Power Play (Titus Black Thriller series Book 7)

by R. J. Patterson

  Petrov paid for all three of them to take a jaunt across the frozen lake on one of the sleighs. A few minutes later, a driver skidded to a stop near the dock. The driver introduced himself as Haluk before helping his passengers aboard.

  As they embarked on their journey across the frozen lake, Haluk shared the story of how a great battle was fought around the body of water during the Armenian-Sasanian War in the fourth century A.D. Pap, who led the Armenians into battle, was in pursuit of a defector who was leading a group of Persians trying to incite an uprising. However, when Lake Cildir stood between Pap and the rebels, he prayed one night and the lake froze over almost instantly, allowing Pap and his troops to make a sneak attack by traveling over the ice. And as a result, the people in the area commemorated the victory in battle by taking horse-driven sleighs across the frozen lake every winter.

  Despite the fog, Haluk urged his team of two horses to run faster. Black noticed lanterns on top of the ice and inquired about their significance.

  “That’s from the ice fishermen,” Haluk said. “It keeps us from trampling them or our horses going into the water where they have cut holes in the ice.”

  After about fifteen minutes, they reached the other side of the lake, and Haluk prepared to turn around. However, Petrov grabbed Haluk’s arm.

  “I will pay double your rate if you wait here for a few minutes,” Petrov said. “We need to visit a friend.”

  Haluk readily agreed and his passengers disembarked.

  Black followed Petrov and Kozlov up a small embankment until they reached the main road that had been blocked off. They all struggled to keep from slipping on the icy surface, making it all the more apparent to Black why it had been shut off in the first place. Due to the icy conditions, the slightest wrong move would easily result in the car sliding into the lake.

  Petrov stared at his phone, using the GPS function to navigate them down the road and to DarkNite’s hideout. As Black surveyed the area, he was impressed at the hacker’s choice of location, which was both equally scenic and remote. Black doubted anyone in the village even suspected that a mastermind cyber terrorist lived in their midst.

  They stopped about forty meters away from the house. Petrov directed both men to gather by a large boulder sitting near the edge of DarkNite’s property. With everyone assembled, Petrov pulled out a pair of infrared binoculars and studied the area. The house had floodlights positioned in multiple directions on every corner. There was a small cast-iron fence that encircled the property. But there didn’t appear to be any other security measures.

  “What is your plan?” Black asked Petrov.

  Petrov ignited a cigarette and blew a large plume of smoke into the air. “We’re going to charge through the front door, catch him off guard.”

  Black shook his head. “That’s a bad idea. DarkNite is a notorious hacker. He’s not going to leave his security to chance, relying on the remoteness of this place. I think you’ll find this is going to be more difficult than you think.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Petrov asked.

  “One person knock on the front door, while the other two stand at the back entrance and capture him when he makes a run for it.”

  Petrov chuckled, which devolved into a cough. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight, not after we’ve come this far. We will all stick together.”

  “Don’t blame me when this fails,” Black said.

  “It’s not going to fail,” Petrov said with a growl. “Now, follow me.”

  Petrov led the way across the property with Kozlov and Black in tow. They hopped the short fence and trudged through the thick, wet snow. When they reached the front door, Petrov pointed at the deadbolt and then motioned for Kozlov and Black to step back. After easing a few feet away, Petrov first took two shots at the deadbolt with the suppressor on the end of his weapon. Then he gestured for Kozlov and Black to rejoin him before kicking open the door.

  As soon as it flung open, an alarm sounded both inside and outside the house. Black saw a person streak across the hallway. Petrov charged inside to pursue the man. But by the time they'd all scrambled inside, Black found a door that was locked with a sophisticated keypad.

  Petrov cursed in Russian.

  The DarkNite had locked himself in a panic room, and, based on Black’s cursory study of the security measures, they weren’t breaking inside any time soon.

  CHAPTER 23

  Washington, D.C.

  BRADY HAWK RUBBED his eyes as he awoke for the day. Spending so much time in various time zones all over the world had started to take a toll on him. He glanced at his clock, which was showing just past 10:00 A.M. After checking his phone and seeing he’d missed two calls from Blunt, Hawk ripped the covers off of him and started his day in earnest.

  After putting on a pot of coffee, he grabbed a copy of The Washington Post from his doorstep and then settled onto the couch. An article detailing Martin Kellerman caught his eye as he flipped through the newspaper.

  “Good ole Marty,” Hawk said aloud. “What is he up to?”

  Hawk got up and poured himself a cup of coffee before returning to the couch. He started to read the report about a new technology that Kellerman was slated to reveal in the nation’s capital at an upcoming conference. And while Kellerman wasn’t interviewed, the piece consisted of tech experts speculating what the media’s favorite “techxpert” was about to unveil.

  One person suggested that it would be a personal wellness device that could track our vitals in real time using a smartphone. Another pundit opined that Kellerman would introduce new technology designed to keep personal payment methods more secure. Several other ideas were listed, but no matter what it was, the tech industry was buzzing over the prospect of what new innovation Kellerman had dreamed up.

