The Kill Order

by Robin Burcell

  “We sort of stumbled across your name pertaining to a case we’re working on.”

  Griffin added, “Something to do with some numbers smuggled into Mexico.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “The Devil’s Key.”

  “See?” Sydney said to Griffin. “Here’s where it helps to talk to someone in the know. All this time I thought they were offshore accounts or maybe all the missing money from when BICTT went under.”

  Rico looked amused. “Assuming you’re talking about the list of numbers stolen from Wingman and Wingman?”

  “Wingman and Wingman?” Griffin said. “What about them?”

  “What do I get if I talk?” he asked Griffin.

  “Has it gotten you anything in the past?”

  “Besides the fact no one believes me? Another stint in solitary.”

  Sydney leaned forward across the metal tabletop. “Are you starting to see a pattern here, Mr. Chapman? There’s people out there who don’t want what you know to get out.”

  “Question is,” Griffin said, “why haven’t they killed you yet?”

  “Because I wrote the code. They need me. Something happens to it, they’re screwed. They got screwed when the key was stolen from Wingman Squared.”

  “Why?” Griffin asked, even though Sydney was certain he knew the answer.

  “Unlike the first nine keys the government destroyed, this one happens to be a key to every program sold to foreign countries. Canada, Israel, Iraq, Russia . . . Need I go on?”

  “Slow down, Rico,” Sydney said. “Pretend like I’m clueless in all this—because I am—and start from the beginning.”

  Rico cocked his head, smiled slightly. “The beginning? You’ve heard of the SINS software? A case management system the government purchased from a small software company in California. They liked it so much, they decided to implement it nationwide. Next thing I know, the DA of our county is taking my system and claiming it’s his, and using it as his ticket to make a bid on Washington. You might recognize him as one of the Wingman Squared crew, now that he’s left Congress. Trenton Stiles? He’s probably running Wingman Squared.”

  “So you wrote a code for a case management system for the software company?”

  “Right.”

  “And the government is now using it.”

  “The entire government. Every federal office, in fact. And the software developer sued the U.S. government. The developer lost, but what do you expect when you take on the Feds?”

  “Hard to believe they’re killing this many people over royalties. What’s a few million or even a billion dollars to a government that’s trillions in debt?”

  “Because it’s not about the royalties. It’s about the back door the CIA paid me to write into the program.”

  “The CIA?” Sydney asked. “You’re sure they were behind it?”

  “Well, someone connected to them. It was all very hush-hush.”

  Griffin said, “Like a Trojan horse back door?”

  “He catches on quick.”

  “Sometimes,” Sydney said. “In this case, he has insider knowledge that I don’t have. You’re talking about a case management system that’s in every federal office in the U.S.?”

  “No. I’m talking about a case management system that’s in nearly every country in the world.”

  “So,” Griffin said, “the U.S. is using it to spy on other countries. We’ve heard the spiel.”

  Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. “Not buying it. You don’t kill this many people over that. After all, they’re doing a pretty good job making anyone who suggests this scandal sound like a lunatic—those who live. Case in point, look at you.”

  Rico laughed. “You don’t really think it’s all about national security, do you?”

  “What else is there?” Griffin asked.

  “What do you think? Money.”

  “The royalties?” Sydney said. “Thought we’d established that wouldn’t do it.”

  “Not royalties. Money. All of it.”

  “Not sure I understand.”

  “It’s about the handful of billionaires and major corporations running the world. Them and their representative sitting on Capitol Hill, making sure that the bills they need passed get passed to keep their kingdoms intact. It’s about their tentacles reaching into every major conspiracy you can think of. You mentioned the late, great BICTT? The bank the CIA was running? Yeah, it’s part of that. But it goes beyond that. It reaches into the government, the military, and the federal law enforcement agencies charged with investigating it. It’s about having the ability to track every dollar being moved and to move every dollar being tracked.”

  Sydney glanced at Griffin, who nodded. This was nothing he didn’t already know, but clearly he was hoping to find out something more. “You’re gonna have to be clearer than that,” Sydney said.

  “Banks. Back doors. Control of the world’s money.”

  “The world?”

  “As in the chips that have been imported to the entire world. If money is being moved electronically, yes. But it’s more than that. The program is doing it seamlessly. Without a trace. And it’s not just money. You can go in, change things around, and no one will ever know you’re there. Or you can add something. A Trojan horse with a specific task, search for and set off a nuclear warhead with no one the wiser on how it was done. Sabotage something? No problem. As long as you have the key. Because the program’s already out there. The Devil’s Key accesses those chips. The SINS program was just the start. The Devil’s Key is the end. It’s just knowing how it works that’s the hard part.”

  “It can do all that?”

  “If you can think of it, it can do it. It’s the closest thing to artificial intelligence out there. And trust me. You go back with what I tell you, you’ll find yourself transferred to some outpost, or discredited, or brought up on false charges. Or dead. So have at it. The global elite have already set it in motion, and once they get the Devil’s Key, the world is theirs.”

