The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series)

by S. L. Jones

  “I take it you’re a minimalist,” the hacker said, his eyes taking in the sleek decor. “Is this where you live?”

  “Not exactly. Think of it more as a place I can go if I want to live.” He smiled. “Come on downstairs.”

  Turner led them down a flight of stairs and into a sitting room. The entertainment center had a television flanked by bookshelves. He worked a couple of latches until one of the bookcases pulled out on a hinge to reveal a small armory.

  Millar’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! That’s rad!”

  Turner grabbed one of the blue duffel bags hanging inside and began to fill it up with gear.

  “I’m going to have to head out for a couple of minutes,” he said as he handed Millar a network cable and a device with an RJ45 connector on the side. He started packing again and said, “You can get online securely with this. Just plug in, and the device will find you a connection and hide your IP address using proxy servers, amongst other things.”

  Millar gave him a look of disgust.

  “I know you’re a pro, Etzy, but this saves a little bit of time and leaves you with no doubt about whether you’re being traced. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

  “I guess you’re right. I’m still not sure how they found me at the hotel.” He examined the device approvingly and then looked to the operative. “So what now?”

  “We head to Chicago, and we dig deeper. Try to figure out what they’re up to.”

  “How did you get into this? I mean, how does someone decide to become a techno spy or whatever it is you are?”

  Turner laughed. “It’s a long story. Maybe one day we can talk about it over beers.” He looked up and smiled. “This time we’ll actually drink them.”

  “Yeah, that would be cool. I could use one.” Millar sat down on the couch before continuing. “So these people you told me about, The Shop. Do you really think they can help?”

  Turner nodded confidently. “Absolutely. Tak is brilliant.”

  “Yeah, but Heckler said he wasn’t working on this. You sounded pretty sure that he should be running things, especially with the bot traffic, you know, confirmed as going to the Federal Reserve. It seemed like you didn’t think you got a straight answer on that.”

  Turner noted that Etzy could read him pretty well. “They’re no doubt the best team out there. Even without Tak.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Look, I have to go meet someone so I can get our ride to Chicago taken care of.”

  “What’s that?” Millar asked. He pointed at the toy-like object Turner was shoving into the bag.

  Turner looked at the hacker. “This, my friend, is a PMD.”

  “A PMD?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Turner said, laughing. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Chapter 43

  Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, DC

  “I CAN’T MAKE it,” Senator Maximillian Soller said reluctantly.

  The two men were cut from the same cloth, so he knew the caller wasn’t about to give in.

  “There’s a lot on the line,” Federal Reserve chairman Bart Stapleton said. “I think we’ll need you to drum up support for this.”

  “How would it look after what’s happened? Would that really be a good idea come campaign time? Think about it.”

  “Fly straight there and back. Nobody will even know you left. Sorry about your son, by the way. I know it’s been a struggle for you. Not everyone can be molded into a politician, especially one of your caliber.”

  The senator shook his head in disgust. “He was starting to come around, spending a lot of time downtown.” The politician had recently become hell-bent on making his son the heir apparent to his political empire. This made his recent death even more significant. “I let him use the room I reserve on Capitol Hill. That was what broke the ice. The hotel staff would keep track of his comings and goings for me, and it seemed he was finally showing some interest.”

  He stopped talking when he realized he’d said too much. Politics was a world where you had to keep your thoughts, and especially your emotions, on a short leash, even when it came to old friends. It was important to never show weakness or dwell on failure.

  “I don’t think anyone will ever be able to fill your shoes, Max. I’ve never met a man who could put people in their place as effectively as you.”

  Soller laughed at the compliment. How he loved to browbeat people. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you handle this. You’ll have the others there to back you up. This thing in Iraq has dragged on longer than expected, and if we don’t do something now, we stand to lose everything we’ve invested and gain some enemies if we don’t deliver.” He reflected for a moment on what he had left in life, and realized it was only his career. “They will know you have my proxy,” he said, referring to The Group.

  As innocuous as the name was, they seldom mentioned it in context. For anyone on the outside, The Group simply didn’t exist.

  “Your proxy will only be good if we can get the support we need. Sure, there will be a couple of us to work the room, but we already know there’s no way the Russians will go for this. They’ll want the situation to fall apart so they can sweep in and take over from where they left off. We’ll need to swing everyone we can onto our side.”

  “Since when are the decisions made there democratic?” Soller was never shy about throwing the weight of the US contingent he controlled behind The Group’s cloak-and-dagger decisions. Collectively, the men who represented his country there had more power over major corporations in the world than a sane man would find comfortable. “Please, Bart, do tell me you can handle this,” he said with a hint of annoyance.

  “There’s a lot at stake here,” Stapleton said flatly.

  “I have full confidence you will come through. They will respect you as they do me. If not, we’ll work out how to make up our losses in other ways. I can’t do it this time.”

  Soller knew this deal with The Group meant much more to Stapleton than it did to him. Power was money, and taking care of their would-be friends in the oil industry was something he knew the chairman had hoped would set him up for life.

