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“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Allison asked. “It looks deserted.”
“This is the address Agent Phillips gave me,” Jordan said.
The gate suddenly opened.
“I guess they know we’re here,” Jordan said as she stepped on the accelerator and drove through. She pulled into an empty lot obviously meant for visitors and parked in the slot closest to the front door. “There must be a parking garage on the other side of the building or maybe it’s underground.”
“There’s a guard just inside the door watching us.”
Jordan nodded. “I count two cameras on top of the building, and the red eyes are definitely on us.”
“This is very weird,” Allison said. “But the fact that it’s such a highly protected site makes me all the more excited to see what’s inside. I wonder if they have a code room.”
“I’m sure they do.”
They started for the door. “Don’t let me forget to thank Agent Phillips. This is such a cool opportunity,” Allison said.
“About Phillips . . . ,” Jordan began.
“Yes?”
“You won’t like him much at first. He’s arrogant and wants things done his way, but he grows on you. He can be a real pain. . . .”
“And he’s your friend?”
Jordan nodded. “If you’re in the mood, I’d love it if you’d take him down a peg, maybe chip away some of his arrogance.”
“You want me to show off for an FBI agent?”
“I kinda do.”
“It’s not going to happen.” Allison began to laugh. “You’ve got a crazy amount of faith in me. I’m sure the head of the cyber task force won’t be interested in anything I have to say.”
The guard at the door escorted them to a reception desk where another guard sat behind a bank of computer screens. The young man, with a badge clipped to his blazer pocket identifying him as Tom Pritchard, picked up the phone to notify Phillips of their arrival. While they waited, the door guard leaned against the counter, obviously happy to have a break in the monotony of his job and ready to chat. “We hardly ever get visitors, and today we have three.”
“Three?” Jordan asked.
“That’s right. You two and an agent, but not with this division. I’m not real sure who he works for,” he admitted. “But I do know he’s got higher clearance than Agent Phillips. He could shut us down if he wanted to.”
“Why would he want to?” Allison wondered.
The guard grinned. “I’m not saying he would. I’m saying he could. He’s got the authority.”
The elevator doors opened and a man stepped out. He was putting his jacket on as he strode toward the desk. He appeared to be in his mid-forties. His hair was trimmed so close to his head he almost looked bald, and his stocky build and thick neck strained the buttons of his shirt.
“Phillips is younger than I expected,” Allison whispered to Jordan.
“That’s not Phillips,” she replied.
“No, that’s Curtis Bale. He was head of our Midwestern division in Detroit,” Tom said as he opened a drawer and took out two large envelopes. When Bale reached the counter, he handed them to him. Bale couldn’t seem to take his attention away from the women, so the guard quickly introduced him.
“Are you here to see anyone in particular?” Bale asked.
Since the question was directed at her, Allison answered. “Yes, we are.”
“Agent Phillips,” Jordan supplied.
It was apparent that Bale wanted to know why they wanted to see Phillips, because he waited several seconds for one of them to explain. Neither Jordan nor Allison did.
The guard filled the awkward silence. “I think they’re here for a tour or something.”
Bale’s eyebrow went up. “Phillips is giving tours?” He laughed as though the notion was ludicrous.
“Not exactly,” Jordan said. “Agent Phillips is a friend.”
“Then the rumor’s true. Phillips does have friends.” He shook his head, then said, “It was nice meeting you. Enjoy your tour.” He checked the time on his watch and hurried down the hall.
Tom noticed the two women were still holding their purses and said, “No cell phones or cameras beyond this point. You can leave your things here, and I’ll lock them in the desk.”
They were handing over their purses just as the elevator doors opened again and Agent Phillips stepped out. He managed a smile for Jordan. When she introduced him to Allison, he gave her a frown and a curt nod. Allison guessed Phillips was around fifty. His thick hair was streaked gray, and his weathered tan implied he was an outdoorsman. His piercing gaze told her he didn’t miss much.
Allison followed Jordan into the elevator. Leaning close, she whispered, “He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?”
The second floor was just as shiny and uncluttered as the first. There were several sleek desks scattered around the area, but there weren’t any employees working at the stations. Aside from the stack of Post-its and pens, there were no other papers or personal effects such as potted plants or photos of family. Maybe they weren’t allowed, Allison thought. The wall opposite the elevators was constructed of huge opaque glass panels.
A tall young man in a suit that looked a size too large for his thin frame stood waiting for them as they exited the elevator.
“Ladies, this is Agent Kimble,” Phillips said. He then turned to Kimble. “If you’ll take Mrs. Clayborne and show her around, I’d like to have a word with Miss Trent before her tour.”
Clearly surprised by the unexpected separation, Jordan looked puzzled.
“We’ll catch up with you,” Phillips assured her.
As Jordan began to follow the agent down the hallway, she glanced back at Allison and gave her a baffled shrug.
