The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series)

by S. L. Jones

  “Yes, but these hackers—what do they know about the operation?” Khrushchev demanded.

  “Not enough to cause problems,” Sokov said with confidence. “We don’t know much about the hacker in Washington, DC, but regardless, it would be impossible for one person to figure what we’re doing in time to prevent this from happening.”

  “Will everything be ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Kozlov interrupted. “We have also taken the Washington, DC hacker’s girlfriend.”

  “Good. What was his response?”

  Kozlov’s face hardened. “He has not responded yet, Yuri. When he does find out, we will bring him in.”

  Sokov decided to preempt Khrushchev’s next question. “The other hacker was working on the algorithm we use to determine the accounts. He doesn’t have the full picture of what we have going on. None of them do. He doesn’t know anything about Europe. He had no involvement with that.”

  “Did everything go well with Andrei?” Kozlov asked, changing the subject. “As Dimitri said, the software is in place for the team.”

  Khrushchev began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny, Yuri?” Kozlov asked.

  “Andrei told me he had very little to do at the meeting.”

  “Then what’s so funny?” he pressed.

  “It will be even bigger than we could have dreamed, Pavel. Much bigger.”

  Kozlov looked confused. “And Andrei did nothing?”

  “Not quite. He put a cherry on the top. Fate is on our side. The Americans wanted to infuse cash into Iraq’s central bank tomorrow.” Khrushchev began to laugh again. “They wanted everyone else to help with the aid to preserve their oil grab. Andrei decided to bring up the forty billion those fools lost, and he challenged them to make up for their mistake.”

  Sokov wore an unsure smile on his face as Kozlov chuckled.

  “Dimitri, the Americans lost forty billion dollars that they had sent to Iraq,” Kozlov explained. “They stupidly sent cash and we were happy to help our friends there do the laundry.” He smiled. “It sounds like they wanted The Group to agree to fund Iraq’s government again. Is that right, Yuri?”

  “Yes, yes,” Khrushchev said.

  “They keep shoveling us money,” Kozlov added. “We must thank them when this is all over.” He smiled before continuing. “Our comrade Andrei threw the previous catastrophe in their faces and insisted they make up for what happened by paying the forty billion again.”

  “No, Pavel,” Khrushchev interrupted. “It’s even better. They will be transferring forty billion on top of the original amount they had planned!”

  Sokov now understood what this meant for the operation in Europe and joined in the laughter. Once they settled down, a serious look came over his face.

  “Incredible. This means we’ll be able do even more damage than we thought.”

  “Yes, comrade, we will,” Kozlov said. “Indeed we will.”

  Chapter 91

  White House West Sitting Hall, Washington, DC

  “I’M SORRY, MR. President. I know you said not to disturb you, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Press Secretary Stephanie Craig said nervously.

  President Cross was annoyed. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Ivor Hood…from the FBI.”

  “Hood?” The president considered the caller and thought about the situation with his friend Addy Simpson. He knew Matilde Soller was indirectly connected to FBI Director Frank Culder through her husband and wondered if this might be a way for him to help.

  He gave her a curt nod and said, “Go ahead and put him through.”

  Seconds later the phone on his desk rang.

  “Deputy Director Hood, how can I help you?” he answered.

  “Mr. President, I apologize for interrupting you on a Sunday, but I have a personal problem that I was hoping you could help me with.”

  Cross detected a measure of intensity in the man’s voice. Nobody would try to cash in a favor from POTUS for something trivial.

  “A personal problem?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Please, let me explain.”

  The president leaned back in his chair. “Please do.”

  “Well, sir.” He drew in a deep breath. “I hope this is something that can stay between the two of us.”

  “I can’t promise that until I know what we’re talking about.”

  “I understand. Suffice it to say that Director Culder is unaware of the inquiry I’m about to make.”

  “Okay.” There was some hesitation in the president’s voice.

  “I received an alarming message from my goddaughter a short time ago,” Hood said, choosing to be direct and to the point. “She also works for the FBI.” There was a pause before he continued. “Sir, I’m very concerned that Director Culder has something going on off the books. I think her life might be in danger.”

  Cross leaned forward in his chair and stared intently at the grain of the wood along the edge of his desk. “Off the books?”

  “She was working with two men, Jake Sanders and Rudy Pagano. Do those names ring a bell?”

  The president searched his memory and couldn’t place the names. “No. Should they?”

  “Probably not. They both worked for the bureau until early 2003. They had both been involved in FBI black-bag operations in TacOps.”

  “I’m familiar with the program, but I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Several more FBI personnel went off the books the same day these two men did.”

  “Okay.” Cross settled back in his chair expectantly.

  Hood seemed to consider his words. “Do you remember anything taking place around that time that would give some of our best and most trusted agents, people that I’d see as FBI lifers, a reason to resign?”

  The president remained silent, so Hood continued.

  “Mr. President, with all due respect, I understand that there are certain”—there was a brief pause before he continued—“strategies that the government implements to deal with particularly troublesome issues. You were a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence at the time, so if any unusual steps were taken to protect the country with the FBI, I thought you might recall.”

