by Fiona Quinn
“That stopped production?” Okay, that was hopeful, maybe the same thing would happen here. “What was the genre of game?”
“It was an active shooter game. There are a ton out there. This one was called, School Shooter.” She doctored her coffee without catching Avery’s eye.
“You were training people how to go in and shoot up schools?”
She shrugged. “It’s topical. It’s relevant. I hoped that it would advance the conversation about what was acceptable about guns in society. I hoped it would show people what it was like to be inside a situation like that—something beyond what you get on the news. I wanted to make it visceral and frightening.” Her eyebrows popped. “We have that with war games. You can play and understand, to some extent, the dynamics of battles. Why not show people what the kids are going through in school? Sometimes you have to stir the pot so you can see what you’re dealing with at the bottom.”
The white knight exposing the shadowed underbelly of the dragon again.
Taylor took a sip of her coffee. “And it can go both ways if you train people to shoot up a school, you also teach people how to get out. Like the game “Oregon Trail” teaches you to boil your water and only drink coffee or you get cholera and die. You either learn from your mistakes or there are consequences. I’m allowing people to see their mistaken thought processes by playing a game. It’s a way to suppress real-world tragedies. People have the capacity to learn and grow.”
“Or they can become entrenched and possibly even radicalized,” Avery countered.
“Someone who is open to being radicalized can be radicalized. Like I said before, that’s just stirring the pot and getting the chunks off the bottom so we can see them.”
Avery wanted to keep pushing down that trail, but she was afraid to push too hard and end their conversation. There were so many things she wanted to know. A talented CIA heroine would circle. She should circle. It worked in books.
“It’s interesting what you said about women in your industry. I’m amazed that any woman would want to swim against a riptide like that.”
Taylor took another sip. “There are oh so many reasons a woman like me would try. I could ask you the same. How is it that you’re the only female senior editor at Windsor Shreveport, or editor for that matter? Inge doesn’t like that very much. I’m sure that’s why she told me to request you.”
“I thought you said Fast Forward told you to use me.”
“I met Inge through Fast Forward. Fast Forward introduced me to Inge when they suggested adding the book and music. So if you’re being precise—as I know editors like to be—Inge said to request you, and Fast Forward agreed you’d be best.”
“Ms. Prokhorov gave you my name. That’s interesting. You make really good coffee by the way.”
“Not at all bitter?” Taylor smirked from behind the rim of her mug.
“Funny.” Avery set her cup on the saucer. “You were telling me about the connection—how it was that you got your first contract. Connectivity is so fascinating, especially with the International production you have going on. Did you get to travel to Europe? Is that where you met Ms Prokhorov? She’s from Bulgaria, I think. I would so love to travel there. I read once about their roses. The best in the world. And they have a rose celebration that’s on my bucket list.”
“I’ve never travelled.”
“How did you get to work with Fast Forward?”
She pressed her lips tight and took in a deep breath. “A friend.”
“Someone we have in common?” Avery smiled. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Avery canted her head. “NDA?”
“No. But since you have an NDA, I guess I can tell you this much. She’s—she’s a friend of mine who’s here past her visa. If anyone found out my friend is here, she would be deported. Going home would be very dangerous for her.”
“Wow.” Avery leaned forward. “I’m so sorry that she’s found herself in this dilemma. Why is she in danger at home? Couldn’t she apply for asylum? Maybe I can get a lawyers name…”
“I don’t know about asylum. I’m guessing that she’s too worried that it will be denied, and then she’ll have no control over the outcome or next step. She’s from Russia—well, she’s Russian by birth. She grew up in the United States from the time she was a baby up until high school. Her dad’s job here was done. But when she moved there, she didn’t like it at all. She’s basically American after all. She came back for University, hoping to figure out a way to stay here, or maybe move to Canada. One night she got a call from her mom that her dad was picked up by the police. That was a few years ago, when she and I were living together. No one’s seen him since. It’s been really hard on her. My friend believes that if she were to go home, she might be used as a tool.”
“Wait, your friend is from Russia? I thought Inge was Bulgarian.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how Ka—my friend and Inge met.”
Avery looked at her lap. “Poor thing.” She sighed then focused on Taylor again. “I can’t even imagine being in her position. I can certainly understand the choices she’s making. But if anyone had the wherewithal to help it would be Inge Prokhorov. This must be the best decision under the difficult circumstances. Is your friend a game designer too?”
“No. She’s working under the table now, picking up random jobs. She seems to be doing okay. I help her as much as I can. When I was visiting her, and I told her my idea for The Unrest, she told me that for a grand she would put together the research notes for me. She said she’d need a couple of months. I didn’t really have a thousand dollars laying around at the time. But I borrowed it from my aunt. And so my friend made rent and ate. And it was money well spent.”
“How did she know how to do that? Put together the research notes, I mean.”
“She majored in anthropology and minored in women’s studies at the University of Michigan.”
“Ah.” Avery got up and walked toward the coffee pot. “Do you mind if I help myself to another cup of coffee?”
