Riley wore jeans, a charcoal-gray turtleneck and hiking boots. A Smith & Wesson .40-caliber pistol rode in a pancake holster over his right hip instead of in its accustomed shoulder rig. The change was a concession to the tenderness of his left shoulder where he’d been shot. He stood two inches over six feet and had an athletic build from years in the gym and on the go. His dark hair set off his hazel eyes.
The phone on Riley’s workstation lit up. He crossed the room in three long strides and scooped the headset up. “McLane.”
“Why did I just authorize a high-level hack into British espionage circles?” CIA Director Stone Mitchell’s voice was calm and uninflected. He’d put his time in over the years, rising from fieldwork to his current administrative position.
Riley turned toward the wall of monitors and stared at the images. Onscreen, Sam followed the verbal directions one of the techs gave her to Steiner’s private rooms.
The view was from above, looking down onto and into the castle. The thermographic imaging revealed the building’s structure in blues and violets, peering through the roof and floors. Special computer programming rendered the information into a three-dimensional display and gave measured distances at the press of a key. The people were translated into orange and red figures based on their body temperatures. Sam and Bret wore unique transponders that showed up on the satellite’s thermographic imagers.
“Because I spotted a guy I think is with MI-6. I wanted to confirm that.” Riley stared at the fox-faced man who had caught his attention. Jackson had plucked the man’s features out of the crowd at Riley’s insistence, then run him through the database.
“MI-6 is interested in our target, too,” the deputy director pointed out. “Seeing them there is no surprise.”
“To our knowledge, MI-6 hasn’t penetrated Steiner’s ID. This isn’t one of Six’s Intel agents, either. He’s one of their hands-on black-bag guys who specialize in kidnapping and assassination. The problem is, this guy doesn’t seem to be as interested in Steiner as he is in Sam—Special Agent St. John.”
In the picture above the nearly full-faced shot of the man Riley had tentatively identified, the man watched Sam, frozen in midstride up the staircase. He hadn’t been focused on Steiner.
Seeing Sam in the ice-blue evening gown had drawn Riley’s attention, too. Agent St. John was an arresting woman. Despite her active outdoor lifestyle, her coloring remained fair, with just a hint of a tan warming her smooth skin. Her shock of shoulder-length, white-blond hair was pulled back in some kind of intricate knot that showed off her neck and shoulders.
“I don’t like coincidences, sir.” Riley gazed at the still image of Sam on the stairway. “The presence of an MI-6 black ops team at our site is a variable I want more information on.”
Mitchell sighed. “I concur.”
Jackson spun around in his chair. A big smile split his dark face. He was young and still excited by the cyber-snooping he did at the Agency. “Got it.” He tapped the small screen beside him. “You’re looking at Henry Watterson. Got another hit, too.” He tapped keys and brought up another image on his personal screen.
A heavier and older man with a square jaw and cold, dead eyes filled the screen. The face was new to Riley.
“MI-6 operative Ian Callan,” Jackson said. “He specializes in abduction and control of people MI-6 wants to interview.”
Riley turned his attention back to the still image of the party scene. Callan’s attention was on Sam, too. A cold, uncomfortable itch spread between Riley’s shoulder blades.
“We’ve confirmed two men, sir,” Riley told the deputy director. “Maybe you can go through channels and see why those men are there.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mitchell promised.
Riley thanked his superior, broke the connection and watched the thermographic image of Sam stop at the door to Steiner’s private quarters in the castle. Riley stood straight and watched, hoping that the woman stayed out of harm’s way. His injured shoulder throbbed painfully, reminding him how quickly death could come for someone in his profession.
Sam removed a thin electronic device from the seam of her tiny purse. The fist-size clutch hadn’t drawn a second look from security because it had hardly been large enough to hold a compact. Instead, the purse held the device she was using now as well as a sat-phone and another surprise.
An electronic lock sealed Steiner’s door.
