Locke could use some stress relief. Maybe they could they find a combination of all three options.
LOCKE: In Parker’s office. “Finding my peace” by force.
BISHOP: LOL. Beer is probably best then.
LOCKE: Probably… I’m watching politicians fight over who’s to blame for 26 men dying.
BISHOP: Shit
BISHOP: Upgrading beer to liquor?
LOCKE: Yeah. Maybe.
Cassidy was to blame for the loss of twenty-six men in his unit. But what he hadn’t known—or maybe hadn’t read or heard because he had been in mourning, had still been serving, or hell, because it had been years ago—was that she spent days in prison for reasons other than loss of life.
Cassidy had gone to prison because of a congressional deposition… or because she was protecting something… or someone. He didn’t get the technicalities of it, but she’d been locked up because she wouldn’t talk.
LOCKE: Hey. Did you know that reporter went to prison?
BISHOP: Yeah??? Jax was showing links earlier.
LOCKE: But *when* this was in the news.
LOCKE: Before. Back in the day. Did you know then?
BISHOP: I was overseas on the back of a donkey with a sat phone and a bag of bullets. Wasn’t getting breaking news.
LOCKE: Roger that.
He wasn’t as far off the grid as Bishop had been. Why hadn’t Locke heard the reason she’d gone to prison? Amidst the memes and the spin, no one had explained that it wasn’t for the deaths of soldiers.
Granted, he didn’t get news on the regular in Iraq. But fucking hell… that was a big mislead. He was an actual victim of the attack, and even he hadn’t known she refused to name her source and had protected someone in his unit.
That realization was a paradigm shift. “Shit,” he mumbled.
Except, just because she didn’t go to prison for the deaths of soldiers, that didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty of it.
But… Cassidy had stood up for someone in his unit—who hadn’t come forward—or who’d died—and served time to save his name. What did that say about her? Not terrible things. Locke buried his face in his hands and leaned over. “Screw it.”
She was still to blame. This was only a new layer of the story. He hadn’t known because… why?
“Because that wasn’t the point,” he informed the redhead reporter who was paused on the flat screen. Locke could recite the names, ages, and ranks of those who’d died because of what she reported. That was the point.
He pressed Rewind on the remote and watched Cassidy sit before a US senator who was red in the face, huffing in anger.
With dark-red hair hanging straight to her shoulders, she looked back at the angry man, her expression unflappable. “You’re asking me to betray a soldier’s confidence—”
“They died!” The senator nearly came out of his seat.
“Sir, you’re asking me to reveal a confidential source. Confidentiality is, at the very basis, a foundation of freedom of the press. If Americans can’t provide information to the press, then I can’t report it.”
“You can’t report it!”
“That’s incorrect, sir.” Her head tilted as defiant blue-green eyes flared. “I did because I should; it was the right thing to do.”
His cheeks darkened another frustrated shade of red. “If you don’t reveal your source, you are defying this Congress!”
“Then I’m defying Congress, because the entire sanctity of our press and the journalistic system falls. The American way of life falls.”
He flapped a printed newspaper photocopy for onlookers to see. “And I will quote your report one more time for the record—”
“Editorial,” she corrected.
“Excuse me?”
“You read the report before.” She nodded to his stack of papers. “What you just held up looks like a copy of an editorial piece I wrote. That would be my opinion.”
He snapped the paper back and pulled his glasses to focus. “‘The mission objective is impossible. The forward operating base has pulled army soldiers out when it’s most needed. The frustrating reason is simple and political, and only because of an agreement signed by the administration. They campaigned on a future hardline date, ignoring that people would die, and did die, including women and children, all because a politician wanted to win an election. We needed more boots on the ground, and Army Command has repeatedly asked the Pentagon for such resources. All requests were approved until they reached the highest levels, only to be denied because of an international political agreement, which has been well documented according to my unnamed source, who is knowledgeable about the request process.’” The senator tossed the paper aside. “Miss Noble, who is your—”
Cassidy crossed one hand over another. “I will not reveal my source. Sir.”
