Firewall (18 page)

NEW YORK

10:35 A.M. EASTERN, WEDNESDAY

Murford’s dead. I didn’t order the hit, and media claim a sniper got him.

I know who arranged it. When he’s finished with our business, will I end up the same? My bodyguards won’t be able to stop him. He’s that good. I shudder, then shove the trepidation away. I climbed this ladder to the top rung by being smart
 
—and fearless.

What’s left of Murford’s people understand I mean business. So I’ll let them think I’m responsible for his murder. The problem is, I don’t have anyone to keep the team in line. May need to dispose of them sooner than I thought.

My contact will find out where Murford moved the kid. If she’s even alive. I need her as bargaining power for Young in case my hacker doesn’t come through.

I grit my teeth. I was told al-Qaeda would take credit for the airport bombing. Nothing there has changed. Then why are my nerves on edge?

I read e-mail on my phone. Save needs help to hack into the software. Wants to bring in another person whom he claims works at his caliber. I pop two Tums, reminding me I should buy stock in the company. Save’s question annoys me. He claimed to have the expertise needed to access the software. He got into Houston
FBI’s files to find a weak link for me. Bringing in one more person spreads me thinner. But why should I stress over the details when my plan is to eliminate all those on the payroll?

I walk to my wall of windows looking out on the city. Defiance ripples through me.

Who would ever miss a couple of lowlifes who make a living from breaching computer systems? And if it happened as soon as they completed the job, their deaths would go unnoticed by a country twisted in the upheaval of the bombing. There’s no paper trail. Nothing points to me.

I have the person’s number, a woman. I’ll see if she measures up to my expectations.

10:25 A.M. WEDNESDAY

Taryn opened her eyes in a hospital bed to a repeat of what had happened after the airport bombing. FBI Special Agent Grayson Hall leaned over her with his incredible blue eyes, but this time they were filled with gentleness. She’d grown to rely on this man, and if she were honest, other feelings surfaced. Less than a week ago, she’d thought she was in love with Francis Shepherd. Her heart was fickle.

“Hey, superagent.”

She smiled at him and nodded at Joe. “I think I have a hard head.”

“Good thing you do,” Grayson said. “I’m going to make sure you’re fitted for a helmet.”

“Is that before or after you show me how to use a gun?” Then she remembered how Murford fell on her, sending her onto the pavement. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Another life wasted. Were they there to kill him or nab me?” She took a breath. “Or both?”

“His body protected you. A single sniper shot.”

She moved her head and moaned.

“They have pain meds for you.”

How different from the first time, when he denied her relief. “I want to talk first.”

“We have plenty of time for chitchat later.” Grayson’s voice sounded more tender than she could ever remember.

“Chitchat?”

“Listen to the man, Taryn,” Joe said. “He’s wiser than he looks.”

She closed her eyes and willed away the sledgehammer in her skull. “I tried to get him to provide names and places.”

“You did a fine job. The SSA may recruit you yet.”

With the trouble slamming against her from every direction, she doubted the SSA would offer anything but an invitation to stay away. “What about Zoey? He made a call in the restaurant, and I saw a video of her.”

“Agents were able to trace her location from Murford’s phone.”

She wanted to sit up, question him more. “Are they on their way?”

“Yes. As soon as I hear from the team, so will you.”

“How long?”

“Depends. It’s a cabin on the outskirts of Huntsville State Park.”

The video of Zoey had looked like a rustic setting. “Was there anything else recorded the FBI could use?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. We found a consistent number to New York City.”

“I don’t think Murford had a reason to lie about the bombing. If anything
 
—” A gush of pain swept across her head.

“Hey, no more talk.”

“Not yet. I’m waiting for the call about the hacking job. What more can you tell me?”

Grayson frowned, but he’d get over her noncompliance. “We learned Vince has been paying his son’s gambling debts, and his son needs a heart transplant. Vince had met with Murford at least once. You know, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“I can keep a secret.” She closed her eyes. “I also need to figure out Ethan’s password.”

