American Law (Law #2)

by Camille Taylor

  He was sure he wouldn’t like the reason they wanted Sundown. An innocuous name, but the DoD liked giving their missions and contacts ridiculous code words. As if it would somehow make them feel better when Operation Wild Rider killed hundreds of innocent civilians so one bad guy would be taken out. He didn’t understand that type of logic, even as an extremely logical man.

  He was also far from stupid. The moment the file finished downloading, he would be dead, lying next to Ivan while the American absconded with the mysterious file. He would most likely be blamed for the theft of Sundown, his name forever associated with terrorism. He thought about Elena and how it would affect her. She would be heartbroken to lose him, and he wondered if she would survive such a blow. He knew she would never accept that he would do such a thing and she would risk death trying to prove his innocence, just as she had when she’d searched for the truth about Nikolai.

  He couldn’t allow that. His sister had been through enough. He couldn’t let her deal with his death on top of everything else. With renewed resolve not to die today, he worked on his plan to escape unscathed. It wasn’t a very good plan, certainly not his best, but he was under extreme pressure and time restraints. He knew once he did what he was about to do, he would have a giant red target painted on his ass. But he would not let the scum bags get away with it.

  He sent his ghost to the file, adding extra commands as he did so. He could feel the countdown begin as he pressed the enter button. He knew he had ten minutes to get the hell out of there, and he watched the dialog box appear in the center of the screen as the contents of the Sundown file began transferring to the hard drive of the computer he was using. He added more commands, praying the man wielding the gun didn’t notice as he continued to work. He worked faster, watching the transfer box closely as the time passed. The file was copying at amazing speed, currently at sixty-five percent. It would not be much longer now. He finished entering his commands and sat back, waiting, watching for his moment to act.

  The blue horizontal line filled up the box, indicating that it had reached one hundred percent. The computer beeped, informing them the transfer had completed. Dmitry stepped away from the computer, almost overwhelmed by a sense of joy at being finished with the task. He blinked and the feeling was gone, things slipping into motion. He watched the American carefully, determining the moves he would make when he discovered what Dmitry had done.

  He backed up, standing beside Ivan’s body, then glanced down at his friend once more, sending up a silent prayer for his soul. He added an apology for not being able to save him. It certainly wasn’t the way a man like Ivan would have chosen to go out. Dmitry imagined something more along the lines of an epic battle over a woman not worth anybody’s time. He’d been wrong. Now he had to leave his friend here with his killer. Who knew what would happen to his body. He would make things right, even if it was the last thing he did. Hopefully, that would not be the case.

  While he’d been working, he’d ignored the muscle who stood nearby. Now, he watched him out the corner of his eye as he edged nearer to the door. He didn’t want to fight the man who easily outweighed him by thirty pounds.

  “Perfect,” Ivan’s murderer intoned, viewing the information available on the screen. He looked positively gleeful.

  It made Dmitry feel sick. This bastard was up to no good with that information. If only he’d had a chance to review the material inside the file. He might know what he was dealing with, and who he might be up against. Unfortunately, he had to work with what he had. Which wasn’t much. Heat from the hired muscle’s body burned his skin as the man flanked him. Once again, he began to get the sensation that he was done for and rapidly considered his options.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Ivanov.” The American brought the sight of the gun in line with Dmitry’s chest.

  He took a step back, bumping into the bulky arm of the body builder. His heart pounded guiltily in his chest, his blood cool as he looked down the barrel of the weapon. A drop of perspiration slid down his spine, and he shivered in response. There was nothing like the feeling of looking at the face of death with both eyes open. It somehow made him feel alive.

  The American’s finger moved to the trigger.

  Come on, come on. Any time now.

  He glanced at the computer just as it started beeping loudly, like a heart monitor during a cardiac arrest. The American turned on his heel, seeking out the noise, and looked at the computer as the Department of Defense’s intruder alert symbol and alarm appeared on the screen, flashing its warning:

  “You are in a restricted area. Remove yourself at once. Your connection is being traced.”

  “What the fuck,” the American shouted, watching the recently downloaded file dispersing, sending pieces of itself across the globe. “No.” He screamed, then shot to the keyboard and began typing as if he could stop it.

  Dmitry spun around, landing a fist hard into the muscle man’s firm stomach. His hand stung as if he’d punched granite, and had he not known better, he would’ve sworn that every bone in his hand had shattered from the impact. He bit off a curse, his hand throbbing, and pushed away the pain the best he could.

  The hired muscle grabbed him hard by the throat, lifting him several inches off the floor. The man’s dirty fingernails dug into his skin, Dmitry’s legs dangling in the air as he caught hold of the arm that suspended him in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. His lungs burned, and his vision started to dim, the darkness calling to him.

  He kicked as hard as he could, his assault inadequate against a man of his opponent’s bulk. He could feel the force against his trachea and struggled to breathe. Another minute or two and he’d be unconscious, and then he really would be fucked. He removed his hands from his attacker’s arms and moved them to the man’s face, ignoring the urge to shudder as he pressed his thumbs firmly down on the corneas, straining the moist eyeballs.

