The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series)

by S. L. Jones

  “That’s the server room?” he asked abruptly.

  “Yes,” Sokov said. “We can take care of two things at once.” The pickup truck began to ease forward, and he was startled when his phone rang.

  Kozlov looked over at Sokov and nodded his approval to answer, hopeful it would be good news.

  “’Allo?” Sokov answered. He listened for a moment and flashed Kozlov a smile. “Very good.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Make sure you shred the files on the server,” he insisted.

  It wasn’t good enough for the hacker to simply delete the files. They needed to make sure that the sectors on the hard disk wouldn’t have remnants from which a forensic specialist could recreate them. Sokov needed him to be thorough, and execute a hacker’s version of wiping away fingerprints.

  Sokov gave Pavel Kozlov an approving nod, and the Bratva leader punched at the display on his phone. Seconds later they saw a flash from the massive explosion just before they heard it.

  Kozlov closed his eyes, tilted his head back and took a deep breath. His small victory brought a cautious smile.

  Chapter 146

  Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois

  THE RINGING SOUND dominated his ears. Throaty shook his head, trying to wipe the cobwebs from the massive concussion. He pulled his shirt over his nose and buried his eyes into his sleeve trying to blink out the darkness. The ringing eventually gave way to a muted voice in the background.

  “What the hell was that, over?” Heckler repeated.

  Throaty listened intently, still trying to regain his senses.

  “The compound has men charging out of the exits like rats from a sinking ship,” Heckler continued, his concern evident. “Poor Man, do you see anything on the cameras, over?”

  “Uh, nothing on the feed here, Heckler, over,” he responded. There was a measure of fear in his voice from seeing that the helmet cams were now ominously blank.

  “Throaty, Caretaker, do you read, over?” Jack Turner repeated. “I see a Ford pickup headed for the exit. Throaty, Caretaker, do you read, over?”

  Throaty coughed and was slowly starting to come around. He heard the voices but still couldn’t process the words.

  There was a long, nervous silence over the radio.

  “Heckler, this is Poor Man. We’re still not getting a feed from the helmet cams, over,” Millar chimed in anxiously.

  “Copy that, Poor Man. I just sent two rounds into the vehicle, but it managed to crash out through the gate, over,” Heckler said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “Heckler,” Throaty finally coughed, his voice even harsher than normal. “I can’t see a damn thing down here.” He continued to cough violently as he brought his sleeve up to filter the dust and smoke from his nose. The ringing in his ears had just started to settle down. He had cranked up the volume on his radio but was still having difficulty understanding what was being said. “It’s tough to breathe. I’m trying to make my way to the blast so I can check on the others, over.” The dust had settled enough for him to see the outline of Victoria Eden sitting on the floor. “Stay here,” he said.

  “Okay,” she responded before launching into an uncontrollable cough.

  The violinist had already pulled her shirt up over her nose, but now she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees.

  “Do you know how to use this?” Throaty asked as he held out his pistol, inching closer to see her face more clearly. When she opened her eyes and nodded, he handed it to her and said, “The safety is off. All you need to do is squeeze the trigger.” He looked to Jake Sanders and Rudy Pagano. “Can you keep an eye on her?”

  “Rudy can stay with her,” Sanders said. “I’ll give you a hand. There’s two of them.”

  Throaty’s mind digested Sanders’s comment, and it conveyed a sobering fact. He would indeed need help with carrying the bodies. His hearing was still unreliable with the ringing, so his head was on a swivel as he and Sanders crept forward, their weapons ready to fire.

  “What’s going on down there, over?” Heckler asked impatiently.

  “Something big blew. I think it was the server room,” Throaty said. His tone turned grim. “Finger and Caretaker were in there. I don’t think they could have made it out.”

  “Don’t use the front door,” he said, the gravity of the loss weighing on his words. “The Tangos have RVed there, over.”

  “Roger that,” Throaty replied. “I’ll check with you on an exit and head straight to the ERV once we’re sorted.” His sight was improving as more dust settled. The operative stumbled over a body and quickly caught his balance on the wall. “It’s not looking good down here, over.”

  Chapter 147

  Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, DC

  SENATOR MAXIMILLIAN SOLLER’S mood continued to swing between foul, angry, and grim as he relived recent events. He had continued to drink, which was having an effect on his concentration and ability to reason. The lights in his office were now turned on as he watched nothing in particular on the flat-screen television bolted to the wall. He had closed his eyes to take another swig of scotch when the sudden ring of his cell phone unsteadied his hand.

  The senator grumbled incoherently as he reached for the device. “What?” he snarled.

  “We’ve got a problem,” FBI Director Culder said.

  Soller shook his head; in his state unable to comprehend how things could get any worse. “And what might that be?” he said, his tone bordering sarcasm.

  “I sent our guys to meet with your friend,” Culder said, referring to Jake Sanders and Rudy Pagano.

