‘Hello, Orani,’ Lucy smiled back at her. ‘No hard feelings?’
Orani didn’t answer that. ‘The boardroom is this way.’ She walked on, not waiting to see if they followed. ‘I hope you brought your lawyer’s phone number.’
The conference area she led them to filled a whole corner of the building, treating the space to a spectacular view overlooking the surrounding streets, the Royal Botanic Gardens and Farm Cove. Marc could make out the sweeping white curves of Sydney Opera House peeking out from behind the skyline, but then he was torn away from the sight by the sounds of a full-throated argument in mid-flow.
On one side of a heavy wooden table, Martin Wehmeyer, his head of security and what were probably the cream of his legal team were ranged against Ekko Solomon and Henri Delancort on the other. Wehmeyer was flushed and angry, jabbing a finger at Delancort and snarling about ‘illegal intent’. But he was momentarily shocked into silence by Marc and Lucy’s arrival.
Crowne, the security executive, recovered first. ‘This man is one of your people,’ he accused Solomon, pointing at Marc. ‘He’s guilty of breaking and entering, assault, industrial espionage, hacking . . . I have a list of criminal charges a mile long!’ He looked at Wehmeyer. ‘Sir, that’s the guy who broke into our secure unit and accessed our isolated server.’
‘You cannot prove that,’ said Delancort. Which was partly true, because on Marc’s way out of the company network the night before, he had left behind a worm program that had deleted the majority of the building’s internal security camera footage.
‘We have witnesses,’ Crowne replied, gesturing toward the guard. ‘A member of our staff was shot!’
‘By one of your own executives,’ Lucy said mildly. ‘Who is now dead himself. Awkward.’
Crowne glowered at her flippant response. ‘What happened to Mr Hite will be thoroughly investigated.’
‘What is going on here, Solomon?’ Wehmeyer turned stony. Any suggestion of the jovial persona he had shown at the reception was a distant memory. ‘Do you have any idea how many laws your employees have broken? I want them arrested, and I want it done right now—’
‘Stop talking.’ Solomon’s voice cracked across the room with the force of a gunshot. ‘You would do well to consider your own guilt before you begin assigning blame to others.’ He leaned forward in his chair and eyed the members of the legal team. ‘I think you should have them leave before we take this any further.’
‘We have nothing to hide!’ retorted Crowne.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’ Delancort raised an eyebrow.
Wehmeyer ran a hand through his thinning hair, and then waved at the lawyers. ‘Wait in the reception.’ He looked at Orani and the guard. ‘You too.’
‘Sir—?’ Orani began, but Wehmeyer shook his head.
When they were alone, Solomon stood up and gestured for Marc and Lucy to take a seat.
Solomon advanced on Wehmeyer and Crowne, and Marc saw what in the past he had only caught in glimpses; a hard-eyed soldier’s aspect, and a veiled threat in every move the man made. ‘You think you understand this situation. You are wrong.’ The African nodded toward the other end of the table. ‘Ms Keyes and Mr Dane are my Red Team. I use operatives like them to test the integrity of any company that Rubicon is interested in acquiring.’
‘Acquiring?’ Wehmeyer blinked. ‘You don’t own enough shares to do that . . .’
Solomon went on without comment. ‘They confirmed for me what I already know to be true.’ He glared at the other man, and when he spoke again, he truly showed his fangs. ‘Horizon Integral’s executives are in collusion with violent extremists. Your company has facilitated terrorist attacks in Germany, the United States of America and Taiwan, and more may be on the way. Your man Hite’s death was a consequence of this. We have proof.’
Delancort slid a data slate across the desk toward the stunned men. ‘The HIOS Sigma industrial automation software has been deliberately co-opted. Critical vulnerabilities in its central codebase were not only concealed by members of your staff, Mr Wehmeyer, but actively traded for financial gain to a known terror group.’
Marc watched the blood drain from Wehmeyer’s face as he scanned the pages of the digital file. He resembled a man reading his own death warrant.
‘I have prepared a copy of that information to send to the governments of the nations that were targeted, and to the Australian Secret Intelligence Service,’ added Delancort.
