The Athena Protocol

by Shamim Sarif

  I run some software that might be able to talk to the Athena servers. I’ve left enough innocent-looking code on them that might not have been scrubbed away in the weekly tech cleanup that Li insists they run on all systems throughout her companies. Sure enough, after about ten minutes, I get a hit.

  A program on the key server has gotten root access so it can hide itself in the operating system and intercept keystrokes that pass through the kernel. Put more simply, I just have to wait for someone with authorization to log on at the Athena office, and then I can see what the latest passwords are—and use them.

  It’s Thomas who logs in first. I feel a pulse of excitement as I trace his online movements. And, within another few minutes, I’m in, with access to all the research on Gregory, his money trails, known associates, and all the rest of it.

  Two hours later, and there’s still no sign of Kit as I pad downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal, which is something I haven’t eaten in months. As part of our ongoing training, we each get a diet plan every week, prescribed by Li and her nutritionist. It varies a little for each of us, to take into account our body types and metabolic rates and all that stuff, but the gist of it is, lots of lean protein, plenty of vegetables, and some complex carbohydrates to give us high-quality fuel for burning. My breakfasts are mostly some variation on eggs with avocado, or smoked fish, or things that are supposed to give you some protein and also omega oils for your brain function. So that we can think our way out of trouble as well as fight our way out, I suppose.

  Two hours after that, and I’ve spent ages with the aching boredom of tracing Gregory’s web of offshore bank accounts. Let me just say, it’s not as sexy as they make it look in the movies—when you tap a few keys and thirty seconds later you zoom in on a hidden address that no one else noticed before. No. What I’m doing is raking over the grunt work that another analyst has already done, and they seem to have done it well. The accounts link together, one to another, in a pattern like a daisy chain, and tracing the pattern takes forever, and then adds nothing to what we already know. After a bit, I see in my mind that there’s a way to make the work go faster. I start coding—a short program to run the links faster. We have a program already, of course, but this new one takes the data and looks at it from a different angle. Sounds fancy, but it’s not that hard, and it works faster than I can manually. I’ve had it running for a while, but nothing’s come up yet. And, now, there’s the sound of a key in the front-door lock. I turn down the brightness on my screen so it’s completely blank and head downstairs.

  Kit is in the hallway, swapping her high-end cowboy boots for a pair of acupuncture slippers that are supposed to cure everything while you shuffle around the house.

  She looks up at me as I trudge downstairs.

  “Hey,” she says. “You okay?”

  Lost my job. Made my first kill and I wasn’t even provoked. Having the time of my life.

  “Yeah.”

  I follow Kit as she heads into the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of water from the filter tap.

  “I’m starving,” she says. “Jeanette left a casserole in the fridge. Did you find it?”

  Jeanette, our housekeeper since I was eight, so loyal to Kit, and with whom I’ve spent more time over my life than I have with my mother.

  “No.”

  “What did you eat all day?”

  “A sandwich. Cereal.”

  Kit makes a disapproving sound and takes the foil-covered dish out of the fridge. Then she peers at the oven, as if it’s this big mystery she has to solve. I go over and switch it on.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, edging toward the door. I see rejection in Kit’s face, so I give her a quick, apologetic smile, but she’s not having it.

  “You just don’t want to talk,” she starts.

  Perceptive as always.

  “I’m leaving for Belgrade tomorrow morning, with Caitlin,” Kit says.

  “Why so early?” I ask. “The concert’s only at the weekend.”

  “Rehearsal,” Kit says. “I haven’t played a gig in a while. Most of the band is new, so we need a couple of days. Plus, a day for a tech recce—checking the sound, speakers, equipment.”

  I listen, but the truth is, it has nothing to do with me anymore. The fight has drained out of me for the moment, or perhaps I’m just tired. I continue on, toward the stairs.

  “Well, I’ll see you in a few days,” Kit says, and her voice changes. “Can I get a hug?”

  I step across the living room and present myself, and she gives me a quick embrace.

  “You take care of yourself, Jess.”

