Seat of power, p.4
Seat of Power, page 4
This recent job required him to case out a guy who worked for an obscure government agency. During the first week, he staked out the target’s townhouse and logged his movements. He left early for work. He usually went out for lunch and a few beers before returning to the office and finishing the workday. On Friday and Saturday nights, he met with friends, often going home well past midnight, sometimes alone and sometimes with a woman. The housecleaning service came on Monday afternoons, using a key and a special code to disarm the security system. The mail carrier came before ten in the morning. Couriers left packages at the front door by midday. No one rang the doorbell after six in the evening.
He had made his move early one morning. After the target left for work, Nick stayed in place for thirty minutes. Only when the street was deserted did he pull into the driveway of the townhouse. The garage door scanner gave him access within thirty seconds. The inner house door had been left unlocked. He lowered the garage door and went inside. The infrared code grabber bypassed the security system. He planted a few VHF transmitters, hacked the wireless modem, and left behind several surveillance devices. He booted up the target’s personal computer, quickly broke through the administrator password, copied a file containing login names and passwords, installed keylogging software programmed to transmit hourly activity, and installed a script to invisibly forward personal emails and texts to a secure account on the web. He left the same way he entered, taking the essence of the man with him.
The ensuing days turned into a sword dance of video surveillance and electronic eavesdropping; shagging, shadowing, and stalking; 24/7 shifts and fast food meals; six packs and short naps. Nick knew everything there was to know about the target. What he ate for breakfast. His preferred brand of beer. His avoidance of illicit drugs and hard liquor. His adherence to strict schedules, including an hour at the gym, running five miles three days a week, and taking martial arts classes in between. About the churchgoing aunt who raised him, the father who abandoned him, and the mother who died young. And his taste in women, which tended toward racially mixed ladies.
After three weeks of sleepless nights and mind-numbing days, Nick sent his report to Alpha via electronic encryption. He immediately cleaned up after himself, left town, and headed home, there to wait for the final signal. It would come tonight or early tomorrow morning. If all went well, he would pull out, take up the good life, and never look back.
Brenda rolled over and tossed an arm over his chest. A coyote howled at the moon, disturbing the stillness of the night, probably in the park or down by the river. Like the coyote, Nick was destined to be a loner howling at the moon, but in a different country and on the other side of the planet. He thought about the boys sleeping on twin beds across the hall. Sweet boys. Boys who took after their mother. Alex and Josh. Named after their grandfathers, both gone now. Soon they wouldn’t have a father, only the faded memories of one.
The coyote joined his brothers in a chilling chorus of solitude. Brenda sighed and turned into his arms.
6
Annapolis, Maryland
Thursday, July 3
WHILE ANEILA WAS gone, Jack looked around for the green-eyed lady.
She was talking to a smiley man in jodhpurs. Not quite jodhpurs but tight-fitting white trousers with snug cuffs riding above sockless boat-deck shoes. His bleached blonde hair, dull but long and combed into a pompadour, matched the whiteness of his pants. He was all fake smirks and calculating eyes. And she was bored, looking through him and beyond him. A woman who doesn’t look into a man’s eyes is a woman who isn’t interested. It hadn’t yet registered on Mr. Jodhpurs that she was dismissing like a pair of smelly old socks. The more she ignored him, the harder he tried. At length he ambled away, the smile still plastered on the front of his inebriated face. He hadn’t scored this time, but there was always the next.
Aneila returned, back to being her agreeable self. They sat for a while, mutely observing a room that had become increasingly crowded. The din was overpowering. Everyone appeared to be having a good time. As a young boy, Jack learned everyone was unsure of themselves, usually looking at themselves from other people’s perspectives instead of their own. His father had taught him this lesson, first with his words and then with his backhand.
“Annie called,” Jack said. “Harry hasn’t picked her up yet.”
She angled her head and drew in her eyebrows. “That’s not like Harry.”
“Probably had something last minute at the office.”
