by Peter Sexton
She read the email several more times and learned that it had been sent to Edward August from an individual at an official government email address: [email protected].
Sarah recognized the server.
“Holy shit! This is just getting worse and worse.”
Though she recognized the server, she couldn’t immediately pinpoint from where in the country the email had been sent. She needed to figure that out.
First, she launched a custom program she herself had written called Eye of the Beholder. This program would scan and detect all electronic traffic to and from her computer, allowing her to “see” everyone communicating with her. And the very best feature: it could locate a specific user, so long as the user in question was currently logged on to the Internet. Using the security of this program, Sarah typed the email address into an ISP directory and executed a search. After nearly a minute, the search came back with no results.
“Oh, bullshit!” she barked to the empty room.
She knew the server was maintained by the department of defense. This email had been sent to Edward August by someone within the United States government. But from where?
Sarah had just initiated another search option when she realized that the cursor was moving around her computer desktop on its own. Somehow Sarah had lost control of her computer. Someone some- where had remotely taken control of and essentially locked her out of her own electronic home.
“Oh, shit!”
She tried to log off the Internet, but couldn’t. Whoever had taken control of her computer knew what they were doing. They were good; they were damn good! She saw how the hacker was system- atically going through the different documents that she had open and deleting them. Sarah estimated that not much more than thirty seconds had elapsed since she first noticed the breach. She had to do something and do it fast. Within another thirty seconds, whoever was doing this would not only have deleted all the files on the flash drive, but would also have been able to pinpoint her exact location. If they hadn’t already.
More documents scanned and deleted.
Sarah knew she could simply pull the Ethernet cable from the wall and break the connection since she purposely uses a computer without wireless capa- bilities. But she needed to see the results of her second search. She was confident about this one. These results would tell her what she needed to know.
But at what cost? Was it worth it?
Sarah was reaching for the cable to finally pull it from her computer, when she noticed that the window currently to the front of the screen showed her search results. There wasn’t enough time to read through this information. She was going to lose this too, if she didn’t act fast. She quickly hit the three key sequence that would record a snapshot of the screen, and the laptop made the camera shutter-release sound confirming her action.
Then she yanked the Ethernet cable from the wall.
One bag of clothes, mainly jeans and T-shirts. Another bag with her toiletries: everything from her make-up drawer (which wasn’t much), and every- thing from her medicine cabinet.
She filled two bankers’ boxes with her Power- Book, portable printer, digital camera and two high-capacity portable hard drives. She pushed the flash drive Miranda had left with her into her pants pocket.
While Sarah was making the second trip into the garage to load everything into the back of her silver Land Rover Discovery, her home phone rang.
Her heart began to race, as she desperately hoped that she would answer the phone and hear the blessed sound of Miranda’s voice. She put the box down and hurried to the phone, yanked it from the cradle, and with hardly the breath to speak, said, “Randi?”
But it wasn’t Miranda’s voice. In fact, it wasn’t a voice at all. The metallic beeps and yawks of digital information traveling over the phone lines, the steady stream of ones and zeros, tore a still larger hole into Sarah’s already ailing heart.
Sarah stared, for longer than she had time to, at the phone in her hand before grabbing the cord and yanking it forcefully from the wall, as she had done minutes ago with the Ethernet cable. Even after the phone went completely dead, Sarah imagined she could still hear the ominous metallic sound patterns screaming at her, as if taunting her with information far worse than that of Miranda having not been the caller. No, this was worse, way fucking worse!
This metallic voice was telling her: We know where you are.
Thirty-Four
From the air, approximately seventy-five miles east of Henderson, Nevada, Toni Lee could see the two black Chevy Suburbans at the rendezvous point. Two calls from her secure cell phone while en route had enabled her to have the teams assembled, equipped and awaiting her arrival. She would brief them per- sonally during their drive in.
As the Sikorsky Black Hawk touched down, Lee, clad in full black combat gear, grabbed a small, black duffel bag, gave the pilot a thumbs-up, and jumped to the ground. She hustled away from the helicopter and was met at the front passenger door of the lead SUV by a young soldier, also clad in solid black. The soldier saluted Lee as she neared him, then reached for her bag.
“Let me take that, Major,” he said.
Major Toni Lee, USMC, returned the salute, relin- quished her bag and got into the vehicle. The young soldier climbed in after her.
Major Lee addressed the driver as he put the vehicle in gear and proceeded on an old dirt road. The Black Hawk that had transported her was back in the air and returning to base. The five other soldiers in the SUV remained silent.
“What’s our distance from target?” Lee asked.
The driver, Capt. Richard Taylor, spoke without taking his eyes from the road. “Seventy-eight miles, Major. ETA...fifty-three minutes.”
Lee checked her watch.
“We still tracking a live signal?”
“Negative, Major. We lost contact five minutes before you touched down.”