  “You’re the one walking into the lion’s den,” I say. “Playing a concert for Gregory Pavlic.”

  I’m worried about her, and she can feel it. She looks at me for a long moment till I shift, uncomfortable.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sorry you’re out of this whole thing,” Kit says. “I think I was mad to ever ask you to join Athena.”

  “Why did you, then?”

  That throws her. But, now I think about it, it’s a good question. What kind of mother would send her child out to do God-knows-what for a secret spy force? Probably one with deficient maternal instincts.

  Kit hesitates. “I thought I had a responsibility to develop your gifts” is her lame reply. “And I thought it was something we both believed in.”

  Well, she’s right about that. We were both excited to be part of something where we could really make a difference. But I can see that Kit’s mind is somewhere else already. Perhaps she’s finally imagining a future where I have a proper job, commuting home to eat pasta and watch a bit of TV with her before starting again the next day. The idea of it stifles me to the point where I almost have to gasp for breath. I tell her I’m tired, and I get upstairs and into my room before she can say anything else.

  4

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE HOUSE has that awful, empty, echoey feel to it. Last night, I had wanted to tell Kit not to go to Belgrade—because it’s dangerous, what she’s doing. And also, if I’m being honest, because I didn’t want to wake up alone. But I won’t tell her stuff like that anymore. I did when I was younger. I remember being about nine or ten and begging her—literally begging her—not to go away. She was off on a tour to the States. And why I remember it so well is that she didn’t even seem to feel bad about it. She just hugged me and then peeled me off her, sort of irritated, like she was worried I would crush her clothes. She told me I would get used to it. And she just went. The door closed. And there was only silence. For four months.

  I flick on the TV to break the quiet now. Jake Graham’s on again, this time with a story about a girl in Syria who’s been brought here for medical treatment. I look at this kid—probably twelve years old—who’s made it through years of war and is fighting to stay alive, and I feel like a brat for whining about waking up alone in this massive, rock-star house.

  I jiggle my laptop mouse to wake it up, and while it kicks into gear, I head into the bathroom and go over what I know of the Athena plan. A car came to collect Kit for the airport at 6:00 a.m. Apparently, Gregory’s chartered a private jet to fly his guest performer to Belgrade. Caitlin, who’s posing as Kit’s security, will be flying with her. Peggy leaves later this morning, probably slumming it in a normal airline’s business-class cabin. Hala will have already landed in Belgrade, and is even now probably meeting one of Li’s contacts to arrange weapons on the ground. Kit and Peggy will stay in a rented house with Caitlin, having declined Gregory’s offer to arrange accommodation. The last thing they need is a mansion with security and surveillance arranged by the thug they are trying to bring to justice. Hala will most likely be put into a room or apartment somewhere else, though she will take some time to sweep the place where Kit is staying for bugs. She’ll also jam the security camera feeds, if there are any, and kill any cell phone signals inside the house. She’s good at that stuff, very diligent. Doesn’t leave any openings or vulnerabilities. Which i
s more important now than ever. Until now, none of the Athena founders has come near us on a mission. No sense in making connections between us all if we don’t have to. But, I suppose, this job is the exception.

  In the kitchen, I consult my diet sheet out of habit and scramble a couple of eggs for breakfast, washing them down with coffee. By the time I go back up to my room and settle in front of the laptop, it’s not quite 8:00 a.m. The first thing I notice is that my code has yielded something. Something significantly new.

  Gregory’s financial and corporate network is in the Balkans. Maybe once, he dabbled in Ukraine. But now, two of his newest shell companies show money coming in from Moscow. And both those companies are registered to a particular art gallery in Belgrade.

  Now, Athena knows about this gallery—it’s run by Gregory’s daughter, Paulina. But I don’t think anyone made the connection with these shell companies before. My fingers fly over the keys and bring up a photograph of a young woman—a girl, really—a bit older than me. Paulina Pavlic. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, great smile. Completely stunning to look at, if you want the truth.

