“I can do that.”
“For my part, I’ll create a fake fraud warning, then I’ll start cuing up recipients. I’ve got millions of addresses.” Spencer felt another rush of adrenaline. “If even a third of those people go to their bank and pull out money, it’ll cause a ripple. That will make the news, which will cause a bigger ripple.”
Raff gave him a sly grin. “You like fucking with people as much as I do.”
Offended, Spencer squared his shoulders. “You’re wrong. I’m doing this to shut down our carbon output and reset our climate-change trajectory.”
Raff rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”
Spencer didn’t bother to respond. The hacker was too shallow to understand their goals. He opened an email he’d been saving from the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. After copying the contents, he created a new email that looked identical—with a perfect blue and gold logo—and modified the text. The message was reassuring, yet contained an alert that customers should monitor their accounts for irregularities. Next he altered the sender’s URL to look like it came from the FDIC, then embedded a chunk of code that would access the person’s financial information when they logged into their banking information. Once he had access to all those port 443 accounts, he could manipulate the money, causing further panic.
The fun part over, he began the tedious task of duplicating the email and attaching thousands of address recipients to each communication. He had the files batched and ready to go, but with millions, it would still take all day.
The work kept his mind off phase two, which he tended to worry about. Months ago, he’d created a worm that he would soon send out, causing the office computers in major power companies to malfunction. But that was only part of the attack. He also had to hack into the software that controlled the flow of electricity so he could manipulate a shortage. He knew the security weaknesses of both Siemens’ and ABB’s power-grid equipment and had taken several dry runs, but the real-life scenario would still be challenging. Technicians would be working madly to correct the system, and he would have to keep overriding them for days—if he could. The financial collapse would work in tandem, and, in theory, business would quickly grind to a halt. Once the U.S. economy tanked, the rest of the world would follow like dominoes.
By six, his stomach was growling, his back was stiff, and he had to get away from the computer. He stood, knowing it would be polite to invite Raff to dinner, but he wanted to get away from the annoying and immature hacker. Spencer’s thoughts shifted to Sonja. Was it too late to ask her to join him for a meal? Or was it too early in the whole scheme of things to begin to court her? Lisa’s words echoed in his head. His wife had encouraged him to find someone else.
He realized he hadn’t checked on Lisa all afternoon, so he hurried to her room. She was sleeping peacefully, and he was relieved to keep moving. He still had so much to do. Grace came to mind, and he wondered if she’d made progress. Did it really matter? They would be fine for a while even if the electricity from the generator was intermittent. Guilt hovered around his conscience. Grace had looked so tired and worried today, and he hadn’t given her nearly enough support. Spencer decided to pack a picnic dinner for the two of them and take it down to the creek. He called Grace, but she didn’t answer so he left a message.
As he made sandwiches, he wondered about future meals. They had chickens and turkeys in a pen near the greenhouse, and after the collapse, his meals would be made with recently slaughtered, fresh-roasted turkey. He could have already started eating exclusively from their land—as some members did—but he’d been too busy taking care of Lisa and everything else to home-prep food. Spencer looked forward to a healthier diet.
The sun was still bright but low in the sky as he drove the golf cart down the path to the creek. On another day, he would have gone on foot, but now that things were in motion, every hour was precious. When the terrain began to slope down, he parked the cart and walked the rest of the way. In the dusk, he spotted the structure over the generator. Something wasn’t right. Where was Grace? Had she quit for the day?
He saw feet sticking out from behind the metal turbine housing. Spencer’s pulse quickened and his throat closed up. Why was she lying down? He’d never seen her nap on the job. He ran toward her. “Grace? Are you okay?”
Rounding the generator, he kneeled down. The acrid smell of burned flesh assaulted his senses. Oh dear god. Grace lay motionless, and her face was angry red. Blood trickled from her eye sockets. “Grace!”
Spencer started to check her pulse, then remembered his first-aid training. He looked to see if she was still touching whatever had electrocuted her. No. Her hands were at her sides and burned nearly black. Oh shit, oh dear. What had happened? Spencer checked her pulse. Nothing. Life was gone from her body.
How had this happened? Grace was so professional, so careful. But she’d also suffered from PTSD and depression when she’d first joined them. Spencer had another ugly thought. Had Grace and Randall argued again? No, this must have been an accident.
Crushed by the loss, he wanted to weep. Grace had been his friend and a wonderful source of encouragement. But his brain was in panic mode. What now? He couldn’t call the authorities and report her death. They’d want to investigate, and he couldn’t risk having them on this area of the property. Even if federal agents didn’t find anything, they might press charges for negligence or try to shut down their community. He couldn’t let any of that happen. They were too close to setting the trigger.
Spencer grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and shakily dialed Randall. The damn call wouldn’t go through. He pushed to his feet and cursed out loud. The connections out here were tenuous, so he charged up the path, hoping for better reception. He didn’t get it.
Spencer ran to the motorized cart and gunned it toward the housing area. He and Randall had to talk this through. Grace was estranged from her family, so her people weren’t likely to get worried, but another sudden disappearance would be alarming to community members. They could tell them Grace had an emergency and had to leave. After the meltdown, community members would understand if Grace didn’t come back. Travel, especially commercial flights, would become impossible.