  He sensed the beast trying to ignore the pain as he squeezed Dmitry’s neck harder in return. Darkness blurred the edges of his sight. He wouldn’t last much longer.

  He dug his thumbs deeper into the sockets. He ignored the sensation of touching slippery eyeballs and concentrated on inflicting as much pain as possible. He bent his head back as far as he could before jerking it forward fast, head-butting the man hard enough to daze the both of them. Stars burst in his vision and a massive headache started pounding. The man dropped him to his feet, and Dmitry stumbled as he tried to regain his equilibrium. He sucked in deep breaths as the attacker turned his immediate attention to himself.

  The beeping of the security alarm scared him just as much as the two men. He knew they would have company soon, and not the pleasant kind. There was no reason to stick around. He would retrieve the data at a later date. Right now, it was safe, away from the likes of the American. He headed for the exit, praying the man remained occupied and more worried about the flashing screen deleting the file and the piercing siren than he was about Dmitry.

  ***

  Sean tried in vain to stop the file from sending. He had never been a wiz at the computer, hating them and the world’s reliance on them. They helped him with his business, and because of that he was thankful and semi-tolerant, but that’s all. He spun around to face the fucking Russian, ready to put a bullet into the useless bastard’s body. The man had such good references, but from the very first had been a royal pain in his ass. He thought it would have been easy to pay the man for the job, but as it turned out the commie prick had principals.

  Such a useless trait in today’s world.

  He’d had high hopes for the Russian. He and his partner had been the perfect fall guys. With Ivanov’s history of hacking and Anisimov’s criminal record, no jury in the country would ever believe them innocent. Killing Ivan had been a means to an end—to force Ivanov’s hand. But again the Russian had defied him. Now he had to regroup, think of a new plan.

  The boss wouldn’t be pleased he had failed, even more so now that Sundown had been handed
to the public, dispersed all over the world. It would be even harder to retrieve from around the globe.

  Truthfully, he preferred Anisimov dead. In his experience, dead men tell no tales and therefore cast no suspicion to him. Desire to shoot Ivanov filled him. He didn’t tolerate being made to feel inept and stupid and the Russian had done both. For now, the bastard would stay alive…at least until he’d gotten what he wanted. He needed him to retrieve Sundown. He would simply need to find a better bargaining piece, one the Russian valued more than own life. When he had the file in his possession once more, Ivanov would suffer painfully at his hands.

  Narrowing his eyes, he turned and found the Russian running toward the exit. Rage overcame him, his vision reddening. He tried to bite back the searing anger but he’d gone way past that. Hatred for Ivanov fueled him, his blood boiling as he watched the one man who dared fuck with him headed for freedom.

  Without thought beyond his rage, he raised the gun, barely feeling the weight of his weapon as he aimed it at the Russian. It was more like an extended part of him than an inanimate object. He had no issues killing anyone, least of all the smug bastard who’d ruined his entire operation. His hand, once calm and steady, now trembled with anger as he decompressed the trigger. He felt the powerful weapon discharge, recoiling, and only familiarity kept the barrel pointed at his prey and not at the ceiling.

  Chapter 6

  Dmitry felt something like a bee sting on his upper arm as the sound of a bullet exiting the chamber filled the room. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pain, each second causing increasing discomfort. He swore eloquently, knowing he’d been shot but he couldn’t afford to slow down. If he stopped or slowed now he was a dead man. Apparently, the American had finished working with him.

  He applied pressure against the wound with his uninjured hand as he continued running. He detected the warm sticky liquid beneath his palm, needing to fix himself up as soon as possible. A hospital was out of the question. Every gunshot wound was reported to the police and he couldn’t risk that.

  He would be extremely easy to trace once he got into the system or in police custody. As a Russian citizen, he didn’t have the appropriate medical insurance required for most American hospitals. Not that he couldn’t afford to pay any of the fees, it would just take time to internationally transfer the funds. Once again, he would be stuck here while waiting for the money to clear.

  He caught hold of the door to the street and just managed to slip through the opening when he heard another booming pop sound and then the clang of metal hitting another source of metal. He barely glanced back. He didn’t need to know just how close he had been to copping another bullet. He took off at a fast speed for the rental car without another thought.

  Holy shit, what the fuck have I gotten involved in?

  The American had no compunctions about murder. If he caught him, he might torture him first, get him to recover Sundown before killing him. His death would tie up loose ends—just another tourist found dead. A poor unfortunate victim of a mugging.

  He needed to think, regroup. To come back bigger and better, stronger and clear minded. He would make the bastards pay for what they’d done to Ivan and what they were trying to do to him, but first he needed to be anywhere but here. Especially when the Department of Defense arrived.