Phillips led Allison to his office to the left of the main room. While she waited, bewildered, in the doorway, he went to his desk and picked up a file folder, then came back to her and opened it. Looking at what was inside, he said, “Allison, I see your parents died when you were four years old. Your sister, Charlotte, was ten. The two of you moved in with your aunt and uncle, Jane and Russell Trent—”
Shocked, she interrupted. “Wait . . . You have a file on me?” She could feel her face heating up. “Why would you have a file on me?”
Oh God. What had he found out about her?
“We don’t let just anyone in here. We’re making an exception for you and Jordan. Jordan has clearance, and we’ve done a thorough check on you.”
“Why did you invite us here?” Allison asked. She could feel panic building inside her, but she was determined not to let it show.
“I didn’t. It was decided this morning. The order came from above. We knew that Jordan was your friend, and if we invited you together, you would most likely come. Does my looking at your file upset you?” he asked curtly, as though resentful of the intrusion on his time.
She squared her shoulders and took a step inside his office. Perhaps if she appeared cool and self-assured, he would not detect her anxiety. “It upsets me that you have a file on me. Yes.”
Allison suddenly realized she was surrounded by federal agents. She didn’t have any idea where they’d come from, and she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Focusing on Phillips, she asked, “What did you decide this morning?”
“To see what you can do.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d like to show you around our operation and then see what, if anything, you can do,” he explained.
What she could do? What was he talking about? When he’d opened the file, she was certain he was going to start listing her crimes, but now she was confused. Maybe he had other intentions. Whatever he wanted, he was certainly smug about it. His condescending inflection affected her like a dentist’s drill hitting a nerve.
He went back to her file
folder. “I noticed you’ve been a student at Boston College for a long time now. Adding up your credits, it looks like you’re about to graduate. However, it’s taken you five full years. Why do you think that is?”
She couldn’t resist. If he thought to embarrass her, he was mistaken. She took a step toward him, batted her eyelashes, and said, “I’m not real bright.”
Several agents laughed. Phillips didn’t react. “Are you ready for your tour?” He walked across the room and paused in the doorway. “Just don’t touch anything,” he said before disappearing behind the tinted glass.
She looked at the wall of agents behind her. She had had enough of Phillips’s patronizing attitude and wanted to get out of there, but it was apparent she wasn’t being given a choice in the matter, so she reluctantly followed.
They proceeded down a hallway where the walls were clear glass. There was so much activity she didn’t know where to look first. They passed a huge room filled with computers and techs, all men dressed in suits and ties, with their jackets off. Allison stopped to watch. They were typing furiously and watching their screens. Against the far wall facing her was a giant world map. Dots of light appeared with lines curving from relay station to relay station, bouncing off satellites around the globe. It was obvious to Allison that they were trying to pinpoint the exact location where a cyber attack originated, but the person or persons at the source had put up barricades. She stopped to watch. The screen was filling up with more dots, indicating the techs weren’t getting anywhere.
When Phillips noticed Allison wasn’t behind him, he came back for her. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer for a couple of minutes. As she watched the lights jump across the screen, she began to recognize the pattern. It was one she had seen before. “Is this a training session?”
“No, of course not. This isn’t a training facility. These are all professionals.”
“Then why is it taking them so long to . . .” She paused. Trying to be more diplomatic, she revised her question so that it wouldn’t sound antagonistic. “How long do you think it will take before one of them pinpoints the location?”
“It could take a day or two, sometimes longer, and sometimes the location disappears before we can locate the point of origin.” He stared at her while she continued to study the map, then offered a challenge. “You think you can do better?”
There it was again, that smart-ass attitude in his tone and expression. She decided she wouldn’t let him irritate her, until he said, “I didn’t think so.”
Oh, it was so on. She brushed past him, opened the door, and walked into the room. The air smelled clean but with a hint of aftershave. Every male in the room looked up at her and froze. She smiled, hoping to put them at ease as she walked over to a tech in the back row and said, “Would you mind if I have a try?”
All heads turned in the direction of Phillips, who was still outside the glass. He nodded.
Another tech nearly knocked his chair over when he stood. “Here,” he said, “you can use the station next to Stan.” He rushed to the back row, inserted his card into a slot, then pulled out the chair. “Here you go. All set.”
He introduced himself. Then eleven others followed suit. They wanted to know why she was there. She didn’t take time to explain. She sat, adjusted the chair, stared at the screen for several seconds, and started typing. Her mind was so focused on the task at hand that she was no longer aware of her surroundings.
—
Phillips stayed outside, feeling annoyed. He had a lot of work to get done, and this exercise with Allison seemed a waste of time to him, but orders were orders, and he would, of course, acquiesce. His instructions were to show her the unit before the evaluation; however, her sudden focus on this cyber problem might just produce the results he expected. If that happened, he could bid Ms. Trent good-bye sooner rather than later.
“Sir, how long do you think it will take before she gives up?” one of the agents asked.
Phillips didn’t answer him.
Another agent said, “She doesn’t need to know her way around a computer. Not with looks like that.”
