The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series)

by S. L. Jones

“What’s going on?” he growled.

  She didn’t respond. He was visibly angry at her refusal to speak. Moynihan tensed up as she watched him consider his next move.

  Then one of the other men spoke. He motioned to Melody Millar. “She was together with this one,” he barked in Russian. “We could teach her a lesson.” He smiled in a way that suggested he was undressing her in his mind, which bared his crooked yellow teeth. “She is cute and young.”

  The FBI woman could see the lust in the man’s eyes and decided he was bored and restless, having been stuck in this dump in the middle of nowhere. He walked over to Millar and flashed a repulsive wink before he reached out and touched her hair. She recoiled in disgust.

  Moynihan’s icy fear turned to a boiling anger, her forward lunge stopped by the restraint. Her anger mixed with horror as the soldier reached for the young girl again.

  “Stop it!” Soller screamed at the top of her lungs. Her voice was shrill and had startled everyone in the room.

  The Russian laughed and started to paw viciously at Millar’s shirt. Cathy Moynihan stood in anger as the teenager strained to fend off her aggressor. She looked down at her chair, picked it up with her free hand and hurled it toward the Russian with every ounce of her being. One of its metal legs connected with the base of the soldier’s skull, and he dropped to one knee.

  He shook his head and raised his hand to the point of the impact. He turned and gave the FBI agent a deadly glare. She had been wearing a hood the last time she had tried to lash out at him, and now she’d evened up the score.

  “You fucking bitch,” he yelled in Russian, his teeth clenched. He picked up the chair and shook it. “I’m going to fuck you with this chair!”

  Moynihan couldn’t understand a word he said, but his intention for violence was clear.

  The soldier wearing the utility jacket approached him and grabbed hold of the chair. “What the hell are you doing?” he barked.

  The soldier had a crazed look in his eyes and said, “You want them to talk? I know how to get them to talk.”

  The man with the utility jacket yanked the chair from his grip and said, “We need them alive, Vladimir, you idiot.”

  The interruption had only managed to increase his anger. He nodded toward Moynihan. “I will only kill that bitch.” His stained teeth were framed by a sickening smile. “Let the others watch, and once I’m finished with her they won’t give us any more problems.”

  “She’s FBI,” he fired back. “What happens if they come for us and she’s dead? Then what will we have to negotiate with?”

  The Russian made a hissing sound, his face pulsed with anger. “Fine. I won’t kill her. I’ll just introduce her to the Pride of Mother Russia.” He followed his comment with a laugh as he grabbed his crotch.

  When his comrade nodded in agreement, he turned to the FBI woman with a lustful grin.

  Moynihan couldn’t understand what was said, but she stood there ready for a fight. She had noticed his uncomfortable attention since she had been forced to strip down to her underwear in front of him, and decided he was the type of man who would take great pleasure in torture.

  Chapter 112

  Jack’s Boathouse, Washington, DC

  DUSK HAD BEGUN to settle along the Potomac River. Even with the Key Bridge looming above, the wooded areas surrounding the Capital Crescent Trail had an air of tranquility.

  Ivor Hood looked curiously at the package sitting on his driver’s seat and decided it would be best to lock it away in his briefcase. He had been flagged down as he left the Hoover Building to sign for the priority delivery. He was frustrated by the delay but had been the only person in the building with a pay grade high enough to accept the item.

  Even with the interruption, it took Hood less than fifteen minutes to get to Jack’s Boathouse. His mind was still racing through the sequence of events that had transpired. The deputy director found himself in uncharted territory. He was ready to risk everything for the little girl he had seen blossom into a formidable young woman. She had incredible potential, more than he could have imagined, and he wasn’t about to sit back and let someone wipe it away.

  His moment of contemplation was interrupted by the sound of an approaching vehicle. He was surprised to see a massive pickup truck pull over to the side of Water Street and park. The choice of transportation didn’t quite fit with what he had expected from the man he had spoken to over the phone, but he wasn’t one to judge.

  Addy Simpson got out of the bright yellow truck and walked over to greet him.

  “Deputy Director Hood, John Simpson.” Simpson smiled as he gripped Hood’s hand firmly. “Thanks for meeting last minute like this.”

  “Nice to meet you, Admiral Simpson,” Hood said.

  “Likewise. Please, call me Addy.”

  Hood nodded and said, “Call me Ivor.”

  Simpson returned his nod and surveyed the area before he continued. “Our mutual friend tells me the director might be running a black team.”

  Hood looked past him and said, “Looks that way.” He smiled without any humor and returned his gaze to Simpson. “He really slipped up getting my goddaughter involved, or else he’d still be in business.”

  “The president told me. I’m sorry to hear that.” His eyes showed genuine concern. “Suffice it to say this is now personal for both of us.”

  “Then I suppose we should get to the point.”

  “Indeed,” Simpson agreed. “We traced Culder’s men to a house in Poolesville. Three men had been killed there by professionals. We were able to match them up with the list our friend provided to confirm they left the bureau in February 2003. All but two of the men on that list are now dead.”

  Hood shook his head in disgust.

