“You’re sure these passwords are good?”
“Rogue paid good money for them.”
“But they weren’t passwords for AKC?”
“No,” Bonnie admitted. “But you’d be surprised how many people use the same one across all their accounts.”
She loaded another shell. Another boom.
Another shell. Another cloud of oily, black smoke.
They continued to throw explosives at the wall, but nothing appeared to work.
Bonnie watched the pile of shells dwindle until there were only three left.
She loaded the one on top of the stack, her back screaming as she pushed it through the port. When Stryker pressed the firing button again, she thought Thor was practicing his hammer throwing skills in her skull.
But when the smoke cleared, there were two open holes in the wall.
At first, she didn’t believe it. She stared, rubbing her eyes and trying to make sure she wasn’t just seeing things.
“Damn,” Stryker said. “What are the odds?”
“Prep for phase two,” Bonnie barked. She pulled the port cover open and grabbed the spent shell casing. It was still warm in her hands, but there were two usernames and passwords imprinted on the brass. She grabbed one of the remaining shells and quickly scratched the two passwords into the brass along with the hundred other credentials. A piece of paper and a pencil appeared in her hands, and she made a quick rubbing of the credentials.
Then she moved to the side of the tank and opened a red box with yellow letters spelling “Warning: Highly Contagious” on the top.
Bonnie pushed the top off and carefully picked up the single vial of swirling purple liquid. She opened the stopper and drizzled the contents over the warhead. As the drops hit the metal, small trails of steam rose, and the tank’s crowded interior was filled with the smell of homemade cookies.
“You’re killing me with those smells,” Stryker said.
“Hopefully the recipients feel the same way,” Bonnie replied before pushing the stopper back into the vial and placing it in the box again.
She loaded the shell into the gun barrel.
“Stage two loaded,” she said.
“Delayed detonation primed,” Stryker said. “Fire in the hole . . .”
The shell streaked through the air, but instead of breaking apart into a hundred pieces, it only split in half. The two parts raced through the holes in the wall and disappeared on the other side.
“Made it through,” Stryker said.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” Bonnie replied. “Still have to make sure people open those emails . . .”
She crawled back up to the copilot’s seat and handed Stryker the rubbing with the credentials. It took longer than Bonnie expected, but as the sun was starting to set, a cluster of purple flares raced up into the sky. She sat up in her chair, and Stryker looked up from the video game he was playing.
“Looks like we’re in,” she said. “Let’s see what we got.”
She opened the throttle, and the tank’s engines roared. They started forward with a jolt that nearly threw Bonnie’s head into the console, but then the acceleration leveled out. The walls grew taller in the viewport, and when the entire screen was filled with slate gray stone, jets on the underside of the tank fired and slowly lifted it off the ground.
Bonnie held her breath as they rose past the top of the concrete walls. As they drew closer, a gravelly voice crackled over the radio.
“Incoming vessel, do you have authorization to proceed?”
“Roger,” Stryker said, glancing down at the note Bonnie had handed him. “Username, BGElanti24. Password, D!nner@5.”
“Authorization confirmed,” the controller said. “You’re cleared to proceed.”
Bonnie started breathing again.
They passed over the wall, the missile turrets that had annihilated them last time didn’t even twitch in their direction. Above them, Bonnie could see a fluffy, white cloud materialize as they passed through the defenses. Hundreds of smaller aircraft, some sleek one-seater fighter jets, others resembling a surfer’s van, zipped through the airspace alongside them, ducking into hidden alcoves along the sides of tall black and white towers.
Bonnie took the controls, and Stryker popped the hatch. Refreshingly cold air rushed in, carrying the smell of smoke and oil away.
Bonnie guided the tank toward the first red flare. As they drew closer, she was able to see it was actually a crystal about the length and width of her forearm. It was leaking purple mist, and she didn’t want to think about what traces it would leave behind when they left. Hopefully, Morpheus had been careful enough to make sure nothing that could be tied back to them would remain.
Bonnie slid the tank under the crystal, and Stryker pulled it down into the compartment.
“What’d we get?”
“Looks like just a customer service rep,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Doesn’t have admin privileges.”
Bonnie frowned.
“Put it away, and we’ll try the next one,” she said.
Stryker placed the crystal in the box next to the vial of purple liquid, then returned to the turret.
They collected several more crystals before Stryker yelled in triumph.
“Got it,” he said with a grin.
He plopped back into the pilot’s chair next to Bonnie and ran his hands over the purple crystal. His eyes glazed over as his fingers brushed the glassy surface, the purple mist coalescing around his skin like iron filings to a magnet.
“Looks like a researcher,” he said. “Full admin rights.”
“Can you RDP in?”
“Already am,” he said. His eyes were now pure white. “He’s got a file share with a pre-prod version of the code. What me to grab it?”
“Go for it,” she said.
His body went stiff. His muscles locked up, and his fingers cracked the crystal in a death grip. Black lines of code started scrolling up through his eyes.
