No Woman Left Behind: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Six

by Julie Moffett

  “Our interaction was virtual.”

  “Doesn’t matter that it was virtual. You saw him, conversed with him. You know him in a way that none of us in the room do.”

  I called to memory Broodryk’s face. He presented as albino with translucent skin and blue eyes so light and cold they were almost colorless. I’d nicknamed him Ice Eyes.

  “I already provided extensive details on him during my previous debriefing with the FBI.” I glanced at the agent I’d spoken with in the hospital after Broodryk’s rampage on the high school. He nodded.

  Woodward pulled a file from the stack of papers in front of him. “Everyone in this room has reviewed the details of that debrief. What we need now is your take on this latest event. We’ve already come up with some interesting theories, so we want your thoughts on them, too. Are you ready to view the video in its entirety?”

  I wasn’t, but I had to see it. “Yes. But first I want to know why you’re so interested in this case. Kidnappings happen every day. Granted, some are more high profile than others. However, it looks like we’ve got representatives of the CIA, NSA, US military and FBI in this room. Even though he’s now in the private sector, everyone here is still that invested in saving Elvis Zimmerman?”

  Woodward folded his hands on the table. “He and his brother have built many of our most sensitive computer networks. Although neither of them has been with the government for about two years now, they still have a lot of important information stored in their heads. So, yes, we want to rescue the hostage—” he paused and corrected himself “—Elvis. It’s important for us to secure his safety. But I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Our paramount concern remains catching Johannes Broodryk.”

  “Because of his attack on the high school?”

  “Not only.” He exchanged a glance with a guy who sat three seats down and was dressed in a navy blue suit and red tie. “Broodryk has masterminded more than two-dozen high profile cyberattacks against our government and those of our allies. He is a murderer, drug trafficker, human trafficker and notorious cyber criminal. He’s eluded a team of our best minds for more than six years. No one has ever been able to trace him, find him, or even encounter him directly, except for you. Then, not only did you come face-to-face with him, you shut him down. Pretty much single-handedly.”

  I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t single-handedly. Elvis was there and Slash, too.”

  Woodward nodded. “I know. But right now his focus is you. The fact that we were able to shut down a huge operation like the one masterminded by Broodryk at the high school is big for us. But we shouldn’t forget that he made that a two-pronged attack—cyber and physical. He has the capability to do that again.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay, what you don’t know is our intelligence has been intercepting a lot of chatter over the past two weeks. Something big is ready to go down and all indications are that it’s cyber. We think Broodryk is involved. He’s smart and savvy and hires himself out to the highest bidder. You put a stop to his last operation, so he wants to salvage his reputation and his ego. We believe this cyber operation has been in the works for some time, but Broodryk may be deviating from the plan in order to involve you and make this a worldwide show for his clients.”

  “Cut to the chase, please. You want me to act as some kind of bait so you can catch Broodryk, right?”

  Woodward narrowed his eyes. “We didn’t involve you. Broodryk did. But you are exactly what we need to get inside the operation and trace it back to him. If we can find him and shut him down, we’ve done the entire world an enormous service.”

  I didn’t disagree, but there was something else they weren’t telling me. I shook my head. “I’m missing a critical piece here. I can’t help you if I’m in the dark. I need to know more about this cyber event you think Broodryk is plotting.”

  The room remained silent.

  Slash leaned forward. “I suggest you read her in. Don’t be stupid. She’ll understand, and she’s the best lead you’ve got.”

  Woodward and the guy in the navy blue suit exchanged glances again. The guy stared at me for a long moment, as if assessing my intelligence and worth, and then gave a slight nod of his head.

  Woodward sighed. “Fine. It’s a computer virus called Pruxrat. Slash has been working on a potential antidote for some time. It specifically attacks the programmable logic controllers, or PLCs. You know what those are, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. Sorry. Anyway, from what we can tell, Pruxrat is being designed as a platform for attacking the SCDA and PLC systems. It’s unusual because, instead of having a typical triangular module, this one is quadrangular. Its four parts are a worm that will infect the system; a link file that will replicate the worm; a rootkit that will hide evidence of its existence on the system; and a new, innovative network probe that can penetrate weak or unguarded routes into new systems.”

  I digested that for a minute. “What else do we know?”

  “Nothing much, except it’s supposed to be released soon. Intelligence believes the first level of attack will be two-pronged, focusing on the dual assets of the US transportation system and our power grids, especially those serving military installations and dams.”

  Critical infrastructure. Any of which, if successfully penetrated, could lead to widespread disaster and confusion throughout the US on an unprecedented level.

  I glanced at Slash. “It’s not like we haven’t been preparing for something like this for some time. We’re lucky we have Slash, one of the best cyber minds on our side.”

  Slash acknowledged the compliment with a brief nod of his head, but I saw a smile touch his lips.

  “This virus is different.” Slash looked around the table. “Most viruses get their start as a hard attack. That means the first insertion of the virus has to be manual, put directly into a system by a USB port, or a flash drive.” He turned back to me. “Pruxrat is a network penetration virus, which is far more dangerous, as well as much harder to prevent and contain. It will start off targeting whatever Broodryk wants, but it can spread unchecked to other systems as well.”