Opening her purse, Sam took out a small screwdriver and removed the two screws holding the lock’s cover in place. She kept watch over her shoulder for wandering partyers and roving security people.
Steiner’s voice boomed downstairs in the ballroom as he welcomed his guests over the public address system. He repeated his greeting in six different languages.
With the electronic lock’s cover out of the way, Sam looked at the wire bundle inside the device. She moved her hand over the mechanism, allowing the ring camera she wore to transmit the image in color. “Blue and white wires?”
“Affirmative.” Riley’s voice was tense.
“Something up?” Sam asked, responding to the tension in his voice.
“No. Keep your mind focused. That lock can be tricky even with the decoder you’re carrying.”
She knew at once that Riley was concealing something, but at the same time she knew he wouldn’t hide anything from her that was dangerous.
She attached the alligator clips from the device to the appropriate wires, twisting them slightly so the sharp teeth bit through the protective plastic coating. Then she tapped the lock decoder’s power button to activate the search sequence.
The digital readout blurred, flipping through numbers. As each security number was revealed and locked into place, the decoder’s red indicator light flickered. In four seconds the machine had broken a nine-digit number, stored it in memory and pulsed the sequence necessary to open it. The light went from red to green in an eye blink.
The lock clicked open with a metallic ping.
“I’m in,” Sam declared.
“Go. The room’s unoccupied.”
Sam knew that the satellite relay could peer into the castle and view the room’s interior through the stone ceiling. Still, she felt some trepidation at moving into the dark room. From Riley’s description of the room, it was more living space than bedroom, a big spacious place.
“Okay,” Riley said quietly, “let’s get it done.” He called out directions.
Trailing a hand along the chilly stone wall, Sam made her way to the section of the wall Riley identified. Following his instructions, she pressed a hand against a stone that the satellite surveillance had spotted earlier. Nothing about the stone made it stand out from the stones around it. If Bret hadn’t tagged Steiner with the ultraviolet mist and the man hadn’t accessed his hidden computer to make the deal Riley had set up as bait, the CIA would never have found the hidden vault.
Once the vault’s location was known, the thermographic imager had enhanced the locking mechanism, revealing its construction. The system of counterweights was old-fashioned but wasn’t dependent on constant power or potentially harmful to the computer beyond.
Sam pressed the blocks in the configuration Riley called out and felt the false front open. The castle walls were thick enough to hold the two-foot-deep space that contained the prize she sought. She traced her fingers over the cutting-edge notebook computer inside, found the releases and lifted the lid. At her touch, the screen lit up, bathing her in a blue glow that hurt her eyes for just a second.
When her vision cleared, she stared at the desktop image showing Steiner standing in front of the castle with the rugged, snowcapped Bavarian Mountains in the background. Evidently Steiner was more than a little proud of his new castle.
“Check the connections,” Riley told her.
Irritated that he’d told her something he should have known she knew to do, Sam felt around the back of the computer and found the USB cord that undoubtedly led to the other computer systems in th
e castle’s basement. The system also had a hardwired DSL connection that downloaded Steiner’s work to an off-site backup dump. He kept nothing but a high-end operating system archived on the notebook computer’s hard drive. The device served as a door to and from the business he conducted.
“Connected,” Sam said. “I’m uploading the virus now.” She pulled her purse into the glow given off by the computer monitor and slid a finger inside the lining. She took out a business-card-size CD that had been hidden as part of her purse’s backing, then fitted the rectangular CD onto the notebook computer’s CD-ROM tray.
Once the tray slid quietly back into place, she stroked the keyboard. “Loading.”
The screen remained on the desktop view. The way the virus was set up, even an automated screen-capturing program wouldn’t reveal that the computer had been tampered with. And the installation wouldn’t show up as a new program.
