Li remained silent.
“Do you believe in karma, Chang? Dumb luck?”
Li turned away from me and dropped his head. “No. I don’t.”
“Neither do I. Sometimes Lady Justice is willfully obtuse, her blindfold translucent. In this case, I balanced her scales for you, Chang.”
Li made a sound best described as a cross between a sob and a squeal.
“Chang?”
“Okay.”
A jolt of electricity flowed through me. Yes! The first step of our talion ladder was in place.
I flushed my urinal. Chang did likewise. We stepped to the sinks in tandem, washed our hands, and then turned and walked towards the door. I handed Chang Sarah’s card. He pocketed it, then stopped and gave me a hard look.
“Why are you doing this?”
How could I ever explain it to him? My son. My cancer. Doyle and Sarah back in my life. Prisha. Redemption. Revenge. I was still working it all out myself.
“Go on now, Chang,” I told him. “Your family’s gonna wonder what happened to you.”
Li left the bathroom. I waited a minute then did likewise. Li had rejoined his family at their table. I left Chipotle and walked past the front window. I saw Li gulping his glass of water, his smiling wife tucked into his side. His son bobbing to and fro in his seat, the little girl’s hands flapping about.
I had provided Li with a solution to his problem. Put him and his family back on track. Given them another chance. A chance I wished I’d had. Li had taken it, and had returned the favor. We’d have our guy in place at the CIA in a week.
I hunched my head into my shoulders, thrust my hands in my pockets, and bounded down the street towards the Gallery Place-Chinatown Metro Station. Back to my apartment. I’d brief Doyle and Sarah on what had happened, using one of the new burner phones Sarah had purchased for us all. Take a long hot shower, crack a beer. Maybe have a nice chat with Angie.
We were on our way.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
October 6, 2016
Sarah’s Office at White Rogers Young
Dupont Circle, WDC
Sarah fidgeted with her Montblanc pen, twirling it between her fingers. She glanced up and checked the time against the giant atomic wall clock at the other end of her cavernous office, which was larger than most apartments in the District. WRY had the top five floors in a modern glass building, one of the tallest in Dupont Circle. As a senior executive vice president, she occupied an office on executive row, which stretched the entire south side of the penthouse floor. All exterior walls had floor-to-ceiling windows, which afforded panoramic views of the city, particularly the White House and the Washington Monument, less than a mile distant. Tinted windows and translucent roller blinds provided privacy as well as protection from the sun. Her office had been decorated in a modern motif, all glass and chrome. She had insisted on bright upholstered sofas and chairs over dark leather, and chose pale rose with gold accents. She was the only executive to stray from the company line with the interior designer, and she suspected her colleagues secretly held this against her.
Sarah had been on edge all week, ever since Frank called her to let her know of his successful recruitment of Li. This meant it was her turn now: she was on the spot to get WRY—more importantly, Frank—the contract for Li’s replacement at CIA. She had worked the phones all weekend, calling in favors from across her vast network of business contacts. With difficulty, Sarah had pushed her low-ball bid through her boss, justifying it as a loss leader to catch additional business at the Agency. All the tap dancing and schmoozing had exhausted her, but she wasn’t there yet. She had to convince the man about to step into her office that she had an offer he couldn’t refuse. Sarah had hand-picked this guy, never even considered another person as their eyes and ears at CIA. If he refused her offer, all her work this week was for naught.
Her heart was racing. She tried to control it with deep breathing and visualization exercises. Sarah opened her eyes and saw she was still playing with her pen. She placed it on the desk and folded her hands. She closed her eyes again.
The knock at her door startled her. Her eyes opened to the sight of Darryl Robinson leaning on a half-opened door.
“Hello, Sarah,” Robinson said. “We had a ten o’clock? I could come back later.”