“Laurel’s working on it.”

But Agent Evertson wasn’t her, and she knew Ethan’s eccentric personality. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a nap.”

“It’s the second concussion this week,” Grayson said. “You need to rest and heal.”

She ignored him. “I’m in the ER. Is there an officer at the door?”

Joe laughed.

“No. Two agents,” Grayson said.

“Have you warned them?”

He chuckled. “Do you plan on going somewhere?”

His words brought back the afternoon and evening of the bombing, instantly sobering her. “Why are they there? What’s happened?”

“A call came in . . . threatening you. We’re going to make a transport as soon as the doctor clears you.”

“Back to your office?”

He shook his head. “You’ll find out.” His face softened. “When this is over
 
—”

“I owe you dinner.”
Please, Grayson, not yet.

“But not Tony’s.”

She offered a timid smile. Did he remember everything she said? “Do you know how long I’ll be here?”

Grayson glanced toward the door, then back to her. “I heard testing before you’d be dismissed. About four or five hours.”

Did she dare state the overwhelming fear? Or was it the pain stomping on her courage?

“Hey, I see panic in your eyes.” He took her hand, and she let him. “When you’re able, take a look at your wristband. It’s an assumed name.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries. The agents are Clint and Patti. Clint’s the young guy with all the muscles, and Patti’s a redhead. Knows her stuff. They’re the best, and you’re safe.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Remember, I taught him most everything he knows,” Joe said.

Grayson grinned, but he didn’t turn to his uncle. “Anything else bothering you?”

“I need details on the hacking job.”

He nodded slowly. “Nearly forgot about that. A bank account’s been set up with your alias.”

“Write it down for me. My mind’s mush.”

He jotted the bank, name, and number on a notepad.

“You have plenty of things to do besides babysitting me,” she said. “Why don’t you and Joe work on what you do best. I know you’ll call the moment you hear about Zoey. You don’t want to make me angry. I have a reputation for being testy in hospitals.”

Grayson’s BlackBerry indicated a notification, capturing his attention.

As he read, she watched his face, which didn’t tell her a thing. “What’s going on?”

“Just following leads from the closed-door congressional meeting. It will take days.”

“The conspiracy could have a wide range of participants.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Every chance I get.”

She did like this man. The cell phone assigned to her rang. She caught his gaze, and he handed it to her.

“Julie Harmon?” a woman said.

“Speaking.”

“I understand you have the skills I need.” The voice was muffled. Now to keep the caller on the line.

“Depends. What are you looking for?”

“Let’s not dance around this.”

Taryn blew out her exasperation. “My expertise is accessing technological information.”

“How good are you?”

“Top of the charts. Do you want a résumé?”

“Not really. You came recommended.”

“I’ve shown him up a few times.”

“Are you ready to go to work?”

“How much?”

“Fifty grand.”

The same amount deposited into her banking account after the bombing.

“What’s the deadline?”

“Yesterday.”

“How do I contact you?”

“Through our mutual friend.”

“Easy enough. How do I get the assignment?”

“Same venue. He’ll give you the instructions.”

“I need ten grand up front to get started.”

The caller swore. “Five. I need the job done now.”

“No deal.”

“All right, ten. Give the account information to our friend. Keep your mouth shut or you won’t live to regret it.”

“Been there before, and I don’t scare easily.”

The call disconnected. She glanced at Grayson, who’d heard every word. “If this isn’t our case, then we’ll bust open a new one,” he said.

But all she could think about was one more person threatening her life before she found Zoey. Grayson’s eyes confirmed what she suspected and questioned about herself. Her heart had fallen prey to the man before her.

12:10 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Grayson shouted, “Yes!” Heads turned in the op room, but he waved them away. The call Taryn received had an origin in New York City, another connect to the recent intel. Agents were working on defining the location. The caller had slipped, possibly eager to secure the hacking deal.

