Dead Shift (The Rho Agenda Inception Book 3) Page 17

  The instructions were clear. Complete secrecy was to be maintained throughout the operation to find, capture, or kill the terrorists involved. Due to the sophistication of last night’s cyber-attack on San Francisco and indications that DHS communications had been compromised, the San Francisco FBI office was instructed to avoid all telephone and electronic communications about the operation and forego coordination with other agencies.

  Having completed his immediate tasks, Jamal felt a wave of nausea sap his strength, the sudden weakness leaving his body drenched in sweat. For a moment he seemed to be floating in an endless sea of smooth black liquid. Seized by sudden panic, Jamal sucked in a mouthful of salty water and gagged. A bright light stabbed his eyes as he felt strong hands seize and hold him down.

  For a moment he found himself staring up into concerned faces that he failed to recognize. Then a wave of warm nothingness washed his consciousness away.

  CHAPTER 58

  Caroline Brown was tired, but she pushed through the fatigue that threatened to dull her mind. She was closing in on Jamal, and there was no way in hell she would take a break. If anyone wanted to pull her out of the Scorpion right now, they’d have to pry the keyboard from her cold, dead hands.

  She’d updated the work assigned to the other eleven members of the NSA’s Dirty Dozen, examined their progress, and then, with a satisfied smile, turned her attention back to her own tasks. Jamal’s digital fingerprints were all over the botnet attacks. Caroline was so close now she could almost smell that cologne Jamal always wore. Chanel. Damn it! She’d loved that smell. And now, whenever she caught a whiff of it, all she could think of was Jamal.

  Caroline forced her thoughts back to her work. Jamal had certainly launched the botnet attack. But what the hell did he have the botnet looking for in all that video? The answer would no doubt be found in the communications generated when any of the bots found the target of that search. Since it didn’t seem likely that Jamal was interested in the San Francisco scenery, he was looking for someone. And that meant he would have uploaded a facial recognition algorithm to those bots, along with the data he was interested in matching.

  He wouldn’t have uploaded photographs of his search targets. That would be sloppy and, despite how Jamal annoyed her, Caroline knew he was far too good for that. Jamal would have uploaded the raw data for his algorithm to compare against measurements of facial features in those video streams. While the rest of the team scanned the botnet for success messages, Caroline turned her attention to figuring out which facial recognition algorithm Jamal’s botnet was using. The sooner she cracked that, the sooner they could identify exactly who Jamal was searching so diligently for.

  It took her thirty-seven minutes to verify that it was a variant of a Gaussian algorithm developed by the Chinese. Fifteen minutes later, Jamal’s portly friend Gary finished decrypting a success message that had been sent out by one of Jamal’s bots and Caroline paused to examine the message contents. In addition to the date and time that specified the point of interest in the video footage, it also contained a link to the video file.

  Using an operating system flaw within the computer system where that video resided, Caroline took administrative control, advanced the recording to the specified time, and played it on her monitor. From the lighted signage in nearby shop windows, this video had been recorded in San Francisco’s Chinatown district. Taken at night, it showed a group of four men and one woman emerging from an unmarked black van, all wearing ICE tactical gear and carrying assault weapons.

  The fact that Caroline didn’t recognize any of these people didn’t surprise her. Computers, she paid attention to. People, not so much.

  Caroline copied the video segment and forwarded its link to Levi Elias, along with a note that she would begin an immediate search of all available databases to identify all five of the ICE agents shown in the video.

  Seconds later, when Levi spoke in her headset, his voice carried a tone she had never before heard from him.

  “Caroline. If you’ve started that search, cancel it immediately. I need you and the rest of the team focused on finding Jamal. Leave the ICE people to me. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jesus! You’d have thought she just keyed the door of his new car. Clenching both hands into tight balls, she tried to force the tightness from her voice . . . and failed.

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  When the line went dead, Caroline felt dizzy from sudden hyperventilation. What on earth had caused Levi Elias to react like a pissed-off marine drill instructor? She damn sure didn’t like it, but it whet her curiosity.

  Biting her lower lip, Caroline stared at the flat-panel displays that wrapped around her, not really seeing them. With a thought war raging within her mind, Caroline wondered: Would she be the cat curiosity killed?

  CHAPTER 59

  With the team gathered around him in the living room of the Marsh Creek safe house, Spider Sanchez wore a grim expression that made his neatly trimmed Fu Manchu mustache and beard seem to droop. Jack had sensed this bad news coming. It was the reason he’d argued for an early dispersal of the team from the safe house.

  “As most of you already know,” Spider began, “NSA headquarters reports that we’ve been compromised. The bad guys have video of the beginning of last night’s failed assault. That means the van is compromised as well.”

  “Damn it!” Bronson hissed. “How the hell did that happen? Do we have a mole?”

  Bronson’s suspicious gaze shifted to Jack.

  “Knock that off, right now!” Spider said. “We’ve got enough trouble without doubting each other. Besides, if Jack didn’t prove himself to each of you last night, I don’t know what it’ll take.”

  Bronson shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but nodded. “You’re right, boss. When I get pissed off, I get stupid.”

