by Camden Mays
“The DO has blinders on, and this AIJB connection is concerning. We can’t wait around for Operations to hand us that information. You have Liski now. Make it work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Darryl’s going to love this, he thought.
Chapter 18
Los Angeles, California – Santa Monica Pier
Jessica Cameron was ready to get out of the crowded beach scene. She loved the smell of the ocean but hated it when it was this packed. Too many idiots to deal with, she thought. The scorching sun on the hot August morning had required extra doses of sunblock for the fair-skinned coed. Brittany wanted to hang around longer, commenting that she had to go back home in a couple of days, and where else would she see so many shirtless, tanned guys? But Jess’s mother Grace, who had joined them for the day, was tired of the crowds as well. The trio grabbed a late lunch at Rusty’s Surf Ranch on the Santa Monica Pier. It wasn’t Jess’s favorite spot, but her mother and Brittany seemed to enjoy it.
The server brought the bill, and Grace laid her credit card down to pay for the lunch. A couple of minutes later, he returned and said that the card wasn’t going through. Grace was surprised and scrambled to find another card.
“Jess, do you have your credit card with you? I only brought my license and the one card. I can’t understand what the problem would be.”
“Sure, as long as you pay me back.” Jess had always been serious about money. Her mom shot her a look that said Really? as Jess handed the card to the server.
“I swear, you’re just like your dad,” Grace said.
A minute later the server returned. “I’m sorry, this was declined as well.”
“What? No way. My card stays paid off every month,” Jess said.
“I’m sure it’s just a glitch,” the full-time surfer and part-time server said, smiling at the attractive blonde. “It’s been happening a lot today, especially with cards from that bank.”
Brittany had the cash to cover the meal as Grace set about dialing up the credit card company.
The server took the cash and the three women left the restaurant as Grace held the phone to her head and intermittently punched the numbers needed to try to connect with a live person. Eventually, she received a recorded message from the bank notifying its customers that the second largest financial institution in the country had suffered a cyberattack and they were working hard to rectify the situation. In the meantime, services were unavailable and local offices were closed.
“What is it, Mom?” Jess asked, seeing the worried expression on her mom’s face as they opened the car doors.
“Our bank is shut down. Some kind of cyberattack or something.” Grace got in and started the car.
“I’m calling Dad,” Jess said, whipping out her phone. “He’ll know what’s going on.”
“Please, Jess. Your dad doesn’t know everything, and besides, didn’t you say he can’t get calls where he works?”
Jess suspected that her mom was a little envious that she and her dad had grown so much closer after the attack at the house. She had picked up on the hints that her mom didn’t care for how Jess had become some sort of ninja warrior—or that she had switched her majors and taken the summer quarter off.
Jess texted her dad, knowing that he would reach out as soon as he could. “I just texted him,” she told her mother, understanding that it would likely annoy her. It’s not my fault you guys broke up, she said to herself while she surfed the internet to learn more about the bank’s problem.
“Mom, we need to get home. There’s some crazy stuff happening,” Jess said, scrolling down her screen.
“What do you mean?” Grace asked.
Brittany leaned up from the back seat. “Like what? What kind of crazy stuff?”
“The bank. And there’s a power outage in Chicago. People are going crazy because of the heat. There’s another blackout in New York.” Her eyes widened even larger as she saw other stories. “Oh my God. People can’t get their money and stores are being looted. It’s bad. They’re saying it was cyberattacks against the power grid.”
“Oh Jess, you are just hypersensitive to these sorts of things. You sound like a conspiracy theory freak.”
“Mom, I’m not kidding. We need to get home. Wait, how much food do we have at the house?”
“What?”
“What if the power goes out here? Do you still have that gun Dad gave you a long time ago?”
“What? No, I wasn’t comfortable with that in the house.”
“Mom! Go by Uncle Craig’s. He’s got a gun.”
“Jess! I’m not driving out of my way to my brother’s house to ask him for his gun.”
Jess tapped her phone.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“I’m calling Uncle Craig to have him bring his gun over.”
✽✽✽
Washington, DC
Cole checked his watch as he stepped into a sort of hipster, urban-chic café called Slipstream on the corner of I and New Jersey in the Navy Yard. It was light and airy, clean but not pretentious. He was late by any standards but especially his own. The place was known for its coffee and pastries but also had a dinner menu. He spotted the young reporter, hissing in the corner, packing up her things.
Cole approached and offered his apologies.
“I’ve been waiting here for forty minutes.”
“I’m really sorry. Have you ordered anything?”
“Yes, I already finished. I was just getting ready to leave. I have articles to write.”
“Again, sorry. Let me take care of the bill.”
“Already paid for it.”
“Well, then let’s get to it.”
“We’ll have to make it quick. I have a call with my editor in about twenty minutes, and my home is a ten-minute walk from here.”
She pulled out her notepad and started through the questions. Cole stuck to the script the office had given him. He saw her looking at the clock.
“Why don’t I walk you home? I mean, it’s already dark outside.”
“I can take care of myself, Mr. Cameron.” Darcy shot him a look.
