly. Maybe she should dust. Or not. She swung her feet up onto the cluttered surface, put the phone on speaker. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t you?”

She laughed. “I’m eating. Cold pizza.”

“Booze is better. Mike, I’m as sure as can be there’s a new player in COE.”

“Talk to me.”

“Remember Paris? When we chatted with a young gentleman about his future?”

He was speaking, of course, of Adam Pearce, a brilliant young hacker who’d been invaluable in stopping that madman Manfred Havelock. After an obligatory three months in jail, they’d gotten him out, and now he worked for the FBI. She understood why Nicholas hadn’t used his name on an open line—the FBI were also responsible for keeping him safe until Adam’s antics against foreign governments were smoothed over.

“What about our young friend?”

“I want to use him. He’d be great bait.”

“So soon? He’s so young and he’s been through a lot. This is a major case. It may be too much too soon.”

But Nicholas understood Adam Pearce, recently turned twenty years old. “He’s tough, talented, and I think he’d be perfect for the role. We have to get inside the organization. Their previous help was murdered. They’ll need someone new to continue the attacks. What with the cyber-attack and Bayway, I’ll bet another young hacker with a grudge against the world can’t wait to join the fun.”

He was right.

“Will you make the call?”

She heard typing.

“Done. I’ve sent word. As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. Doesn’t matter. What I have in mind he can do from anywhere.”

“Will you be able to sleep now?”

He laughed. “Yes, I do believe I will. Sweet dreams to you, Agent Caine. Thanks for the ear, and the agreement.”

Fancy that, Nicholas had acted like a real partner, called her to get her opinion before acting. She smiled as she climbed into bed. Sweet dreams? You bet. But short ones, given it was four something o’clock in the morning.