  “There’s more,” Simpson said. “Agent Moynihan, your goddaughter, was also captured on video at the house.”

  The deputy director’s eyes filled with dread.

  “She arrived before and then appeared again shortly after the killings,” Simpson continued. He shook his head. “We managed to trace the people who carried this out to a Russian named Pavel Kozlov.”

  Hood’s expression bore recognition. “Chicago?”

  “That’s him. He’s part of an underground network—”

  “Of hardline communists,” Hood said.

  “You know our man then?”

  “Sure. I used to work with the organized-crime task force, but I don’t understand why he would be here, in the area.” Hood’s eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the information. “And Culder? What the hell is he involved with on the side that would have a connection to the Russian mob?”

  Simpson went on to explain everything he knew. From the senator’s involvement with Director Culder to what was turning out to be an imminent attack on the country’s financial systems and its connection to the senator’s son.

  They compared notes and were able to determine that the BlackRock Corporation, which had been formed as part of the Presidential Directive, and the BR Corporation, which was tied to the Poolesville home and cellular phone records from devices in the area at the time of the killing, were one and the same. Hood confirmed that he had a number he thought belonged to Sanders. Simpson was able to match it to the cell records from Poolesville, and they developed a strategy to move forward.

  “Do you need some men?” Hood asked.

  “No, but thank you for the offer.” The assistant director didn’t look happy about being left out, so Simpson said, “You don’t want a good cop getting mixed up in something as toxic as this. Their rules of engagement are different. Things won’t end well, trust me.”

  Hood appreciated his candor and asked, “Then what can I do?”

  “I need to know what Culder is up to. I’ll make sure my men do whatever it takes to get Agent Moynihan back to you safe and sound, but you have to understand their primary objective will be to stop Kozlov.”

  “I understand. So is hers,” Hood said.

  Simpson was
impressed with the man, and passed him an envelope. “I hope you’ll find some of this information helpful.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 113

  The Shop, Arlington, Virginia

  CDWG DIRECTOR CYNTHIA Grayson’s team of white-hat hackers had been working like a well-oiled machine. They sifted through line after line of code as they unraveled the challenge their newest adversary had presented them. This was an extremely delicate operation, and everyone tasked with reverse engineering the code used extreme caution. Finding active surgeon bots installed on virtual desktops at one of the banks they were working closely with had been a huge breakthrough.

  The virtual desktop computers were nearly identical to their physical counterparts but operated with a crucial difference. The operating system for the virtual machines ran on top of an abstraction layer, meaning the hardware for the computer was easily interchangeable. The virtualization software presented a logical view of computing resources rather than using actual physical components. Simplistically, the virtual machines were like a document that could be passed around and opened by a program that supported its format.

  The abstraction layer made it easy for The Shop to make a copy of each computer and run it in an isolated environment using its virtualization software. The setup eliminated the risk of the bot communicating with the command-and-control servers. The innovation had been technology’s version of pulling the rug out from under you. The team had made several copies of the surgeon bots so it could split into five teams of two. Now they were able to divide and conquer.

  Grayson’s strategy had rapidly begun to pay off. New information was flowing in at the speed of a Wall Street stock ticker. Etzy Millar had been off-line for nearly an hour, and the director was glad to have him back in the mix.

  “There’s an encrypted file that we haven’t been able to crack,” Grayson explained. “It was delivered about thirty minutes ago. We were able to make another clone of the machines and run a block-level comparison to isolate the file.”

  “Were you able to figure out when this is going to go down?” Millar asked.

  “No, not yet,” Grayson said with frustration. “It’s the same file on all of the bots, so at least we have that going for us.” If the files had been different from bot to bot, it could have meant that each individual bot had its own encryption key, which would have made things more complicated. “It does look like the bot has a trigger that’s waiting for another communication from the C&C servers.”

  “How did you figure that out?” Millar asked after a brief pause.

  She smiled and said, “We extended the version of the bot you developed with a module that lets us resend packets we’ve captured from other known C&C communications.”

  “When I went through the code, I thought it had been programmed to remove itself if it encountered anything unexpected.” He stopped for a moment and then added, “If certain software was installed, or if—”

  “You’re right,” she interrupted. “We’ve set up several virtual systems with the surgeon bots, and when the bot reacts to something it doesn’t like and uninstalls itself, we can quickly restore it back to its original state and try again.”

  “Wow, you got that set up fast,” Millar said.

  “Our team is the best,” Grayson said, pleased with herself. “The communication packets are encrypted, but we can see the bot react to them, and it’s helped us isolate certain files and given us clues about what we might want to look for.” Grayson reviewed her notes for a moment. “We think there’s another set of C&C servers out there, and it looks like they need to be synced up to match the botnet’s encryption key. From our analysis, it looks like the key changes on a regular basis, and without an updated key, the control servers are useless.”

  “Cyndi,” Millar said tentatively, “can I have access to one of the virtual environments?”

  “Of course. I would like to work with you on this personally, Etzy,” she admitted. “There’s a lot at stake here, and I want to do everything possible to make sure we undo everything these people have done.”

  Her concern for what he had on the line personally came through in her voice.