“Exact fix on the location?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Major Lee used the two-way radio to brief Viper Team in the second SUV. Viper Team would handle demolition after the first team had eliminated the target. Following the operation, there would be nothing left of the target but ashes and embers.
Lee and the five other soldiers in the first SUV made up Cobra Team. The exterminators. In and out in less than five minutes, no survivors, minimal to zero collateral damage. And there would be no official record of this operation; it would be executed below the radar of watchful eyes. Each highly specialized team member had been handpicked by Lee, each soldier chosen for his abilities and proven loyalties to the cause. When she had finished briefing both teams, Lee said, “Just like before, gentlemen. This is not an exercise.” Her words were met with stern, confident faces and a tight cluster of “Yes, Ma’ams.”
The teams were ready.
Cobra Team remained silent the remainder of the drive, sitting eager, poised, ready to deploy. This was what they were trained for. This was what got them pumped.
Capt. Taylor glanced at the green glowing screen of the tracking system mounted into the dashboard of the Suburban. “Five minutes to target, Major.”
Thirty Five
Once she had her bags loaded into the back of the Land Rover Discovery, Sarah retrieved two five-gallon gasoline cans from the garage and carried them inside the house. She started near the front door, pouring from the first can, drenching the floor along the walls. The gasoline splashed onto her shoes and pants legs, and she made a mental note that she would need to change before she got in her Land Rover and drove away. When the can was nearly empty she stopped to stare at the hammock chair hanging in the corner where she often sat in the dark and listened to Dylan CDs, or read horror novels into the early morning hours. Next to the chair sat a bookshelf where she kept first edition copies of Anne Rice, Clive Barker and Stephen King novels, among others.
She would miss this room; she would miss her books. After a moment of self-debate, Sarah quickly set a few of the titles aside to take with her. S
he would bag them up when she was done with the gasoline.
She continued on her task until the first two cans were empty and the floor along the perimeter walls of her home was saturated. The smell had become almost too much to bear, and her eyes were beginning to burn. She needed to hurry and get this done. Before boarding the Discovery and driving away, she would set her home ablaze. The fire in the outer rooms, she hoped, would delay firefighters from getting to her office in the middle of the house, thus allowing time for that room to burn more completely. She didn’t have adequate time to gather all the hard copy files she had stored in various places throughout the office and bring them with her. Besides, it was too much to fit in her vehicle. And she knew there would be no coming back. Bottom line: she absolutely could not allow the files to fall into the wrong hands.
She returned to the garage for two more cans of gasoline. While there, she made a quick detour to her workbench to get a mask to cover her nose and mouth.
Back in her office, she took a moment to look around one last time. This room was the most im- portant of all, she knew. The files in here contained evidence of her work over the last four years. She didn’t want to even think about the consequences of any of these files being discovered. The information in this room could be used to bring down one of the largest crime families in the country, or to track down and arrest the individuals behind one of the largest and most profitable Internet prostitution empires. Not to mention that if this aspect of her work was to ever be discovered it would, no doubt, cast a very dark cloud on all the good work she does for the countless deserving charitable organizations.
No. Everything had to be destroyed. Sarah could recreate it all once she had successfully relocated.
She poured generous quantities of gasoline over the filing cabinets and bookcases. She had copied all the critical computer files onto the two high-capacity portable hard drives that were already in the Discovery.
Sarah was standing next to the file cabinets, book of matches in her hand, when she heard a loud whoomph and a commotion from the back of the house. Breaking glass, splintering wood. In her mind, she could see her bedroom windows shattering, the back door being kicked in.
She heard several footsteps hurrying through her home. It sounded like a small army of individuals. Damn! They had gotten here faster than she had expected. She hadn’t had time to set the outer rooms ablaze.
Another loud explosion. Now the entire structure shook. Shouts and screams followed. She thought she heard a female voice ordering everyone to retreat.
She heard the unmistakable crackle of flames.
She smelled smoke.
Thirty-Six
Cobra team parked their SUV so that it was blocking the driveway of 110 Whistler Street. Viper team parked directly behind them. The houses on either side were quiet and appeared empty. Actually, most of the street was quiet. A lone resident was outside walking his dog when the two SUVs passed. He paid them no attention.
Viper team proceeded to rig the perimeter of the house with C4. Within a minute there would be enough explosives set here to turn this address into a flattened lot. Ashes and embers.
Major Toni Lee led Cobra team around to the back of the house, where they would gain entry and spend no more than five minutes. And when they departed...everyone inside the dwelling would be dead, and the house would be a ghost of what once was.
They found no one present in the backyard. Cobra team advanced with cunning and stealth, a well-oiled mechanism working with utter precision. Lee directed the team with hand signals. They would not issue a single spoken word until the mission had been completed and they were gone.
