Skystorm (Ryan Decker)

by Steven Konkoly

  The man’s handheld radio squawked. “Ron. Did you find anything? The guys are getting a little nervous down here.”

  “What are they nervous about?” asked Decker.

  “We have a very high-priority upload that needs to go out immediately,” said Ron. “It’s like a DEFCON One situation.”

  “All right. Listen to me, Ron,” said Decker. “Be very careful what you say. The best thing you can do for yourself and your friends right now is to get everyone up here to take a look at the satellite array. We will not kill any of you unless it becomes necessary. Let’s keep it from becoming necessary. Understood?”

  He nodded, and Decker put the radio up to his right wrist. “You can take the radio.”

  Ron very slowly took the radio.

  “Mark. You are absolutely not going to believe this,” said Ron. “The array is gone.”

  “What? What do you mean ‘gone’? Destroyed?” said the voice over the radio.

  “No. I mean it’s no longer here,” said Ron, shrugging. “It’s like it was never here.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Mark, voices in the background expressing similar sentiments.

  “Just get everyone up here now. Security, too. This is really freaking me out,” said Ron. “I feel like we’ve been punked. When was the last time you actually laid eyes on the array?”

  “I don’t know. Why would I—hold on, we’re coming up!”

  Decker took the radio back. “That was impressive. Let’s head around the corner where they won’t see us.”

  He nodded at Pierce while moving Ron out of sight. Pierce crouched and pressed himself as flat against the wall as possible. When they rounded the corner, Decker instructed Ron to sit down against the wall in more or less the same spot he and Pierce had occupied minutes earlier.

  “Ron? Look at me.”

  The man hesitated but finally looked up at him.

  “I’m not going to kill you or your coworkers,” said Decker, before nodding at the array over his shoulder. “This business has nothing to do with any of you.”

  Ron swallowed hard and nodded, not looking a bit relieved.

  Yelling erupted from the side of the building, Pierce ordering everyone onto their knees. Decker sidestepped to the right, keeping his pistol aimed at Ron, until Pierce and four men with their hands on their heads came into view. The two security guards definitely looked like Call of Duty types. Serious assault-style rifles and magazine pouch–laden ballistic plate carriers.

  “It definitely worked,” said Decker.

  He was about to coordinate disarming the guards with Pierce when one of the security guards whirled and put the closest technician in a headlock to create a human shield. Pierce didn’t skip a beat, shooting the other guard in the head before he could do the same. Decker instantly shifted his aim toward the struggle between the technician and guard. He applied pressure to the trigger and sighted in on the guard’s face, waiting for a clear shot.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The guard eased his grip on the man in an attempt to grab the rifle hanging at his side, which allowed the hostage to break free. Decker fired three times, snapping the security officer’s head back and dropping him to the rooftop. He glanced back at Ron, who hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Your friends are still alive,” said Decker.

  After reuniting the two technicians with Ron, Decker set his rucksack down and removed a five-pound block of C-4, prompting one of the techs to mutter an obscenity and Ron to start praying.

  “Good. Some of you recognize this,” said Decker. “I only have eight of these—”

  Another round of prayers and cursing.

  “And I really need to destroy the server farm below us. So, if you have any suggestions, I’m all ears,” said Decker. “Given the fact that your own security tried to use one of you as a human shield, I can’t imagine you’re feeling much loyalty to the company running this place right about now. But if you are, we can just tie you to the satellite dishes and figure this out for ourselves. Maybe the building comes down, taking you with it. Maybe it doesn’t.”

  “What happens to us if we help?” said Ron.

  “Worst-case scenario. You walk five miles in this miserable heat to reach the security station,” said Decker. “But I have a feeling you won’t have to walk very far. They’ll be over here pretty quick once the fireworks start.”

  “The server racks are fragile,” said Ron. “Eight of those should do the trick.”

  “Without a doubt,” said the guy who had been taken hostage. “Might even be overkill.”