  “Thanks,” Millar replied with mixed emotions. “One of your analysts had called you Dr. Grayson. The Dr. Grayson?” he asked. The awkward silence answered his question. “Wow.”

  “That’s classified,” she said with a hint of concern in her voice.

  “Sorry, I forgot this is sensitive kind of stuff. Besides,” he continued with a reverent laugh, “I can’t imagine the brilliant doctor I’m thinking of getting involved in this line of work.”

  She smiled to herself, appreciating his tact. The moment was interrupted by what sounded like the beep of a hotel room door unlocking and Etzy Millar’s panicked reaction.

  Chapter 114

  Kozlov Bratva hideout, Leesburg, VA

  SHE WAS HANDCUFFED to the railing, but FBI Agent Cathy Moynihan was too smart to dwell on the negatives at a time like this. Instead, she thought about how she could inflict the maximum amount of damage on the burly Russian with her three unshackled limbs. Her piercing eyes brought a lecherous look to the fast-approaching brute, and it all came down to one target. She turned and gripped the railing tightly with both hands while he prepared to pounce. She peered over her shoulder as he came into range, and used the metal bar for leverage. With one perfectly timed motion, she jumped and thrust her legs backwards, using her hands as an anchor to achieve maximum force.

  He let out an animalistic groan that defied description. She had delivered a direct hit to his groin, and as his massive form collapsed to the floor in agony, she landed another crushing blow on his chin. Blood flowed from his mouth and began to pool on the floor. The other two soldiers looked at their comrade writhing in pain on the floor and then set their eyes on the FBI agent. She returned their glare with a look of defiance. There was no way in hell anyone was going rape her, or anyone else, if she had anything to say about it.

  “You think this is good?” the Russian with the utility jacket asked, his face hard and cold.

  She didn’t respond.

  “You think this is good?” This time he said it a little louder. When she refused to answer, he said, “I think this is good.”

  He smiled his approval and looked to the other soldier, who nodded an emphatic yes.

  “Da!” the soldier confirmed.

  They both began to laugh hysterically. Maria Soller and Melody Millar kept their eyes down to avoid eye contact, but Moynihan remained engaged as she tried to figure out what would come next. She wasn’t convinced the laughter meant this was over. The surreal moment was broken by a loud voice.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” it barked.

  All three men looked over toward a man standing in the doorway. The injured soldier checked his stained teeth and spit a clump of blood onto the ground. The women were taken by surprise, since the newcomer had no accent. He was an American.

  “Well?”

  The man with the utility jacket grinned. “Vladimir likes to have rough sex.” He motioned to the FBI agent.

  Bruce Campbell laughed. “Good thing she was chained to the wall, or this could have gotten ugly.”

  The three men continued to laugh as Vladimir picked himself up off the ground. Moynihan’s eyes followed the Russian while he slowly rose to his feet. He met her gaze with an angry stare.

  “I’ll be back for you later, bitch,” he spat in Russian, before he hobbled out the door.

  Campbell held his grin and looked over at the other two prisoners. Soller had kept her eyes down, but Melody Millar looked up curiously. His eyes flashed with recognition. The resemblance was uncanny. Millar shrunk in her chair, appearing to sense trouble.

  Chapter 115

  Downtown hotel, Chicago, IL

  IF THE PAST two days had taught Etzy Millar anything, it was how to cope with fear. The hard-looking man who had just entered his hotel room caught
him off guard, but the hacker had adapted to his new lifestyle quickly and immediately reached for the Beretta lying next to his computer. He leveled its sight at the intruder’s head. The man gave him a sideways glance before casually looking back toward the hallway he had entered from.

  “Jesus, Trent, didn’t you show this kid how to turn off the safety?” Jack Turner asked.

  “What?”

  Millar quickly lowered the weapon when he heard Trent Turner’s voice. His look of fear turned to confusion.

  Trent walked through the door and sized up both men. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

  “Finger, is that you?” a female voice came through the computer.

  Millar’s heart rate was returning to normal, and he said, “I’m working with Cyndi from The Shop.” He looked up at the older man with great concern. “I’m really sorry about that.”

  Jack Turner smiled. “Not to worry, Etzy. You’re doing great. You’re handling yourself well. Just remember the safety next time.”

  The hacker was confused.

  “Nice work you’ve been doing. I’m impressed.” Jack offered a smile with a curt nod. “You know me as Heckler.”

  Millar thought about their previous conversations and returned the smile. Jack Turner didn’t sound like the same person, but he was finding a lot of things weren’t what they first seemed.

  Trent chimed in to answer the earlier question. “Yes, I’m here,” he said, directing his response to Millar’s computer.

  “Great, we could use your help on this,” Grayson said. “Is that you, Jack?”

  Etzy looked to Trent and was clearly concerned.

  “Sure is, Cyn. I heard Chicago’s a great place for a weekend getaway.” He noticed Millar was uncomfortable and said, “Don’t worry, Etzy, I’ve been around too long. Everyone at The Shop knows I’m Heckler.” He pointed at Trent and added, “But they don’t know who he is, so we’ll have to keep that little secret between us.”