“That’s cool. I’ll take some too. My brain still isn’t fully awake.”
“She gave you the file, and it was helpful.” Avery hoped to get the rest of that story.
“A few months later I got a file. She’s the one who thought that this should be a three-pronged approach—music, game, novel. I came up with the plot for my book based on her notes. While I would expect those to be good—she’s really quite brilliant, a straight A student—I was really elated by the ideas that she had for the game.”
Avery poured the coffee into Taylor’s mug. “But she’s not a game designer.”
“We were roommates at the university. From my talking through different projects with her.”
Avery set the pot back on the plate quietly and moved back to her stool while Taylor talked.
“I guess she was paying closer attention than I thought she was. To be honest, I thought I was boring the stuffing out of her talking about coding and such. But her notes were fantastic. She had even developed the gaming rings.” Taylor was becoming more animated now that she was talking about something she enjoyed. She was using more facial expression and miming the information with her hands. “In each ring, the player learns a little more. In the first ring, for example, you might learn what capabilities your character has—run, jump, etcetera. In the next, they might learn to shoot. Then they learn to breech walls, then they learn to seek out a prize. See? It’s all about learning. Each circle there’s a learning component that includes success and failure. Failure is often where the character learns the most and can use those lessons to advance quickly. For The Unrest, the player is learning the game, and more importantly, the game is learning from the player.”
“You knew from the get-go that you would harvest data from the players to help the machine learn them better? Or quicker?”
“What I had imagined was much more simplistic than what I was able to achieve with my
team at Fast Forward. Ka—uhm, my friend’s boyfriend is working on his artificial intelligence PhD, and she included code in the notes to show me how the game could tap into the mass of data that was already out there and available for microtargeting.”
“Very cool. Where’s he working on his PhD? I hear MIT has an excellent program, and Stanford.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He’s not in the United States. He’s working out of Germany. I ended up using his connections to get the contract with Fast Forward. They do production out of Berlin.”
“Your university roommate’s boyfriend. And it was your roommate who also knew Inge Prokhorov. Your friend is really well connected for someone living under the radar.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rowan
Tuesday Morning
Washington D.C.
“And they ambushed you while you were running by a church?” Amanda’s brows were pulled tight. “That seems sacrilegious.”
“I’ve written out the communications that I overheard, as close as I could recall. The hostiles were talking about my running pace. Here’s the thing, I’ve been gone for the last month. They had to know I was home. They also had to know my running habits to know my speed.”
“You’re FBI. You shouldn’t have public facing habits.”
“Understood. However, there are only two directions I can go out of my house to jog. Granted, I don’t jog from my house if I’m able to go elsewhere. But I run every day that I can. If it’s late, and I’m home, I run in one of two possible directions. Someone with a pair of cheap binoculars… Anyway, Monday, as you recall, it rained, so it was late when I got my run in. They could probably figure that out by checking a weather app for when the rain would stop.”
“All right. How would they know you were home and how would they know your routes?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s my running app. It’s the only app I have on my phone. I use the same one I had in Afghanistan when we got in trouble for the searchable heat map that lit up our base. Someone who hacked my account could see my running history, locations, times, all of it.”
“You were hacked? Did you give the phone over to tech?”
Rowan lifted his new phone. “Brand new. I don’t know if I was hacked. It seems improbable, but forensics should be able to tell me. I’m waiting on the report. Also, when I dropped the first two guys, I took their pictures. I didn’t mention the photos to the PD. But they’re also trying to run down those IDs.”
She leaned back in her captain’s chair. “Any chance in your mind that this is connected to Sergei Prokhorov?
A tick started under his right eye. “Too soon. Too sloppy.”
She nodded.
“These guys might have had military concepts, but they didn’t have the body mechanics smoothed out. In my mind, I could see them playing first person shooter scenarios, not real-life training. One guy froze when I turned on him.”
“Amateur then,” she said.
“My read. The second contact, the guy leveled his gun, had his laser on my heart, but didn’t pull the trigger. I dropped him with two shots to the plate.”
“And one guy had two penetrating shots to the leg, according to the report I got in my inbox,” Amanda said. “But like a terrorist unit, they scooped up their wounded. No one was left behind?”
“Nope.”
“The guns you confiscated were registered?”
“Nope.”
“You have a good alarm system on your house?”
“I do. But I have no idea what their goals were. When no one shot at me, I thought they might want to take me hostage.”
“One interpretation. Another might be, that they wanted to kill you, and when push came to shove, they couldn’t follow through.” The springs on her chair complained as Amanda leaned forward and picked up her pen, scribbling on a pad resting beside her water bottle. “I’ll reach out for a copy of PD forensics, maybe we can get a fingerprint ID.”
“They’re expecting the call. I talked to the detective this morning. They found blood and brass. One of the grave stones took a hit. So far, the hostiles haven’t taken their injured to a local hospital.”