Arriving after everyone else, Milly Whitney made an entrance. The woman had a taste for the garish and the pretentious, a little of this, a little of that, slightly revealing, improbably flattering, and slathered on with a butter knife. Milly worked the room the way she dressed: loud, boisterous, and flamboyant. Her approach was systematic, hitting the big players with fawning compliments, sucking up to middle management with astute remarks, and laughing it up with everyone else. She was in fine form tonight, a complete reversal from the studious programmer at the office who was always staid and professional. Put a few drinks in her, and she turned into her evil twin sister. Jack would have pulled her aside and told her to slow down, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had seen this self-destructive side many times before.
Aneila turned her eyes on Jack, catching his attention. She said something he didn’t quite catch. He leaned closer. She cupped her mouth and repeated herself. “Something more I should tell you about the breach.”
He drained his beer mug, staring at her from above the rim and trying to keep his face level. He knew everything about the breach, probably before anyone else did.
“It’s bigger than management is letting on. Just look at them.” She nodded in succession towards Browne, Howden, Sessions, and Cameron. “They’re worried. Word is, it was an inside job. Someone on staff. The reason it’s being kept quiet. They can’t keep a lid on something like this forever. You probably know more than I do. You always do.”
Jack was feeling restless again. He could never settle down for long. Being a nomad was in his DNA. He was a true descendant of his forefathers, the Chiracahua Apaches who lived in the mountains and deserts of Arizona, existing for millennia by clawing out their lives halfway between the sky above and the mountains below ... the sun that warmed them and the stars that guided them ... the rivers that bathed them and the deserts that taught them ... the animals that fed them and the grasses that blew with the seasons. Jack was a man of the blood. He didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone.
“What do you think happened?” Her earnest question brought him out of his reverie. She had turned slightly toward him, anxious for answers.
“Looks like an anomaly. I couldn’t find anything.”
“Liz told me the same thing.” She tilted her head aside and gave him an incisive look. “You know, after all these months of working together, I can’t quite figure you out.”
Everyone was eating, drinking, and laughing, and pretending they weren’t insignificant drops of water swimming in a vast ocean. He was just like them, the difference being he knew he was irrelevant, they didn’t have a clue. “Don’t try.”
“Mystery man.” Exasperation filled her face along with a trace of humor. “Full of secrets.”
Unable to resist the temptation, he reached out and swept the tip of his finger along the length of her nose. She leaned forward and left a kiss on his mouth, little more than a peck but full of meaning. She tasted of almonds and chocolate. He licked the remnants, savoring the sweetness and bitterness together.
While Milly was talking to Camilla Howden, she glanced back at Jack. It was early in the evening, but she was already giddy, gay, and garrulous. Her cunning smile was slathered with bright red lipstick. The vivid color set off the powdery white of her face, the ebony black of her hair, and the vivid blue of her eyes. With her bobbed hairstyle and blunt-cut bangs, she resembled a China doll, fragile enough to disintegrate into a thousand pieces should it fall from its precarious ledge. She said something to Camilla, then marched toward their table, pulled out a chair, and squeezed between him and Aneila. “Where’s Lizzy? Thought she was coming.”
“I don’t keep her on a leash,” Jack said.
“I’ll bet she keeps you on one.” Milly was aware of their history. Most everyone had figured it out, Aneila being the exception. She fiddled with her hair the way plain women often do to make themselves appear girlish and desirable. Having made her point, she stood up, replaced the chair, and calmly bumped a water glass using a swift, nearly indiscernible movement.
Aneila yelped and jumped to her feet, dripping wet.
“That was a lousy thing to do,” Jack said.
“Go on. Say it. I’m a bitch.” Milly started to go but turned back and winked at Aneila. “He dumped her. The same way he dumped me. The same way he’ll dump you. Just a friendly warning, girlfriend to girlfriend.” She melted into the crowd.
