Dark Control (DARC Ops Book 4)

by Jamie Garrett

  “Sir? Have you been . . . unhappy with my work?”

  He sighed hard. “Come on, Laurel. Don’t make a big stink about this, okay?”

  “I’m just wondering if, uh . . .”

  “Go ahead. Open up the H&L account.”

  He’d already logged her on. She moved the mouse and clicked open a work folder.

  “Sir? This doesn’t have anything to do with . . . the new contract, right?”

  “AIDA?” he said. “What about it?”

  “About, you know, my promotion . . .”

  “No.”

  “Does Mr. Andre know?”

  He sighed again. “Does he know what?”

  “About Abe Hudson?”

  “I told you. No.”

  Laurel showed the latest work, login stats, and file-transfer history for anything that had to do with H&L Houston. At least to her, there was nothing fishy about it.

  15

  Matthias

  Matthias felt an almost crushing sensation the minute he walked from the fresh, open air and into the cramped, equipment-stuffed narrow corridors of Sentry Systems.

  So much for the vacation.

  Although there had been promises of an easy assignment, he knew better than to believe it. He knew it was best to expect the worst.

  He’d been in contact with Jackson yesterday, the DARC Op’s leader’s voice buzzing in his ear about the latest case as he took a long ride. May as well enjoy the bike while he could. It was like listening to an audiobook, Jackson telling the story about the Atlanta-based cybersecurity company named Sentry Systems. Currently, they had two major clients. The Atlanta Investment and Development Agency, who wanted a more robust encryption for their communications server, and H&L Houston, a defense outfitter for the FBI. H&L Houston had been working on a means for the FBI to track the vehicles of their agents on the road as a security precaution. And they needed Sentry’s solutions to keep that means out of the hands of hackers, criminals, and terrorists.

  And now, Sentry needed DARC Ops.

  He’d have to dig up that old professionalism he’d use for dealing with clients, the personality that was part salesman, part detective. They couldn’t know about his occasional shaky hands, his jumpiness at an old backfiring car. He’d have to be that cool and collected cyber-tactician. A counter-intelligence expert. And a badass biker.

  The last mandate had seemed the easiest when he pulled through the gate and into the Sentry Systems parking lot. The gurgling roar of his Harley echoed against the cinderblock wall of a building that looked more like a munitions bunker than a boutique tech firm. Wrapped around it, outside the gate, was a row of barbed-wire fencing. No armed-guard towers, but security cameras. One every twenty feet around the top of the building, creating an atmosphere similar to the DARC Ops headquarters. Only it wasn’t part of a fancy skyscraper nestled deep in the heart of the nation’s capitol, but a three-story bunker stretched out amidst the bleak light-industrial countryside near the airport. A place so isolated it could have been a prison.

  Inside, past another security guard’s inspection, Matthias was shown directly inside the CEO’s top-floor office. There, he met the big man himself, Mr. Geffen, a 6’4” musclehead who looked more the part of a football player—or even former marine—than he did tech consultant.

  “Nice ride,” he said. “I heard you coming a half mile away, and through these walls, that says a lot.”

  “Try riding it,” Matthias said, wincing as he rubbed his ear.

  “Yeah, right, I’d love to. That’s a Night Rod, right?”

  Matthias nodded. Night Rod sounded fittingly badass.

  “I thought so,” Mr. Geffen said. “I had to check the window when you pulled in.” He patted at his pant pockets for something. “Anyway, take a seat here and I’ll give you the short of it. I know you’re a busy guy.”

  “Well, I rode all the way from D.C. So, I’ve got time to hear the whole thing.” Matthias took a seat in one of the plush leather armchairs facing Geffen’s desk.

  “There’s really not much to it,” said Geffen. “H&L Houston delivered a product to the FBI that we helped them on. The FBI found some cracks in it, avenues that could potentially be exploited by hackers or terrorists, or both. And with H&L denying that it was any of their fault, the finger quite naturally gets pointed back to us.”