Once the virus was activated, it would instantly spread throughout Steiner’s network and carve back doors into the programming that would allow CIA hackers into the system at will. The virus was also designed to copy itself into Steiner’s address book and e-mail itself to his contacts. The intelligence division thought that within three to four days Steiner’s system and those of his contacts would be rife with the virus. All his secrets would belong to the Agency.
Static cracked in Sam’s earpiece, then she felt like she’d gone deaf.
“Riley,” she whispered.
There was no answer. Sam tried again in a louder voice with the same result. She tried to ignore the prickly feeling that raced across the back of her neck that something had gone terribly wrong.
“Sam!” Riley called. He pulled the headset’s mouthpiece to the corner of his mouth to make certain it was close enough. He stared at the thermographic image on the main screen, watching as the three figures closed on Steiner’s private room. There was no doubt where they were headed. “Sam!”
Thick, black silence filled his ears. None of the techs in the room made a sound.
Riley swore and turned to Melendez. “I’ve lost audio.”
“Yes, sir,” Melendez answered. She busied herself with her keyboard. “We’re getting jammed at that end.”
“By who?” Riley surveyed the screens. “If Steiner was responsible, he’d jam the video links as well.” The video and audio transmitted over different frequencies.
Melendez shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to break through.”
“Jackson,” Riley said, stepping forward and watching the three red-and-yellow images moving toward Steiner’s rooms. There was no hesitation, no possibility that they weren’t headed there. “Who are they?”
“Don’t know.” Jackson stared at his own screen, maximizing the image, then reducing it. “I can tell you it isn’t Steiner. There’s no sign of the ultraviolet mist.”
Riley felt some of the tension in his chest melt away. Thank God for that, then.
Jackson’s voice took on a note of disbelief. “I can also tell you that one of the figures at the door isn’t human.”
Sam counted down silently. With no installation marker showing her the program’s progress available and no contact with Riley Conner, she had to mark time herself.
At 1032, two seconds past the install time, she ejected the CD-ROM tray, took out the CD and closed the machine, then locked the secret door.
Trailing her hand along the wall again, she made her way back to the door by memory. Her heart pounded and her mouth had gone dry. Losing contact with Riley could have been a glitch in the system. Communications systems weren’t perfect.
She kept calm as she reached the door. Hesitating just for a moment, wishing she still had the connection to Riley so he or the support team could tell her if the hallway was clear, she opened the door.
A naked man loomed in the doorway. He stood over six feet tall and had a shaggy mane of shoulder-length hair that was dyed the same amber color as the mountain lion on a leash at his side. The man was trim and muscular like the big cat. Bronze skin glowed warmly. He wore an emerald-studded collar that matched the one worn by his feline companion.
After a shocked moment, Sam recognized him as a professional model whose career Konrad Steiner had taken charge of only a few days ago. The male model had racked up a lot of attention by streaking various sporting events with Web site addresses written on his nude body. Two countries had listed him as an undesirable alien and forbidden his travel there.
The mountain lion was a new accessory.
“Who are you?” a harsh, feminine voice demanded in German.
Then Sam realized that a woman accompanied the model. His size and his nudity had seized Sam’s full attention at first. He dwarfed the woman at his side.
The woman was Ingrid Eichmann, one of Steiner’s top lieutenants. She was tall and beautiful, well into her forties but able to pass for a woman half her age. Her dark hair was cut in a short shag.
“Who are you?” Ingrid repeated. She reached to the back of the business skirt she wore and brought out a small black Walther .25 semiautomatic pistol, delicate but deadly.
Riley’s voice erupted back into Sam’s head in a spray of white noise and static. “Go! Get out of there!”
Ingrid raised the pistol to point at the center of Sam’s face. The model jumped backward and covered his head in his arms. The mountain lion flattened its ears and snarled a little, and Sam knew that the animal must have been sedated.
Dodging back and to the side, Sam barely avoided the bullet that caromed off the wall and shattered glass on the other side of the room. She slammed the door and heard the pistol’s sharp report echo out in the hallway. Turning toward the darkness that filled the room, she knew that she was trapped.