  Jack smiled. Bronson was a hothead, but a likable one. “No offense taken.”

  “What about this house?” Janet asked.

  “That’s why I called this meeting,” Spider said. “HQ thinks it’s still safe.”

  “That’s reassuring,” said Bobby, subconsciously rubbing his bruised ribs. “Didn’t they just send us into last night’s death trap?”

  “So what do we do about it?” asked Harry.

  “We’re going to split up into three teams. We’ll stay on mission, but until someone finds Jamal, I want each team acting independently,” Spider said. “Harry, you’re with Janet. Bobby, you go with Bronson. Jack’s with me.”

  Janet spoke up. “I’ll take Jack.”

  Spider raised an eyebrow. “I thought you two had issues.”

  “We’re working them out.”

  Jack watched as Spider studied her face, then shrugged. “Okay. Then Harry’s with me.”

  Reaching down, Spider picked up a satchel and set it on the coffee table. “Burner phones. Everyone grab one on your way out. We’ll leave the van in the garage and take the other vehicles. I want each of you to pick your own way. That way, if one team gets compromised, the others will still be okay. Let’s get moving. I want to be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Paul’s body?” asked Bobby.

  “Levi will send someone to collect it.”

  Jack saw Janet’s jaw tighten and knew that she didn’t like leaving a teammate behind, alive or dead. None of them did. But they all got up, grabbed a cell phone, and moved out. And Jack moved along with them. As he made his way down the hallway toward his bedroom, the one that Paul had occupied only yesterday, the narrowness of the line between life and death filled his thoughts.

  It was a line he’d walked for his entire adult life. It was a line he’d briefly crossed over. He was grateful that Janet had, once again, decided to walk it with him. And this time, Jack had to admit that he needed her help.

  Stepping into the ten-by-twelve
-foot bedroom, Jack emptied the contents of Paul’s duffel onto the bed, taking a quick inventory of what had now become his property. The fact that he found no personal mementos among the items spoke loudly of the lonely life that had just ended.

  Repacking the duffel took Jack several minutes while the rest of the team immediately moved out. Hitching the strap over his left shoulder, Jack walked back to the living room, where Janet waited with her own duffel.

  “Let’s go,” she said, as if remaining in this place for one moment longer was a burden she could no longer bear. “The rest of the team was out of here ten minutes ago.”

  Janet led him out into the driveway, illuminated by the light of the slowly setting sun. Seeing her head for the driver’s side of the black Explorer, Jack opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat, admiring the windows tinted just dark enough to make it difficult for external observers to see the occupants.

  “Where to?” Jack asked as she turned out of the driveway onto the short gravel road that would take them back to the highway.

  “Back to the city. I’m tired of running.”

  Jack grinned, feeling the old warmth that came from working with this aggressive young woman.

  The grin died on his face as five FBI vehicles rounded the bend to block the road in front of them.

  CHAPTER 60

  Admiral Jonathan Riles looked up from his desk as Levi Elias rushed into his office, waving off his objecting administrative assistant.

  “Bad news?” The question was mostly rhetorical. Levi never charged into the NSA director’s office bearing good news.

  “The San Francisco office of the FBI arrested Janet and Jack as they were leaving the safe house. They are currently being transported back to San Francisco for interrogation. The FBI is also transporting Paul Monroe’s body to their San Francisco morgue.”

  Riles leaned forward. “I want all communications from that FBI office rerouted through here, right now. I mean everything. In the meantime, have your folks put together a federal court order instructing the FBI office that Janet and Jack are to be released immediately. I want it to stand up to scrutiny. And send someone to collect Paul’s body. I want it flown back here to Fort Meade tomorrow morning with full military honors.”

  “Yes, sir,” Levi said.

  “Also find any photographs of our team that have been distributed to other law enforcement agencies. I want the team’s digital footprints wiped from the net.”

  Levi Elias complied with such haste that he almost sprinted from the admiral’s office. As Admiral Riles watched him go, he wondered how everything the NSA had done in the last thirty-six hours had gone so wrong. Hard as it was to believe, someone was outplaying them at their own game. And that really pissed him off. It worried him too.

  There was only one person he could think of who could do something like that. Despite how much he wanted to believe in Jamal’s innocence, the facts were starting to pile up on the wrong side of the scale.

  CHAPTER 61

  Janet looked into the eyes of the FBI agent seated across the table from her in the interrogation room. She guessed that the tall black man wearing black-rimmed glasses was in his late forties. He had introduced himself as Agent Greene and carried himself with the confidence and surly attitude of a highly experienced agent who didn’t like being lied to. And, to be sure, Janet had been lying to the FBI ever since she’d managed to talk Jack into surrendering quietly.

  Flashing her ICE creds hadn’t accomplished anything but getting her slammed hard against the side of the SUV as they cuffed and frisked her. She and Jack had been separated immediately and thrown into the back of different vehicles. Their situation hadn’t improved when the agents had searched the safe house, finding Paul’s body wrapped in trash bags in the garage alongside the black van that had been seen near last night’s Chinatown shoot-out.