“No one wants to die of a festering gunshot wound. At least the leg guy’s going to show up, sooner or later.” She lifted her brow for emphasis. “Next on my list, did you talk to Jodie about her tweet and tell her to lay off?”
“Jodie’s not answering her phone.”
She nodded. “Okay. I may send someone around to have a little chat with her off the record.”
Rowan nodded.
“We’re going to have you pack up and head back out. We have an op spinning up that needs your expertise. And I know it’s soon, but we need to twist Sergei Prokhorov’s arm again. We’ve received some sensitive information from our friend John Green in the CIA field station. You’re the one that Sergei will talk to.”
“It’s going to be harder this time.”
“It’s going to be impossible,” she conceded.
“What’s the plan? When do you want me to go? I can ditch New York.” God he hoped he didn’t need to ditch New York and miss his opportunity to meet Avery.
“Sergei switched out his electronics devices, but the spyware is doing its job. He’s planning to go to Paris to an arts event with his wife. We’re getting you tickets and a date.”
“Clara?”
A slow smile slid across Amanda’s face. “I read her field notes. That’s quite a get-to-know-you tactic she has. She spoke highly of your skill sets.” Amanda tipped her head, laughter in her eyes. “And even mentioned that we might want to consider using you as a raven.”
“Sex for intel? Yeah, I’m not that guy.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Amanda called. “To answer your question about Clara, no, not this time.”
“When do I leave?” He looked up as Special Agent Steve Finley and Prescott filed into the conference room.
“We’re waiting for some pieces to fall in place,” she said. “Gentlemen.” She waved them toward the empty seats. “Perfect timing. I was about to get to my next topic.”
“Taylor Knapp,” Rowan said.
“Taylor Knapp.” Amanda nodded.
“Taylor Knapp,” the task force leader, Prescott, repeated as more of the team streamed in the door. They moved to the back of the room finding their seats around the conference table.
Amanda’s gaze went from face to face. We’re waiting for one more before we start our meeting.
“Did you tell Rowan he doesn’t get to play with Clara on this mission?” Prescott asked Amanda.
“She’s quite an interesting character,” Amanda said, taking her seat at the head of the table.
Prescott plunked his briefcase onto the polished wood next to her then swung his head toward Rowan. “What did you think of working with her, Clara Edwards?”
“Fearless, which has its good points, and its bad points,” Rowan said.
Finley chuckled. “Yeah, we heard about the knife incident. The local news said the guy was mugged, and when he handed over his wallet, he was stabbed. You’ll be happy to know the surgeons were able to reattach his dick, and he’ll be getting physical therapy to make sure it’s working all right.”
“Speaking of doctors, I assumed you went through medical?” Prescott squinted at Rowan’s face. The bruises were healing, they’d progressed to the bile-yellow and green end of the damage spectrum. “Everything check out?”
“I’m cleared for field work.” Rowan took a chair to his left. “Ice packs and time.”
“Sergei Prokhorov shouldn’t have had that many people on his protection team.” Prescott settled into the leather captain’s chair. “Seven you said?”
Rowan nodded. “In the garage, yes. Inside the museum, I only counted two. When Clara and I made contact with Sergei, Iniquus was in the room. I recognized Panther Force’s Honey Honig and Thorn Iverson doing close protection for some American big wigs. At
one point things started to get interesting with Sergei’s men. Thorn and Honey staged an intercept, preventing Sergei’s security from interfering with the cell phone download. I’m wondering if Panther Force didn’t pick up on what Sergei did after Clara and I took off.”
“I have a meeting at Iniquus later today. I’ll see if those two are available for a debrief.” Prescott made notes on a pad: Honey and Thorn, he underlined their names.
“I’ve partnered with Honey and his colleagues before.” Special Agent Brandon Carmichael, opened his lap top. “It was a positive. Iniquus does good work. They stay in their lane,” he said as he booted up, “and don’t take public credit or interact with the media. It helps when the silver backed apes aren’t thumping their chests and maybe letting go of some details that shouldn’t be out there.”
“It’s interesting that they should come up in this conversation,” Prescott said. “We’re finalizing a contract. In the case of trying to run down the Prokhorov connection to the communities that are elevating hate crimes, Iniquus would have more latitude with what and how they gather information. They can go in directions that the FBI itself can’t go.” He leaned back in his chair. “Right now, we’re spinning wheels, trying to figure out the synergy of the Taylor Knapp bourgeoning empire, the increase in public hate speech, and the sheer numbers that are joining into dangerous cliques and behaviors. We can see it.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “We just don’t understand it. It's sucking manpower that we need focused on solving crimes that have already been committed. And so, to that end, I have a meeting set up. A strategy session with Iniquus command.” He pointed at Rowan. “You and Finley will be leading that collaboration. All public facing events outside of arrests—if we can make solid cases—will be performed by them, so if there’s blowback, it’s on them and not us. And more importantly not on the government.”
Rowan nodded.
Carmichael looked over at Finley. “You’ve got an eye-twitch over Iniquus.”