  The president was immediately engrossed by the conversation. He wondered if this could be connected with his indoctrination into the world of covert operations as a rookie on the committee.

  “Sometimes, yes. We have to deal with problems that come up in creative ways,” he said, obviously pondering something other than his answer. “The country was still reeling from the attacks on September 11, and Washington took many steps, some more extreme than others, to ensure the safety of our fellow Americans.”

  “Do you think Director Culder could have taken the liberty to develop a strategy of his own?” Hood asked.

  The president considered the question and recalled a top-secret National Security Presidential Directive. It was an initiative for the FBI to eliminate terrorist threats inside the borders of the United States, and there were two things about the directive that immediately came to mind. The first was that it was rescinded by the president after only a few months, and the second was that the program had been one championed by Senator Maximillian Soller.

  At the time several influential committee members had banded together and rallied around then-Senator Cross, who had finally won the reluctant ear of the president. Together, they created Island Industries. The security company would be a front for the committee’s and executive branch’s new weapon, and retired admiral John Simpson, who had just been forced out of the top spot at the CIA, would be the man in charge. Not only would the new setup provide an extra layer of insulation for deniability, it would also make the FBI hit squad they had reluctantly agreed to form redundant.

  The behind-the-scenes move had been the beginning of the end of Senator Soller’s time on the committee. He had managed to get his man into the FBI by cashing in a political IOU, but his sphere of influence would merely ser
ve to keep Culder in place. The rift between the players involved was formed, and the committee would rally around its rising star, Senator Cross, and trust that he could control his longtime friend.

  Cross had been at odds with Soller on the subject of Culder for years, unable to oust the man due to the senator’s power. The recent two-year extension for the FBI director’s ten-year term had been a tough pill to swallow, but he was now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

  “Please, Mr. President,” Hood said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts, “I wouldn’t be coming to you if I didn’t think my goddaughter’s life was in danger.”

  Cross had to admit he appreciated the audacity of Hood to contact him. There was a level of desperation, but anyone with the guts to approach the President of the United States like this was okay in his book.

  “We need to talk,” Cross said. “How soon can you get to the White House?”

  Chapter 92

  Kozlov Bratva hideout, Leesburg, VA

  CATHY MOYNIHAN WATCHED with curious shock as the young woman on the other side of the room repeatedly tipped her chair over in between shouts. It almost hit the ground once, and with each call out to the guards she made, the FBI agent’s heart rate increased. She feared this would provoke a situation that none of them wanted. Cold, soaked, and afraid, she couldn’t handle going back to that room for more.

  “Hello? Hello!” the young woman shouted and then finally said, “Can someone please take me to the bathroom?”

  The heavy footsteps had reached the door. Their power and urgency left no doubt that they belonged to the soldiers. Moynihan was increasingly nervous but kept her emotions in check. When the door swung open, two men entered the room, and both wore scowls on their weathered faces.

  “Hi,” the young woman across the room said. Her tone was apologetic. “I really need to go to the bathroom.”

  She was able to fashion an expression that satisfied one of the soldiers, and he walked over and began to reach for her handcuffs. The FBI agent noticed the young lady quickly move to face the keyhole of the cuff attached to the metal railing toward him. It was obvious that he had originally planned to unlock the cuff around her wrist. He paused for a second, as though he was confused, and then freed the cuff from the railing.

  Once the restraint was removed, the soldier stood and motioned her to follow him. Moynihan watched the girl hook her leg around the chair, just like she’d done several times before. As she began to stand, she knocked her chair over and it fell over toward the computer desk. Moynihan’s mind was reeling as she relived the punishment the soldiers had given her. She couldn’t breathe. There was no doubt in her mind that they were capable of much worse. The girl managed a flustered look that also conveyed fear.

  Both men laughed.

  “I’m sorry,” the young woman said apologetically. “I’ll pick it up.”

  Moynihan studied the girl as she picked up the chair and placed it on the other side of the metal bracket securing the railing to the concrete, and headed out the door. The FBI agent would have smiled if she hadn’t been starved for air. Before she could process what had just happened, a timid voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “You’re the woman from that house,” Melody Millar whispered. “What did they do to you?”

  Moynihan looked over at the teenager with a feeling of guilt. “Melody, I’m sorry they took you in like that.”

  Millar didn’t respond.

  “Believe me when I say I was completely against how this was handled.”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know who these men are, but listen to me.” Moynihan’s eyes narrowed. “If they ask you a question, just tell them the answer. They’ll manage to get it out of you anyway.”

  Millar returned her words with a look of concern. “Okay,” she said softly.

  Footsteps approached the room, and they stopped talking. The sound the footsteps made was quieter this time. She assumed it was the man with the computer coming back. A few seconds later he opened the door and went over to the desk. He picked up his iPod, put the headphones on and plugged the laptop into the wall jack.