“Then you’re in contempt of Congress. It’s that simple.”
Locke pressed Pause. She had a spine of steel in the face of that bastard who breathed fire and asked for the name—in theory—of the man, who was in his unit. If she gave in and revealed the name, her source would lose his career and probably go to the brig for many years. Locke worked his jaw at the thought of her protecting his unit.
A bright light broke into the room, and Parker walked in. “Hey, man.”
Locke cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“Thought you’d be done. How goes intel-therapy? Major life revelations?”
Intel-therapy might’ve had a few enlightening moments, but Locke wasn’t in a sharing mood. He nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin. “It goes. It’s done now. Free to leave, I assume.”
“Guess so.” Parker swept his arm out as Thelma, Jared’s bulldog, trotted in. She groaned as she hit the floor, sprawling legs and wrinkles in every direction.
Locke bent down to give the dog a rub on her wrinkly head. “You find a cool place to take a nap?”
Thelma snorted her answer.
Dim lights and ice-cold air conditioning had to make this one of the wrinkly pup’s favorite places. Thelma pushed up and gave Locke a lick on his neck.
“Ha-ha, easy.” When was the last time he’d laughed?
Thelma didn’t care. She slobber-licked him again, and he rolled his shoulders back, squatting next to Thelma as Parker went to his chair. Locke needed to clear his mind and shake the hours of Cassidy and Sadr City away. The intensity was too much to hold onto.
Maybe that was why Jared let the dog wander the halls. Dogs were good stress relievers. He playfully tugged on Thelma’s ear. “Coincidence she’s in here?”
“Is anything in this building an accident?” Parker didn’t look away from a screen.
“They’re using you, Thelma, but you’re a good girl. Even if you’re used for your kisses…” Locke pushed off the floor after Thelma gave him another slobbery kiss. “All right. I’ve gotta run.” He stretched an arm across his chest, needing to stop the dull ache that had started in Russia and hadn’t left yet.
Parker grabbed the remote to see where Locke had it paused. He pressed Fast Forward and then Play when it got to another senator’s turn to grill Cassidy. “Oh, this part was the best.”
“What Ms. Noble’s reports point to, which I think all of my colleagues can agree to, is that our troops need more boots on the ground. More assistance. And a legally binding political agreement with a head of state is what killed them—not Ms. Noble bringing to light the fact that there were holes in manpower. Insurgents knew that. ISIS knew that. We were the last ones to know that, and thanks to Ms. Noble, we knew that sooner rather than later. Too bad it wasn’t soon enough, and too bad no one in these respectable halls did anything about it.”
Parker paused the video. “You know what I noticed when I pulled the hearing footage?”
“Hmm?” Locke didn’t need a replay of any senator’s grandstanding oration or the contentious gaveling and the shouting match that occurred between the elected officials; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear Parker’s take
either.
“The senators that railed her for reporting what happened in Sadr City? None were re-elected.”
Thelma groaned.
Parker flipped the remote in his hand. “Don’t know if that’s at all related. It’s just interesting.”
“Huh.” Or maybe Locke did want to hear Parker’s thoughts—though not today. Someone needed to hold those at the center of power and money accountable for their actions, and people like Cassidy did that. Locke didn’t hate reporters. His problem was with her. Wasn’t it? Though he saw her side from somewhat of another perspective now… Anyway, it didn’t matter. “I’m out.”
Locke grabbed his phone and checked to make sure that Boss Man and Rocco had not assigned any weirder assignments.
Again, Parker flipped the remote into the air. “If you ever want to talk, people are around.”
Locke lifted his chin, ready to catch up with Bishop. “Thanks. Hey, I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“What was the deal with the Krasnaya Polyana job? Who contracted that?” How would he have run into her outside of the US twice in one lifetime?