  It takes me several more hours, but eventually I’ve tracked the shell company that owns Paulina’s gallery back to one parent company, called Lavit. I had to pass through four other entities to reach it, and I still can’t be sure it’s the right connection, but it feels that way. Just enough of the names, bank details, and fake addresses mesh together.

  Next, I dig up whatever I can on the directors of Lavit. There are three. One is dead. And I mean super dead, like, since 1963. His records come up on the Serbian state registry. Not uncommon for criminals like Gregory to use dead men’s identities to set up untraceable companies, but it takes the wind out of my sails a bit. If they’re all dead, I’ve got nothing to track and no one to find. I try the next one, this time a female name, Katarina Volim—Serbian as well—but I can’t find that she’s bit the dust. What I do dig up is a Facebook page, but the girl on it is in her twenties, posing with sunglasses and a cigarette. Not likely to be her, but I keep it on ice, just in case, and move on to the last one.

  That takes longer but leads somewhere unexpected. This guy is fifty-three, Russian, and a businessman, but his name, along with young Katarina’s, also turns up somewhere that feels like it must mean something. He and Katarina are on the board of directors of a super-high-end private clinic, just outside Moscow. The website is only in Russian and is slick as anything. Pictures of happy middle-aged men and women pushing buggies, and babies being cuddled by blond nurses. It looks like a bizarre advert for designer kids. Which makes me think: Where do those babies come from? I log out of everything and take my laptop down to the safe in the basement, securing it inside with a cable lock. Then I grab a jacket and head out.

  Since my access to Athena has been revoked, I have to wait for Thomas to come and let me in. As usual, he looks immaculate, and the barest hint of cologne creates a fresh fragrance around him, even this late in the workday.

  “This had better be good, Jessie,” he says.

  “It’s exceptional,” I reply.

  “Li’s on her way in, she’s finishing a call with China.”

  I nod, happy that Li’s agreed to see me. I’m just a bit proud of the new connections I’ve figured out, and, deep down, I’m hoping that Li will be impressed enough to wonder if she and the others have been too quick to fire me. . . .

  Politely, Thomas lets me out of the elevator first but then briskly passes me, leading us into Li’s office. Li has just gotten there herself—she shrugs off her suit jacket and drapes it on a padded hanger behind the door. Then she settles in behind her desk and nods at me to sit down.

  Swiftly, I summarize what I found out about Lavit, the company that owns the gallery run by Gregory’s daughter.

  “Paulina Pavlic is squeaky clean,” Thomas says. “We’ve checked her thoroughly. She graduated a year early from a top boarding school here in the UK, and she’s a photography nut, hence the gallery. Daddy can afford to give her whatever she wants.”

  That interests me. Someone else who graduated early from school. It’s not easy being noticeably younger than your classmates. It leaves you with a superiority complex in one way, but mostly, you feel left behind while everyone else is friends and looks at you like you’re a freak. Of course, I don’t bother communicating any of this to Thomas or Li. Anyway, Paulina isn’t my main concern here.

  “Paulina aside, the same company, Lavit, is connected to the Victory Clinic, outside Moscow.”

  “Connected how?” Li asks.

  “Two of Lavit’s company directors are on the board of the Victory,” I explain.

  Li flicks a frown at Thomas. “Did we know this?”

  He hesitates, hating that he and the others might have missed something, then shakes his head. This is exactly what I was worried about. If they hadn’t picked this up, could they have missed other stuff?

  “And why should we be concerned about this Victory Clinic?” is Li’s question. I pull out some pages that I printed off the website and slide them over the desk, toward her.

  “It’s like some scary, designer-baby factory,” I continue, eager to press the advantage. “I think Gregory’s up to something new. I think he’s using these girls he traffics to supply this clinic with harvested eggs.”

  “Have you any evidence, or is it pure conjecture?” asks Thomas.

  Pure conjecture? Who actually talks like that? Meanwhile, Li looks at the pages, then at me, thinking.

  “Even if it is true—and this is not much in the way of hard proof—it doesn’t change anything we’re doing,” Li says at last. “Whatever his endgame, our plan is still to stop Gregory.”