  After Hawk finished reading the paper, he turned on the television and surfed through the channels until he came to a local station’s mid-morning show. On the screen was a perky blonde interviewing Kellerman, who appeared to be at his home in San Francisco. Hawk recognized the furniture and noted the sun beginning its slow ascent in the background.

  The newscaster, Mindy Orson, quizzed Kellerman about what kind of future technology he anticipated changing the lives of everyone in the next ten to fifteen years. His answers were vague and felt to Hawk more like something off an episode of The Jetsons.

  “The Jetsons said everyone would be driving flying cars by now, but that hasn’t happened,” Hawk mumbled aloud.

  Hawk continued to listen as Kellerman explained how his meteoric rise to the top in Silicon Valley was attributed to his “bold and innovative thinking” and that he couldn’t wait to share his latest invention with the world.

  Despite a fawning interview that was more about style than substance, Mindy, to her credit, followed up with the question every interested viewer had: “Would you like to share with us the nature of this new device?”

  Kellerman politely declined but told Mindy that he’d love to see her at the conference in Washington later that week. She smiled and nodded, assuring him that she wouldn’t miss it.

  Hawk sighed and turned off the television, his opinion of Kellerman unchanged.

  “There’s something about you, Marty,” Hawk said aloud. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you can bet I’m not going to stop until I figure it out.”

  With that, Hawk took a quick shower before calling Mallory Kauffman to see if she’d had any luck with the number Hawk had given her.

  “Nothing all that interesting to report,” she said after he requested an update. “I mean, it’s entirely possible that you find listening to a recording of him ordering dry cleaning or a clip of him denying reports that he said misogynistic things to a co-worker after a human resources executive asked him about an allegation somewhat interesting. But it appears like he must conduct the majority of his work online because I’m not hearing anything that makes me think he’s calling a hundred people a day to broker deals.”

  �
��That is curious,” Hawk said before thanking her and hanging up.

  Without anything but a hunch and the wild claims from a desperate exile, Hawk wondered if he’d been duped by Charles Harris. While Hawk was trained to spot inconsistencies as well as convenient coincidences, he started to review his interaction with Harris. Could this have been a more perfect setup?

  But the wildcard that left Hawk doubting was a nagging question: How could Harris have known that Hawk wouldn’t kill him? All Hawk could figure was that Harris was willing to take that chance, if it truly was a spectacular con.

  Desperate times, desperate measures.

  But Hawk concluded that nobody was that good. No spy could’ve concocted a story like that on the spot unless it was true. Harris appeared to be under duress and living in fear of someone.

  Hawk’s phone buzzed, snapping him out of his contemplative state. The screen registered an unknown caller.

  Probably someone wondering if I was interested in purchasing a warranty on my car.

  Hawk hesitated to send the call to voicemail before deciding at the last second to answer the call.

  “This is Hawk,” he said as he answered.

  “Agent Hawk, this is Charles Harris.”

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you had a chance to look into Martin Kellerman yet or not.”

  Hawk’s brow furrowed, curious about the timing of the call. “I did make a trip out there to see him.”

  “And?”

  “Charming gentleman,” Hawk said. “He seems like he could be hiding something, but I couldn’t determine if I was just suspicious because you told me to be or because I actually felt like there was a reason to suspect he was up to something.”

  “He’s up to something all right,” Harris said. “And if you don’t stop him, the entire world is going to pay the price, either directly or indirectly. Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to let you know that something is about to happen. And you need to do your best to make sure it doesn’t.”

  “What exactly is going to happen? You need to be more specific if you’re truly going to help me here.”

  “You’ll know it when you see it,” Harris said before promptly hanging up.

  Hawk sighed and stared at his phone before repeating Harris’s sign-off. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  Hawk wracked his brain but couldn’t see anything, just a tech mogul basking in the sunlight and building up the expectations of another great product to market.

  “What am I missing?” he asked himself aloud.

  CHAPTER 24

  Cildir, Turkey

  BLACK WATCHED AS PETROV tried a number of combinations on the keypad but to no avail. He pounded on the door and cursed in Russian. Fully agitated, Petrov narrowed his eyes as his gaze met Kozlov’s.

  “I need proof that this is indeed DarkNite,” Petrov said.

  “It is,” Kozlov said. “I swear it.”

  “How do I know that you didn’t set me up with Irina?”

  Kozlov’s eyes widened as he drew back. “How could I? Even if I did know her in real life, which I don’t, when would I have told her what to do?”

  Petrov spoke in a clipped manner. “I don’t like games. Understood?”

  Kozlov nodded. “I’m not playing any. This man is responsible for my incarceration by the CIA. Do you think I’d want to help him?”

  Moving toward Kozlov, Petrov raised his weapon and jammed the barrel into the side of his captive’s head. “I want proof that this is DarkNite, or else I’m going to kill you. You have five minutes.”

  “Five minutes? That’s hardly enough time to break the encryption on his computer.”

  “Ten,” Kozlov conceded.

