Flash Point (24 page)

Jenna wasn't as sure of Flint's amateur psychological analysis as he was, but she'd ask why they'd had that ‘feeling' after a few other things were straightened out. Right now, the far more interesting aspect of Ishmael was that he'd had a hand in naming the members
and
was one of the inciters of the in-person meetings.

‘So if he was homebound, why set his sights on in-person meetings?' Jenna asked.

Flint shrugged. ‘I can't say I know, entirely. I didn't ever go. The whole idea made me as uncomfortable as the undercurrents that came with it. If I had to guess, I'd say they probably had him on video chat. I remember him mentioning doing that for things … and the way he sounded when he mentioned it was one of the reasons I was sure he never left his home.'

‘So the other member intent on taking action in person must've led the meetings?'

‘Atticus,' Flint said without missing a beat.

Brick red flashed in. The attacker in the bank video with the machete. The one who had stepped in to finish the creepy guy's slow torture of the blonde, get things back on track. She couldn't confirm it readily, but it made sense. The letter said two characters were from
To Kill a Mockingbird,
but they'd only known Scout. The color. That was Atticus.

‘What do you know about what brought Atticus to the forum?' Saleda asked.

‘Bits and pieces,' Flint replied. ‘I know he lost his job at some point, which I think is what led to his divorce. His little girl died. Just had a long string of such awful circumstances, and he wouldn't have joined us had it been just rotten luck.'

Damn.
The sequence of events was brutal, and yet, it rang true. Jenna thought of Scout, dry-heaving after killing someone. Of Hester and her clumsy, untrained form rushing at a stranger, driven to kill. To be committed enough to their cause to take such horrendous actions, every one of their stories had to be equally compelling and terrible.

The shade of blue Jenna associated with devotion flashed in. Atticus and Ishmael had to be absolutely sure the people who joined their more radical group were completely vetted. Relationships online were strong, but for what they were planning, they needed to be very,
very
sure of these people.

‘Flint, you said you were invited to the meetings. But not everyone was?'

He shook his head. ‘They definitely seemed to feel people out. See if they were “with” them or not, so to speak. It was subtle, though. Manipulative.'

‘How so?' Dodd asked.

‘They'd test the waters with people, and then anyone they didn't deem fit – maybe they weren't hardcore enough, maybe they seemed too unsure of the more extreme ideas – they would manage to force out of the group. It's ultimately what they did to me, even though by the time it happened, I was wary enough that I was ready to walk even without the “help.”'

‘What do you mean by ‘help'? How did it all play out?' Jenna asked.

‘Like I said, I was invited to the meeting, but I didn't want anything to do with it. Some of the ones more like me, like Scarlett, who had lost a brother in the Iraq war were invited. But then you had creepy guys like Mr Darcy involved—'

Hunter green flashed in at the word creepy, then the deep crimson Jenna hated so much almost immediately after – the one that only showed up when bloodthirst was involved in violence. The man skewering the pretty, young girl in the bank. Atticus jumping in with the machete to end it. That man could be Mr Darcy.

‘Mr Darcy? From
Pride and Prejudice
?' Grey asked.

Flint nodded. ‘Yeah. Weird one. Was into everything Black Shadow wasn't supposed to be about. Class warfare, things like that.'

Sure. Because elitism isn't class warfare at all.

Jenna forced herself not to ask more questions about Darcy.
Focus.
‘We'll need a list of any other Black Shadow members' names you remember from that time.'

‘Whatever you need.'

‘So, you didn't end up going to the meeting …' Saleda coaxed.

‘No. Thought about it a lot, but I backed out at the last minute. Shortly after, I started hearing less and less from everyone on the regular website. Those who did go left our regular forum. The way they were so cold toward me, though, prior to leaving, made me think they'd been poisoned against me somehow. Wouldn't surprise me, since many of the others not selected for this little “mission” had the same thing happen. One by one, people starting leaving the forums. Forums got boring. Pretty soon, no one hung around.'