  His fingers stabbed at the keyboard for a couple minutes and then he closed the display. Footsteps could be heard outside, and by the time he had made it to the door, the girl had come into the room with the two Russians. The scent of cigarette smoke was overwhelming. The girl thanked the men for bringing her to the bathroom and cuffed herself to the metal railing. The soldiers left without speaking.

  The young woman turned to the desk and looked upset. “Shit,” she whispered. “Where did that guy’s iPod go?”

  Chapter 93

  DuPage Airport, Chicago, Illinois

  THE FLIGHT FROM Ronald Reagan National Airport to Chicago was short, but there was still plenty of time for FBI Director Frank Culder to piss off his men. Jack Sanders and Rudy Pagano had flown south from Frederick to pick up their boss in a Gulfstream V jet. The bureau had purchased the plane for use in counterterrorism work, and for the director, it had worked well for shuttling around his covert HVT squad. The three men then headed northwest to the Windy City.

  A heated exchange between Culder and Sanders ignited shortly after takeoff. Sanders had told the director the hit on Agent Cathy Moynihan was out of the question. The director had always been careful about keeping FBI staff away from assignments that might rouse suspicion about his secret operation, what he and Senator Soller often called their ‘special arrangement’. This had been a case where he needed to act quickly following the murder of Soller’s son. Culder had been forced to pull in one of the local agents since the work involved interviews, and that meant the job would have be done in the public eye. There had to be a face to this covert operation—at least initially.

  Sanders’s anger rose to a boil as Culder continued to minimize his decision to take the agent’s life. The back-and-forth banter had nearly seen Sanders clean the floor with the Brillo Pad-like hair on the director’s head, before Pagano inserted himself between the two men. He sensed they knew there was something he wasn’t telling them. They had kept it to themselves through silent gestures they thought went noticed.

  Culder hadn’t expected Moynihan to question his actions, and he had quickly determined she was the sort of loose end that could cause waves. He knew the only way to eliminate the risk of exposure was to stamp her out. Since his team leader wouldn’t take care of it, he’d find someone else to do the deed.

  “Are we finished?” Culder said with a dark stare.

  Sanders didn’t make eye contact. “For now.”

  “We can’t have any distractions, Jake,” the director reasoned. “You’re no good to anyone if you’ve checked out mentally.”

  Sanders shifted his eyes to Pagano. “I said I’m done talking about it.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, Culder said, “You said for now.”

  Sanders shot the director a menacing look. “I’m not your bitch. I’m finished discussing this, for now,” he responded with a seething finality. “It’s not going to affect my ability to execute.”

  Culder knew pushing back right now wouldn’t do any good.

  Sanders looked to Pagano and then Culder. “You’re smart enough to know that. If you have a problem beyond that, with the fact that I’m not gung ho about killing a fucking coworker, we can keep talking about it until I start swinging.” He crossed his arms and locked eyes with the director, then offered a defiant shrug. “If that’s what you’d like. You’re the boss.”

  Culder was already regretting his reaction to the news about Moynihan. His anger had blinded him to the fact that his behavior and disregard for an FBI agent’s life would be suspect to his men. It was a stupid mistake, the price for paying too much attention to the prize and ignoring the details. He needed to diffuse the situation quickly before it spun further out of control. His greatest achievement was so close he could almost taste it, and he needed Sanders on his side to pull it off. He decided it
was time to swallow some pride in the name of his ultimate goal.

  “I’m sorry, Jake,” Culder said. He worked hard to sound sincere.

  Both of his men shifted uncomfortably, and he realized it was probably because this was the first time he’d ever apologized.

  “Look, I get it,” Culder said. “We’ll think of another way to deal with the situation.”

  Sanders raised his chin and said, “Okay?” It was more of a question. He wasn’t convinced.

  Culder realized it was high time to change the subject and motioned to the table in between them as the wheels touched down.

  “Let’s look at the blueprints for the Studebaker Theater and figure out the best way to approach this,” he said. “Whoever this Trent is, let’s hope he’ll have Francis Millar with him, so we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Sanders remained silent, visibly annoyed.

  Pagano was the next to speak. “The place looks pretty big.” His gaze shifted between the two men. “We’ll need at least two more—four if we want to keep things zipped up tight outside.”

  The director didn’t like the idea of any more agents getting involved. He had already ordered a surveillance team to keep tabs on Francis Millar, and it had managed to lose him after he had left the airport. Culder wasn’t sure if it was due to incompetence or skill, and was concerned that with this Trent person, it could be the latter.

  “Let’s keep it to a minimum. You two take care of this on your own. Just be sure he doesn’t make it out the door.” Culder thought about the exponential increase in risk for each local agent they brought on board. “It’s only one man,” he continued, “two of them if Millar is there, but if he is there, the hacker will do him more harm than good when we move in.”

  He could tell by the expressions on their faces that Sanders and Pagano weren’t happy. They had rarely worked with agents outside the team, but the previous night had seen the ranks of the HVT squad cut down to just the two of them. Culder knew they were currently motivated by revenge, and he would use that to his advantage.