  All three men searched the house until they found the computer terminal sitting in a study near the back of the house. Black studied the wires that ran up the wall and disappeared into a hole about the size of his fist. A few monitors sat on a table that stretched the length of the room, while others were affixed to the wall. Under the table, he noticed a handful of hard drives. But Black wanted to find the server. He peeked inside the closet, which had a large server in it. With Petrov preoccupied with Kozlov and watching his every move, Black inserted a small device into a USB port on the server and rejoined the men.

  Petrov whirled with his gun trained on Black. “What were you doing over there?”

  “I was just checking to see if the server was connected to another room in the house,” Black said. “I want to see this guy brought down as much as you do.”

  Kozlov hammered away on the keys for a couple of minutes before he announced that he’d cracked into the computer. He turned toward Kozlov. “Now, what would satisfy you as proof?”

  “Find the unedited personal photos of Putin that DarkNite released,” Petrov said.

  Kozlov nodded and went to work. In less than a minute, he located the photos in a folder and showed them to Petrov.

  “Nice work,” Petrov said. “Now that we have confirmed we’re at the right house, let’s get that door open.”

  Petrov gestured for the men to head back down the hallway toward the panic room, which was still secured. Kozlov volunteered to take a crack at opening the door. After a few minutes of futile attempts, he shrugged and backed away.

  “I believe this is a little above my skill set,” Kozlov conceded. “I’m the person you want digging inside your computer, not on the outside of it.”

  “Agent Black, would you like to give it a try?” Petrov asked.

  Black nodded. “Why not?”

  He used a butter knife Kozlov retrieved from the kitchen to pry open the face of the keypad. Then Black studied the wiring for a few seconds.

  “Something look familiar?” Petrov asked.

  “I’ve seen one like this before,” Black said. “Give me a minute. I think I can get this open.”

  Black fiddled with the wires, cutting a few and touching different combinations together to see if the door would budge. On the fifth attempt, the pressure around the door released, allowing Petrov to enter. Black and Kozlov followed the Russian.

  “Are you the hacker, DarkNite?” Petrov asked.

  A man with a patchy beard cowered in the corner. His hair was unkempt, much like his shirttail, which was half in and half out. There was an ink stain at the bottom of his pocket on the front of his oxford shirt. And his glasses had sunk to the tip of his nose. He pushed them back up with his middle finger and squinted at Petrov.

  “I’m sorry. Who do you think I am?” the man asked.

  “The hacker, DarkNite. Are you him?” Petrov asked again.

  “You must have me confused with someone else. I’m a computer programmer. I don’t know anything about the underworld of computer hacking. My name is Uri Smirnoff and I—”

  Petrov persisted in his interrogation. “Why do you have personal and private pictures of President Putin on your computer?”

  “I don’t have any personal pictures of President Putin, stolen or otherwise. I mean, it’s possible that there might be a meme or two on there, but nothing personal in nature.”

  Petrov narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time for your games.”

  “I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If you want to live, just tell me that you’re DarkNite.”

  “Okay, okay,” the man said, raising his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I confess. I’m DarkNite. Now, please don’t—”

  Before the man could finish his plea, Petrov shot him in the head. The man staggered back a few feet before crumpling to the ground.

  Black and Kozlov didn’t move. Black stared slack-jawed at the now lifeless body.

  “Let’s go, or you’re next,” Petrov said. “I don’t want to keep our sleigh driver waiting any longer.”

  Black turned to exit the room when he felt a wave of heat wash over him. He looked down the hallway and noticed a fire spreading quickly along the wall and floor.


  “A real firewall,” Petrov said as he broke into a sprint.

  Black and Kozlov followed suit, racing out of the house. Once they barreled outside, the house exploded. Orange flames leaped skyward, evaporating some of the nearby fog.

  “Let’s go,” Petrov said.

  Black glanced over his shoulder at the house now engulfed in a raging fire. Then he refocused on keeping pace with Petrov, eager to determine the motivation behind his actions.

  “Are you going to release me now that I’ve helped you find DarkNite?” Black asked.

  Petrov offered a thin smile before reaching into his back pocket and producing a pair of handcuffs. “No, not when you’ve murdered an FSB agent.”

  Black scowled as Petrov put the handcuffs on him. “I’ve never murdered anyone on this trip to Russia, let alone an FSB agent.”

  “The evidence says otherwise, Agent Black,” Petrov replied. “Your fingerprints were all over the gun that killed my partner.”

  In an instant, the gravity of what Petrov had done dawned on Black. “You sonofabitch. You took my gun and murdered your own partner just to get back into the good graces of that tyrant leader of yours, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not at liberty to talk about an ongoing investigation, Agent Black. Now get in the sleigh before I shoot you right here on the spot.”

  “You’re going to turn me in to look like the hero, aren’t you?” Black asked.

  No answer.

  “What’s it like to not have a soul, Agent Petrov?” Black persisted, refusing to move.

  “Shut up and get on the sleigh,” Petrov said, aiming his gun at Black’s head.

  Black sighed and rejoined the march down to the water’s edge. Hulak sat in the driver’s seat with a worried look on his face. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to return.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Petrov said. “Our visit took longer than expected. You’ll be compensated fairly.”

  The three men clambered into the backseat behind Hulak. He checked on his passengers before whipping the reins to get the horses moving.