  “The word overkill is not in our vocabulary,” said Decker.

  About a half hour later, in the low hills west of the isolated data center, Decker and Pierce sat side by side in the cargo compartment of the IT team’s SUV, legs hanging over the rear bumper. The liftgate shaded them from the sun while they waited for the stark-white building to explode. A quarter of a mile south of the building, the three IT guys walked briskly down the road leading toward the support station.

  “Ten seconds,” said Pierce.

  They counted the remaining seconds out loud until the structure rippled from one end to the other—in a rapid series of ground-shuddering internal explosions—remaining almost entirely intact.

  “Huh,” said Decker, hopping down onto the ground. “That was a bit of a letdown.”

  Pierce jumped down and slapped him on the shoulder. “The servers are in a million pieces right now. That’s all that matters. We got to twist the knife in APEX’s back. That’s pretty satisfying.”

  “I know. It just feels a little anticlimactic for my last op,” said Decker.

  “Last op?” asked Pierce. “You retiring and forgot to tell me?”

  “I’m not sure what to call it yet,” said Decker. “But it’s definitely going to look different than this.”

  He truly had no idea how this new life might look day to day, but it was time for a change. The current trajectory wasn’t sustainable. Realistically, it never had been. The loss of his wife and son, followed by the mayhem of the past two years, had painfully proved that now-indisputable fact. It was time to walk away from the adrenaline-fueled life he had always known and start a new one.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Senator Steele’s picnic boat lay at anchor in a shady creek just north of the Upper Chester River Sanctuary. One of a thousand tucked-away anchorages dotting the rivers feeding the Chesapeake Bay. They’d pulled into the quiet haven an hour before kicking off the drone attack, to better coordinate all of the operation’s moving parts. Once Rich’s team crippled APEX’s security annex, there had been little to do beyond waiting and enjoying the occasional cool breeze off the bay. Steele had been staring on and off at the satellite phone in front of her for the better part of the last hour.

  “Decker should have called by now,” she said, instantly losing the well-played patience game Rich and his team appeared to have mastered.

  “Give it some time,” said Rich, looking somewhat relaxed for the first time since she’d hired him. “The data off-loading theory is a long shot based on something Tim had heard about a Wall Street trading firm a few years ago. They very unsuccessfully tried to make a copy of their database server network and replace it with a clean version for the SEC investigators looking into reports of fraudulent activity. They ended up scrubbing everything permanently, creating a bigger problem than they had in the first place.”

  Logically, she understood the odds against Tim’s theory, but discovering the Nevada site had significantly boosted her hope that they might actually topple APEX. Karl Berg had very generously delivered the data center tip, presumably after expending another closely held favor on their behalf. Berg certainly didn’t owe her any favors. The first call to his NSA contact had been more than she’d expected from him. She sensed a deeper link between Berg and Rich than either of them had initially divulged.

  “I know. I’d just hate to come this far and not deliver the coup
de grâce,” said Steele.

  “Destroying a multimillion-dollar data facility is a nice kick in the side while they’re down,” said Rich.

  “Kick in the head if they lose some archived data,” said Jared.

  “More like a kick in the—” started Caz.

  “Yeah. We get it,” said Klink.

  “I guess that’ll have to do,” said Steele. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall inside APEX right now.”

  “Next time we’ll have to fly one of those microdrones into the building before we start the real show,” said Klink. “And give you that fly-on-the-wall experience.”

  “Do those exist?” asked Steele.

  “Not like you see in the movies—or in Klink’s imagination, apparently,” said Rich. “The smallest camera-and-microphone-equipped drone we’ve experimented with can fit in the palm of your hand, but it has serious battery power limitations. Five minutes in the air, which is significantly reduced when moving. No more than fifty yards.”

  “Doesn’t sound very useful,” said Steele.