The watery, transparent brown that reminded her so much of the lager Jenna's father would drink out of a clear stein flashed in. In her lexicon, she'd come to associate it with deviation from the norm. Irv said the last private messages on the Black Shadow forums had stopped long before the first in person meeting because there wasn't a trace of anything like this.

‘Wait a minute. How were the messages about the meetings delivered?'

‘The details came through their website,' Flint responded.

‘They have another website? What is it?' Saleda asked.

‘I don't know. It's transferred every week.'

‘What does that mean?' Porter asked.

Flint narrowed his eyes. ‘I want it to be clear that while I
was
privy to the information, I had nothing to do with the creation of it.'

Saleda nodded. ‘Understood.'

He took a long pause. ‘They attach a Trojan to a plug-in that websites can download free, like one of those news tickers or visitor counters. Anyone who downloads it is now infected. On a set date every week, the virus chooses an infected website at random and installs the New Black Shadow's website on the infected site's server.'

‘That can be done?' Teva said curiously.

‘Oh, easily, on certain low-security hosts. That's how it's kept from being found or easily accessed even now, I'm sure. It'll reach out to new randoms every set amount of time, copy the files over, then delete the previous ghost page. Not hard for the right people,' Flint said.

The intellectually elite.

‘So if that's how the
new
Black Shadow are communicating, how do members get the web address when it changes if the sites it infects are random?' Jenna asked, thinking how they might just give it out at in-person meetings, though they couldn't have done that the first time. And now it'd be getting more and more dangerous for them to meet as a group other than for the actual attacks. Groups of that size would draw attention, particularly once the FBI gave the profile of the attackers.

‘I don't …' Flint looked away from them all. Shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don't want any part in this. I know what you'll want me to do, but I have a wife and child. Another baby coming. I can't afford to antagonize anyone. Give them any chance to remember I … to be on their radar.'

‘To remember what, Flint?' Jenna said.

The calm and collected demeanor reflected on Flint's face up to now gave way to a panicky, troubled look. He shook his head. ‘I can't. I just can't.'

‘We can protect you and your family, Mr Lewis. But we can't protect a lot of innocent people who might die unless you tell us how to find that website,' Saleda said, encouraging but stern.

Flint wrung his hands. ‘Please. I just want to stay out of it. Just like I did then.'

Appeal to his narcissism.
‘Whether you want to be or not, Flint, you're already involved. And I hate to point it out, but you're already on their radar. They might not have meant it to lead us to your doorstep, but the little scavenger hunt they set us on, teasing us we could find them if we were worthy? It was always going to lead to Black Shadow, because that's where they started. You're not to blame, but Black Shadow was your baby. So like it or not, you're part of their game. But you started it your way. You
can
finish it your way.'

Flint bit his lip, shifted again. Then, without a word, he walked toward the kitchen area separated from the living room only by the switch from carpet to tile.

He sat down at the table, opened the black laptop in front of him. Running his fingers along the keys, they watched an e-mail account pop up. He typed a username in, saying, ‘This anonymous account was given to everyone invited to the meeting. You log in to get the newest URL. If they still use the same account, that is.'

But as soon as he hit enter, the e-mails came up. They were in.

‘I'll get Irv on this,' Saleda said, opening her phone. ‘Need to start if we're going to crack it in time to prevent another attack.'

‘It'll take a long time,' Flint muttered. ‘They'll be better than that.'

Saleda held her phone, but her fingers stayed at the keys as she stared at Flint. Slowly, she put her phone back into her pocket.

‘Flint, if you think you can get in …'

He hung his head. ‘I know I've been worried about my wife and kids, but …'

‘But what?' Jenna asked.

‘But what if my family just happened to be wherever the next attack occurs? I'd never forgive myself.'

He opened the latest e-mail, copied the link. Sure enough, a login page opened.

‘The login might not even still work,' he muttered, just like when trying to sign into the e-mail account. ‘They probably deactivated my name when I didn't show.'