  “Then I’ll fill you in when I return,” Stapleton said, and then paused thoughtfully for a moment. “You do realize this will be the first time a Soller hasn’t been present in more than half a century.”

  The senator cringed at the thought. He was starting to feel the magnitude of what that meant. He would be the final Soller to be a part of a group conspiracy theorists had been trying to expose for decades. He lamented the fact that his daughter, Maria, wasn’t an option, based on long-standing tradition. The Group would never allow a woman representative, not even if she was a Soller. In his eyes, his wife had failed him by giving birth to a male who was uninterested in politics. Bitter didn’t even begin to describe his feelings toward the bitch.

  He drew in a deep breath and said, “Yes, I do.”

  Soller ended the call and considered the conversation. His thoughts immediately drifted to his son. Anger began to pool inside as he thought about the importance of what would now be lost. Power, tradition, the very foundation that his life had been built upon. Somebody would pay for what had happened.

  His mood escalated from ruthless to evil as his phone began to ring. He recognized the caller and answered the phone by saying, “Speak.”

  “We’ve got something on him now,” FBI Director Frank Culder said.

  Soller tightened his grip on the phone. “Who?”

  “Max’s friend.”

  “Really, and what would that be?”

  “His sister. Our special arrangement has just escorted her off the radar,” Culder confirmed.

  “Will that bring him to you?”

  “I think so. I had someone who wasn’t on the team checking things out. I couldn’t risk sending one of the men. We need to keep a low profile. She said the two of them were very close.”

  “She…who?”

  “It d
oesn’t matter. No one important. I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure nobody comes sniffing around.”

  “What has she told you about her brother?” Soller’s tone was dark. “I want you to find him. Do you understand me, Culder?”

  “We’ll get Millar, don’t you worry about that.”

  “Good. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while,” the senator said, knowing his lapdog had been waiting for an opportunity like this to move up the food chain.

  “We’re on it,” he said with a smile coming through in his voice. “It won’t be long.”

  “Do it privately, Frank,” he said, his use of the director’s first name underscoring the importance. “I want him to feel maximum pain. Maximum suffering.”

  “We won’t let the press know about Millar. You’ll have what you want soon enough.”

  Chapter 44

  FBI black site, Poolesville, MD

  THE FBI AGENT took the stairs two at a time as he went to investigate the alarm. There was a hint of laughter in the air, which served to lighten what would otherwise have been a serious mood. He smiled as he thought about Scott Richardson being kneed in the balls. The FBI agent’s guard was down, and a part of him almost looked forward to the pending confrontation with the girl’s mother.

  Ken didn’t have a chance to register the shot the suppressed pistol spat out. It signaled the start of the 9 x 18 mm Parabellum round’s deadly journey into his forehead. The man used a Makarov, a nostalgic choice, yet a capable weapon. A thud marked the FBI agent’s body hitting the ground.

  The four soldiers had anticipated that an alarm would be triggered. They had seen the convoy of SUVs emerge from the apartment complex when their first attempt to collect the girl they had been following failed. The sudden presence of the vehicles meant something these particular individuals were all too familiar with: the FBI was involved. The men were collectively confused, almost entertained, by the carelessness of the man they had just snuffed out. The last thing they had expected was to be shooting fish in a barrel.

  The recent development meant the two women inside the house were connected in some way. The looming question was whether or not it was by a common thread they should be concerned about. It was made abundantly clear by the man who sent them that no mistakes would be tolerated. The girl was to be taken alive.

  For the past week they had worked in pairs to keep track of her movements. They knew her as the girlfriend of a person of considerable interest. She would be used as leverage if it was needed. Earlier in the day, they were told to bring her to a location nearby. Something had gone wrong, and now they needed that leverage.

  The former Spetsnaz soldiers were ordered to be discreet, but this was an occasion where they were required to improvise. Extreme violence was necessary, and the accompanying adrenaline rush provided a familiar high. The men had been on high alert, having nearly been run over by their target’s companion when she had sped out of the apartment complex. It was a nervous few minutes for the Russians. They quickly determined the action wasn’t caused by their presence but rather the FBI’s abduction of the other female.

  They split into pairs and circled the home. There was no sound as the first man descended into the stairwell that led to the basement. He noted the door was propped open and signaled for his partner to follow him down. He pushed the door open and went in low. The Russian drilled rounds from his Makarov into the FBI agents before they could react. It was over in an instant.

  The flurry of carnage gave way to screams of horror from the two young women huddled together. An angry look from one of the Russians commanded their silence. The blood-spattered walls wept as the bodies on the floor leaked their last remnants of life.

  “I love you, Mom…” Maria said.

  It was almost a whisper, but one of the soldiers heard her words. “Both of you, quiet!” he barked.

  The heavy Russian accent amplified Maria Soller’s fear. She could sense these men were different than the others and prayed that her mother had gotten away. One of them quickly confirmed her assessment by shoving his weapon into Melody’s temple.