  “They’re mostly recreational, but I guarantee the Department of Defense and some of our intelligence agencies are working on a more viable version,” said Rich. “Next time we’ll be able to offer fly-on-the-wall capability.”

  “Hopefully, there won’t be a next time,” said Steele. “With APEX at least.”

  The satellite phone chimed, and Steele abandoned all pretext of decorum. She swiped the phone from the varnished teak table, knocking a full glass of water into Jared’s lap. Rich and Klink broke out laughing.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, before answering the call. “Are you and Brad safe?”

  “We’re a little roasted from the sun, but other than that we can’t complain. Thank you for asking,” said Decker.

  “Ryan. I feel like you’re holding me in suspense,” said Steele.

  “We are driving toward the extraction point with a destroyed data center in the rearview mirror,” said Decker.

  “That’s fantastic news. We really kicked them in the stomach, the head—and below—while they were down,” she said, nodding at Caz.

  “Oh, I think we did more than that,” said Decker. “We registered a massive, encrypted data download prior to destroying the satellite array. I don’t know how many giga-tera-dog bytes were downloaded, but it lasted a little over an hour.”

  “Oh wow,” said Steele. “Can I put you on speaker? Rich and his team will be able to make more sense of this.”

  “Sure.”

  She activated the speakerphone function and set the phone on the table, standing up.

  “Okay,” she said. “Decker just told me that they registered a huge satellite download that lasted over an hour.”

  “Holy mother,” said Jared. “That’s a big download.”

  “This is very good news,” said Rich. “Hitting them out of the blue at a top-secret site will unglue a few of the bigwigs at APEX.”

  “Our thoughts exactly,” said Decker. “But it gets better. The IT team at the site confirmed that they were minutes away from uploading a similarly large data package to the same satellite.”

  “Hot damn,” said Jared, high-fiving Klink.

  Senator Steele didn’t know what to say. The download and immediate upload attempt fit the pattern. If APEX had deleted their Tyson’s Corner database while uploading it to the data center, Decker and Brad may have permanently destroyed the data. APEX would be ruined.

  Decker continued, “They didn’t know the upload destination, and I believe them, but I think it’s fair to say they were sending something back to DC like you thought. On a somewhat separate note, the site is run by Ares Corp. Maybe you should look into them. Sounds very similar to what we saw with Athena Corp and Cerberus.”

  “I think we will. After I get some rest. Or I’ll just let Rich and his crew handle it. They don’t seem to sleep,” said Steele, tearing up. “I wish you could be here with us, Ryan. We’re actually headed to Cantler’s later. Crab season is in full swing.”

  “Ah. Very jealous. I can taste the Old Bay seasoning and ice-cold beer right now,” said Decker.

  “Cantler’s?” said Pierce in the background.

  “Yep,” said Decker. “We might have to check with Bernie about a new flight plan. Shouldn’t take us more than twenty hours—maybe twenty-four with a refueling or two—to get there.”

  “I hope we can all get together soon,” said Steele. “I’d love to have both of you and your families out. Just as soon as I either repair my current house or buy a new one. Rich and his crew set off four Claymores inside—so I’m told.”

  “Okayyyyy. Remind me not to offer up my home as one of Rich’s ambush sites in the future,” said Decker.

  Rich and the crew had a good laugh at Decker’s comment. Steele wished the two groups could have met in person. Though they were cut from a different cloth, she could tell they would get along. She saw so many similarities in the personalities on each side. Ideally, there would be no reason at all for them to meet in the future, but part of her felt it was a shame that they hadn’t. An opportunity missed, perhaps. She may never know.

  “My very solid assumption is that we’re all past the days of ambushes, parachute operations, and Claymore mines,” said Steele.

  “Speak for yourself,” said Klink.

  “That’s called Tuesday,” said Jared.

  “Sorry you had to hear that bravado, Decker,” said Rich. “It was a pleasure working with you and your crew. Best of luck to you.”

