by James Hunt
The faces behind the screens paid Grimes no attention until he stood in the three-foot space between the desks. The man and woman at each respective desk shared many features: blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones with a weak chin, their faces more triangle than round. The fraternal twins even wore the same identical blue jumpsuits, along with matching handcuffs that kept them restrained to their chairs.
The twins stopped typing, and the female spoke first, staring at the case in Grimes’s hand. “Is that it?”
Grimes placed the briefcase on the edge of her desk and pressed his thumb against another biometric scanner similar to the one he had used to enter the room. The latches sprang open, and inside the black velvet case sat only one item, no larger than a thumbtack: a computer chip encased in plastic. He pinched it between his fingers, the twins eying the tiny device with a certain awe. Grimes snapped the briefcase shut. “How much longer?”
The male kept his eyes on the chip in Grimes’s hold. “Depends on when we receive the last piece.”
Grimes placed the chip gently on the male’s desk. He reached for it and barely grazed it with his fingertips, stretching his cuffed hands as far as the restraints allowed. He held the chip for a moment and then reached for a black box no bigger than a shoebox. The surfaces of the box were smooth, the metal cold to the touch. Inside, a row of other computer chips lined twelve ports, two of them still empty. But once the latest chip was inserted, only one empty space remained.
With the twins distracted with their new toy, Grimes looked to the server bank and all of its blinking lights and processing power. Two years. He just hoped that the time he had spent putting this together wasn’t for nothing. “How have the simulations been running?”
“It’s hard to get an accurate read,” the male twin said.
“We won’t know its true potential until we have the last chip in place,” the female tacked on seamlessly.
The heat generated by the servers made him sweat, and what was worse, the tickling in the back of his mind had returned. He turned on his heel, grabbed his suitcase, and headed for the door. He had nearly escaped before the male called out.
“You said you’d give us the picture today.” He shouted like a child asking his father for what he had been promised for completing his chores even though he was a man nearing thirty.
Grimes reached inside his jacket as he turned and removed a photograph. He extended it to the male twin, who snatched it as eagerly as he had the computer chip. He smiled, flashing yellowed teeth, as his sister extended her arms in a gesture of “let me see, let me see.”
“Your parents will remain safe so long as you give me what I want.” Grimes returned to the door and again pressed his thumb against a biometric scan. “Provided that it works.”
Grimes turned off the basement light and ascended the staircase. Everyone had a button that could be pushed. Leverage was always a needed tool in his line of work. It was a game played in shadows, and if the wonder twins could deliver on what he wanted, then he would have changed the game forever.
Once back in the hallway, Grimes stopped under the light still flickering above. He stared at it while it blinked and taunted him in its own confusion of purpose. It didn’t know it was broken. Much like the rest of the world. And no matter how many times he replaced that bulb, it would eventually need another one, and then another one, to be replaced forever, sucking up resources of time and energy.
Grimes smashed his briefcase into the light. Broken glass and plastic rained over him, and the small rectangle of space near the door was cast into darkness. He looked to his right shoulder and brushed the debris off his jacket then stepped down the hallway, crunching glass and plastic under his feet on his exit. He smiled, and that tickling feeling in the back of his head disappeared. There is only room in the shadows for me.
Chapter 2
The walls of Mack Farr’s office were glass, which allowed him to see everything happening on the GSF floor. Transparency was important. It kept everyone honest, or at the very least careful. He pressed the rim of his coffee mug to his lips and grimaced at the absence of the steady caffeine drip he kept within an arm’s reach at all times. “Grace!”
As if she had telepathic powers, Grace entered with a pot of coffee in her right hand, the left hidden behind her back. She arched an eyebrow and snatched the mug out of his hand aggressively. “You do realize that this is your fourth cup since you’ve gotten here. And god knows how many more you had before you even came in.”
“I don’t need the medical diagnosis today. Where’s Hill’s report from the Toronto mission?”
“Bryce is finishing it up now.” Grace revealed the hand she’d kept hidden and extended a cluster of red folders. “But this should keep you busy.”
Mack took them reluctantly, his face drooping even after another sip of the fresh cup. “You might want to leave the whole pot, then.”
Grace smiled and backtracked toward the door, taking the coffee pot with her. “Believe it or not, boss, there are people who work for you that don’t want to see you drink yourself to an early grave.”
Mack grunted, setting the coffee mug down. “What the hell are you doing still sitting at my secretary’s desk. I thought we promoted you?”
“You did,” Grace answered. “I started psyche profiling a month ago.” She placed her left hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “But someone seems to be putting off on hiring someone new.”
“Can’t find anyone worth a damn,” Mack said, reaching for the files Grace had set down.
Grace turned for the door. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Truth was, Mack didn’t want to lose her. It’d taken him years to find someone he could work with that didn’t make him want to claw his eyes out. But at his age he’d learned that letting things go was just a part of life. Though, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. The girl could handle it though; she had the grit and brains to even sit in his chair one day.