  I felt a chill. Cyber warfare, the new frontier. Most viruses and malware were specific to a system with a designated target. Pruxrat sounded more like a poison; it would bring down anything it touched. A virus of this magnitude would affect a lot more than just the United States. We were talking billions of people.

  “Broodryk is the only one with the antidote,” I said.

  “Presumably, yes.”

  I considered the implication and then wondered how Elvis’s extraction played into it. I turned to Woodward.

  “So, you want me to play Broodryk’s game and lead you to him. That’s your priority. My priority is Elvis. How do you intend to reconcile those two goals?”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive. We’ll try to get him out safely and we’re willing to invest the full power of the US government to do it.”

  A cold calm had fallen upon me. A brief analysis of all the data up to this point indicated the situation was polarizing into two camps with different priorities. The problem was, we needed each other. Also, I couldn’t ignore the fact that I had a moral, professional and patriotic responsibility to protect my country from a computer virus that could destroy millions of lives and put our national security at risk.

  How would I balance that?

  I hadn’t started this war, but I was about to become the central player—the first to take a step into an ugly new battlefield. It wasn’t a choice after all. I would do what they told me because I would go into the depths of hell to save Elvis.

  I lifted my chin and met Woodward’s gaze full on. “Show me the video.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Someone turned off the lights. The video started playing on the SMART board set up in the
corner.

  Slash held my hand and I clutched his hard when that first image of Elvis strapped to the chair appeared. I needed to put my photographic memory into play and burn every movement, every pixel, into my brain. If there was a clue in this video, I’d find it.

  Broodryk spoke and I flinched. He’d made no attempt to disguise or digitally alter his voice. Slash had been right. Broodryk wanted me to be sure it was him.

  “Well, hello there. We meet again, Lexi Carmichael. Surprised? You couldn’t possibly think that our relationship would come to an end just because you put a temporary crimp in my plan. Oh, no. I couldn’t have that. I’m beyond confident that soon we’ll be good friends. Maybe more.”

  Elvis wiggled, trying to free himself from the chair. A lock of his brown hair fell across his forehead, just like it always did. Only, this time he couldn’t push it out of his face. My eyes filled with tears.

  Focus.

  I have to focus.

  Broodryk was still talking, his voice cold, deliberate. “If you want him to stay alive, you will do exactly as I say. I do not care who helps you. You may involve the whole fokken US Army if you want. But you must come to me or your friend will die a very painful death. I assure you, I will take exceptional pleasure in doing it myself.”

  My hands were shaking uncontrollably, a sure sign of my anxiety, but I never stopped scanning the video.

  Elvis sat in a non-descript room with white walls. No furniture except for his plain wooden chair. A painting or picture of some kind hung on the wall to the right-hand side of the video, but it was mostly obscured. The flooring was light-colored wood. That was it in terms of visual cues. The digital forensic team would have little to go on.

  “There will be some who tell you not to engage,” Broodryk continued. “I would suggest not taking their advice. I do believe that you, of all people, will best understand what I can do to you, your family, your place of business and your friends. I’ve plenty of time—my time is entirely my own. Rest assured, I will make it my mission to destroy you if you do not come. No one you care about is safe from me.”

  A whip came out of nowhere, lashing Elvis across the cheek. I jerked, biting the inside of my cheek and tasting blood. Slash squeezed my hand so hard I winced.

  “You do what I say and we will deal. I’ll let him go, no questions asked. I am a man of my word. So, are you ready to play, my dear? Will you come to me like a lover in the night? We will be good together, yes?”

  I ignored the taunt and kept my focus on Elvis. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt spattered with blood. His feet were bare and looked dirty or bruised. His arms were tied behind his back and presumably to the chair. I swallowed hard and made myself examine his face. A blue cloth gag had been secured around his mouth and chin. His left eye had swollen shut. I couldn’t tell how badly hurt the rest of his face was because it was mostly smeared with blood. But he held his head up and the expression in his one good eye spoke murder. The tears I’d been holding back threatened to fall. I blinked harder.

  “You have until Friday at noon EST, to make contact after receiving your instructions from me. This video is your first clue. If you fail to find the method of contacting me, I’ll kill him and move on to the next victim until you get it right. I wonder who shall it be next time? A friend, a parent? Your new lover? No one you care about is safe from me. I sincerely wish you luck as I look forward to matching wits with you once again.”

  There was a pause and then a man dressed in black pants, a dark long-sleeved shirt and black ski mask walked into the video, his back to the camera. He approached Elvis and yanked the gag out of his mouth.

  “Say it,” he instructed Elvis.

  Elvis opened and closed his mouth for a moment. Then he spat on Broodryk’s shoe, glaring at him. “Jou bliskem! Don’t do it, Lexi.”

  Broodryk’s fist hit Elvis’s jaw so hard, it knocked the chair over with Elvis still tied to it. As I watched in horror, Broodryk strode across the floor and kicked Elvis several more times while he was down.