Suddenly, a trio of fighter jets dropped in from the clouds above them and started flying in slow circles around them.
“Unauthorized data extraction detected,” a crisp female voice said over the radio. “State your reason.”
Bonnie cussed and keyed the mic. “Looking to share code with one of our development partners for troubleshooting.”
“No ticket has been associated with the transfer,” the pilot said. “Request denied.”
Warning lights flashed and incoming missile alerts blared. Bonnie twisted the control stick sideways, but the tank was not meant to be in dogfights.
“Duplicate request,” she yelled into the mic. “Edit parameters.”
Her fingers flew over the controls, and flares burst out from the sides of the tank. Something exploded behind them, and she felt a shockwave hit her chest as it rolled in through the still open hatch above her.
“New request received,” the female pilot said again. “Reason for change?”
“Added administrator approval,” Bonnie said.
There was a pause on the other end. At least they didn’t send another salvo of missiles their way.
“Exception approved and logged.”
Bonnie said a quiet prayer of thanks.
The fighters peeled off without another word.
Stryker snapped awake.
“What the . . .” his head snapped back and forth. “What just happened?”
“Apparently they don’t want that code getting out,” Bonnie said. “Is everything downloading?”
Stryker cocked his head to one side, then nodded.
“How big is it?” Bonnie asked.
“Three gigs.”
Bonnie looked at her readouts and did the math in her head.
“Alright, we’ll stay in the network ’til you’re done,” she said. “I’m going to make a pit stop while you’re transferring. Maybe Morpheus can give our Russian friends a little surprise.”
Bonnie warped into the room of swirling c
olors, blinking several times before realizing her eyes weren’t the problem.
The room was filled with muted browns and grays. The smell was also different. It reminded her of camping as a kid, especially right after it had rained and the forest had the wet, earthy aroma mixed with the smoke of a campfire.
Her reminiscing was cut short by a bulking black figure that separated itself from the wall and lumbered toward her.
“You’re late,” Impaler said.
“Sorry, I had to do my hair.” Bonnie pointed to the green helmet. “You like it?”
“I’m not paying you for your snark,” he said.
“You’re paying me to break through a next-gen firewall and save your ass,” she snapped back.
She set the briefcase down and popped the lid. A golden glow came from inside, and she reached in with both hands.
“Behold,” she said in a booming dramatic voice. “The Falcon.”
Impaler looked at her with disdain.
She smiled and held it out to him, but he shook his head.
“I’m not taking it here,” he said.
Bonnie cocked her head in confusion.
“You’re not backing out on our deal, are you?”
“I said, not here,” he said. “I want you to hand it over in person.”
“I don’t do in person.”
“Then you’re not getting paid.”
“You really want to tell your boss that you could have gotten the code and were too scared to close the deal?” she said. “I thought you were already on the naughty list.”
“Better than telling them we’re getting half our people arrested because of someone betrayed us,” he said.
“You don’t have many friends, do you?”
He took a map from his back pocket and held it out.
“Just be at this address tomorrow morning at eleven.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bradley finished typing up the report and hit print. For all the glitz and glamor of being a detective, there sure was a lot of paperwork.
He leaned back and stretched, and several of his vertebrae popped, sending a rush of blood down his spine.
He glanced at the clock. He probably had enough time to finish one more report before he was supposed to meet the guys from Organized Crime at the Pig.
Then again, there was something to be said about arriving early enough to recon the battlefield and secure a favorable position at the bar.
He closed his computer and stood. He was about to grab his coat when his cell started ringing.
He frowned as only the area code was displayed.
The urge to deny the call and head out was strong, but he was still technically on the clock.
“Hello?”
“Detective Pitt.”
“Agent Thompson,” Bradley said in surprise. “Wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to,” Thompson replied. “We’ve got a situation. I just got word that a contractor working on some very sensitive systems got hacked. Apparently, the attackers were after the source code for system critical to national security.”
“And you think the Volkags did it?”
“Have you heard anything from your sources?”
“Not yet,” Bradley said. “But you haven’t really given them enough time to work.”
“I’m not sure how much time we have,” Thompson replied. “We’ve intercepted a conversation that implies the Russians are taking a more active role than we anticipated. They’re working on something called ‘Petusky.’”
“I’ll pass it on,” Bradley said.
“I need you to do more than that,” Thompson said. “I need the hacker who broke the Volkags.”
“Why?”
“That’s classified,” Thompson said.
“I thought you said that no one believed you?” Bradley pressed. “If all this is just a theory, you couldn’t get it classified.”
“I got a few people to listen,” Thompson said. “Now are you going to help me bring the hacker in peacefully, or do I have to find her myself?”
Bradley laughed. “Believe me,” he said. “If she doesn’t want to be found, there’s only so much you can do.”
“Believe me,” Thompson shot back. “If we want to find her, we will. It’s kind of what we do.”