But that wasn't the case, either.

The website appeared, black with white writing on the sides, the top. But something else was going on.

It took a second for Jenna to realize what she was watching, but as her brain caught up with her eyes, so did the noises of phones vibrating and ringing in the team's pockets around her.
Shit.

She didn't even reach for the phone. She already knew what the calls were about.

The raw video from the second attack must've been uploaded to the Black Shadow site only moments ago, because this was the call informing the team about the attack. Jenna turned heel and ran for the door.

Isaac Keaton lay back on his tiny bed with his feet crossed, a worn copy
of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
open in front of him. So nice of this fine super-maximum security correctional facility to give their inmates free access to a library. Granted, Level I prisoners like Isaac didn't ever
see
the library, just Li'l Book Cart Pushin' Lael, who came by once a week or so.

Thank the Miami Dolphins, though. He needed the diversion today. A pipe must have burst somewhere, because the water had stopped refilling in the john several hours ago, leaving it drier than a Southern Baptist county with no liquor stores. And of course he'd had to take a shit
all day
. The book was a decent read, at least, though he'd only selected it for the title and its special kind of irony. Had to have
some
kind of entertainment to pass the day to day. He had a jump on the plan, but patience was key.

Patience, and tapping in to the hidden culture around you.

Correctional officers and inmates alike were quick to tell new intakes there are no secrets in the penitentiary. That was bullshit. There were
plenty
of secrets in the penitentiary. Secrets Isaac was studying, practicing … learning.

The buzzer sounding the four o'clock head count of all the prisoners jarred the air. The C.O.s yelled at the Level II and III's, feet scuffled.

Penitentiary secret number one: the C.O.s didn't start the four o'clock head count until 4:03 because the Level II and III convicts allowed to roam the common areas in the afternoons always took a pretty second or twelve to get standing by their bunks. But because Isaac was only allowed to leave his cell once a day for one hour, he was always inside it for the chaos of cons pushing and shoving to make count, the guards bitching at anyone not moving fast or not toeing the line.

That mere four minutes of knowledge had led to
Penitentiary secret number two.

‘Border brother,' said a voice coming from the empty john. ‘Inked fourteen.'

‘Son of a bitch,' another voice replied. ‘Where?'

‘Coming down the bowling alley!'

Excitement rose in Isaac's chest, the knowledge of all the clandestine activity he'd tapped into a bigger rush than sniping those old fools on a picnic at the park.
The Aryan Brotherhood uses the pipe systems to communicate.

Isaac tossed away his book and crossed the cell to kneel down beside the metal toilet.

Shuffling feet, yells of, ‘Beat your feet!' from the C.O.s came from outside Isaac's cell.

The first voice came again. ‘Car?'

He couldn't help but admire their discipline. Their ingenuity. The timing had to be deliberate. The racket of the head count covered the conversation completely. If the toilet hadn't been empty, Isaac wouldn't have heard a thing.

Isaac licked his lips. Smiled. Knowing secrets one and two was going to make penitentiary secret number three – and what it could do for him – a piece of cake.

Well, maybe not cake, but still, it would be
oh, so delicious.
After all, he was about to play a game as dangerous as any he'd played before. And yet, not a bone in Isaac's body feared he was stepping wrong. Discoveries like these were tools he owned, and tools were made to be used.

That was the part the C.O.s never got. The bigger picture was like a real-life, ultimate stakes game of Legions Ascending. As a teenager, he had become a master at stacking his deck. Isaac had perfected the art of figuring out what he wanted to accomplish, then leeching everything he could from the throwaway cards before they were discarded, collecting the perfect recipe of unique cards with powers that could combine to obliterate what stood in his path.

That was the most vital penitentiary secret he had unlocked thus far, in fact. Many had tried, but most failed. Everyone thought that to break out of a maximum security prison, you needed help on the outside, allies on the inside, intricate knowledge of the prison and its routines, and a whole lot of fucking luck.