Drawn by the action taking shape on the monitors in front of him, Riley stepped to the edge of the raised dais in the CIA control room. He made himself stand still when every nerve inside him screamed to move.
“Sam,” he called as calmly as he could.
“I’m here.” Her voice was icy, contained and calm. “I need a way out.”
Riley studied the red-and-yellow silhouette on the sat-link monitor and wished that they’d had the time to install a button-cam in Steiner’s suite of rooms. Not that it would have helped, though. The room was totally dark.
“Straight ahead of you,” Riley said. “There’s a window behind the drapes. Probably why you can’t see it. Security bars over the window. They have a locking mechanism.”
A moment later Sam said, “The lock’s stuck. I’m going to blow the window.”
“Do it,” Riley agreed. “The door is holding for the moment.”
“The two MI-6 agents are in motion, Agent McLane,” Jackson called from his workstation. “They’re going for Steiner’s room.”
Puzzled, Riley pulled his attention from Sam and glanced at the thermographic screen showing the castle ballroom. Two computer-inserted ID tags floated over the red-and-yellow silhouettes that were the British agents. They fired their weapons. Ingrid Eichmann and the man with her broke and ran. The mountain lion followed them. The British agents advanced toward the door where Steiner’s security teams converged.
Logic dictated that the agents wouldn’t try to break into Steiner’s rooms. If they were able, they’d spirit Steiner away. They knew he wasn’t inside. Sam should be safe.
Unless Steiner isn’t their target.
The thought chilled Riley. But it fit in a surreal way, and it explained Watterson and Callan’s interest in Sam. And their interest in Steiner’s private rooms.
“Jackson, sweep the outside grounds,” Riley ordered. “I want anyone who comes toward that side of the castle identified.” He knew the British team wasn’t working alone. They’d have a backup team in place.
Outside the castle, the sat-link used night-vision mode, enhancing the existing moonlight so most of the night was stripped away. The rear of Steiner’s castle perched on a tall precipice. Hundreds of years ago when Germany had
still been a loose confederation of thirty-five monarchies and four free cities, whoever had built the castle had taken advantage of the topography. An army couldn’t come at the castle from that direction.
Hopefully a lone CIA agent who was quick on her feet could make an escape, though.
“Agent McLane,” another young tech called out. “I’ve got gunfire in the hallway.”
Glancing at the hallway, Riley saw that shots were being exchanged in the hallway in front of Steiner’s room. The MI-6 agents operated mercilessly, firing into the castle security teams. Four more men joined Watterson and Callan as Riley watched.
What the hell is going on?
Riley refocused on the screen showing Sam. She ducked down to the floor just as Watterson and Callan reached the door. Three bodies of security guards lay in the hallway. Warm blood pooled in cooling purples around the bodies.
Watterson stepped close to another downed man struggling to lift his weapon. Flame spat from the British Intelligence agent’s pistol and the guard relaxed in death.
Callan slapped a short square against the front door and stepped back quickly.
“Sam,” Riley called. “MI-6 agents are at the door.”
“Are we coordinating with them on this?” Sam asked.
“No.” Riley folded his arms across his chest and ignored the pain in his shoulder. “Stay away from them. I don’t know if they’re after Steiner’s computer…or you.”
Her response, if there was one, was lost in a sudden explosive detonation.
Chapter 3
E ven tucked into a ball, clutching a pillow from the bed wrapped around her head, Sam reeled with the explosion that came from the window. The two-element chemical explosive had been disguised in the tiny bottle of hair spritz she carried in her clutch.
Twisting the cap tightly down and pressing the plunger broke the plastic membrane separating the two chemicals. She’d felt them reacting in a heated rush as she’d tucked the bottle into the window frame. Ten seconds after that, the contents of the bottle blew.
Double-Cross Page 2