  Soller didn’t have the mental capacity to put clues together; there was too much alcohol swirling around in his blood. Culder’s reference to their two operatives going after the man from Island Industries had been completely lost on him.

  “My friend?” he said, his slurred words punctuating his confusion.

  Culder allowed himself a pause in frustration. “Yes.” His voice conveyed his annoyance. “Your friend. The one you want to question about your son.”

  Soller’s eyes snapped open, the mention of his son having a sobering effect. “I see, and how is that going?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be going very well at the moment. I haven’t heard from them since they left for the meeting. Apparently somebody crashed the party, literally.”

  Soller’s mind struggled to understand the somewhat cryptic message.

  “From what I can see on the local news footage,” Culder explained, referring to the massive explosion at the Bratva compound, “it’s possible that we’re looking at a forced early retirement.”

  Soller’s face turned to a nasty frown. “You mean like our friends at the house last night?”

  “That’s right,” Culder said.

  The senator had mixed feelings about the news. Now his illicit gang of operatives no longer carried the threat of exposure. Dead men couldn’t be dragged in front of a hearing to testify against him. He decided the loss might not be such a bad thing, and before he could consider whom he might contact to finish the job, his thoughts were interrupted.

  “I also got a call from your old friend,” Culder said. The senator didn’t respond, so he added, “John Simpson.”

  Soller remained silent.

  “He said to pull back. He told me that we’re ‘in over our heads’ with this one,” Culder added.

  The senator was fuming. Telling him what he could or couldn’t do was a surefire way to meet resistance. “It sounds like he’s taken care of our pulling back, wouldn’t you say?” Soller quipped. He raised his glass and took another swig as he contemplated the news. “How the hell did he find out about what we were up to?”

  “I have no idea,” Culder said.

  Soller’s thoughts turned to the FBI director. Before long, it would be time for him to find a new job. He had managed to get his ten-year tenure extended by another two, but not without cashing in some favors. He drained his glass and decided that
since the HVT squad was now out of commission, it was time to cut Culder loose.

  “It’s not as bad as it could be,” the director said flatly.

  “Oh?” the senator slurred, curious of the man who had seemingly read his mind. He reached for the bottle, bemused, and refilled his glass.

  “I have what we need to crucify your friend.”

  Soller smiled—truly smiled—for the first time since his son had been killed. Even in his state, he understood the allusion to President Cross.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He abruptly ended the call and began to raise his glass.

  A ring interrupted the motion again. “Goddamn it,” he growled as he snatched the phone off his desk.

  He looked at the display and savored a taste of his scotch before answering. “I hope you have good news for me,” he said.

  “That I do,” Federal Reserve Chairman Bart Stapleton said. “The meeting was a success. Everything is set for the morning. All of the transfers will be made. I have a good feeling about this. We’re in the oil business again.”

  Soller took a deep breath in content. It was getting late, and he needed some sleep.

  “Excellent news,” he said. “Excellent.”

  Chapter 148

  Route 66 near Arlington, VA

  THE SOUND OF an incoming text message interrupted his train of thought. Etzy Millar was still out of sorts from the message he had received from his girlfriend, Maria Soller, last night. The Shop was able to trace the signal to a location in Virginia, and his only option was to trust the operatives there could pull off a miracle and save the two women he loved. Part of him didn’t want to know what this new message said. He feared for his sister and girlfriend after all the senseless killing of the past two days. He knew the message was something he couldn’t ignore, so he slid his finger across the screen and began to read.

  Call this number now or we will kill them both.

  His heart skipped a beat before it pounded like a sledgehammer trying to break through his chest. His breath had become short, and he started to feel ill. He took a couple of deep breaths before he was able to speak.

  “Take this exit please,” Millar told the cabbie, his voice sickly.

  Dennis Zander looked over at his new friend.

  “What’s wrong, Etzy?” he asked quietly.

  Millar glanced at Zander. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he closed his eyes and tried to stop his hands from shaking. His breathing was concentrated while he tried to regain control. The cabdriver had reached the end of the exit ramp by the time he opened his eyes.

  “Here. Pull over here,” he said urgently, pointing at a hotel.

  The cabdriver quickly turned into the driveway, and Millar opened the door. He looked to Zander and said, “Look, you need to take care of things with The Shop. Something’s come up, and I can’t help you guys out right now.”

  He slammed the door shut before Zander could speak.

  Millar’s mind raced. He would be damned if he was going to let someone else die. He’d figure something out on his own. By now whoever had his sister and girlfriend realized they couldn’t trace the number he was using to send the text messages. Once he placed the call, things would be different. They would be able to find him, but he didn’t care. He planned on taking that option away.

  He dialed Maria Soller’s cell phone number and took in another deep breath.

  “Today is your lucky day,” the man answered.

  Millar was confused. He stuttered and finally asked, “Who is this?”

  “This is the person who will kill your sister and your girlfriend if you don’t do what you’re told. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Millar said nervously. The man didn’t have a Russian accent, and his voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Please don’t hurt them. We can make a trade.”