“I’m sure you can, but I thought at least you would get back for your call and we can finish up the questions on the way.”
Darcy agreed, and the two walked down I Street toward her modest apartment building. Eventually, they reached the gated entrance and said their goodbyes. Cole turned and walked back in the direction of his car. Darcy called to him.
“Mr. Cameron, off the record, why are you doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Chasing down and killing bad guys.”
“Off the record?”
Darcy nodded.
“To protect my daughter.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Cole added, “You remind me of her, in some ways. You both have that grit and sort of raw determination.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cameron. I wish you success in your endeavor.”
“You be careful, Ms. Regis.”
✽✽✽
The elevator doors opened on the ninth floor for Darcy Regis, and she ambled toward her studio apartment with her backpack over her shoulder. She regretted her new lover Emma was unavailable for the night, but she could use the solitude for some overdue rest.
She plopped her bag on the stool at the counter and went to the bathroom. As she sat on the toilet, she noticed a slight draft, and while the bathroom door was open, she didn’t have the right angle to see the sliding door that went out to her small patio.
She flushed and walked out in front of her bed, seeing that the patio door was indeed cracked open. She never would leave it like that. Someone had been there or maybe was still out on the patio. Her cell phone rang in her bag, and she started toward it when she was startled by the sound of the door sliding on its rail behind the cheap vertical blinds.
“Who’s there?” she yelled, frightened and hoping somehow no one answered.
A man dressed in black and wearing
a ski mask stepped through the blinds with a large knife in his hand. Darcy instinctively took flight, heading for the door, but the intruder tackled her against the wall. The room was just too small to escape. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up, applying his full strength against her neck while pointing the steel blade at her face.
“Listen carefully to me, or I will slice you into dozens of pieces.”
“Wh . . . Wha . . . What do you want?” Darcy was able to mutter.
“You need to stop poking your head into other people’s business. Haslet Securities, Congressman Shepherd. You get my drift?” the intruder gritted through his teeth.
Darcy shook her head. The man looked her body up and down. “Too bad you play for the other team—you look like my type. Small, petite, tight little thing.” He released her. She slid to the floor, holding her throat and coughing.
Her attacker turned to leave. Darcy had too much spunk for her own good. “What type did you say?” she asked between breaths.
“Huh?”
“Big knife. Must be compensating for your tiny dick.”
The attacker threw the knife on the floor and pounced on her, pounding his fist into her face to prove his strength, screaming in rage. She absorbed the blows but reached for the knife. The man grabbed Darcy by her hair and shoved her face onto the hardwood floor. Still, somehow, she clutched the knife and made a swipe at the attacker, slicing into his forearm before Beecham wrestled the blade away.
“Bitch, you think you are going to cut me?” Allen Beecham ripped his mask off to show Darcy the face of the man that she had insulted. He grabbed the petite woman by the back of her shirt and the seat of her pants, ran her out the open sliding door, and shoved her over the railing to the pavement below.
✽✽✽
McLean, Virginia
Cole actually beat Hannah home.
Undoubtedly her hands must be full at the NCTC with these cyberattacks, he thought.
He threw a plate of leftovers in the microwave as she had told him not to wait. As it heated up the meal, he called Jess to check in on them on the west coast.
Jess took the opportunity to unload on her dad on how unprepared her mother was for emergencies and how she couldn’t wait to get her carry permit. Cole just let her go on for a while.
“So your uncle Craig came by?” He listened. “That’s good. He’s a good guy, just let him know if you need anything. Is your mom doing OK through this?” He listened some more. “Well, you need to help her by being calm. I think they’re getting a handle on the attacks. I heard on the news that the bank hopes to start getting things back online tomorrow. So let’s not overreact here.” The microwave beeped, and they ended their call.
Hannah entered through the mudroom and laid her bag on the kitchen island and peeled off her dress jacket. Cole stood to greet her, feeling underdressed as Hannah looked sharp as usual.
“You guys have a busy day over there?” he asked.
“Yeah, especially the cyber teams. This thing was pretty scary.” Hannah said. She looked at Cole’s dinner and wrinkled her nose.
“What? You want some dinner?”
“How can you eat this late?” she asked, twisting her face.
“What? I guess I got used to eating when I can eat.”
“Uh-huh. Let me go upstairs and change, and then we can catch up,” Hannah said, patting Cole on the chest.
Soon she was back down, and Cole had cleaned up the kitchen and poured Hannah a glass of wine, so they sat on the sofa and surfed through some of the news reports of the power outages and banking woes. The broad impact of the attacks and the ripple effect associated with them would have significant economic implications. It was disturbing to consider the possibilities.
“I think we’re learning we’re more vulnerable than we imagined,” Hannah noted as they followed the stories. “I mean, we’re forty-eight hours from pure chaos.”
“Hmm . . . what’s the plan if it was a larger-scale issue? Have you thought about what you would do if it were national in scale with no relief in sight?”
“Getting the heck out of dodge and heading to my parents. They’re out in the country. They know how to grow their food, and my dad is prepared for the zombie apocalypse.” Hannah snorted.