‘You’re threatening us?’ snapped Crowne.
‘My aide is making clear the reality of the situation,’ Solomon replied.
‘I had no knowledge of any of this!’ insisted Wehmeyer, pressing the data slate into Crowne’s hands. ‘I mean . . . I read about that train crash . . . I even assigned a team to look into it, to make sure there nothing connected to our systems . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘I told Charles to run point on the investigation.’
The man crumbled before Marc’s eyes. He could imagine what was going through the CEO’s mind. One whiff of this to the media, even the slightest possibility of such a grave lapse, and Horizon Integral’s share price would be in freefall by time the financial markets closed. And that was before considering the potential for legal ramifications, corporate responsibility, and countless lawsuits from angry victims.
‘Hite. That arrogant piece of shit.’ Crowne read the text and put down the tablet. ‘He did this!’
‘Perhaps Charles Hite acted alone, exploiting his high-level access,’ said Solomon, offering up a lifeline. ‘It would be hard to prove.’
Wehmeyer’s hands gripped one other tightly. Marc felt sorry for the man. A moment ago, he had been the king of the castle. Now he was in danger of losing everything.
Visibly keeping his emotions in check, the CEO spoke. ‘Charles . . . He was difficult to manage, you know? A very gifted programmer, a genius in fact.’ He blinked, then stared blankly out of the window. ‘But an egotist with it. That was the trade-off. I wanted his skills, so we tolerated his bullshit. Then about two years ago, he started dropping hints about jumping ship. Setting up his own company, after all we’d invested in him!’ Wehmeyer shook his head. ‘I couldn’t let that happen! I have too many people to be responsible for!’
Crowne nodded in agreement. ‘We convinced Hite to remain with us. But he wanted concessions, and not just a bigger office and more money. I had to approve a higher security clearance and a greater degree of autonomy for his work.’
‘He played you,’ said Marc, seeing the shape of the man’s great lie in the wake of it. ‘Hite was marking time until he quit. He could sell off Sigma’s zero day exploits and when the time came, make it look like Horizon Integral were liable.’
‘That’s a stone-cold plan,’ offered Lucy. ‘If Hite wanted to go it alone, undermining his former employers, who happen to be big potential rivals, would get him off to a good start.’
‘I had Mr Dane infiltrate your server because I wanted to see who else may be vulnerable to these attacks,’ Solomon explained. ‘But also because I was sure it would flush out whoever inside your organisation was working with these terrorists. It appears we know now.’
‘We think Ghost5 killed Hite to silence him,’ said Marc. ‘And with the number of HIOS Sigma installs on that list I pulled from your database, there’s a lot of potential targets out there for them.’
‘Oh dear God,’ Wehmeyer put his head in his hands. ‘We rolled out the newest version of the software last month! It was smooth as glass . . . Your factories in Nigeria. Airport traffic control in Abu Dhabi. A steelworks in Pakistan. City management in Seoul, refineries in Bolivia and Peru, even a bloody children’s hospital up in Norway! And now you tell me, if some psycho decides to press a button . . .?’ He fell silent as the enormity of it struck home. ‘How did we let this happen?’ Wehmeyer shouted, but the accusation was aimed at himself.
Crowne scanned their faces, ending with Solomon. ‘You wouldn’t have brought this to
us unless you had a next move in mind. What is it?’ He stared daggers at them. ‘What do you want?’
‘We want to neutralise Ghost5,’ said Solomon. He reached out and drew back the data slate. ‘And you want this information to remain unseen.’
‘Charles Hite is our only hard lead on tracking down the hackers,’ Marc continued.
‘Bob,’ began Wehmeyer, shooting Crowne a defeated look. ‘Give Solomon’s team full access to Hite’s office and whatever they need.’ The other man started to protest, but his boss spoke over him. His moment of raw panic faded away and he was back in command again. ‘You work with them, and you keep this business under lock and fucking key, right? We don’t get out in front of this, dead or not, that conceited little bastard will end up taking us down with him!’
Crowne gave a tight nod and stood up, straightening his jacket. ‘Come with me,’ he said.