What other choice did he have?
Ten minutes later, he pounded on Randall’s door, but his brother didn’t respond. He tried calling again, and this time it went through, but Randall didn’t pick up.
Spencer stopped at his garage and grabbed shovels, gloves, and a small lantern. He hoped no one was watching as he dropped everything in the back of the cart. It didn’t matter. He used hand tools all the time, and this would look like just another outdoor project. Still, he glanced around. As the sun set, the cul-de-sac homes were quiet, as his friends and supporters cooked dinner and settled in for the night. He jumped back on the cart and raced back toward the generator. The thought of Grace lying alone on the ground as darkness descended made him ill. She deserved so much better. Was her death his fault? Had he pushed her too hard?
He refused to believe it. Accidents happened. People got sick and died. Lisa came to mind. How would he handle her death? There would be nothing suspicious about it, but he hated the thought of a government official coming to Destiny when they had so much going on. If Lisa died before the collapse, he would put her into the Jeep and take her to the coroner. Once the paperwork had been filed, he could bring her back home and conduct the service he had planned.
Why was everything happening now? Could he recruit a new engineer before it was too late? Or should they put their plans on hold? For a moment, he froze. Could he go through with everything? Covering up Grace’s death was inconsequential compared to setting the trigger. What was the alternative? Even if Sonja moved in with him, they still faced continuous uncertainty. Could he keep her happy in Destiny? Or would she get bored and tired of waiting like Emma had?
The cart hit a rut in the road, jostling him out of his thoughts. Spencer turned on his headlights. A moment later, Randa
ll appeared in the road. Thank goodness. He’d hoped to find him out here.
“What’s going on?” His brother hopped in the cart.
Surrounded by only crops and shrubs, Spencer still kept his voice down. “It’s Grace. I found her dead. Electrocuted.”
A pause. “That’s terrible.” Randall’s tone was a little flat.
The ugly thought came back, and Spencer had to ask, “Did you see Grace today? Or fight with her about something?”
“No. What are you implying?” Now Randall sounded tightly controlled.
Spencer sensed his brother had lied to him. But why? “If her death was an accident, then just tell me. I want to know what happened.”
“You said it yourself. She was electrocuted, so it must have been an accident.” Randall rubbed his hands on his head, a gesture Spencer hadn’t seen since they were children.
A finger of fear stabbed at his gut. Randall only lied to him when he was in crisis mode. If his brother had accidentally killed Grace in a hot-tempered moment, that could have pushed him to the edge. “Are you feeling all right? This is a stressful time for both of us.”
“I’m fine.”
Spencer stared, searching for the truth, but the dusk light masked Randall’s expression. “I’m just wondering if you should consider taking—“
“No meds! I’m fine. It must have been an accident, and I’m hurt that you would accuse me.”
Was he wrong? Flooded with guilt, Spencer turned the cart around. “I’m sorry. I’m just rattled.”
After a long moment, Randall asked, “Is she at the generator?”
“Yes. She was reconfiguring the setup, hoping to keep the batteries from overheating. I pushed her to get it done quickly.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
Spencer didn’t know what to think or say.
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to bury her and tell everyone she had a family emergency.” Spencer turned off the main road and headed for the creek.
“What about her car?” Randall asked.
“We’ll say I drove her to the airport.”
Randall seemed to relax at little. “Once we set everything in motion, none of this will matter.”
Chapter 15
Thursday, May 9, 4:15 p.m.
McCullen stopped at the police department’s investigations office, which had been moved out of the historic red-brick building they’d outgrown and into an office in the downtown mall. He hoped Rob Ramirez would be around. The detective was a friend, and they were on a bowling team together with two other patrol officers. It was McCullen’s only social recreation. As an FBI agent, he avoided forming bonds. Too much of what he did and thought had to be kept to himself. After Emma dumped him, he’d been leery of getting emotionally involved too.
A middle-aged woman in civilian clothes greeted him and buzzed him in. He had to glance at her tag to remember her name. At a cluttered desk in the back corner of the space, Ramirez looked up.
“McCullen. I heard you caught the soggy corpse. Sorry about that. I’m swamped with a rash of car thefts, and Erickson is handling another rape.”
“You know I like a challenge.” He pulled up a chair. “I wanted to talk to you about a burglary or robbery that might have happened a few weeks ago.”
“Connected to the homicide?”
“Yep, it’s a weird one.” McCullen glanced at his notes for the correct date. “A woman calling herself Charlotte Archer checked into the Four Corners Motel on Sunday, April 21st. Two days later, she was gone, and a rental car was left in front of room eight. The motel manager called Shasta Rentals, and they picked it up.”
“Nobody reported anything to us.”
“I know. There was nothing left in the motel room and supposedly nothing left in the car. But I questioned the kid who cleaned the vehicle, and he finally admitted he’d found burglary tools and a handgun.”
Ramirez raised his eyebrows. “Would have been nice to know. What’s the kid’s name?”