  “Do you have something else to say?” he asked, with a menacing look in his eyes.

  Soller quickly shook her head back and forth. She had fallen into a state of shock.

  The killer motioned toward the stairs and said, “Come.”

  One of the assassins led them past the bodies and up the stairs. They headed toward the road, and Soller nearly tripped over the dead agent on the lawn.

  Her fear increased as they approached the road. She secretly checked her iPhone and saw that the battery was dead. Her heart raced as they approached the line of trees that separated the property from the road. Each step brought her closer to knowing her mother’s fate and whether she should have any hope.

  Chapter 45

  Englewood neighborhood, Chicago, IL

  TIME WAS A funny thing, Dennis Zander thought. When you’re enjoying yourself, it goes by so fast, but the opposite is true when all you want is for something to end. The hacker was coming to the realization that time passed at a relentless pace when people were trying to kill you.

  He had left the Bratva’s Chicago base late this afternoon, and the hours since had felt like seconds. The hacker had been watching his apartment building for the past thirty minutes, and he didn’t see anything that looked suspicious.

  The bar he’d taken refuge in was dark and dingy, and the stench from stale beer and ammonia was uncomfortable. Reruns of outdated TV shows played on a battered television perched atop a makeshift stand on the right side of the room. Zander was sitting at one of three small tables in the front, next to the windows that looked out onto the road. There were three additional large tables set up on each side, and the bar stretched across the far end of the room opposite him, ending at a single door that led to the dingy bar’s solitary bathroom.

  He calculated how long it would take to run up the three flights of stairs to the apartment he shared with another member of The Collective, and figured it would take just over a minute to make it inside from the bar. He and his roommate had both been strong-armed into working for the Kozlov Bratva, and sharing a room was one of the few bright spots in a situation that had become progressively worse. He couldn’t believe he had grabbed the wrong laptop when he took off this afternoon. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. If Dimitri Sokov wasn’t onto him already, he knew he would be soon.

  The hacker felt the waitress’s presence behind him. She started cracking her chewing gum again. This would be the third time she had invaded his personal space since he’d sat down at the table near the front window.

  “What’ll it be?” the waitress asked. Her tone was insistent.

  He turned to look at her this time. “Uh, nothing. I’m fine.” He turned back to the window so he could keep an eye on the apartment building.

  “Aw, well isn’t that just terrific,” she said. “You’re fine. Just fine.”

  From the time he’d arrived, Zander could sense that he wasn’t welcome in New Generations Lounge. He figured the sentiment was par for the course in the armpit of Chicago’s Englewood neighborhood.

  He let out a muted laugh as he considered making a remark about her clientele’s collective IQ, but decided being a smartass wouldn’t be the brightest move. Instead he said, “Really, I don’t need anything.”

  “This is my table,” she yapped, placing her hands on her waist. “How am I supposed to earn a living with an inconsiderate prick like yourself taking my space, ergo my tips?”

  Zander looked around the room. She was the only employee there, and the place was practically empty. There were three hard-looking locals sitting on stools at the bar, and each shot him a gaze that oozed violence.

  He shifted nervously in his seat and said, “Look, lady, there’s nobody here. I don’t see the prob—”

  “Dwayne, do you hear how he’s talkin’ to your woman?”

  Zander watched a hulking man with a pockmarked fa
ce push himself away from the bar and take three long strides toward him.

  “You disrespectin’ my woman, boy?” Dwayne said with a scowl.

  He reached for the hacker with violence in his eyes.

  The grip he had on Zander’s shoulder was painful enough for him to break a sweat. “No, no…it’s cool,” he said.

  “It’s not cool,” Dwayne shot back, and lifted Zander up off of the chair.

  He needed to think fast, or he’d end up with a first-class beating. He jammed his foot into the ringer’s slot of a wheeled yellow mopping station next to him and wrapped his legs around the man.

  “What are you doing, punk?” Dwayne barked as the yellow bucket rolled behind him.

  Zander thrust both hands into the man’s face. His flailing motion caught the man by surprise, and the squeezing motion from his legs wedged the metal handle for the mop ringer between the brute’s legs.

  The meathead began to lose his balance.

  “You little fucker,” he yelled as they both started to tumble backward over the rolling yellow bucket. He released his grip on the hacker and tried to catch his fall.

  Zander managed to stay on his feet and latched on to the table to regain his balance. He watched the beast crash to the ground, then grabbed his backpack so he could make a break for the door. He threw the door open and sprinted across the street to his apartment building, pushed through the entrance and ran up the stairs to his apartment. He fumbled for his key and entered as quickly as he could, before locking the door behind him.

  “Dennis.”

  It was a deep voice, definitely Russian.

  “Where have you been?”

  He was still out of breath and realized he had jumped from one fire into another.

  “Man, you scared the shit out of me,” was the only thing he could think to say.

  The Russian pushed his chair back so it was on two legs. “Do you have something to hide? Is that why you’re scared?”