  She was beginning to wonder if this was a dead end, that Rico wasn’t going to tell them anything they could use. “The global elite? So the world is being run by a bunch of billionaire Bilderbergs or something?”

  “Bilderbergs?” Rico said. “The conspiracy theory that those guys are running Europe?”

  “So they say.”

  “Yeah. Well the group here? In charge of running the world from Capitol Hill? They go by a different name. The Network.”

  And that was a name Sydney and Griffin had heard of.

  It certainly explained why Parker Kane was so hot to shut down ATLAS. Who wouldn’t want that sort of knowledge and access to not only the world’s money supply but all its computers?

  Sydney glanced at her watch. They had a little over an hour to wrap up this interview and get out of here before they were found out. “You have any questions you want to ask?” she said to Griffin. “Pretty sure this is all way over my head.”

  Griffin moved closer, leaning toward Rico. “Why are they keeping you alive?”

  “Because they need me.”

  “There’s a lot about this that doesn’t make sense. The money, being able to move it seamlessly, maybe. But you obviously don’t have the key and couldn’t re-create it, or they’d have forced that from you a long time ago. And they’ve spent countless resources trying to recover the key . . .” He looked at Sydney, then back at him. “There’s something you’re not telling us. Something they know that we don’t.”

  Rico shrugged.

  “You realize we have the key? We recovered it. Maybe that’s why you’re suddenly being transferred.”

  There was a flicker of something in Rico’s eye. Fear? she wondered. “That’s impossible,” he said.

  “No, it’s not,” Griffin said. “Robert Orozco found it. In fact, he’s the one wh
o sent us to you.”

  “You’re lying. Robert left the country. I’m the one who helped him. Helped erase his tracks.”

  “Well, you forgot to erase her father’s tracks. He’s the one who helped Robert steal the key.”

  Rico glanced in her direction. “Who was your father?”

  “Kevin Fitzpatrick.”

  His brows went up a slight fraction. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “What does is that I went down to Robert’s villa just north of Ensenada, and he gave me the key, which was tucked in a bank bag, and he told me it was the tip of an iceberg so large, they didn’t dare let the American public know the truth. Sound about right?”

  He gave a dismissive shrug, but she could tell he was shaken. Which meant they were close. Carillo had said that Orozco had written something on the back of that business card, which he couldn’t decipher. That RC had one, one, two. One hundred and twelve . . . What the hell had he been trying to say about the Devil’s Key? One one two . . .

  Not one one two. One slash two. “Oh my God. You have half.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. Orozco only had half the code. That’s why they needed you. Doesn’t do them any good if they only have half. They had to keep you alive, because you were smart enough never to allow the entire key together. That would be suicide. Where is it?”

  A bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip, and his nostrils flared as he looked from her to Griffin, then back. “They’ll kill me.”

  “They probably will,” Sydney said. “They killed Orozco. And that was when they thought he might still have his copy. The way I see it, though, you’ve been granted a twenty-year reprieve. You should have been dead a long time ago, like every other player in this game.”

  “If I give it to you, I’m going to need protection.”

  “We can’t make any promises,” Griffin said.

  “But you’ll try?”

  “We’ll try. But your best bet is going to be to get us the other half before they do. And I’d avoid mentioning that we were here.”

  “They’re going to find out. They always do. They’re paying someone on the inside. They have to be.”

  She glanced at Griffin, wondering if the warden was the one, especially since he failed to mention the impending transfer.

  Griffin, however, blazed right past that. Probably figuring there was no sense spooking him any more than he was. “And where does one find this program key?”

  “It won’t do you any good, unless you got someone who knows a lot about computers.”

  “Pretend we do.”

  “Stored in an underground bunker out near Pocito, a little town between here and the border.” He gave them the address. “It’s locked up in a safe.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep. But good luck getting to it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You know those methamphetamine charges I was convicted on? Well, the people who were actually making it, that’s their land. They tend to take a dim view of trespassers.”

  “Who lives there now?”

  “Besides my wife? She’s on the other side. Dirt road divides the place. Like a little compound in the valley. Hatfield and McCoys.” He laughed.

  “You were saying about who lived there?”

  “Right.” He closed his eyes. “New guy, my wife told me. Moved in a couple years ago . . . Quin, Quint? Something like that.”

  “Quindlen?” Griffin asked.

  “Yeah. That could be it. You know him?”

  “His name’s come up a time or two.”

  “Undoubtedly. The guy’s running the largest meth operation this side of the Mexican border. Heard there was a big gun bust not too far from there. Some federal operation. You can guarantee he had his hands in that, too.”

  Griffin had actually been involved with the case, even if only peripherally. Quindlen was implicated, but they weren’t able to make him on it. If Quindlen was connected to this, Griffin wanted to take him down. He looked at his watch. “Hate to break up the reminiscing here, but we’re running out of time.”