  I pushed my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming. I had never felt such hatred for anyone in my life. I wanted to rip Broodryk’s face to shreds with my fingernails. I wanted to shoot him a dozen times in the head. I wanted to drop to the floor and curl into a ball and erase these images from my mind forever.

  I could do none of them.

  “Let that be a warning to you, Lexi Carmichael,” Broodryk said, breathing hard. He turned to face the camera, his ski mask still in place. “Don’t be late, or else.”

  Mercifully, the screen went blank. Someone turned on the light. I blinked, then swiped at my wet cheeks with the back of my free hand. Despite my intention to remain stoic, it hadn’t happened. Slash gently squeezed my hand.

  I took a moment to compose myself before I spoke. “What did Elvis say at the end? It sounded like a foreign language. I couldn’t hear it clearly.”

  One of the men with glasses, a white shirt and green tie, spoke up. “He said ‘You bastard’ in Afrikaans. Earlier Broodryk says fokken, which, pardon the expression, means fucking in Afrikaans.”

  Leave it to Elvis to be in a dire situation and yet have enough brains to curse the bastard in his own language.

  I waited until my heartbeat slowed, then tried to think past my fear for my family, Elvis and Slash.

  Focus, Carmichael.

  The room was silent. Everyone was waiting for me to say something, do something.

  I withdrew my hand from Slash’s and took a piece of paper and a pen from Woodward.

  “According to my calculations, we only have about forty-eight hours left to find the clue. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? We’ve wasted time.”

  “We wasted nothing,” Woodward said dismissively. “You were in shock. You needed time to process and recover. We haven’t been idle and have had the best minds on this while you recovered. We wanted you in top form and now you are. In fact, I think you’re going to be surprised at what we’ve already found.”

  In other words, he wanted to show all the important people in this room that he and his team could solve this part without me—a reminder of who was in charge. I wasn’t a fan of his smug attitude, but I wasn’t going to waste time arguing.

  “Fine. What do we know so far?”

  Woodward waved at the guy in the green tie. “Mark, you go first.”

  The guy shuffled through some papers and looked up at me. “Hey, ah, my name is Mark Cohen and I’m an analyst on the CIA’s International Digital Forensics Team. My team and I have gone over the video with a fine-tooth comb and gathered the following data so far. First, the video is four minutes and thirty-two seconds in length. A digital analysis of the voice confirms the speaker is of South African descent, highly educated, and speaks with a dialect typical of the city of Cape Town. That would match the biographical information we have on Johannes Broodryk in terms of his background. The other individual in the video is Elvis Zimmerman, currently employed at ComQuest in Baltimore, and a former employee at the NSA. Just a note, his position and vast knowledge of the inner workings of the government’s sensitive networks at the highest levels presents a significant threat of its own, even if he hasn’t been employed at the agency for a couple of years.”

  Mark shot a nervous glance at Woodward, who frowned at him. Although I’m not much on reading emotions, I sensed there had been a disagreement as to the importance of rescuing Elvis. Mark was a computer guy and he understood the importance and value of Elvis’s knowledge and experience as only a tech head could.

  Mark gulped some of his coffee and continued. “Those are the only two individuals in the video. The other interesting clue is a corner of a painting hanging on the right-hand wall. Although there is only one small part of the painting visible, a statistical analysis indicated there’s an 89.6 percent chance that it’s a replica of an
oil painting by German artist, Hans Holbein.”

  “Hans Holbein?” I ran though the names of famous painters in my head but came up blank. “Never heard of him.”

  “Holbein, who lived from 1497 to 1543, titled the painting The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb,” Mark continued. “Here’s what it looks like in its entirety.”

  Mark motioned to the guy at the laptop across from him and the painting appeared on the SMART board. Someone standing near the light flicked it off so we could have a clearer view.

  I studied the painting. It depicted a side view of Jesus Christ clad in a loincloth, lying in what looked like an enclosed coffin. Wounds were evident on his hands and feet. His face and extremities showed early signs of discoloration and decay, but the rest of the body looked intact.

  “Before the Resurrection,” Slash murmured.

  We all stared at it for another minute and then the light flicked back on.

  “We will continue to collect data on the painting and the artist,” Mark said. “We are also analyzing the remaining visual clues, the chair, ropes, the clothing of both men and every piece of data that becomes visible at one point or the other in the video.”

  I made a few notes and then looked up. “What about the audio? Did you use digital signal processing, adaptive filtering and discrete Fourier transforms to isolate and separate sounds?”

  Mark looked surprised by my cyber forensics knowledge. “Ah, yes, we did. We’re still gathering data, but we haven’t found anything significant on that front yet. But I’m not sure further analysis will be necessary.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we think we already know where Broodryk is located.”

  “What?”

  “Here.” Slash pushed a piece of paper at me. “Broodryk took the video with his cell phone and a tripod. He left the GPS on. We’ve tracked his location.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding. Broodryk left the GPS on his cell on?”