  “But if Aleks prosecutes him for the wrong crimes, he could walk free—”

  Li interrupts me. “You don’t work for Athena anymore.”

  Thanks for mentioning that. I’d almost forgotten, as I sit here like a schoolgirl trying to get out of detention.

  “I’m trying to help . . . ,” I say.

  “Where did you get all this?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I try to move on before it crosses her mind that I might have hacked the Athena servers. “What matters is that I can help with this mission.”

  But Li holds up a hand. Her cheeks are flushed with anger.

  “Jessie, you took a man’s life without cause and put us all in danger.”

  “Haven’t you ever made a mistake?” I sound petulant, even to myself.

  “Everybody does. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

  I meet her gaze but keep silent. For once. I want to tell her that I know I did something wrong and that I’m trying to make it right—but I can’t find my voice under her glare. Her eyes stay on mine.

  “Thomas will see you out,” she says.

  I don’t need an alarm to wake up the next morning, because I’ve been sleepless over Ahmed and my meeting with Li. As I toss and turn, I wonder if people like Ahmed, or Gregory Pavlic, ever lose sleep over the innocent people they kill. What’s the point if all we do is stop them for a bit till they make a new plan and rise again, stronger than before? Taking a life is no joke, but haven’t I saved many more innocent lives with that one bullet? Maybe the whole Athena ethos—trying to do the right thing—is just tying our hands, putting us at a disadvantage against men who have no ethics or morality.

  I’ve also been thinking through the Gregory/Lavit/Victory thing all night—and by 5:00 a.m., I give up trying to sleep and get back on my computer. Flicking idly through the society pages of Serbian news sites, I discover that Paulina broke off an engagement with some eligible young guy last year after her affair with another girl. Judging by the press response, it caused quite a stir in the local gossip columns. I look at Gregory’s daughter on the screen, and Paulina Pavlic’s eyes smile back me—beautiful and unreadable.

  While being enigmatic is not enough of a reason for me to suspect Paulina of anything, the fact that her gallery is owned by La
vit, and that Lavit connects to Victory, still bothers me. I keep digging and what I find, by piecing together photos and posts from Paulina’s social media accounts and cross-referencing them with the flights taken by Gregory’s private plane (which Athena has tracked for a while) is that Paulina has visited Moscow twice in the past four months. Could she have been visiting the Victory Clinic? If so, why? She’s young. Not likely to want a baby or to need treatment if she does. I sit back in my chair to think. When two unlikely things collide just once, it’s probably coincidence. But when you have a shell company taking big payments, with the same company directors as this dodgy Russian clinic, and the daughter of a notorious criminal linked to it . . . If Paulina is dirty, maybe she has a copy of Gregory’s files on the local politicians. And that would save throwing Kit and Caitlin into a dangerous situation.

  I run through it all one more time and consider trying Li again. But she dismissed me without much ceremony, and what I have here is still not enough to change Athena’s course. And yet, it doesn’t feel right to ignore all these new developments. One of those threads could lead to something that would adjust the mission. Someone should be investigating this stuff.

  It’s seven forty-five, and behind the massive tower that holds Chen Technologies, I wait outside on the street, sipping a double espresso that I’ve picked up from the Italian café around the corner. My eyes are on the back alleyway, through which I used to be able to enter the building. Adrenaline and caffeine make me feel sharp as I wait for my mark to show up. I take a couple of deep breaths that carry the tangy fumes of city traffic and the smell of coffee.

  When Amber appears at the top of the street, I hang back in the shadows. She wears a blue skirt, a delicate shirt, and a summer jacket. The ends of Amber’s short, spiky dark hair are streaked with yellow, as if she has dipped them in gold leaf, and her skin glows a pale coffee color in the early sunlight. Amber was top of her class at Imperial College, or somewhere exceptional, took a summer job at Li’s company after she graduated, and never left. Li looks after her—not in that nurturing, huggy way that Peggy does with Caitlin, but with fierce, tough love. Maybe when she gets home, Li throws on sweatpants and becomes a softer personality, but I doubt it.