  “Time? For what?” Rico asked.

  “We’d rather not run into whoever is picking you up.”

  “You are going to stop them, right? From transferring me?”

  “We don’t have a lot of say in that. But once we take care of business, we’ll see what we can do.”

  Griffin moved to the door, hit the call button to get the guard to let them out.

  It wasn’t until they were several miles away that Sydney thought about what Rico had said about the property and trespassers. “That name he mentioned. Quindlen? As in the Quindlen that was mentioned when you and I were in Pocito? Ex-CIA, current drug runner?”

  “Too much of a coincidence to think otherwise.”

  “Assuming he was connected with the dirty cops in Pocito, and he’s one of Parker Kane’s men, we might want to call in a little help.”

  “How fast do you think Carillo and Tex can drive down here?”

  “It took us what . . . thirteen, fourteen hours? I think if we want their help, they’re going to have to risk a plane trip. Maybe Doc can set them up with some suitable undercover IDs.”

  45

  The air was brisk, cold, and so dry that it hurt Griffin’s eyes. Tex and Carillo had arrived sometime close to dawn, and after lunch, they drove out to Pocito.

  They were parked on a hill, a dirt road overlooking the land where Rico’s old trailer sat, where he’d lived with his wife before his arrest. They had circled the complex, which was located in a shallow valley between two hillsides, and discovered a little-used dirt road adjacent to one of the abandoned mines in the area that ran into the back of the property. Apparently the small complex where Rico and his wife had made their home used to be part of the mining operation.

  The mine had been abandoned long ago, and the road they’d taken rough from non-use. It ended on the west side of the complex, giving them a decent view. Griffin and Tex left the car higher up the road out of sight, where Carillo and Sydney were acting as lookouts, while he and Tex moved farther down the hillside on foot. They crouched down behind some shrubbery and a large boulder about five hundred feet west of the compound.

  Just as Rico had described the place, the complex was divided in two by the main road, which appeared to be gravel. On the right was a small ranch house, and next to that a dilapidated old bunkhouse, probably left over from when the mine was open, but now little more than a gray shell of wood that looked about to fall down at any time. Next to that was a corrugated metal building large enough to house a car or two, or even some ranch equipment, though it didn’t look like anyone was doing any ranching, unless you counted the half-dozen goats in the pen and the chicken coop located behind the ranch house.

  On the right of the gravel road was the trailer, presumably where Rico’s wife, Charlene, lived. And just behind her trailer was the bunker Rico described, the cinder-block structure where the safe was supposed to be located.

  Tex handed Griffin the binoculars. “Couple dogs on the porch of the ranch house. That could be an issue.”

  Griffin surveyed the property. “Never mind getting down there without being seen by anyone in the house. I don’t like this. Too risky.”

  “What about a distraction on the right side where the ranch house is, so the bunker side is out of the limelight?”

  “And how would you do that?”

  “We set up there,” Tex said, pointing to a curve in the dirt road. “Carillo and I can skirt along the hillside to the right. Of course, that’s assuming you and Sydney can now get along.”

  “We’re fine.”

  Tex looked over at him. “Just an observation, but she seems . . . tense around you.”

 
“Let’s just say we’re a work in progress.”

  “You might try working on something besides the sex.”

  Griffin would have denied it, but Tex had already turned his attention back to the compound, saying, “I think we can get past the dogs. I can head down the hill behind the ranch house. A few hamburgers or something, get the dogs’ attention off you, while you come down to Rico’s place, get in, get the code, and when you’re clear, we all leave.”

  “And what if those animals are trained not to eat meat thrown down?”

  “Look at that place,” Tex said. “Does it scream highly trained canines?”

  “Don’t forget that Quindlen allegedly lives there.”

  “Yeah, well what I remember most about him when he was with the CIA was that he was an ass.”

  “A highly trained ass.”

  “Agreed. But let’s say he did train the dogs, they’re still going to be back there, barking. At me. Not you. So unless you can find any other agents who want to go in on an illegal search, we’re it. Let’s just hope the Pocito Police Department isn’t as corrupt as it was on your last mission in this area. I’d rather be arrested than shot.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  46

  About an hour before dusk, they drove to the edge of the valley, waiting for the sun to drop toward the horizon, casting their shadows across the red dirt in the direction of the compound. When the sun was just over the hilltops, they started out, the vehicle idling until they reached the slope, and then Griffin put it in neutral and shut the engine off, allowing it to roll down the hill, slow enough not to kick up too much dust or make any noise. As Griffin let the car roll into the same spot he’d parked before, it bottomed out. Sydney heard metal hitting rock. “Careful,” she said. “This car’s on Doc’s credit card.”

  And Carillo, sitting next to her in the back, laughed. “Doc’s aiding and abetting federal fugitives, and harboring Piper’s brother who is currently listed as missing in every police department in America. I’m thinking Doc’s got bigger issues to worry about.”