  “Same to you guys,” said Decker. “Take care of the senator.”

  “She’s in good hands moving forward,” said Rich.

  “Am I sensing a longer-term relationship?” asked Decker. “Am I being replaced?”

  “Do you not want to be replaced?” asked Steele.

  “Senator. I’ll always be there if you need me. I feel pretty confident saying the same for Harlow, and Brad is nodding in agreement,” said Decker.

  “That means a lot to me, Ryan. Seriously. And no offense intended for the very capable group here, but you and your friends are irreplaceable,” said Steele. “Whether you are in a position to lend a hand or not, it’s been a pleasure tearing down a few multibillion-dollar schemes with you.”

  “I’m thinking maybe you call us for the couple-hundred-thousand-dollar-level schemes,” said Decker. “Let Rich take care of the small armies and drug cartels that get in your way.”

  Steele broke out laughing along with everyone else.

  “Ryan. I’m going to let you go,” said Steele. “I have one more call to make.”

  “Tell Ezra Dalton I said hello, and that if I even catch a whiff of APEX in our lives, I will personally duct-tape a Claymore mine to her head and set it off,” said Decker.

  “I’ll pass that along. I like the way you put it better than what I had planned to say,” said Steele. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She ended the call, sat down, and leaned back against the plush boat cushions, feeling absolutely certain about the path forward. A strange feeling that had mostly eluded her since she’d lost her family.

  “Time to send Decker’s message,” she said, producing the business card Ezra Dalton had left on Steele’s desk after her most unpleasant visit last fall.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Ezra Dalton’s vision wavered a few times, to the point where she had to take a seat. She’d never experienced anything close to a panic attack before in her life—had always been in complete control of herself—until a few minutes ago. Racing heartbeat, shortness of breath, and muscle spasms in her back, all starting the moment Abbott took the call from Nevada.

  The muscle spasms spread to her chest, just twinges here and there in the lower rib cage, triggering a tightness that continued to intensify. For a few moments, she wondered if she was somehow having a heart attack at age fifty-five and in perfect health. Dalton quickly dismissed that ironic thought when the tension dominated the right side of her
chest. Wrong part of the chest for a heart attack.

  No. She was in the throes of her first anxiety attack. And the timing couldn’t possibly have been worse. The data center had been destroyed, taking the only copy of APEX’s data archive with it. They’d scrubbed the basement server farm after uploading the most up-to-date copy to Nevada to make room for the sanitized, FBI-friendly version, which failed to follow.

  Calls to the team on duty at the server building had gone unanswered for twenty minutes, until Abbott contacted the support station and had security dispatch a crew to check on the facility. They’d found the team walking down the middle of the service road in the direction of the support station—shortly after hearing what sounded like a series of explosions. Abbott had been in the process of describing what the security team found when she felt like she might black out. In all reality, passing out right now would be a mercy.

  “Ezra. You’re looking a little pale,” said Quinn.

  “I just need a drink of water,” she said, trying to take deep breaths without making it obvious. “I think I’ll grab a bottle from the kitchen.”

  “Right now?” asked Abbott.

  “Yeah. I haven’t kept myself hydrated today,” said Ezra, successfully standing up again. “I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s true,” said Quinn. “She fills that rubber-coated glass bottle at least twenty times a day.”

  Ezra feigned a smile, wondering what they’d do if she walked out of the hub and went home. She had to stop thinking like that. It hadn’t been her idea to initiate SHELL GAME. They couldn’t pin the crowning failure on her head, though Quinn would undoubtedly try to make the case that all of the past week’s disasters should be laid directly at her feet.

  It all depended on how he behaved. If he came out swinging at the rest of the directors, parading the fact that he had been the only one opposed to SHELL GAME—he was finished at APEX. On the flip side, if he walked them through the chain of events, convincing them that she had left the board no choice but to pull the server trick, Ezra’s time at the Institute would come to an unceremonious conclusion.