  “Naturally.”

  “The real problem is that H&L wants to prove that it was us. And they’ll probably do anything in their power to make it look that way.” He started walking back around his table, to his chair. “And the problem with that . . .” he raised his hands, making a big exasperated shrug.

  Matthias finished Geffen’s thought for him, saying, “The problem is that H&L is twice the size as you guys, and with three times the resources.”

  “Yeah.” But Geffen didn’t seem impressed, his face almost forming a frown. “I see you were already briefed.”

  “Correct. So we can actually cut right down to it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you trust your employees?”

  He laughed, sitting in his chair. “I do.”

  “You trust them one hundred percent?”

  He laughed again, this time his face looking a little more uncomfortable.

  “That laugh,” said Matthias. “That’s not the sound of one hundred percent. Maybe more like , , , eighty, eighty-five.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  Mr. Geffen’s eyes checked over Matthias’ shoulders, and then back down to his hands, folded and wringing on top of his desk. Suddenly, that bravado had disappeared. The false front, stripped away. In its place was the look of a sad, worried little big man.

  “Where are you from, originally?” Matthias asked.

  “Why? The northern accent?”

  “Minnesota?”

  He laughed. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “Great Lakes?”

  “Michigan. You?”

  “Cincy.”

  “Ah,” said Geffen. “Guys like us kinda stick out down here.”

  “Yankees.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So tell me about this tracking system,” Matthias said.

  “The Feds wanted a way to keep track of their personnel vehicles. But they wanted to make sure that they were the only ones with that capability.”

  “H&L couldn’t guarantee that?”

  “No. But we can. Theoretically, a hacker would be able to monitor, and perhaps even take control of the car’s systems through some open backdoor stuff on the H&L side. The Feds wanted a stronger encryption, and for that, they’d turned to Sentry Systems.”

  “So H&L does the hardware.”

  “That’s right,” said Geffen. “And Sentry handles the firmware. We were pretty excited about the partnership at first.”

  “Is this your biggest contract?”

  “No. That would be AIDA. Atlanta Investment and—”

  “Development Agency.”

  “Nice homework.” Geffen cleared his throat. “You seem to know a lot about us. Care to let me know who the leak is?”

  “Leak?” asked Matthias.

  Geffen nodded.

  “Well, probably someone in your twenty-five percentile.”

  “Right.”

  “You really think it’s someone on your end?”

  “I actually don’t,” said Mr. Geffen. “To be honest, a big reason why you’re here is just for legal reasons.”

  “Legal?”

  “Just to show due diligence on our part. To cover our asses, with all due respect.”

  Matthias began to wonder if Jackson had indeed been accurate about his assessment of the mission. It was unusual. He’d never been requested for such a legal triviality. And unusual, also, because it seemed so easy.

  “So how hard do you actually want me to look?” Matthias asked.

  “Um . . .” Geffen laughed. “I’m not gonna tell you to half-ass
this. But hey, don’t break your neck over it.”

  Good. Matthias definitely wasn’t planning on that. He’d already broken enough.

  “If there’s an obvious leak,” said Geffen. “A conspirator, a mole, whatever, then of course we’d like to know about it. But I really don’t think there is. I trust my staff.”

  “You mentioned before about, some names? Some employees you might have questions about?”

  “Did I?” He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, and then smiled. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Almost got you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Matthias chuckled. “Okay, maybe not. But could you tell me now?”

  Mr. Geffen sighed. “I suppose there might be one person that you could pay closer attention to.”

  16

  Laurel

  Despite her wishes—and her need for home, a shower, and a bottle of Pinot—Laurel decided to stay at the office and play catch-up. There was just too much bullshit lumped on top of the heap. She could tread water for a while, keep up the appearance of productivity while at least staying afloat. But with her taking on Caitlyn’s slack, the stalled AIDA hack, the icy cold beginnings of that deathly, sinking feeling were starting in her gut.