Inside the first report were two photographs paper clipped to the top, one male, the other female, with names under each picture. Roman Lahftz and Mabel Lahftz. Neither twin smiled in the provided photo, and Mack took another sip of coffee while he scanned the case file.
The pair were computer hackers from Eastern Europe. They swore no allegiance to any nation or any group. They were the new wave of mercenaries, programmer pirates who sailed the digital seas, pillaging and siphoning away information and data to sell to the highest bidder. And these days most of those bidders were terrorist groups.
Terrorist activity had increased twofold in the past year alone. It was no secret the hotbed was currently cultivated in the Middle East, but similar organizations were growing in Africa as well as Asia, particularly in poverty-stricken areas. It was a breeding ground for recruitment. It wasn’t hard to convince someone to join a cause when it provided food, water, and a sense of belonging.
Mack read the notes Grace jotted down on the twins, noting their special connection along with a family that still lived in Finland, where their parents had been loyal in the protection of their rebellious offspring. Circled in red she wrote: Twins connect deeply on an emotional level. Both believe their terrorist deeds benefit society. This longing for purpose stems from a radical upbringing and relationship with their parents.
According to the report, they were believed missing, but judging as how his agency hadn’t been able to track them down for the past year, Mack didn’t consider their disappearance an update. He tossed the report aside when a notification pinged in his inbox.
The alert had been triggered by a news report in Toronto. He’d set up programs to notify him of any repercussions his agents in the field might have caused from their missions that were conspicuously left out of their report. And out of all of the employees at the GSF, there was one agent that filled his inbox more than any other. “BRYCE!”
The background noise of the floor suddenly grew silent, and Mack watched Bryce approach hi
s office like a kid summoned to the principal’s office. Bryce barely took more than two steps inside, choosing to stay close to the exit. “Yes, sir?”
Mack turned to his computer, opened the link in his inbox, and projected the article and image onto the walls that also doubled as display screens. He pointed to the picture, which revealed two naked bodies intertwined in a Kama Sutra position that would have given Ron Jeremy a heart attack. “What the hell is that?”
Bryce squinted, even though the image took up the whole wall. “It appears to be two naked Afghani men.”
Mack slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the computer screen and sloshing some of the coffee out of his cup and onto his keyboard. “What did I tell her about staying low key? All she had to do was restrain them, retrieve their plans, and let the authorities process them for trial.” He pointed back to the two sweaty figures. “That is not low key, Bryce.”
“Sir, you know how she gets. She’s…” Bryce lifted his hands, circling them in the air as he searched for the right word. “Impulsive. And to be fair, she did accomplish the mission.”
Mack’s chair groaned as he leaned back slowly, his nostrils flaring and his blood pressure reaching a level that his doctor once described to him as apocalyptic. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and massaged his temples. “What was on the drive she found?”
Bryce cleared his throat. “Pretty standard stuff so far. Rifles, ammunition, C-4.” He took a step inside, his arms crossed. “But there is a folder on the drive that’s encrypted with a serious firewall. Whatever it is, they went to a lot of trouble to make sure it was hard to look at.”
Secure files were never good, and Mack felt a twinge in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was from Bryce’s news or the fact that Grace had been right about his coffee consumption. “I want a full report the moment you’re done.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bryce left, and Mack rubbed the well-creased lines of his forehead. Terrorist organizations around the world were growing more sophisticated. And that sophistication was dangerous. It led to more coordinated attacks, which led to more casualties, which led to more destabilization. But the GSF was sniffing them out, one cell at a time. It wasn’t a question of if they would win, but when.
Mack had been in this line of work for a very long time. There were always crises to deal with, the world always one step away from descending into chaos. It was a relentless job, a thankless job, but it was also one that he wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.
***
Dozens of desks filled the main floor of GSF headquarters. Computer screens flashed images of military coups, protests, riots, terrorist meetings, back-door business deals, and hundreds of other highly volatile and sensitive situations that required their agency’s attention.
Behind each desk, working the keyboards the way their field agents worked punching bags, were the backbone of the agency. Each support agent assisted in reconnaissance and data assimilation and as an added pair of eyes and ears to the agents out in the field. While field agents like Sarah were armed with guns, knives, and explosives, they were equipped with monitors, mice, keyboards, headsets, and uplinks to the GSF satellite, the nervous system for the entire organization. It was the most sophisticated piece of technology in existence. And it was Bryce Milk’s pride and joy.
Johnny, whose desk was positioned to Bryce’s right, swiveled in his chair to face him. “Hey, what was the code sequence to trigger infrared?”
Bryce kept his concentration on the screens in front of him and spit out the answer robotically without even looking over. “Seven, twelve, twenty, eighty-two, nine, blue, star.”
“Thanks.” Johnny swiveled to face his screens, paused, then swiveled back to Bryce. “And what was the—”
“It’s under the optical scans.”
“Right. Thanks.”
With a desk adorned with figures ranging from a miniature Lego Death Star to a Rubik’s Cube, Bryce was positioned in the center of the herd of support agents. He slouched in his chair, which swallowed him up, his arms extended and his long, slender fingers working the keyboard.