Sarah rose from her glass scissor-legged desk and waved him in. She met him across the office in the informal seating area and motioned for him to sit on one of the sofas; she sat opposite him on the other. A low-slung glass table separated them. She asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He first shook his head no, then said maybe water. Sarah went to the door, asked her secretary to fetch water and coffee, and returned to Robinson. His eyes were roaming all over the office, taking in her exalted station at WRY. Robinson was a front-line computer nerd and did not receive many invitations to executive row.
Sarah gracefully crossed her legs at the knee, her skirt revealing just enough thigh to make Robinson take a quick breath. His eyes lingered. Sarah caught his stare. He blushed and smiled awkwardly.
Robinson was a light-skinned second-generation African American, born in New Jersey of Moroccan descent. He stood six foot and had the lean build of an endurance athlete, which he was not. His face was perfectly symmetrical, his features smooth. Bright hazel eyes, specked with green. Intelligent eyes. He was just shy of his twenty-ninth birthday. He was a beautiful creature, like a deer, but lacked the self-awareness of the genetically gifted.
The secretary came in and placed the coffee and water on the low table. Her eyes explored Robinson, but he appeared oblivious of her attention. Sarah thanked her and she left without a word.
“It’s good to see you again, Darryl,” Sarah said. “What’s it been—six months?”
“Eight months, fourteen days.”
This made Sarah smile. “How do you like your placement at the FBI?”
“It’s okay. Their tech is for shit, but the people are nice enough.”
“No problems over there?”
“No,” Robinson replied. He looked down at his shoes. “I’m behaving myself, if that’s what you mean.”
A couple of years ago, when Robinson was placed by WRY at the NSA, he had been caught hacking into the personnel file of a female co-worker he had a crush on. His overtures were misconstrued as stalking by the woman, and she had complained to HR. Robinson was called in and interviewed. HR had found no direct evidence to support the woman’s claim, but had contacted WRY and asked for Robinson to be removed.
Sarah’s division had placed Robinson at NSA. She had called him in and got his side of the story. She found him socially awkward, sure, and completely obtuse when it came to approaching women, but he was also brilliant and hard-working. And most importantly, she believed him when he professed his innocence.
So Sarah had intervened with NSA on Robinson’s behalf and convinced the woman to withdraw her complaint in exchange for a promise that Robinson would have nothing more to do with her. Robinson eventually left NSA for his current contract at the FBI, where he was doing well.
Robinson owed Sarah. They both knew it. It was now time for Sarah to collect. And she always collected on her debts.
“Good. I’m pleased to hear you are doing well at the FBI.” Sarah sipped her coffee. “Do you remember your incident at NSA?”
“Some woman at the FBI saying I did something wrong? Because if—”
“No, nothing like that. As far as I know, anyway.” Sarah leaned forward on the sofa, closing the distance between them. “No, Darryl. It’s time for you to repay the favor I did for you.”
“What favor? I lost that NSA gig!”
“Yeah, but I saved your job here at WRY. And kept your record clean, and your security clearance intact. Time to pay up.”
“Oh, that’s how it is.” Robinson’s face dropped. “That’s why you wanted to see me?” He lunged for his glass of water, almost knocking it over. He took a long draw and placed it back on its coaster. “I
t’s always like that with women.” His eyes darted around the room.
“With that kind of charm, Darryl, I just don’t see how you can’t find a girlfriend,” Sarah said with a grin.
Robinson sighed. “What do you want, Sarah?”
“I want to place you at CIA,” Sarah said. “As a network admin.”
Robinson groaned. “Why? I like the work I’m doing now. And anyone can do admin. Why not get someone else?” He paused. “I told you—I haven’t done anything wrong at FBI.”
Sarah scooted forward on the sofa, even closer to Robinson.
“You don’t understand, Darryl. This is a special assignment. I need you at CIA to gain access to their network, particularly personnel records and such.”
“But that’s what got me in trouble at NSA.”
“This time you’ll be doing it at my direction. I’ll cover you.”
“Why do you need this information?” Robinson asked.