Two team members employed a battering ram to force their way in through the back door. A third man tossed a flash-grenade through a window to serve as a distraction to anyone within.
Lee led the remaining team members into the home as the grenade detonated. She smelled the gaso- line immediately. Flames and smoke followed the explosion, which shook the dwelling and instantly turned the room around them into an inferno. Almost immediately, she could taste the smoke. The only way out now was to try and beat the fire to the front of the house.
Moving swiftly, Cobra team proceeded into the belly of the structure, fleeing the pursuing flames. The fire climbed the walls and licked the ceiling. The home quickly swelled with smoke, making it difficult to breathe. Lee could only assume the entire house had been doused with gasoline.
They must have been expecting unwanted guests.
The team had to keep moving if they wanted to survive.
Lee could hear the crackle of the pursuing flames. Another explosion shook the dwelling like a powerful aftershock. They checked as many rooms as they could while racing through to the front of the house. In the garage, Lee saw a Land Rover Discovery with boxes and luggage in the back. She was about to open the vehicle and rifle through the boxes, when the flames pushed their way into the adjoining kitchen. Captain Taylor quickly closed the door leading into the house, then pushed the button that lifted the big garage door out of their way. By the time they climbed back into their SUVs, the garage was fully engulfed in flames, as was the rest of the structure.
As they were speeding away from their target, Lee noticed a few residents exiting their homes to investigate the source of the explosions.
The residents were not a concern.
Viper team detonated the C4 by remote signal and tore what remained of the dwelling to shreds.
If they had missed anyone in their rapid move- ment through the home, they were certainly dead now.
Ashes and embers.
Thirty-Seven
The CLOSED sign was up on the front window. Miranda cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into Your Postal Partner. Nothing. She tried the door. Locked. She had hoped to make better time, get into town before the place closed.
Miranda consulted her watch: 8:12 p.m. She hustled around to the back of the building, hoping that she might find someone coming out from a rear entrance. No such luck. She hurried back to the Town Car and let herself into the driver’s seat. Then she took out her disposable cell phone and called Lawrence.
“I’ve been waiting for your call,” he said. “Where do you want me to bring the key?”
“The place is closed. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”
“Maybe we can still get to the box portion of the place. I think those places—”
“No, I checked. The whole place is locked up tight. We’re gonna have to wait until morning.”
“Then why don’t you come to the house? You can stay here the night, and in the morning we’ll go see what’s in the box.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Larry. For all we know they’ve got people watching your home, waiting to see if I show up.”
A long silence floated across the phone line. Miranda imagined Lawrence considering the possi- bility.
“What are you going to do then?” he asked.
“I’ll find a motel down by the beach. No one’ll be expecting me there, so I should be safe. Maybe I’ll actually be able to get a little sleep.”
“You sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. If I need anything I know how to reach you.”
“All right.”
“The place opens at ten. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know where to meet me.”
Twenty minutes later Miranda was checked into the Sunny Daze Inn on Thompson Boulevard. The room was shabby and smelled of sweat and cigarettes. She made sure the window was locked, and engaged the security lock on the door. The sign outside advertised free HBO, but Miranda doubted she would even turn the television on. She just wanted to check in with Sarah, then take a long, hot bath, and hopefully manage to get a few hours of quality sleep.
She debated whether or not to use the pre-paid cell phone for the call to her friend, then concluded that it should be safe to use her own phone. Sarah seemed to have so many safeguards on her phone that
it had to be safe to call her.
She removed the phone from her backpack and turned it on and waited the few moments for it to start up. Once it did, the unit gave off three high-pitch beeps indicating a missed call. Miranda looked at the display screen and saw that she had actually missed five calls. All were from Sarah. She called her voicemail and listened to the messages before return- ing the calls.
Sarah sounded frightened, as though she were in danger. There was a fierce desperation in her voice, something Miranda had never before heard from her friend. Miranda hung up on the voicemail call and punched in Sarah’s number and hit the send button.
The call went immediately to voicemail.
She tried Sarah every fifteen minutes for the rest of the night, but to no avail.
Tuesday.
Miranda pulled into an open parking space at the Burger King located on the corner of Victoria and Telegraph in Oak Hill, just minutes from the home she and her father had been forced to abandon a few days earlier. Lawrence stepped out of a beige Toyota Camry and approached his Town Car.
“If it wasn’t for the car,” Lawrence said through the open driver-side window, “I would have never recognized you.”
Outside of the car, Lawrence placed his hands on Miranda’s upper arms and stared at her for a moment.
“You look exhausted,” he said.
“I didn’t end up getting much sleep last night,” Miranda admitted. She didn’t elaborate, trying to keep the worry for her friend off her face. She didn’t know why. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to consider the possible reasons why Sarah may not be returning her call.
Lawrence nodded.
“I’m sorry I had to take your car,” she con- fessed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What’s impor- tant is that you’re all right.”