“Jimmy Pearson.”
“Never heard of him. He must not have been in trouble before.”
“He’s in high school, and he says he sold the gun to buy his mother medicine.” McCullen reached for the evidence bag in his jacket. “But he kept the lock-picks. I need to know who or what this woman robbed. Or tried to rob before she was killed.”
“I’ll check our records. We had a string of pizza robberies, but that was back in March.” Ramirez turned to his monitor and keyed in the dates. “No burglaries or thefts reported on April 21 or 22, except for some vehicle break-ins around the railroad neighborhood.”
Disappointed, McCullen asked, “Any assaults?”
Another moment. “No. Sorry.” Ramirez tapped his desk. “Maybe someone caught her planning to rob them and killed her first.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Would you run the name through your databases just to see?”
“Sure.” The search took a few minutes and produced nothing.
McCullen stood. He was on his own with this one. “If you hear anything that seems remotely connected, let me know.”
Ramirez stood too. “We don’t see many armed robberies committed by females. I wonder what the hell she was up to.”
“I’m worried we may never know.”
Back at the bureau, McCullen spotted an even bigger concern standing in the hallway outside their locked office. Luke Caldwell was a buff older man with angry eyebrows and a broad scowling face. Emma’s father bellowed, “Where is my daughter? Why haven’t you taken that damn community apart yet?”
Bracing for more, McCullen keyed in the code and gestured for Caldwell to follow him. “Let’s keep this private.”
“I want to talk to your boss.”
Great idea. Gibson had made himself the contact person on Dallas’ team, so let him deal with the victim’s overbearing father. “I’ll see if he’s here.” McCullen stepped into the main office and called out, hoping his boss hadn’t left for the day.
Gibson came out of his cubicle, briefcase in hand. McCullen nodded at the big man in the lobby. “Mr. Caldwell would like to speak with you.”
The three headed into the small space, which was less crowded than their interrogation room. As soon as he had their attention, Luke Caldwell blasted them. “What are you people doing? You know Emma is out there somewhere. What the hell is your plan?”
“We’re making progress,” Gibson replied calmly. “Please sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to be placated. I just drove a hundred and fifty miles because you won’t return my phone calls!”
McCullen and Gibson stayed on their feet too. Caldwell was bigger than both of them.
His boss tried to take control. “We found her car Tuesday off Bear Mountain Road, so we have to consider that she might have been abducted by a stranger.”
“Bullshit! That just confirms that she didn’t run away. That she’s still right there in Destiny.”
Gibson kept his cool. “We have an investigation in place, and we hope to have a broader search warrant soon. Please be patient.”
“It’s been a week! That bastard has my daughter and grandson in some shitty basement, and if you can’t go get them, I will.” Caldwell’s nostrils flared, and McCullen smelled coffee and bourbon on his breath.
“That would be a bad idea!” Gibson was loud now too. “You could endanger your daughter and yourself and jeopardize our investigation.”
“What investigation? You’re both right here. How the hell can you look for Emma if you don’t leave the damn office?”
“Please sit down and I’ll tell you!”
After a long moment, Caldwell perched on the edge of a chair, like a man ready to spring.
“We have another agent working the case,” Gibson said. “And she thinks she’ll locate your daughter very soon.”
What the hell was he doing? That was too much information.
“Your agent is out at that crazy co
mmunity?” Caldwell pressed.
“I can’t tell you and you can’t talk about it. Go home and let us do our job.”
Caldwell stared at Gibson, then shifted his gaze to McCullen.
“Please. Go back to Sacramento,” he pleaded. “We’ll call you soon with an update, I promise.” Caldwell lived in the capital, but his ex-wife, Emma’s mother, was in San Francisco. They hadn’t met her in person yet.
Caldwell stood. “I already checked into a motel, and I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t find Emma in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going out there to raise holy hell.”
Gibson tried to soothe him, but Caldwell kept threatening as he walked to the door. “I’ll torture that son-of-a-bitch until he tells me where she is. I was in Vietnam—I know how to get information.” Caldwell slammed out of the room.
“What a jerk.” His boss shook his head. “We can’t let him screw this up for us.”
McCullen hesitated, then said what was on his mind. “You shouldn’t have told him we have an agent in Destiny.”
“I didn’t exactly spell it out, and I didn’t have much choice.” Gibson grabbed his briefcase from the floor. “I couldn’t let Caldwell go out there and start hurting people.”
“I hope you didn’t compromise Agent Dallas.”
“I didn’t. Why would Emma’s father jeopardize this case?”
McCullen wasn’t sure. “Maybe we should warn her.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Besides, Dallas said she’s speeding up her plans and will go out tonight to locate the bunker. We may have a warrant tomorrow.”
McCullen was jealous and irritated that Gibson had that information and he didn’t. He was still part of the Eden team. “I’d like to be kept in the loop.”
“I’ll update you if anything significant happens.” Gibson started to leave, then turned back. “Any progress on the floater?”
McCullen summed up what he knew about the case, concluding with the missing gun.
The Trigger Page 10