  Janet’s one phone call was yet to be offered either. That was okay. She had treated some of her captives far worse.

  Agent Greene leaned across the table toward her. “Let’s go through this again. Tell me your name. Your real name this time.”

  “My name is Janet Blanchard, the same as it was the last time you asked. I am a special agent with the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency. In case you need to look that up, it is the enforcement arm for the Department of Homeland Security.”

  “Bullshit! I checked and they have no record of a Special Agent Janet Blanchard.”

  “May I suggest that you check again, a little higher up the chain of command this time. My position is classified and you clearly lack a need to know.”

  “And your partner . . .”—Agent Greene looked down at his notes—“. . . who claims to be a Mr. Jack Gregory? Is he also a classified ICE agent, because he carried no credentials and made no such claim?”

  Janet smiled. “Jack Gregory is a private security consultant who periodically performs contract work for the agency.”

  Agent Greene tilted his head down so that he peered at her over the rims of his glasses. “You’re trying to tell me that ICE employs a mercenary?”

  “A security consultant, and only on special cases involving an immediate threat to the national security of the United States. He is currently assisting me on an investigation with which you are interfering.”

  At that moment, an FBI agent Janet hadn’t seen before opened the door and signaled for Agent Greene to follow him outside. Seconds later the door closed behind them, leaving Janet sitting alone, her hands cuffed in front of her. One thing she’d just learned was that Jack hadn’t told them anything except his name. It didn’t surprise her that he’d let her do all the talking. That way their stories couldn’t conflict.

  Five minutes later, an angry Agent Greene reentered the room, walked directly to where she sat, and removed her handcuffs. Looking like he was about to choke on the words, his voice came out in a low growl.

  “Collect your things at the desk on your way out. You and your partner are free to go.”

  Janet rose to her feet and smiled. “Thank you, Agent Greene. The Department of Homeland Security appreciates your cooperation.”

  When she reached the front desk, she found Jack with his Glock in its holster, shrugging into a light jacket he’d just retrieved from his duffel. Thirty minutes later, they were both back in the SUV as Janet drove east across the Bay Bridge toward Oakland. Having decided she’d had enough of San Francisco for tonight and groggy from lack of sleep, Janet had told Jack they needed to find a hotel and he hadn’t argued.

  Besides, since he couldn’t yet trust himself to sleep peacefully, it was his turn to watch her sleep.

  CHAPTER 62

  Steve Grange awoke from a fitful sleep on a cot he’d pulled up beside Helen’s cryogenic preservation tank in the laboratory deep beneath the Grange Castle. Swinging his legs over the side, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his thoughts turning to the vow he’d made to himself last night. He would not leave this underground laboratory again until Helen slept no more.

  He stood, walked to the tank, and pressed his lips up against its cool exterior. Then he turned and walked from her chamber. Time for a shower and a fresh set of scrubs. As he approached the locker room, his glance was drawn toward the break room. Hot coffee and a microwave-warmed honey bun called to him. But the shower came first.

  When he reached the long hallway that led to the Isolated Test Chamber, he met Dr. Morris waiting for him. Grange pressed his hand onto the scanner and the solid steel door slid soundlessly into its slot in the right wall. They stepped through and the door swished closed behind them.

  Grange walked to the workstation and sat down. Dr. Morris seated herself in the observation chair and they began the initialization procedure.

  “ITC isolation status?” Grange asked.

  “Confirmed.”

  “Stunting level for thirteenth iteration?”

&n
bsp; “System set to allow neural activity to reach fully conscious level.”

  Grange felt his heart rate jump. They’d saved this final test for this morning so that they would both be fresh and fully alert.

  “Trip wires?”

  “Automatic shutdown on detection of self-replication. Automatic shutdown on detection of genetic evolution.” Dr. Morris swiveled toward him. “Connect your dead-man switch.”

  Grange clipped the small metal band to his left wrist, connecting the other end to the master circuit breaker slot on the left rear of his workspace.

  “Connected,” Grange said. “Now yours.”

  He watched as Dr. Morris fastened the dead-man strap to her wrist.

  “Ready,” she said.

  Despite the cool temperature in the ITC, Grange felt beads of sweat form along the top of his high forehead.

  “Booting up.”

  Grange initialized a slightly different version of the NSA simulation they had been feeding to the real Jamal inside the sensory deprivation tank in Hayward. Then he raised his fingers from the keyboard, clenched his hands into twin fists, and returned them to the keys. This was it. Within the simulation, Grange launched the artificial intelligence process named VJ13.

  Inside the simulation, the VJ13 version of Jamal Glover awoke. For several moments, disorientation left him dazed and confused. Where the hell was he? He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes. He lay on a cot in a small white room. Not his house, someplace else.

  Then the horrible memories flooded over him. Jill. His house. So much blood. The face of her murderer. He remembered Jill’s funeral and Levi Elias’s offer. Of course. This was the room the NSA was providing for him so that he could remain inside Fort Meade’s black-glass Puzzle Palace while he helped Admiral Riles nail the monster who had done this to him.