Jack looked over at Aneila. She was squeezing water out of her sweater, literally squeezing it out like a wet rag, tears welling in her eyes. He reached out, took her hand, and tugged her back down. She came willingly, as limp as her soaked sweater. “Want another drink?” He signaled a waitress.
She shook her head, peeved but defiant, and stared at the floor, hiding her emotions.
Jack noticed the lady in black. Since filching his beer, other men had approached her, mumbling a few words before quickly departing with rejection. She was the appetizer they yearned for, not Buffalo wings or barbequed meatballs or miniature hot dogs, but this superb, mysterious, and tantalizing woman. She lifted her beer mug and drank thirstily, staring unblinkingly at him.
Aneila leaned close. “A woman is always insulted when the man sitting next to her smiles at another woman. I should go anyway,” she said, shouldering her purse. Without saying another word, she got up and left.
The evening wore on. Jack mingled with co-workers. Traded laughs with a some of the guys. Danced with a couple of the ladies. Became drunk with sociability. And paced his drinks for the drive home.
7
Washington, D. C.
Thursday, July 3
SIMON BRODEY WASN’T feeling much of anything, except that of his own corruption, which wasn’t a true emotion per se, merely an acceptance of his degradation. He was a weak man.
He swept tired eyes over an impersonal hotel room. Neutral wallpaper. Unmade bed. Jumbled suitcase. Unread newspapers. Tray tables stacked high with soiled dishes. A muted TV permanently tuned to cable news. And pondered his moral fiber. After considerable analysis and momentary debate, he supposed he had none. The delayed chuckle and the hacking fit that followed sounded hollow. Too late for regrets or recriminations, particularly for a man with an inadequate defense.
The agent calling himself Alpha wanted an expert. Not a dime store hacker but a multitasking crackerjack backed up by credentials and a reputation that wasn’t a load of bull. A true believer in the art of duplicity with a knack for discretion, the stomach for felony, and an open mind for permanently opting out. How Simon’s name rose to the top of the list was a mystery. He made careful inquiries but failed to find a clue. During one of his corporate freelance jobs, he must have complained a bit too loudly, mentioned something about starting over and scouring the world for the perfect beach and the perfect bitch, and was instantly labeled a rogue and a misfit. They wouldn’t have been far wrong.
He expected the knock on the door but involuntarily jerked anyway. The girl standing in the hallway was both demure and brash, an impressive package with black hair and the most amazing eyes: violet with blackest pupils. Bored but curious, she was college age, no more than nineteen or twenty, possibly younger. These days, you could never be certain. With makeup, clothes, and careful grooming, a thirteen-year-old could pass for thirty. She postured herself with the confidence of a starlet yet appeared shy and slightly nervous, making her irresistible. She would do. Hell, she would more than do.
She lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her hands. Doubtless she had been a runaway in search of freedom but wound up giving blowjobs to sleazy patrons in high-class hotel rooms. The silk brocade dress was Oriental, even if she wasn’t. The cut of her skirt was hip-hugging. The side seam was slit to mid-thigh. The stand-up collar was closed on an angle from armpit to neckline. She hadn’t spoken. Still lingering in the hallway, she slid the thumb of her hand over the pads of the remaining fingers. The hundred-dollar bills suited her just fine. Without further ado, she made them disappear and stepped inside.
The formal invitation from Alpha arrived a month ago. Simon was hungover, making him susceptible to new opportunities. He tried to trace the message back to its source and lost count at over a hundred intervening internet protocol addresses. The software was built on an earlier prototype of his. It sent a message. It said they needed him, but not that badly since there were dozens of others just as capable. After sobering up, he decided it must be a hoax. Until he received a follow-up message. The sender was dead serious. To prove it, he sent along a detailed description of everything required of him, bullet point by bullet point. The job offer was sweetened with a five-million-dollar incentive. The proposition was straightforward but left little room for negotiation. Simon advised Alpha he needed time to consider. He was given twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to weigh thievery, trickery, breaking the law, and who knows what else against a fresh start. In true Simon Brodey fashion, he decided in a single night of sleeplessness and replied in the affirmative.