*
Lucy listened with half an ear as the security guy explained how Horizon Integral’s lawyers were stonewalling the local cops, picking up on the one significant point. There was a very small window of opportunity to search for connections between the programmer and his pals in Ghost5.
Crowne hovered over Marc’s shoulder as the Brit took a look at the dead man’s desktop computer, while Lucy surveyed the rest of the room. Hite had done well out of coercing Wehmeyer to keep him on the payroll, getting a nice corner workplace with a sweet view. She took in the décor and her lip curled in a sneer.
The whole place had been furnished in that asshole feng shui style enjoyed by male executives on a power trip. Everything in the room was designed to make the man who worked there look important and those who visited feel small. The desk was big and deliberately retro, fashioned out of part of an aircraft fuselage. The chair behind it looked like a high-tech mini-throne, while the seats on the visitor’s side of the room were minimalist, low to the floor and uncomfortable-looking. Hite had an ego wall behind his seat, the space crowded with framed diplomas showcasing his doctorates, sitting side by side with cheesy posed photos of him shaking hands with other toothsome white men of similar stripe. The only one she recognised was that bald guy who owned Amazon, and from that Lucy surmised the others were all similar tech-industry royalty.
Hite also seemed to have had a liking for aeronautical junk. One of the walls had a display of antique items, a few small replica aircraft cast out of chrome and a polished wooden propeller. She spotted an obvious dull spot where a framed picture, now lying discarded on the floor, had hidden a wall safe. Lucy used a pen to push open the safe door, which had been left unsecured. She tapped around inside, searching for any hidden compartments, and came up empty.
In her pocket, she had the tarnished brass key taken from the chain around Hite’s neck. It didn’t look like it fitted anything in here, and she decided to keep quiet about it for the moment.
Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out. Assim was calling on an encrypted line from the ops room on Solomon’s jet. ‘Go for Keyes,’ she said, pressing the handset to her ear.
‘I spoke to Delancort,’ said the tech. ‘He told me to pass this on to you. We received a call from our contact in the German Federal Police. Someone matching Kara Wei’s description was seen getting off a train at Berlin Hauptbahnhof thirty-six hours ago.’
‘Berlin . . .’ Lucy repeated, thinking about the first wave of digital attacks that had taken place in Germany.
Assim had made the same connection. ‘We believe that Ghost5 have a safe house in that city.’ He gave a resigned sigh. ‘Unfortunately, SCD don’t have any other operatives to spare, so we can’t send anybody to investigate. But if Kara went there . . .’
‘Then she’s working with them.’ Lucy ended the thought for him with brisk finality. ‘She probably always was.’
Assim’s silence spoke volumes. He had known Kara as well as any of them, and the technician was undoubtedly dwelling on the same cutting truth that burned in Lucy’s thoughts. We trusted her, and she tore that up.
‘Contact me if you get anything else.’ She ended the call and resumed her survey of Hite’s office.
‘Problem?’ said Marc, looking over the top of the monitor at her.
‘We got confirmation. Little red leather jacket has gone back to her friends, the big bad wolves.’
He understood the inference and looked away. Lucy knew that deep down, more than anyone, Marc had wanted to believe that Kara’s actions had some kind of reasoning behind them. An explanation that clarified her betrayal, even justified it.
If she had ever shared that hope, it faded, and in its place a flinty resolve hardened in Lucy’s chest. It didn’t matter if Kara Wei was out for herself, or acting on behalf of Ghost5. She had aligned against Rubicon, and that turned her into a threat. A target.
‘There’s no evidence here of any communications outside of proper company channels,’ said Crowne, as he glared at Hite’s computer.
‘No hidden partitions on the hard drive or anything like that,’ agreed Marc. ‘But let’s be realistic. Hite wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t have used his office system to send coded messages to a renegade hacktivist collective.’ He paused. ‘Some interesting logs from his search history of the company intranet, though. Hite was keeping a very close eye on the software patches being written for HIOS Sigma. That’s a job way below his pay grade.’
‘Looking to see if anyone found the zero day exploits he sold to Ghost5,’ said Lucy. ‘Couldn’t let that happen.’