“Let me worry about that,” Sarah responded. “You’d report directly to me for this assignment, which means we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other over the coming months.”
This brought a wide smile to Robinson’s face. It was no secret he was infatuated with Sarah. She’d addressed this during their NSA entanglements, and Robinson had accepted her professional rebuke. But it was still there. Sarah saw it in his eyes.
“What would I do there?” Robinson asked.
The hook had been set.
“Well, you’d basically be a network admin. By the book.” She gave Robinson a coquettish smile, which found its mark. “And maybe sometimes you’d do special work for me. Data calls, things like that. Mostly personnel stuff; nothing too serious.”
Sarah saw Robinson thinking it over, so she continued.
“How are your… skills… these days?”
Sarah was referring to Robinson’s hacking prowess. He nodded in response. Robinson had an anarchist streak and liked to go right up to, and sometimes over, the line. A risk-taking adrenaline junkie with a keyboard. He was the real deal, too: highly skilled, but difficult to control under the wrong circumstances.
Sarah slowly re-crossed her legs. Robinson fought to keep his eyes steady and lost. Sarah was in control.
Robinson asked specific questions about this CIA contract, which Sarah answered. He would start next Tuesday, October 11th, the day after the Columbus Day holiday. He would work a straight forty-hour week, Monday through Friday, eight a.m. to five p.m., weekends and holidays off. Sarah said they might have to work a few nights together, which interested Robinson more than anything else Sarah told him about this new assignment.
Robinson sat back in the sofa, groaned and wiped his face with both hands.
“I don’t know, Sarah.” Robinson threw his head back. “I hate the CIA.”
Time to close this deal. Sarah rose, gently flattened her dark gray skirt, and joined Robinson on his side of the table. She sat next to him on the sofa, no more than a foot separating them, and canted her body to face him. Robinson seemed to inflate; his eyes widened.
“I would consider this a personal favor, Darryl. It would wipe our debt clean.”
Robinson’s face again flushed. He started to bounce both legs up and down, pushing off the floor with the balls of his feet.
“What’s it going to take to get you to say yes?”
Robinson broke out in nervous laughter. Sarah closed the space between them.
Robinson smiled. Tight-lipped at first, then it spread all over his face.
“What is it, Darryl?”
Robinson cleared his throat. “Uhm… well… How about you and me—”
Sarah barked out a laugh. “Really?” She shook her head, still laughing. “I’m not going to have sex with you, Darryl. Try again.”
“How about a date, then?”
“I don’t think so.”
Robinson retreated. “Set me up with one of your friends?”
“How about I teach you how to be less awkward around women first? Give you a few pointers?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“I did mention, didn’t I, that we would be spending a lot of time together with this assignment? Late nights, shared dinners, that sort of thing?”
Robinson beamed. He nodded his head. WRY had its new CIA network administrator.
“Okay, great!” Sarah said. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your new assignment.” She rose from the sofa and looked down at Robinson, who was still smiling.
“And Darryl, here’s my first pointer: stop staring at my tits. Women don’t like it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
October 18, 2016
Prisha’s CIA Office
Langley, VA
Robinson approached the secretary sitting sentry outside the boss’s office. Robinson had only been at CIAHQ for a full week; he checked the office number. Right above the number was the occupant’s name in big, bold letters:
PRISHA VEDA BAARI
Deputy Director
Yup, he had the right office.
Baari’s secretary was a man, which surprised Robinson. The guy looked about fifty but could have been much younger. His hair was thinning, his dark eyes unblinking behind large glasses. His face was ashen, thin lips pursed tight. He looked high-strung, as if any sudden noise or movement would launch him from his chair.
Robinson introduced himself by first name only, said he was from IT and that he had to do a routine update to DD Baari’s computer. The guy’s eyes darted about. He said that he had not been informed of such an update, and that he had standing instructions to let no one into Baari’s office unannounced. Robinson explained that he had been told this update had already been approved, and that it was critical for all senior executives to receive this security patch ASAP.
