Oracle's Hunt

by A. Claire Everward

  The restructuring some years earlier had brought together under a single umbrella, USFID, all powers and resources of what used to be the investigative departments of the different arms of the US military. And since he was the agent in charge of the Serious Incident Response Team, the extradepartmental team that handled all investigations involving more than one department, non-USFID or non-US agencies, and, in general, high-profile cases with a potential for sensitive entanglement, he was used to having access to wherever he wanted and getting whatever information he needed. On the rare occasion that clearance higher than his was required, White’s authorization as USFID’s director took care of it. And here he was, unable to retrieve anything, anything at all, about Oracle. Yet the short conversation with IDSD earlier had left him convinced that, whatever it was, it did in fact exist.

  He wanted to know. He probably could, he had to admit, find whoever had broken into the data center without that knowledge, but having it would in all likelihood make things easier. It would certainly move them along faster.

  And he just really wanted to know. He couldn’t remember a case where one name, one code name, brought only silence from every person he talked to at every agency—and he’d contacted the ranks of officials that should have had access to such information—and drew a blank at every database, every query, every source he turned to. And the fact was that this word was all he had to work with for now. The techs would only begin to analyze the evidence collected in the morning, and they would still need to decrypt the data stolen by the perpetrators, what they could see in the break-in footage. This last thought made him frown. Normally he would simply ask, but it didn’t look as if IDSD would be too happy to provide him with the decryption. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try for it himself.

  He walked out of his office and crossed the silent floor to the windows overlooking USFID Plaza and the Anacostia River beyond it, and stood staring at the darkness outside. He had meant to get out of here earlier, start fresh the next day, but the videoconference with IDSD had only raised more questions, and he had decided to stay, use the silence around him to organize his thoughts, see what he did and didn’t have, and plan a course of action.

  At least that was what he told himself. The fact was that he needed to regain his balance and this was the best place for him to do so. His job, that professional side of him that was always so focused, never failed him. He had worked hard to make it the center of his life, and it was the only thing he trusted he could always fall back on. Everything else came second. His personal life was carefully controlled, meticulously delimited, deliberately kept in check, and he never allowed himself to deviate from the lines he himself had set. Not that this was a problem. Nothing, or perhaps he should say no one, had ever held his interest long enough to endanger the boundaries he had so carefully laid around him. No one. No woman.

  His mind went back to the videoconference. To that woman. Tried to figure it out. Figure himself out. Tried to tell himself he was obviously supposed to stay away from her, deal only with the liaison. Tried to remind himself that once the investigation was over, he wouldn’t have to deal with IDSD at all.

  Tried.

  Up in the dark sky, a shooting star momentarily visible through a lull in the high clouds caught his attention. He followed its path, then turned away from the windows and left, grabbing his jacket from his office on the way to the elevator. He picked up his car in the mostly deserted parking lot and drove through empty streets, which served to settle him further.

  As he arrived home he slowed down. The lights were on, though dimmed low, on the second floor of the house next to his. His brow furrowed. He’d known his new neighbor had moved in. The Howards, who had lived there long before he himself moved next door to them just a few years earlier, had moved out over a month before. Closer to two, he reminded himself. Donna, their granddaughter, had come up the week after with a flurry of helpers, including her ever-faithful spouse, Patty, and had pretty much taken the place apart. In what little he’d seen when he was home, she had had the house refurbished inside and out, sanded back to its original color and its windows and doors replaced with ones with a dark color that blended in nicely with the cozy work she had done inside. The kitchen and bathrooms had also been replaced in their entirety, and the wood and stone coating of the walls and floor and all carpeting renewed. It had taken her less than three weeks, which made him think she’d been intent on doing that for a while. She’d even gone so far as to hire a landscaper, who had replanted the entire yard around the house.

  Giving him a proud tour of the renovated and refurnished house, Donna had enthusiastically told him that she was preparing it for her best friend, who was away for work or something of the sort, she hadn’t volunteered any additional information. But the house in its present form raised his curiosity. Unlike the colorful and sparky decorator, the interior she had designed for her friend was warm, cozy, with gentle colors that spoke, it seemed to him, of someone who valued quiet. At least that’s what the investigator in him told him. He’d meant to ask Donna more about her friend, he’d regretted having the Howards gone and the prospect of someone new disturbing the peace he’d managed to create around him did not appeal to him. But just then the movers had arrived, and Donna had run off to order them around. She didn’t seem to need any help, with the small army she had around her, so he’d escaped to work.

  That had been a couple of weeks earlier. He knew his new neighbor was called Lara, Donna had told him that much, but he had no last name for her, and there wasn’t one on the door. He also knew that by now she had returned from wherever it was she had been to. But he hadn’t seen her yet. A few times he’d seen a small woman, wiry and energetic, drive up in a small, tidy car, take out groceries and bring in the dry cleaning. A housekeeper was the logical conclusion.