  In the limo with Mr. Andre, she had doubled down to keep her position. She had to. She wasn’t prepared to lose it the very next day after finally meeting and thanking Abe Hudson. The man had owed her father a favor. And now she felt indebted to both of them.

  Get to work, Kiddo.

  She got to work immediately, attacking the vulnerabilities of the AIDA server’s existing encryption. There was no need to work with Caitlyn, or even consult with her. Laurel had read over her files. And what she’d discovered had knocked away what meager appetite was creeping back since the morning’s shit-show presentation. She almost felt glad about it, about the otherwise horrible discussion with Mr. Andre. At least it forced her to see just how incompetent Caitlyn was, and how much of a mistake it was to put her at the helm of such a major task.

  Laurel wondered just what the hell the biker chick was good for, aside from entertainment value at Sentry work functions where alcohol was involved. She might have been good for some other things for Mr. Andre and Mr. Geffen . . .

  Laurel tried not to think about those other things, and instead focused on disrupting a server.

  She also had to stop thinking how behind she was in other facets of the project.

  Goddammit . . .

  She had to close everything off and just concentrate.

  But she needed to delegate better. Fuck . . . Caitlyn had been a mistake. A big mistake. Her first major blunder as Assistant Project Manager. There might be more mistakes to come, the inevitable ones, but she’d have to go a while now without any. She needed a few days of smooth sailing . . . No, she needed better than that. What Laurel needed was a high-speed racing boat to take her, at full throttle, all the way from the doghouse to the employee of the year board. And maybe then she could have that glass of Pinot.

  In the meantime, she had some personnel decisions to make. She would need to shuffle around her resources. Especially Caitlyn.

  Who could take over the TLS?

  Fuck . . .

  No.

  Stop.

  Focus.

  Laurel needed to make at least some progress today. Just to get even the smallest achievement, the slightest headway.

  She got started by putting aside Caitlyn’s work and starting from scratch, designing the beginnings of a basic hack. As she worked, Laurel felt a calm wash over her. She felt herself locking into the zone.

  Until Mr. Geffen knocked on the door.

  “Hey, Laurel, can we come in for a sec?”

  The momentum, when she had it, was a physical sensation. Like the pulse of music turning a wheel inside her brain.

  “Yeah, come in.”

  But any interrupting to the wheel’s momentum, especially a knock on the door from Mr. Geffen, felt like a broom handle was shoved into its spokes. She couldn’t let things grind to a halt. She continued working, pressing on with her latest task while her boss entered the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

  “Not at all.” She was still working, her eyes glued to the screen as her fingers worked the keys.

  “I just wanted to introduce you to someone, a new addition to your team.”

  Thank God. She’d finally get some help.

  “This here, is Matthias.”

  Matthias? Hm . . .

  “He’s a Yankee like myself,” Mr. Geffen said. “Came all the way down yesterday just to help us out.”

  He . . . A new face, and hopefully a handsome one. But would he be capable at all? Or would it be just another babysitting job?

  “Laurel?”

  She had way too much work to do, on top of teaching the ropes to some newbie . . .

  “Can you say hi?”

  “Sorry,” Laurel said, clicking out of her work window and then swiveling her chair around to take a look at the fresh meat.

  “He’s here to help out with the AIDA hack.”

  She lifted her head.

  What the fuck?!

  Laurel’s double-take almost sent her flying out of her chair.

  It was him. Not Matthias, but Matt. Her Matt. And here he was, his hard physique stuffed into a tight-fitting dress shirt and pants, his flustered smile in a well-lit room instead of the darkness of a bar, or of her bedroom. She could see the color on his face, the embarrassment. And she could see him looking away, to anywhere but her, his mouth hung open like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “Hi . . .” Laurel wanted to turn around and keep working, fingers and mind just working away as if nothing had happened. As if the guy that just fucked her last night was not standing in her office with her boss. As if he hadn’t just become “part of her team.”