He scooted his chair back and stared into the computer screen. According to the call Taryn received, the buyer had a time stamp on access to the software. Possibly Friday morning’s launch date of exporting LNG? Did the bombing fit? He scanned through the hundreds of notations about the LNG companies in Kitimat and Corpus Christi. Although industries that used natural gas wouldn’t want to see prices rise, would any of them resort to the measures seen in the past few days? The lengths had taken time, money, and superior planning. If he only had the opportunity to get into the heads of the thousands of agents working this case. Most of them probably felt the same way. Experts were running data through software designed to show stats and probability.

Murford claimed he could have been a victim at the airport. His role was to give Taryn’s devices to Breckon before the departure. Pedraza said he wasn’t involved either. The key rested in the hands of whoever hired Taryn to hack into her own project. His
gut told him, like so many other agents on this case, that the two crimes were connected.

But his and Joe’s assignment was working through this case with Taryn. She needed more than a few hours in the hospital after the week’s trauma. Knowing her, she’d request a laptop before the day was over.

His mind focused on the morning’s shooting, connecting the dots. He sensed Joe’s eyes on him.

“Your mind is racing,” Joe said. “I want to hear it.”

Grayson nodded. “The bullet that killed Murford came from the rooftop of an area several hundred feet behind Denny’s.”

“Your point?”

Grayson grabbed his keys. “Joe, did you see the caliber of rifle used today?”

“A 7mm. Sniper or military style. I’m betting somebody saw our killer.”

“Let’s take a ride to Denny’s.”

“Our guys are there.”

“But we’re not,” Grayson said. “There’s a back way out of the strip center.”

“It leads to a one-way street. I’m sure agents have questioned everyone.”

“Never stopped me before.”

Joe shifted his jacket. “You’re so much like me it’s scary. Must be why we work good together.”

At Denny’s, yellow tape blocked off the crime scene. Grayson whipped his Mustang to the small retail stores behind the restaurant
 
—nail salon, pawnshop, real estate office, bakery, and shoe repair store. Although those who’d been at their businesses had already been interviewed, fresh questions could stir up something new.

Only one gal in the nail salon spoke English, and she was terrified. The pawnshop owner hadn’t seen anything. The manager of
the real estate office said no one got there before nine o’clock. The bakery owner offered them each coffee and a doughnut.

By the time they walked into the shoe repair shop, Grayson had about given up. A teen with Down syndrome greeted them. He wore a name tag that read
Luke
.

“Is the owner available?” Grayson said and pulled out his badge. “We’re from the FBI.”

Luke paled. “I’ll . . . I’ll get my grandpa.”

An older man wearing an Astros baseball cap walked from the back of the shop. “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

After Grayson introduced himself and Joe, he got right to the crime. “I know other agents have been here this morning after the shooting at Denny’s, but I have another question for you.”

“I didn’t see a thing,” the man said. “I was working in the back.”

“There’s an alley behind your shop. Did you happen to hear or see anyone right after the shooting?”

The older man shook his head. “Actually, I hadn’t put in my hearing aid yet, so I can’t help you.”

Luke paced the area behind the counter.

“Do you have information for these agents?” the man said, his tone soft and gentle.

Luke stopped. “I was afraid I’d done something bad when the other men were here.”

The older man placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “If you know something that can help these agents, you’d be a hero.”

“A hero?”

“Yes, son,” Joe said.

Luke swallowed. “I was taking out the trash ’cause that’s one of my jobs. I heard a shot from the roof and hid on the other side of the Dumpster. A man jumped from the roof onto a truck bed, then got into it and raced away.” Luke’s eyes widened. “It was like a movie.”

This could be the edge they were looking for. “Can you describe the truck?” Grayson said.

“I . . . I can do better than that.” He held out his palm, where he’d written a license plate number. “I was going to show it to my grandpa later.” He pointed to his shirt pocket. “Grandpa says to always carry a pen. Never know when you might need it.” He pulled a cell phone from his jeans pocket. “I took a picture of the truck too.”

12:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Taryn woke in a stupor that reminded her of a few days ago in a different hospital, where the nightmare had begun. She climbed her way through the haze to think, but not about what happened to Murford because she’d already decided his assassination was up to the FBI to figure out. Instead she prayed for Zoey, like she’d done so many times since Claire was killed.

Desperation settled on her. Lying in a hospital bed without computer access made her feel useless . . . helpless.

Her mind rested on Grayson, the kind of man heroes were made from. He’d apologized for not being at the restaurant parking lot this morning when his job assignment had been something other than her bodyguard. When had the attraction crept in? Had she betrayed her wedding vows? But she hadn’t really been married. The love that embraced her girlhood dreams last Sunday afternoon had turned to loathing. She regretted Phillip Murford had lost his life, but she felt no intense grief. The emotional tie to him had died when she realized he was a liar and a killer. How could she ever heal from such deceit? Sounded like weeks in therapy, but she was alive to learn from her mistake. Her dogged determination to always rise above her circumstances held her firm
 
—a gift from God.

Mentally shaking her confusion about what the future held,
she turned her attention to unlocking Ethan’s password, the one hidden in plain sight. That was her goal at this moment, but her head needed to clear, and she must manage the pain without sleep-inducing drugs.

She thought back through Ethan’s last few e-mails. She’d memorized some of the key words
 
—
dots
,
Nehemiah
,
wedding
,
connect
,
document
,
bugs
,
protect
,
danger
, and the puzzling phrase “Every thirty days life changes.” From past conversations, she knew Ethan’s wife had the passwords for their personal files. But he’d stated that his wife didn’t know how he secured his business files. Where? His computer at Gated Labs that had been mirrored by the FBI or his laptop at home? He’d never gone anywhere without his iPad, but that must have been destroyed in the bombing. She focused on Ethan’s personality: fiercely loyal to family. He refused to talk to them about his projects, claimed they wouldn’t understand the technical jargon and it would bore them. That meant the passwords were connected to his office, where the right people could have access.

I need a computer.

She hesitated to move, remembering the agony from her last concussion. Using the landline on her nightstand meant enduring the torment. How nice if pain meds wouldn’t put her to sleep. The door in the right corner of the room was closed, and two FBI agents guarded her. She assumed the nightstand sat on the right too. Slowly she turned, moaning all the way. Pulling the phone to her, she pressed in Grayson’s new number.

“This is your friendly software developer,” she said.

“And you sound like you’re drunk.”

“If I were a drinking woman, I’d be tempted to drink a whole bottle.” She closed her eyes and willed away the hammering. “Could someone bring me a laptop?”

“After you’ve rested.”

“Grayson, please, I want to work on Ethan’s password.”

He sighed, and she knew it was for dramatic effect. “Do I need
to remind you this is the second head trauma of the week? I’m surprised you can function.”

“I do have a bedpan.” Why did she say that! “Delete my last remark.”

He chuckled. “You’ve proved my point. This is SA Hall on behalf of your medical team. Sleep until you’re moved, and we’ll talk about work tomorrow. If you’re good, I might bring you a bunch of bananas and almond butter.”

“How can I resist? Have you found Zoey?”

“I would have called.”

Her spirits plummeted. “Have you arrested Murford’s killer?”

“Hmm. Who are you going to tell?”

“Who do I know?”

“All right, but keep it to yourself. The media coordinator is putting together an update on the situation. So until then, this is between you and me.”

“Got it.”

“A hired assassin. We have a name and a BOLO for him.”

How deep did this go? “Someone who worked for Murford?”

“Not Murford’s caliber. International type.”

She wished she could think more clearly. “How many people are involved?”

“We’ve all suspected Murford worked for someone else.”

“So if the sniper was hired, then he knows how to stay hidden.”

“Yes, Special Agent Young.”