The girl slithered out of the dress, taking her sweet time, making the act a simplicity of motion as though she hadn’t a care in the world except to please him in every way possible. Her skin was pale and soft, her breasts lovely to the eye and probably lovelier to touch, her hips slim, her waist narrow, her abdomen toned. She was quite adorable, and almost sweet in a brazen way. He liked his ladies sweet and adorable and brazen. It made him feel less intimidated while adding unpredictability to the encounter. The only item she left on were scarlet garters. Tawdry but effective. She had been well schooled in the art of seduction. She kept him waiting. Dimmed the lights. Closed the curtains. Turned up the television volume. Tuned in a music channel pleasing to her tastes. And swayed her tight little butt to the rhythm. When she turned towards him, a quivering smile appeared on her lips.
Simon had sequestered himself inside the luxury hotel room under an assumed name. The assignment required basic hacking skills. Nothing fancy. Merely effective. Alpha provided the name of the target but little else. Layer upon layer of secrecy had been built into the assignment, specifics doled out on a need-to-know basis, which kept the team members isolated from each other. The only time he connected with one of them occurred when Delta smoothed his way inside. Using a wireless phone appropriated under an alias in Memphis and a phreaked number belonging to a telemarketing firm located in Dallas, Simon triangulated a precise IP address, infiltrated a password-protected router, broke past firewalls, gained access to several networked wireless devices, and installed remote software on everything. The rest was relatively easy. At his leisure, he assembled a comprehensive curriculum vitae of the target. Accessed his checking, savings, and brokerage accounts. Captured online credit card use along with PINs and passwords. Downloaded a database of personal contacts. Once done, he had little to do but monitor phone calls, text messages, and emails transmitted to and from the target’s mobile and landline phones, and track online activity, most of it occurring late at night or early in the morning, usually news, social media websites, and searches, though no porn, dating, or gambling sites.
Working her way up from the foot of the bed, the girl kneaded her fingers expertly over more than one of his erogenous zones. Simon wanted a taste of her breasts. She thwacked him hard across his thigh and giggled sinfully. She was feral and fanged and applied herself with vigor. Ignoring his average stature, his acne-scarred face, his flat-combed hair, and his nearsighted squint, she convinced Simon he was a virile man. She diligently aroused him, moaning in all the likely places. At just the right time, she secured the handcuffs. The mechanical ratcheting was familiar, but the pinching around his wrists only slightly exhilarating. He was hoping for more. With arms stretched above his head, he stared disinterestedly at the ceiling and waited. For something. Anything.
Seven days of room service, clean sheets, covert activities, and occasional female entertainment accompanied the assignment. The hotel staff was excellent, the food first-rate, the service toadying, and the cost outrageous. He couldn’t afford it but paid for everything upfront with money borrowed from his retirement account. If all went well, he wouldn’t miss any of it. His cut would cover everything and more, provided the operation went down as expected. It was a gamble. A calculated gamble riddled with danger, but one worth taking. Over the intervening days, Simon fed his neuroses with junk food and pot after pot of premium coffee. Carbs, caffeine, and adrenaline had him buzzing like a balloon caught in a power line. He had put in four hours of sleep in the last thirty-six and would get as much sleep over the next twenty-four. He had to stay alert since coded transmissions arrived sporadically, often with urgency. His nerves were raw, his emotions on edge, and his appetite large. On a regular schedule, he exchanged cryptic messages with the team on a proprietary two-way radio frequency and sent progress reports over a secure web connection. He had been assigned the code name Epsilon. No one knew where he was, including his wife, though he occasionally called home from a burner phone. Monotony filled his days and frustration occupied his nights. Every inconvenience was worth it. He had been living in a fantasyland of code. Ones and zeros. On and off. If this, then that. Good versus evil. Hilariously funny or flat-out lame. Hacking was a crippler of the human psyche and once set in motion, a terminal disease. He had to get out.