Parker reached into a jar on his desk labeled BACON BYTES and tossed Thelma a treat. “Gaev teaches at St. Andrew’s, an elite high school in DC that has Titan on their emergency call list.”
Right—he knew that from the pre-op meeting. Locke watched Thelma chew her snack. “But what kind of high school calls in for an extraction team or even knows who we are?”
“The kind where senators and billionaires send their kids.”
“Ah.” He hadn’t thought about the fact that the uber-wealthy and powerful would be able to contract for his services one day.
“Let’s just say that school has parents important enough that we’re on their insurance rider.” Parker tossed another treat to Thelma. “If anything happens to those kids, we’ll go get them. Apparently, if anything ever happens to one of their teachers, same thing.”
Locke hummed. “That’s a nice benefit.”
“It’s an excellent school,” Parker said. “It’s the sort of thing that makes you wish we could go around the world fixing all the wrongs for all the kids out there. But we’re not the cops, and if we can help, Jared tries to make it work out. Even if a school isn’t filled with the rich and famous.”
Locke chuckled at the ol’ good-natured grizzly. “He’s good people.”
“Yup. But don’t let him hear you say that. You’d be out of a job for sure.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Hockey was on the TV, and there was a longneck bottle of beer sweating on a beat-up coffee table. Alexander’s substitute had left him a pile of sophomore English papers to grade. He kicked up his heels and got comfortable. His laptop was open, and surely one of his students would turn in their homework right after school. “Tick, tock, kids. Teacher’s watching.”
All he had to do was wait, though patience wasn’t really in his repertoire. He had weeks to do this. After all, he’d just worked out the deal with Ivan. He didn’t think it would be so easy and had come up with it on the fly. But when the angry Russian who’d once tried to kill him showed up on his doorstep, he had expected to die.
Ivan said he’d been impressed that Alexander had enough “clout” to pull in a rescue team. Though it was sad that the man Alexander had once thought might be his father-in-law only decided to make nice when, after almost a decade, he thought Alexander had something to offer to the FSB.
There were not many options when it came to the Mikhailov family. Alexander had learned that long ago. Their empire was a much scarier version of the Bratva he’d grown up around. Saying no rarely worked out well.
But this was the first time Ivan had paid positive attention to him in years, and Alexander had something the other man wanted. A first. Now they both wanted something from one another, and that was his way to gain access to Alyona he’d never had before.
He checked the laptop’s screen. Still no action from his students.
Maybe the app wasn’t working—he’d hastily pulled it together. He pushed the laptop into a better position and let his fingers fly over the keyboard, double-checking his work. It was fine.
“Patience.” He vibrated with energy and cracked the top off the beer, not because he wanted to drink but because it might help him concentrate.
Mining information on his students’ parents didn’t have to start that night. But it could, and that would be his first step toward proving his worth to Ivan, the FSB, and Taisia, and all of that meant they’d believe he deserved to see Alyona again soon.
He grabbed the bottle and tipped it back, taking a swig. When would the students submit their homework? Alexander had calculated the essay assignment so that students would use a home laptop. It would require research but had a speedy turnaround. Where were the overachievers?
Alexander tapped his foot and—his computer chimed. Hello, go-getters.
“Who do we have first?” He put the bottle down.
On screen, Olivia Falconer, the daughter of Senator Falconer, was the first to the finish line. Perfect. Good little Olivia had followed directions flawlessly. She’d downloaded the app as instructed. He kept his fingers crossed that she was at her house, not a friend’s or a library. Be at home, Olivia. Be at home.
His computer chimed with another notification. Olivia uploaded her assignment, and Alex’s fingers went to work on the keyboard as he slipped in through her upload link. They were two passing electronic blips on a portal, and she had no idea he was now sitting on Olivia’s laptop.
“What’s here?” he mumbled. Good God. What wasn’t? Even for a responsible student, she had too much trash on her computer.
Yes, there was homework. Yes, Olivia was very organized. Folders of memes. Folders of pictures. Gossipy crap. All the garbage kids could pull off the Internet.