“Do you realize how sexist you sound, Pierce?” the first agent chided.
Phillips kept checking the time. Fifteen minutes passed before Allison stopped typing. She reached for a small Post-it, picked up a pen, and wrote something. Then she stood and thanked the techs for letting her join them.
“Give up?” Phillips asked what he thought was the obvious question when she came through the door.
Smiling, she slapped the Post-it on the lapel of his jacket, turned, and walked down the hall to find Jordan.
He pulled the piece of paper from his lapel to see what she had written. It was an address in San Francisco, California. “What the . . . ?”
“Sir?” The agent next to him motioned to the map on the wall. Every tech was standing and watching as dot after dot and the connecting lines disappeared. In less than a minute only one dot remained. Above it was an address, the same address Allison had written on the Post-it.
“Did she do that?” the agent asked.
Phillips was frowning as he handed him the Post-it and answered, “Yes.”
“How . . . how did she do it?” Pierce wondered.
“I don’t know,” Phillips admitted.
“Do you think it’s the right address?”
“I do. Roberts, call the San Francisco office. Tell them to get a SWAT team out there.”
“Yes, sir,” Roberts replied, then rushed into the nearest office.
The three remaining agents glanced at one another. “What if we’re wrong?” Pierce asked.
“Then we’re wrong.” Phillips was looking up at the empty screen when he said, “Healy, you’d better go get him. He’ll want to see this.” And gloat, he added silently.
“He was right, wasn’t he?” Healy asked.
Phillips sighed. “Apparently so. Go get him,” he ordered again. “And, Norton, you bring Miss Trent to my office. Where did she go?”
“She’s in the encryption room with Mrs. Clayborne. I’ll get her.”
Pierce spoke up. “I’ll get her.”
“No, I’ve got this,” Norton insisted, hurrying away.
He found Jordan and Allison surrounded by men who were all trying to explain what their job was. When Norton told Allison that Phillips wanted to see her, Jordan offered to go with her, but Allison told her to stay.
Phillips was on the phone when she entered his office. He motioned for her to sit, but she continued to stand in front of his desk. The second he disconnected the call, she blurted, “Aren’t there any women working here?”
Detecting annoyance in her question, he retorted, “As a matter of fact, there are women working here.”
“I haven’t seen any,” she replied.
“We’re just filling positions for this new office, but we already have many women on our support staff. And if you’d gone into other departments, you would have seen a couple of women who are analysts and . . .”
Allison didn’t hear the rest of his answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man walking toward the office. There was something familiar about him. She lost her train of thought, and, although it was rude, she turned her back on Phillips and watched as the man came closer. The gun told her he was an agent. A tall, attractive agent, she corrected, with sandy blond hair and the physique of a Roman gladiator.
He came into the office, his expression serious. He looked at Phillips for a brief second before turning his gaze to her.
“You were on the mark,” Phillips told him with a hint of reluctance.
“Yes, I heard,” he replied.
Allison looked up at him in amazement and recognition. “It’s you,” she said. “You were at the seminar when Jordan spoke. You were watching.”
“Yes, I was t
here. That was a while ago.” He seemed surprised that she would remember.
“What is this all about? What’s going on?” She didn’t give him time to answer before adding, “Who are you?”
The agent just smiled and held out his hand. “My name is Liam Scott. And I am very happy to finally meet you, Allison.”
FIVE
Uh-oh. Finally? He was happy to finally meet her?
Allison had a really bad feeling about what was coming, and she suddenly had the insane urge to turn around and run as fast as she could, knowing that one of the agents might tackle her before she reached the elevator. She still wanted to try, though.
Fortunately, before she took a step, she came to her senses and decided to stay composed. Phillips pulled out a chair for her and pointed. She sat and crossed one leg over the other. Because she exposed a bit of thigh from the side split of her pencil skirt, she tugged her skirt down and casually folded her hands in her lap. She hoped her nerves weren’t showing despite the fact that her mind was racing to figure out what Agent Scott wanted. She told herself to stay calm and try to act like a law-abiding citizen.
Yeah, right. Law-abiding . . . except for the thirty-eight million dollars she took from the CHF hackers’ accounts. Not to mention the millions she recovered in subsequent hacks. She hadn’t kept the money, of course. She had simply moved it into accounts so the FBI could retrieve it. Still, in order to find the money, she had visited—she preferred that word to hacking—protected systems. She had been so cautious and was certain she had gotten in and out without leaving any footprints the FBI or any other agency could follow. She hadn’t stolen anything for herself or changed anything that would cause harm. She was only helping out. That didn’t make her a criminal . . . did it?
Who was she kidding? If they knew what she had done, she’d have been on her way to lockup.
Now, as she sat there under the close scrutiny of two FBI agents, she wondered if breaking into one of those sites had been her downfall. She kept reminding herself that she’d been careful—she was always careful—yet there were times when she’d been in a hurry.