The secretary again mumbled that he was not supposed to let anyone into her office. Robinson smiled and said that was okay with him; it would be the secretary’s ass if the deputy got a virus or caused a network breach because she didn’t have the patch. Robinson laced his response with ominous-sounding computer jargon.
It worked. The secretary vapor-locked; sweat beaded on his forehead. Robinson almost felt sorry for the guy. He was a beaten dog. What a joy his boss must be to work for. Robinson waited. The man began to tremble.
“Well?” Robinson asked. The secretary remained mute. Robinson spun around to leave.
“Wait!” the man finally said. “The deputy’s in a meeting.” He stood and scanned the office area in panic. “She’s in a SCIF without her phone.” He gave Robinson a beseeching look. “Stay here. I’ll run and check with her. I’ll be right back.” He reached down to lock his computer screen, then scampered down the hall.
Robinson didn’t know exactly where Baari’s meeting was, or how long the secretary would be gone. But judging from how squirrely the guy was, Robinson thought he might be gun-shy enough to equivocate when he got to his boss’s meeting, and that maybe this would give him enough time. He decided to risk it.
No one was watching. Except the cameras, of course. Robinson had worn a soft disguise in an attempt to confuse the lens just enough. He kept his eyes down and chin tucked the whole time. That would have to do.
Robinson strode to the office door and tried the knob. Unlocked. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving it ajar just an inch to better hear anyone approaching. Robinson activated the digital chronograph on his watch. He’d practiced this so many times it had burned into muscle memory. He had gotten it down to under five minutes. He snapped on a thin pair of rubber gloves and ran across Prisha’s large office, dodging sofas and chairs, to get to her desktop computer.
0:38
Robinson pressed the power button and willed the computer to boot up. He bounced up and down on his toes as it came to life. He had already hacked Prisha’s password (this had been remarkably easy—Ody1975!) and typed it in. Robinson’s hands were trembling, and it took him two tries to correctly enter it. Shit.
He reach
ed into his front pants pocket and pulled out the thumb drive. He dropped it on the carpet, then dove to the floor to look for it. It had bounced under Prisha’s desk. He stretched out and grabbed for it, raking it towards him. He got a grip on it and banged his head on the desk drawer getting up. Cursing, Robinson frantically looked behind the monitor for the USB port. His eyes were having a hard time focusing, his motor skills deteriorating. He grabbed the side of the monitor for stability and forced his eyes to focus. He jammed the drive into the computer, then fumbled through finding and opening the file he needed.
Robinson’s fingers flew over the keyboard. The file started to download. Whew.
1:41
Robinson’s arms were leaden. He shook them out and kept his eyes on the computer monitor.
“Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.” It was how the Navy SEALs did it, and it had been Robinson’s mantra in preparation for this little operation. But his nerves were testing him now, now that he was in it. The only way to get smooth was to slow down his careening central nervous system.
He forced some deep breaths. The file downloaded at glacial speed.
Robinson felt naked. Not much he could say if Prisha or her lapdog secretary came in now, with his thumb drive hanging out the back of her monitor. His plan was to feign ignorance, double down on the new guy card, play it up as one big misunderstanding. Turn it into a comic farce. A weak option at best. He figured if he did get caught in the next few minutes with his pants down, the best he could hope for was that he would be fired and walked off campus immediately. But this was the CIA, not Walmart. He expected worse.
2:24
Robinson heard something outside the office. He skulked back to the office door and peered through the opening. His heart was kabooming so loud in his ears he felt certain the whole world could hear it. Two colleagues, a man and woman, walked by talking. They paused as they passed Prisha’s office, then turned and pointed. Robinson’s heart jumped into his throat. He flattened himself against the wall. The two laughed, then continued to walk down the hall. Robinson dashed back to the computer monitor. Still downloading. Good.
Talion Justice Page 16