  “A trade?”

  “Me for them. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like you’re on the right track,” he said, sounding amused, almost baiting. “How do you suggest we handle this?”

  “I’ll come to you.”

  “You will?”

  Millar sensed angst in the man’s voice and decided it had something to do with him figuring out where they were.

  “Yes,” Millar said confidently. He looked over at a cab waiting for a fare in front of the hotel and said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “We’ll be expecting you.”

  The familiarity of the man’s voice bothered Millar.

  “I want to see them outside when I get there. When I get out of the cab, you send them over to me and I’ll take their place. Got it?”

  “Okay, sure,” the man said, his tone bordering playful.

  Millar knew The Shop would be monitoring Maria Soller’s cell phone—probably his as well—so he didn’t have much doubt that their analysts would discover what he was doing. Maybe they would even figure out a way to save him once he got the girls out of there.

  Chapter 149

  Eden Household, Great Falls, VA

  SHE WAS TRYING to come to terms with everything that had happened over the past two nights. Victoria Eden’s emotions had been on a roller-coaster ride, and she was left with a sadness that she hadn’t felt for quite some time. Her fierce independence had been predetermined from the moment her mother died, and now more than ever it left her feeling alone, wondering if she would ever find someone to share her life with.

  That was the crux of her immediate problem. A man she knew only as Trent had managed to connect with her in a way she’d never before experienced. The feelings she knew they both felt were as powerful as they were brief. Now he was gone. Forever.

  She thought of the missed connections ads she and her friends used to read for entertainment in the City Paper as teenagers. The people who placed the ads were almost always crazed and delusional, but every once in a while they would find the genuine sadness and desperation of a love lost. If she were to place an ad, she wondered whether she would come off as one of the crazies, or was this really a love lost? It didn’t matter; that wouldn’t be an option. Nothing could bring him back. Whoever he was—Tony, Trent—he was now a ghost who would haunt her memory; he was now a what-if punctuated with a regretful question mark.

  A part of her realized that she should be thankful for making it out of that place alive, but to what end? Life had dished out its share of cruelty to Victoria Eden. There was enough troubled history for her to consider whether or not she somehow deserved what she got. She wondered if it was karma as she reflected on a path littered with broken hearts she’d left behind. Most of those hearts belonged to good people, some even amazing, but none able to make that magical connection Trent had sparked off with a simple smile and alluring eyes. Maybe she was crazy.

  The cab ride home from Dulles Airport was a solemn one. Her house was empty, although hanging in the back of her mind was the possibility of unwanted company. Pavel Kozlov knew everything there was to know about her, she was sure of it, and the scariest part was that she didn’t care. She would be damned if that bastard would take her alive again. This time she would fight from the onset, and it would feel good. She would deliver some kind of payback. She realized her state of mind had been altered, and the jury was still out on whether that was a good thing.

  She had changed into her blue Under Armour running clothes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail by the time she decided there was something else she needed to do. This would make the third time she had cycled through her things, and she still couldn’t find it. Purse, carry-on, violin case, pockets. Repeat. She let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Shit,” she said. “Nice job, Vic. At least you know the first three digits, two-oh-two…uhhhhh!”

  It had been years since she had actually memorized a phone number. She walked over to her landline and pressed the redial button, but the memory held some random number she wasn’t familiar with. She
never really used a landline anyway, and she wasn’t even sure why she kept it. Eden was tempted to drive to her godfather’s place in Georgetown unannounced, but she wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to have this conversation in person. Then it hit her, and she walked over to her computer.

  “Maybe I’m just tired,” she said to the empty house. “Maybe I should get a cat.”

  She began to pull up an online phone book to look up Nevin Perlman’s number when she thought of something. A smile transformed her mood. Within seconds she had the website pulled up and was logging in to her account. When she saw how close her iPhone was to her and where she’d left it, a chill shot down her spine. It wouldn’t take long to get there. She stared at the screen and contemplated what she should do, and in that moment she realized something. Victoria D’Angelo realized she wasn’t going to suffer the same fate as her mother. Time was the key—it just took time for things to get better—and you needed to respect yourself enough to take that time. Fear diminished with time. Everything changed with time.

  She had sent the address that was displayed on her screen to the printer when a loud clatter broke the silence. She stood up slowly from the chair, and her heart began to race. She grabbed the piece of paper and crept to the front of the house, where the sound had originated from. There were several windows, and she chose the one with the blinds drawn from which to make her observation. She slowly began to lift a single slat up and jumped when she heard the noise again. This time it was louder.

  Fear crept into her eyes as she carefully lifted the blind high enough to peer through. When she saw a deer rummaging through her trash, she breathed a sigh of relief. She noticed she had crumpled the piece of paper with the address and laughed. She now regretted her decision to ignore the advice she was given about the Russian. Another loud crack sounded, and she decided she needed to get the hell out of there.