Bradley couldn’t argue there.
“But,” Thompson continued. “This would be much easier if she came willingly. And given her history with the Volkags, I think she’d be willing to help us shut them down for good.”
“Possibly,” Bradley said. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Thompson said. “And I wish I was exaggerating when I said this is a matter of national security.”
“It’d help if you could tell me what that threat was.”
“You get her, and I’ll read you both in.”
Thompson ended the call before Bradley could say anything else.
He tapped the phone to his chin thoughtfully.
Haley wouldn’t talk to him, not without an extremely pressing reason. Dana might be willing to deliver the message, but he didn’t want to use her. Or have her think he was only interested in her as a way to Haley.
Which left one other option.
He let out a heavy sigh as the vision of the first ice-cold beer slipped from his mind. Sitting back down, he opened his laptop and logged back in.
Chapter Thirty
“I can do this,” Josef said.
“I’m not saying you can’t,” Haley said. “I’m saying we shouldn’t.”
“This is really our best chance to get an in with the Volkags,” Hector said. “He’s literally inviting us into their stronghold.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?” Haley snapped. “What happens if something goes sideways?”
“Then I’m dead,” Josef said matter of factly.
“Oh, is that all?” Haley replied. “You do realize that this isn’t a video game? You don’t get a respawn.”
“You don’t know that,” Dana said. “He could come back as a cow or something.”
“I’d rather be a bird,” Josef said.
“Jesus, can you people be serious?” Haley said. “These guys don’t screw around. You make one mistake, say one wrong word, and BAM, you’re gone.”
“At least I have a choice,” he said quietly. “Unlike my dad.”
“There’s more to life than revenge,” Haley said.
“There’s justice,” Josef said. He nodded at Hector. “He’s already integrated the malware. You’ve got the callback set up at AKC. All we need to do is give this to them and let it run wild in their systems. It’s a good plan.”
“It was a good plan before we had someone within shooting distance,” Haley said. “We already pulled this once, I doubt they’ll fall for it again.”
“That’s the whole reason I had you leave the callback,” Hector said. “If they try to run it in a sandbox that blocks all the outgoing traffic, nothing happens. And if they try to simulate the responses, they’d have to know our exact passcode to activate the malware.”
“Or they just run it and see what happens,” Haley replied. “Then what?”
“It’s going to wait a couple days before the callback server pushes any new packages,” Hector said.
“And I run like hell as soon as I have the chance,” Josef said with a laugh.
She pinned Josef to the wall with her stare, and his laugh died.
“And if they think you’re working with me, they won’t make it quick.”
She leaned across the table.
“They will hurt you until you lead them right back here. They’ll make you wish that all you had to do is say ‘My name is Reek.’”
Josef didn’t shrink.
“Guess you better make sure I’m ready.”
Haley wiped the dusty window with her sleeve, then raised the bino
culars again. Two blocks away, she could see Josef get out of his car and start walking toward the restaurant. She wanted to roll her eyes at the cliché, but there was something about an empty steakhouse in the middle of the day that made the whole scene intimidating.
“He’ll be OK,” Hector said. He was lying on the blanket next to her with his own pair of binoculars.
Haley grunted.
Josef looked left and right, waiting to see if anyone would come out to meet him, but no one did. After several minutes of waiting, he walked to the front door and pulled on the handle. The door was locked.
“Sure we have the right address?” Haley asked.
Hector pulled his phone out.
“Yep,” he said. “Unless there’s another Jerry Q’s Steakhouse in DC that we don’t know about.”
Josef turned and stared directly at their hiding spot.
Haley swore. “Don’t look at us, you idiot,” she hissed.
“We’re too far away for it to matter,” Hector said. “For all the crap I give him, he is a smart kid.”
Haley pulled the binoculars away from her face.
“Was that you admitting you were wrong?”
“I’ve always said he was smart,” Hector said. “I just don’t know if he’s the right kind of smart.”
“Sounded like an admission of wrongness to me.”
“Speaking of an admission of anything—” Hector said.
“Oh, look, a topic change!”
“I got a message from Bradley,” he finished.
“Why is he sending you a message?” Haley asked.
“Apparently you’re ignoring him,” he said. “Which apparently means I’m not a carrier pigeon. Anyway, he wants to talk. Said something’s come up that’s of national security.”
Haley snorted and looked back through the binoculars. “And you believe him?”
“He’s not really one to cry wolf,” Hector said. “I think it may be worth at least hearing him out.”
“I’ve got a few other things going on,” Haley replied. “I can’t just drop everything to meet him on a whim.”
“But what if—”
“Someone’s coming out.”
The glass door behind Josef popped open, and he started to turn, but a burly man stepped out and snapped a black bag over his head, then yanked the drawstring. Josef’s hands went to his throat, and another man stepped out and grabbed his wrists, snapping a set of cuffs on them.
Trojan Page 17