  Nothing except that, no sign of his neighbor. Until now, until the light in what he knew, knowing the house, was the window of the master bedroom. Still, his curiosity would not be satisfied that night. It was well past one o’clock in the morning. Not a time to call on a neighbor, even if she might still be awake.

  He left his car outside his garage, as he always did, and went inside. The house was silent, giving him just what he wanted, the solitude he so carefully nurtured. It suited him just fine, and he wasn’t about to allow anything to change it.

  Certainly not a split second of . . . whatever it was earlier that night.

  He pushed the thought away. It was easy to do that, with the practice he’d had. Focus on an investigation, find something else to think about.

  Still, sleep took a while.

  Chapter Three

  The first rays of early autumn sunlight found Lara showered and refreshed, and holding a cup of her favorite coffee blend, in the middle of her new back yard. She contemplated it absently. Green dominated still, although the red, yellow and orange of the cold season were already showing. This is only the beginning, spring would bring with it a burst of lively colors, Donna had said. That too, the impeccably organized garden to the back and sides of the house, and the generous lawn at the front, was her best friend’s doing. In the weeks Lara had been in Brussels, Donna had prepared this house, packed her apartment, moved her here and then unpacked, placing everything in its perfect place, of course. Lara had no idea how she had managed that in so little time, but then, that was Donna. She threw a look back at the house. She wasn’t used to it yet, to this place, as her new home, but it had potential. And it was a house that had seen much kindness in its past, and that, she supposed, had to count for something.

  A bird chirped close by, and she closed her eyes and listened. The cool breeze, the fragrant air, the silence, even the feel of the warm coffee mug between her palms, soothed her. It was rare for her to feel such peace. Had been for too long now. But she had resigned herself to that. Too much had happened, too much for it to be fixed. For her to be fixed. But she had long resigned herself to that, too. She took a deep breath an
d returned her mind to the breeze, the air, the silence. It was good, this quiet moment. After all, she had a busy day ahead of her.

  The thought brought back the data center break-in, and she contemplated the implications it could have for everyone involved.

  And for her.

  Dawn found Donovan walking out to his back yard. He liked that, going outside first thing in the morning to the start of a new day. It was calming, too often the only quiet moment in his day. He breathed in the clean air, that seam between summer and winter at its best. Gentle wind ruffled the leaves of the trees bordering his property and separating it from the park on its right and the Howards’—or what used to be the Howards’—property on its left. Their granddaughter had low shrubs planted among the trees, and these already boasted warm autumn colors, which she had said her friend would like. He walked over, the lively color drawing him.

  And froze.

  From where he stood, he had a clear view of the house next door. Its patio doors were open, and, even at this early hour, his new neighbor was standing outside.

  The woman in Vice Admiral Scholes’s office.

  She was standing in the middle of her back yard, her eyes closed, her hands around a mug, it looked like, something hot, he thought, on this cool morning. He was able to have a better look at her now, and saw that his impression hadn’t been mistaken. In fact, it was much clearer now that she was here, so real, before him. Unlike in the previous night, this morning she was rather more informally dressed in jeans, black boots that hugged her calves, a white blouse with the top button open, and a tailored black jacket. Her hair was down this time, not pulled back like it was then, but laying in soft waves against fair skin. A deep brown color, he saw, the sunlight playing with soft auburn hues. He mused at what was going through his mind, and realized the investigator in him was hanging on to details to protect the man.

  At least, it was trying to. He wanted to move, leave, think. But all he could do was stay, watch, react. He finally managed to convince himself to take a step back when she opened her eyes, saw him, and he saw those intriguing hazel eyes that had mesmerized him that first time he had seen her—he thought he saw golden flecks dancing in them now—focus, surprised, then contemplate him.

  Neither moved for an endless moment.

  “You’re that Donovan,” she finally said.

  “And you’re Lara,” he managed. “You didn’t introduce yourself yesterday,” he added, then realized it wouldn’t have made a difference, he still wouldn’t have made the connection.

  And then silence.

  “I have to . . .” she began, and pointed toward the house.

  “No, yes, me too. The investigation.” He cursed his clumsiness. He was always the one who rattled people’s equilibrium, and with women he never had to work hard. And here she was, just by being there she . . .

  As if on cue, they both turned and walked away from each other.

  Minutes later he came out of the front door of his house, in time to see a sleek dark red convertible slide away from the curb in front of hers, accelerate gracefully, and speed away. He stared at it, then shook off whatever had come over him and got into his car.

  This couldn’t be. But then, she should have figured it out. Donna had said her neighbor’s name was Donovan. How many guys with that name were there? How did she not make the connection?

  She forced herself to stop fretting over it. She’d been busy and tired, exhausted more like it, and her neighbors in this new place she had moved to hadn’t been on her mind, not at all. And in the videoconference the previous evening, she hadn’t really focused on his name. It wasn’t his name that had caught her attention.

  She had no idea what to do with this. Nor did she want to think about what to do with this, not a bit. The night before it had seemed easy. She hadn’t expected to ever have anything to do with Agent Pierce—Agent Donovan Pierce, she thought ruefully—again. After all, she had a direct line to anyone else she chose to speak to if she wanted to know anything about the investigation, which she was supposed to stay away from anyway. As far as she was concerned, she would never have to see him again.