‘Yeah,’ said Marc. ‘But wherever he did his initial dive into the core code, it wasn’t on this machine.’
Lucy studied an odd-looking model aircraft on a glass display stand. At first she thought it was a prop from a sci-fi movie, a sleek and angular shape like a wingless stealth fighter with matte black rotor blades at the four corners of the fuselage. ‘Is this a drone?’
Marc’s head snapped up. ‘What?’
Crowne gave an offhand nod. ‘Hite was into it as a hobby. Drone racing, if you can believe it.’ He made a wafting motion with his hand, briskly dismissing the idea. ‘He had a side business building custom models. It’s the new sporting trend for rich nerds, apparently.’
Lucy brought over the remote-control flyer and handed it to Marc. ‘Look familiar? Anything like the one you saw in Malta?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’
‘Hite made this himself?’ Lucy said to Crowne.
The man nodded. ‘There’s a workshop set up in his house. He’s got . . .’ Crowne halted and rephrased. ‘I mean, he had a big place in Vaucluse. It’s one of the more upmarket districts around Sydney. He lived out there like he thought he was in the Hollywood Hills.’
‘Show us,’ said Marc.
*
They met in the rooms that Fox had rented, above a noisy convenience store in a district that Sydney locals called ‘Koreatown’, but to Cat’s eyes it was an inauthentic simulation. It looked like a Westerner’s idea of the reality, a mocking and gaudy version that allowed them to both deride and indulge the foreign at the same time. She had no respect for these Australians. They were like the Americans and the Europeans; over-fed, over-privileged and full of thuggish swagger. And the exiles who lived here, they were worse. She thought even less of them.
Cat could not let that show, however. The team were hiding in plain sight, and it would only take one error for them to blow their cover.
In the centre of the narrow living room, Fox systematically dismantled and cleaned their guns. The near-silent OTs-38 pistols had been delivered that morning by a loyal patriot, along with a vehicle and a few days’ worth of food supplies. But they were not planning to stay long. Through the open door to the apartment’s small kitchen, she heard Dog finish his conversation with the woman whose face was always ghost-masked.
She stood as he entered the room, anticipation tingling in her feet. ‘What does she want us to do?’
Dog gave her a neutral look. ‘A man was killed last night,’ he e
xplained. ‘Madrigal had her people commit the act. We are to ensure there is no fallout.’
Fox clicked shut the chamber on one of the silenced revolvers. ‘We are soldiers, not janitors.’
‘We are whatever we are told to be,’ Dog replied evenly.
Cat licked her lips. ‘Why bring us all the way here if not to use us?’
Dog considered that question for a moment. ‘I think . . . the woman wanted to do it herself. Perhaps for the thrill.’
Fox snorted. ‘Self-indulgence is a path to self-destruction. She should leave the wet-work to us.’
‘There will be enough for us to do,’ Dog said firmly. ‘Make preparations. Madrigal has requested assistance in sanitising a location. She is sending one of her people to accompany us.’
‘We do not require an escort,’ grumbled Fox.
Dog gave him a nod of agreement. ‘Regrettably, we are required to indulge the American.’
‘How many more of her messes must we clean up?’ Cat let the complaint slip out. She felt fatigued and normally she wouldn’t have voiced it so easily. But it had been said, and now the words could not be called back.
‘Orders,’ said Dog. ‘Remember?’
Cat bowed her head. He had given her an out, and a chance to stop herself from speaking words she might regret, an utterance that might border on an actual criticism of their commanders. ‘I never forget,’ she insisted.
Fox, however, was less cautious. ‘Cat has a point,’ he noted. ‘We have done much for this woman.’
Dog nodded. ‘This is true. So be pleased. When we complete this assignment, we will move into the final phase.’
‘The target?’ Cat almost grinned with anticipation. ‘At last?’
‘This will be worth it in the end,’ Dog told them. ‘These small deeds and minor deaths. All of it lays the way toward a greater victory. We are going to be part of it.’
She allowed herself to smile. ‘Then we will do all we can to speed the course.’
‘Deploy at sunset,’ he told them. ‘A day from now, this will be behind us. And a new dawn will be breaking.’
Ghost: Page 22