Bryce bounced his eyes from monitor to monitor, the commands from his brain to hands triggering a movement as fluid as the lines of code on the screen. He believed there was an ebb and flow to his job, and he possessed a natural talent that he’d honed and mastered over the years.
But while his long fingers were skilled with keystrokes, the dexterity didn’t cross over to the Colts Sarah wielded so deftly. Not that he wanted to be out in the field anyway. It was too hot, and the fact that it was prone to gunfire, knives, bad smells, and genuine discomfort made him uneasy. He liked his desk. He liked his chair. He liked the fact that he could adjust the air conditioning from his computer.
Programming was his weapon. In a world where the majority of people chased dollars and glory, he sought data. In the world of espionage, information was the currency of choice, and whoever had the most won. And if there was one attribute that Sarah and Bryce shared, it was the fact that neither party enjoyed standing on the losing side.
With Sarah still on her return flight from Toronto, Bryce had focused all of his energy into cracking the code on the encrypted folder, which to his frustration, wasn’t cooperating. Either he was getting slow or they were getting better. Both options were bad.
When the burning in his eyes reached a crescendo, he paused for a break. He leaned back in the chair, slouching and irritating the already sensitive sciatic nerve. Twelve hours a day hunched over a keyboard wasn’t helping his posture. He glanced down at his hands, which looked nearly translucent in their whiteness. The glow of computer screens didn’t help with his tan either.
“Hey.” The gentle voice was accompanied with a light hand on his shoulder, one he was glad didn’t recoil from the fact he was all bone, hands, and feet.
Bryce turned and saw Grace, then smiled. She leaned down and kissed him, her lips warm. She was always warm. A fact that always amazed him when they slept. It was like lying next to a furnace all night, but he didn’t mind. “Best part of my day.”
Grace leaned up against his desk, fiddling with one of his action figures. “Mack wanted me to check on your status. He’s getting cranky.”
“He’s always cranky.”
“Well, let’s just say he’s more cranky than usual. Any word from Sarah?” Grace asked.
“No. But she’s usually quiet after a mission.” Bryce brought up her flight path on the bottom left screen, which revealed the helicopter nearing New York airspace. “Which is about the only time she’s quiet.”
“Be nice.” Grace picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee. “She puts up with as much of your nonsense as you do hers.” She gestured to the six screens of code in front of him. “So, what are we looking at?”
“Black-market deals mostly,” Bryce answered. “The folders on the drive Sarah gave me showed purchases made by the Islamic State from the slimy underbelly of the Internet. I keep the satellite tracking most of the sites, but I can only divert so much processing power to it at a time.” Bryce raised his eyebrows. “The Internet’s a big place, and terrorist groups are using it to their advantage.” Bryce pointed to the top left screen. “But that is the encryption that’s keeping me locked out of the last folder on the drive.”
The code morphed and blipped across the screen, changing among random letters, numbers, and symbols. It pulsated like it was alive. “What is it doing?” Grace asked.
“Being a pain in my butt.” Bryce typed up a few lines of code on the top middle screen. “This is a standard hacking algorithm I use that lets me into most secure files. Now, watch what happens when I send it to the code on the top right screen.” He smacked the Enter key, and the code transferred over to the top right where the security wall flashed. When Bryce’s code came into contact with the terrorists’ security, it created a small virtual hole on its own then consumed the code Bryce had created.
“What happened?�
�� Grace asked.
“It laid a trap,” Bryce answered. “It knew the code was coming, so it created a path of least resistance that led to a closed door that stopped my algorithm.”
“So it has artificial intelligence?”
“Almost. The programming for the security features was just so good that it makes it look like there isn’t anything that can penetrate its defense. But I’ll get in there.” Bryce cracked his knuckles, eyeing the code intensely. “Eventually.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together and leaned back in his chair.
“Good luck.” Grace kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you later tonight?”
“Yeah.” Bryce smiled and watched every head on the floor turn as she returned to her desk. Johnny’s jaw hung loose, and Bryce snapped his fingers, bringing him out of the trance. “Eyes on your work, Johnny. I don’t think the Turkish government would be too happy if they found Tim sneaking around their military base.”
“Dude,” Johnny said. “You are one lucky guy.”
Bryce turned back to look once more at Grace just as she sat down at her desk. The right corner of his mouth curved upward. “Yeah.” With the love of his life gone, he returned to his work, throwing every piece of malware he could conjure at the encryption. After a few minutes he found himself shifting into that place in his mind where everything fell into autopilot.
But the more Bryce worked with the code, a sense of familiarity started to set in, almost like deja vu. But before he could place it the firewall fell, and the folder opened up a new filed of data on his screen. “Come to daddy.”
Bryce filtered through a series of subfolders until he came across another list of items the Islamic State was looking to purchase. And the more he looked, the more he realized what they were trying to build. “That’s not good.”
But the Islamic State didn’t have the resources to pull something this big off by themselves. They had to be getting help from someone. “Let’s see who you’ve been working with.” He sifted through the purchase lists, following bank accounts and money transfers until he came across a name associated with every line item on the list. “Oh my god.”