None of that was why he crawled through her files. What Alexander needed was to access Olivia’s Wi-Fi connection and see what other connections were live in her household. He wanted into her father’s files. That would be where it got tricky. The chances of them using the same computer were slim to none. These rich kids all had their own computers. Some of them probably had a couple of computers, and they likely couldn’t imagine the conditions he’d grown up in.
What did Senator Falconer have on his phone? Email, schedules, text messages… his life. The only way that Alexander could hop from computer to computer was if they were on at the same time or if there was a cell phone using the Wi-Fi connection simultaneously.
But it didn’t look like anyone else was home or online. Not a problem. The connection was established. He could always come back now that he had a link to Olivia’s house. “Goodbye, Falconer residence. I will see you later.”
Once there, he could come and go as often as he pleased if someone was using that Wi-Fi connection and the password wasn’t updated. No one ever updated their home passwords.
The guesswork wasn’t ideal, though. Waiting until Senator Falconer was home, using his cell or computer? Hmm… that was why Alexander was smart to start on day one—and why he would prove to Mikhailov he could have access to Alyona.
But what he needed was a trigger. Maybe if Alexander did phone calls with parents and sent them a link where they would have to open something in an email while on the phone call. Parents didn’t want to come to the school for parent-teacher conferences anyway. This could be win-win. If he just had thirty seconds when he knew the senator was using his email, Alexander could get in there.
Two more chimes came from his laptop, and two more students had submitted their homework via the links, establishing permanent portals onto their devices, likely at home.
“Who do we have now…? Nope. Don’t care.” The first name wasn’t on his list of targets. Dad was a trust-fund baby and likely played video games all day, and the mother was a celebrity chef. What use was that? Alexander established that connection just in case.
The other student had a parent who work
ed for the IMF. “You’ll come in handy.”
There were weeks left before he needed to turn the information over to the Russians, and this would all go very quickly and be very useful. The Mikhailovs wanted to see what he was worth, and they’d find out he was worth a lot.
“Ivan wants to sell his granddaughter? Bam!” Alexander linked to the IMF family’s house. “Whatever it takes.”
Not that he hadn’t proven himself time and time again over the years, whether it was to the Bratva or to Taisia.
“I was always a good soldier.” Wasn’t that what Dad said mattered? Alexander slammed Enter. He had even put his time in working directly for Ivan, and to what end? So that years later, he was doing this. Alexander’s keystrokes were more aggressive than needed, but that matched his souring mood. “Family. Soldier. It’s all the same.”
Soft footsteps crept down the creaking stairs. “Alexander, did you call?”
His eyes sank shut, heavy with exhaustion from just the words calling to him, and he reeled in his aggression before facing her. “No, Mama.”
Her shaky hand clung to the rail she leaned on. “Oh…”
Maybe he should turn some lights on. The living room was lit only by the television set and the fluorescent light spilling from the kitchen. The sun barely shone through the draped windows. His mom took another unsteady step and stopped to hold on to the rail. “Is your dad home yet?”
Where did she think his dad was? Outside stripping cars? Drunk somewhere? Or out hustling, working for the family, like Alexander was doing but on a much bigger scale? “He’s out.”
“Oh.” She tied and retied her frayed housecoat, swaying. She really shouldn’t have let go of the railing while she concentrated on the sash. “He’ll be home soon.”
What more was there to explain about Dad? It didn’t matter, and Alexander wasn’t going to get into it. “Are you hungry, Mama? Want an early dinner?”
“No.” Taking longer than she used to, even compared to the previous week, Mama turned. The stairs squeaked under her slight weight. She crept with one foot, then two feet onto each stair, making her way back to her room, where Alexander had set her up with a small television and satellite. All day long, she could watch game shows and 1980s prime-time TV to her heart’s content. She could live in her moment, whatever moment that might have been.
Locke and Key (Titan Book 12) Page 5