“Pass on your recommendation to the SSA.”

“But that’s all you’re getting until I’m assured you’ve taken a nap.”

“Yes, sir. Don’t forget the bananas, almond butter, and Fritos.”

“I never mentioned Fritos.”

“Of course you did. See you later.” She hung up the phone and tried to stay awake. Hidden in plain sight . . . What did Ethan have on his desk?

1:20 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Grayson stuffed the last onion ring into his mouth and picked up his double cheeseburger.

“Have you ever tried mixing your food?” Joe took a long drink from his Sonic slush. They sat at a picnic table outside the fast-food restaurant.

How many times had Joe asked this? As if Grayson had any intentions of changing his eating habits. “Nope. One thing at a time so I can enjoy the whole experience.”

“It all goes down the same hatch.”

“It’s mixed where I don’t have control.” Grayson took his first drink of Coke Zero.

Joe wagged a finger at him. “Control. I should have known. All these years I thought it was simply being picky.”

Grayson grinned. “Truthfully, Mom got me started on it when she insisted I eat my vegetables before I tasted the food I liked. The habit stuck.”

“A wise woman.”

“I agree. We lost a saint.” Grayson had other things to discuss, which weren’t about his mother. He couldn’t do a thing about her death, but he could help solve and prevent crimes. “Got a report from the agents who tailed Aaron Bradshaw after he left the office.”

“What did you learn?”

“He visited a bank. Came out mad. Probably looking for funds in his dad’s account to pay his gambling debts.”

“What else?” Joe had indicated earlier he’d been upset with some of Aaron’s responses today. “He’s about the most immature thirty-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

“He met with one of his gambling buddies, a lowlife from downtown,” Grayson said. “The guy grabbed Aaron by the throat.”

“Not good. Any leads to our case?”

“Nothing. Aaron’s health and his gambling addiction are going to kill him if he doesn’t make some changes,” Grayson said. “Vince deserves whatever he gets for turning on us, but I don’t see anything ahead but bitterness if Aaron’s no longer on the scene.”

“Glad to hear you’re not holding a grudge.”

“I hope I’m bigger than that. Hey, we made headway today,” Grayson said. Identifying Murford’s killer brought another player into the mix.

“What do you think about our sniper? Or rather, who do you think he works for?”

“I’ve tried to speculate with reliable information,” Grayson said. “Cameron Wallace works internationally. He’s thorough and clean, and his profile is not the stereotypical assassin. No history of being a recluse or loser. Never been evaluated for mental issues. Did some postgrad work in statistics at Oxford. Left the school and entered the world as an assassin. No one ever sees where he comes from or where he goes. Of course, no one lives to tell their story.”

“High-dollar killer.”

“Makes me wonder if he’s taken credit for assassinations he hasn’t committed. But this morning he was a bit sloppy. He took a huge risk by riding in a speeding truck down that alley, but risk taking is a part of his portfolio.”

“He hasn’t built a reputation on being stupid.”

“He’s calculating, and I doubt he was hired at the last minute. I’ve asked the FIG to give us a dossier on his confirmed past kills.” Grayson paused to put together what he did know. “Wallace must have hijacked the truck, since the vehicle was found east of town, and the driver had a bullet in his head.”

“What about the driver?”

“Twenty-year-old student.” Grayson pointed to his BlackBerry. “Info came in while we were talking.” He pulled up another report listing every victim attributed to Wallace. The assassin’s employers weren’t quick to list him on their payroll. “Looks like his usual
stomping ground is Europe, and he’s not picky where his money comes from. Intel says he’s killed in the US and Mexico too. Suspected employers have come from the Middle East, Russia, South America, and North Korea.”

“Middle East,” Joe said. “Like the suspected bomber.”

“That makes sense. Most countries know how to hide terrorism because we’d pull aid.” But Grayson wanted to delve deeper into the situation. Look for a connection. Although the Middle East had his biggest vote, he wouldn’t rest until he found the answer.