  He knew he was in deep trouble, and he wouldn’t be able to get out on his own. He needed help and lots of it. He had just hacked the goddamn Pentagon—a criminal offense, a one way ticket to sunny Gitmo. The consulate was out. Once they learned who he was, he’d merely be trading one prison for another. He knew of only one person who could possibly do anything. If he had any chance of getting out of this alive, without doing jail time, he had to seek out the big guns. The one man who could understand his predicament. After all, he’d been through the exact same thing not that long ago. However, it would cause some major issues.

  Oh, well. He was up shit creek, and Lucas was the only one who could hand him a paddle. Sorry, Elena. My ass comes before your heart.

  ***

  Sean spun around, breathing heavily. The Russian fucker had gotten away, making his job all the more difficult. Now he’d have to hunt down the bastard and kill him. He didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t risk sending anyone else to do the job. He needed to make sure it got done, that it couldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. There was no way the boss would accept any loose ends or failures on his part, and he sure as hell didn’t want to disappoint the boss. He couldn’t afford to lose the credibility he had worked so hard to make, for it to be washed down the drain with this one fuck-up.

  He pulled out the acid bottle from a briefcase hidden beside the desk and squeezed the bottle hard, the liquid contents moving through the straw and entering through the DVD crevice. Acid flowed down towards the computer’s internal hardware. He heard the sizzling as it ate away at the memory and hard drive, and he watched as the steam escaped through the air holes of the computer box. His clean up here was done, ensuring the Feds wouldn’t find any trace of him in the warehouse, which had been leased under a dummy corporation that would lead nowhere.

  He smiled. Something had finally gone in his favor. There was no way to recover the data now, the acid having done its job. The information was gone, without a trace. Not even the tech guys within the alphabet agencies were that good.

  Now he had some explaining to do to his boss, and he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. The boss wouldn’t be impressed, and would once again look at him like an incompetent idiot. He took a deep breath before the anger at the Russian could overrule his better judgment. He admitted he’d lost his cool earlier and he’d made a mistake shooting at the bastard, but luckily he hadn’t killed him. He had a moment of pleasure as he thought how he would enjoy the task once he got his hands on the commie. Yes, he’d make sure Ivanov felt every ounce of frustration he’d gone through right before he put a bullet in the man’s head.

  Chapter 7

  Secretary of Defense Walter Mann glanced about his office on the west side of the Pentagon as the alarm shrilled. He stood and moved to the doorway. His office overlooked the open area workspace, which was full of activity. Men and women in navy blue pressed uniforms and formal suits moved quickly about the room. Each having their own job to do in such an event. The tech teams were each manning their stations. The sound of dexterous fingertips gliding almost sensuously over individual keyboards echoed throughout the room. The numerous techs’ faces were masks of concentration and concern as they worked hard.

  Movement in his peripheral vision had him turning to his second in command. Captain Moore moved speedily towards him, a look of apprehension on his usually composed face. They had worked together for over five years, and had served together for another ten. They each knew the other’s temperaments and moods well. Moore, for one, was as straitlaced as they came. Nothing ever seemed to faze him or ruffle his feathers—until now. Moore stopped before him and took a deep breath, obviously preparing himself to report the news.

  Apprehension grew and cool sweat broke out on his skin as he waited. The gruff looking captain met his eyes. “Sir, I regret to inform you we just had a security breach of our internal systems.”

  While he had prepared himself for the news, perhaps another war outbreak, he was floored. Never once in his tenure, or to his knowledge, his predecessor’s time, had there ever been a successful breach of the Pentagon. Who would be stupid enough—or desperate enough—to hack into the DoD? This was a fuck-up of epic proportions. How had they gotten in?

  The Department of Defense had state of the art protection against this type of infiltration. It was embarrassing to say the least and he had to admit he wasn’t looking forward to explaining this to the White House. He only prayed the perpetrator kept quiet about the hack otherwise they’ll have every Tom, Dick, and Harry taking shots at them.

  “How far did they get in and what did they do?” he asked, holding his breath. His mind ran through sev
eral scenarios, each one worse than the last.

  Captain Moore swallowed nervously, the action catching his sharp eye, worrying him even more. If the intrusion had been enough to make the captain nervous—someone who’d seen action amidst raining bullets, flying missiles and injured serviceman—he wondered just how bad things were. What the hell did they get? Launch codes? The exact co-ordinates of the Nevada test site?

  “The intruder made it into the mainframe, sir. Deep inside. We managed to trace his movements, although it was quite difficult. We’re certainly dealing with a professional, no doubt about that. He went directly to an obscure file named Sundown. There were no signs of anything else being compromised, sir. The man knew what he was looking for.”

  He felt the blood drain from his face, immediately light headed. He grabbed hold of the doorframe to keep himself up, his legs no longer able to hold up his weight.

  Sundown. Of all the files it could have been. Holy fuck.

  The only thing worse was being unaware of what the bastard who hacked the file intended to do with it. They would be walking around blind until they knew whether a ransom demand would be made, or whether the file would be placed on the black market. He would have to make sure he had several men monitoring all communications searching for any reference of the file. He would also need to liaise with the NSA to make use of their super computer. If there was ever a time for inter-agency support, it had to be now.

  “Do we have anything on the hacker?”