  Except he was her next-door neighbor. Her next-door neighbor who just happened to be the lead investigator in a case that had everything to do with her. And she just happened to be keeping a key part of his investigation from him.

  No, she had no idea what to do here.

  Okay. Okay, she thought. I don’t have time for this. There are more important things to deal with. Safer things, a small voice whispered in her mind, but she forced herself to disregard it and turned her thoughts to the day ahead.

  By the time she walked into her office, her mind was focused on the tasks that required her attention. The designated system identified her as soon as she stepped in the door, and all wall screens activated, the IDSD Missions symbol on them giving her the settling sense of anticipation, of things to be done, to be prepared for, that she needed now.

  Aiden walked in and placed a cup of coffee on her desk. Her preferred blend, the same one she drank at home. “Anything you need from me, ma’am?” he asked.

  As she did at least once every day, Lara sighed. She’d been trying to get rid of the “ma’am” since the first day he’d been assigned to her, and had so far been unsuccessful. It was his way and that was that. Even the fact that she was a civilian didn’t help. She outranked him and was his direct boss, and that was how he was trained to address her. Both by the IDSD military and by his parents, he’d explained to her long ago.

  “I’d like an update on the injured in yesterday’s unscheduled JSOC mission,” she said. “Do we have anything yet?”

  “Only that they’ve been flown to the alliance military hospital in Brussels, and are still being treated and debriefed. I’ll get an update.”

  “Good. JSOC will be sending the mission data, their original plan and its execution until Oracle was called in, I want to see what happened there.” IDSD didn’t even have to request it, the US Joint Special Operations Command had worked with Oracle before and had notified Lara directly that they would be sending her all info. This was standard procedure when a mission went wrong and required Oracle’s unplanned intervention. It was a learning opportunity, and a chance to make changes that could be implemented next time, to perhaps avoid a mission going wrong, or at least tag similar missions to be brought earlier to Oracle’s attention. The later a mission called for it to intervene, the riskier things were for the people involved, those who just might not be saved next time.

  “In the meantime,” Lara continued, “I’ll be doing the Joint European Command post-mission analysis, see if I can wrap it up. Do I have anything else today?”

  “Yes ma’am, a three o’clock meeting here on the Somalia mission. You should receive the preliminary African Independent Territory files on it sometime before that.”

  “I’d better get started, then.” She picked up the coffee and turned her attention to the wall screens. Aiden turned to leave.

  “Aiden, the data center break-in.”

  He turned back. He knew about it, of course. As her aide, he was privy to much of the confidential information she received.

  “Did Vice Admiral Scholes assign USFID a liaison already?” she asked.

  “Yes, last night. Nathan.”

  She nodded. Good. “I’d like to see him when he comes in.”

  He “ma’amed” her again and left. Behind him, the door to her inner office slid closed as she prepared to view the data, visuals and audios of the Joint European Command mission, which she had helped plan and Oracle had overseen the execution of just before the JSOC one had come in.

  But the door opened again almost immediately, and she turned back to see Frank Scholes walk in. He sat down heavily on the soft recliner standing in the far corner, and it screamed in protest under the huge man’s weight. He tried to find a comfortable way to stretch out his legs, clad in impeccably pressed uniform pants, then gave up, as he had countless tim
es before.

  “You should replace this thing, you know. Something bigger, I think. I’m sure I can get requisitions to find something that would fit. Hell, I’ll go buy you something myself.”

  “This one fits me just fine,” she said, as she always did, and would have smiled, as she always did, if not for the worry she saw on his face. “What’s wrong, Frank?”

  He squinted at her. “That Agent Pierce is still looking for Oracle.”

  She sat back in her chair.

  “After you and I talked to him yesterday, he did some pretty intensive digging.”

  She didn’t need to ask if he found anything. She already knew he wouldn’t. “This worries you.”

  He leaned forward. “Lara, someone broke into one of the five most protected data centers in the world, knew to go to our data storage unit, and knew to look for information about Oracle. And now an agent on our own side is creating new traces of Oracle by doing this search. Yes, I’m worried.”

  “I thought Evans was going to instruct USFID’s director to stop that line of investigation.”

  “Evans is the one who updated me about this. He only talked to Director White early this morning, after he was alerted to what Pierce was doing.” He shook his head in distaste. “Of all things, this is what he had to lock on.”

  “Tell Nathan to give him whatever else he needs for his investigation, and he won’t have a reason to go after Oracle.”

  “Unless he thinks he does. Or just wants to. Wouldn’t you be curious, all things considered?”

  She would. And no, she wouldn’t let it go either if she were in Donovan Pierce’s shoes. “Frank, worst case . . .”

  “No, don’t even think about it! I want you out of this!” He pointed an admonishing finger at her. “Keep out of this investigation and keep away from Agent Pierce. That’s an order.”