  “So?” Mr. Geffen said. “What do you think? Can you use him?”

  Laurel’s hands had automatically returned to her keyboard, just lying there doing nothing. She peeled them away and leaned back into her chair. “Can I . . . use him?”

  She had used him before. Oh, God, did she ever use him . . .

  “Yeah,” Geffen said. “We thought you might need some extra muscle.”

  She certainly could, but maybe anywhere else than her office. And as far as “muscle” . . . Maybe a different type of muscle would be more helpful right now. His brain, if he even had one strong enough to not only resist his instincts but to actually help hack into the servers of a major corporation.

  Hacking. Coding. Boredom. Office work . . . Would either of them even know what that was once they were alone again together?

  Matt—or, Matthias—was looking back at her now, a nervous smile creeping over his face.

  “He’s from D.C.,” said Mr. Geffen, patting Matt’s shoulder. “Where he’s done hack jobs for fortune 500s.”

  It was hard to believe. She had never seen a hacker look like Matt. Underwear model, yes. But someone who sat in front of a computer all day? Where did he find the time, between pull-ups and bench pressing three hundred pounds, to actually get any work done? The equation was the opposite for Laurel, and had resulted in gym membership cards getting lost under computer keyboards and code manuals. Which, in turn, resulted in a steadily widening roll around her tummy since taking on her new leadership role. Nights spent stress-eating pints of ice cream were beginning to take their toll.

  “Well, yeah,” she said, finally rising out of the shock and mustering up a smile. “I reckon I can use you.”

  Matt smiled back. He hadn’t said anything yet, and more than ever he looked like that quiet, shy, lumbering type of guy. Much different than last night. He was still a hunk. But a hacker, though . . .

  “What kind of work do you do?” she asked him. “Do you specialize in anything, aside from the gym?”

  She felt her defense mechanism kicking in, the wall of crude jokes holding the world at bay and
making everything manageable.

  “Uh, well, you know . . .” He seemed tongue-tied. “I’m just an all-around, general-purpose type of guy.”

  “General purpose, huh?”

  “Whatever you need,” he said, smiling.

  “Well, alright,” said Mr. Geffen. “I’ll set him up in Todd’s old cubicle. Can you come check on him later with a rundown of what you need?”

  Laurel agreed, watching with pleasure as the two men left her office. Pleasure in the fact that Mr. Geffen was leaving. And because Matt had followed behind, turning around and walking out with that hot ass of his.

  Although for the immediate future, Matt seemed like more work. And more time away from hacking into AIDA. She imagined some awkward small talk, an introduction to Sentry. And maybe a tour and a summary of her work on AIDA. And absolutely no talk of last night. With all that combined, she’d be looking at two hours gone, minimum—and with nothing at all to show for it but this hulking slab of man she wasn’t even sure could use Google.

  He could dance, yes. He could flirt, and he could annihilate ex-boyfriends in parking lots. And he could annihilate her in bed. But could he actually be helpful for anything Sentry-related, aside from stress relief?

  There was also, of course, the creeping paranoia. Thoughts that she knew were crazy—but still very slightly possible, that this new guy was an intended distraction set up by Mr. Geffen, a wrench thrown in to sabotage her efforts and to finally give justification for her firing.

  A distraction at best, a spy at worst.

  Matt was certainly a distraction, physically. And Laurel didn’t mind that one as much. Maybe she could make room for a little distraction. It might help with her anxiety. He certainly had the tools for that.

  The more she thought of his extracurricular skills, the further she slid away from hacking into AIDA’s servers. She could feel herself losing ground, her concentration slipping away by the minute.

  She tried to refocus, tying to push Mr. Geffen’s hired hunk out of her mind. In his place came rushing in an ice-cold panic, thoughts of how far off-track she had become. How delayed the hack was.