“Really?” Cole chuckled. “Is he a prepper?”
“Not like the typical kind, but he’s prepared with food, supplies, and weapons and ammo.”
“So he’s a prepper,” Cole argued.
“No, you’re making it sound like he’s a nut job. He’s just . . . well prepared,” Hannah said.
“He’s a prepper. It’s OK, I’m not judging, but he’s a prepper,” Cole laughed.
Hannah slugged his arm. “Whatever!”
“I can’t wait to see the collection.”
“Shut up!” Hannah shifted the conversation. “Anyway, we’re going for the anniversary, right?”
“Yep.” Cole nodded.
“I don’t want to let them down again. It’s really important to me, Cole.”
“I know. Should I bring some extra canned goods or ammo for the anniversary gift?” Cole joked.
That did it. Hannah was up out of her seat. She muted the TV and was on top of him, wrestling, pinching, and biting at him for payback. The playful match on the couch continued as the news station shifted to a local story of a young female reporter who had fallen to her death from her apartment balcony.
✽✽✽
Washington, DC – Hilton Capital
He tugged at the restraints and received a smack on his thigh from the leather tassel flogger. Throwing his blindfolded head back, he yelped like a wounded calf. Katrina Nikolin had figured out the best way to keep Scott Shepherd’s skin from touching hers was to play the BDSM game. She had already used the blindfold in a previous encounter, allowing her to clone his phone without him any the wiser.
Shepherd seemed to pause to listen to the TV that he had insisted on leaving on to hear the reports on the impact of the cyberattacks.
“I’m turning this off. It is distracting you,” Katrina said.
“No, Emma, leave it. I’m sorry,” the blindfolded fool said.
She spanked his other thigh, and again he moaned. She drifted the leather tassel over his naked body, moving upward toward his chest when the news shifted to the local story.
“A local reporter, Darcy Regis, fell to her death from her ninth-floor apartment tonight . . .”
Katrina stopped moving and stared at the TV.
Shepherd screamed as he fought to free himself. “Get me out of this. Get me out!”
Katrina freed his hands, and he pushed her to the side, grabbing the TV remote and turning up the volume.
“That stupid son of a bitch!” he yelled.
Chapter 19
Counterterrorism Center – Langley
The day had started early for Cole. He scanned his way through the security point by a quarter after five and was sipping on hot green tea. He and Hannah both had been notified in the middle of the night that there were reports of car bombings in Detroit, New York, and Chicago. Hannah had gone to the FBI NCTC and Cole to the CIA’s CTC. They had developed the habit of saying long goodbyes, not knowing if Cole would be shipped off or when the other would be home.
Sure enough, no sooner than Cole got to the den, messages from the Lion floated across the screen, taking credit for the killings. It pissed him off. He wanted this guy in the worst way. Soon other team members were arriving, and the workstations of the analysts were fired up and going. Cole expected that the president would be demanding a swift retaliation. But where? They didn’t know where the Lion was, and he was the key to stopping the AIJB.
Cole’s line rang. It was McCune asking to see him in her office. He looked at his watch, surprised that she was in at six in the morning. He passed Capps and Wang in the hall on the way to the elevator. Neither one looked too happy to be called in.
“Sorry guys,” Cole said, receiving only grumblings in respon
se.
He entered McCune’s office, seeing she was distressed.
“Ma’am, are you alright?”
She nodded and motioned for him to sit at the table.
“Did you ever speak with the Post reporter Darcy Regis?”
“Yes, ma’am. We met where you arranged. And I walked her home to her gate.”
“She was killed last night.”
“What?”
“Well officially, she fell to her death from the ninth floor of her apartment, but the DC police are investigating.”
“My God.” Cole thought of how fearless the girl had seemed. “Do you think it has something to do with the pressure on Shepherd?”
“I don’t know. Shepherd is about as low as it gets, and in this city, that’s saying something, but I don’t take him for the kind to go that far.” McCune folded her arms. “I used that girl, Cole. I hope to God I didn’t get her killed.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Is there anything I can do?”
McCune took a deep breath. “We’ll see what the DC police have to say.”
Cole nodded. The two continued discussing Darcy Regis, and McCune shared that she had dated the reporter’s father for a few years. Soon they moved on to business matters at hand.
“I’ve asked Pershing over at the NCTC to assign Hannah Jacobs here as a liaison for a couple of days until we get a handle on this recent play of the AIJB. There’s too much intel getting lost in translation. She tried to pawn off someone named Eric Masters, stating a conflict of interest for Special Agent Jacobs, but I insisted on Hannah. She’s the best I’ve worked with. Do you see any problems with her being here?”
Cole gave a wide grin and shook his head.
“Try to control yourself, Officer Cameron,” McCune said. “She can’t be down in your den. Keep your field ops plans there, but move Amy and the analysts to one of the ops rooms on our floor here for the next couple days.”
“I’ll get Amy to set us up.” Cole stood to leave. “Thank you for doing this ma’am.”
