“Why is the virus taking so long?” Tubeec asked, scraping the edge of the syringe along Garbo’s face. A debilitating dose of a modified version of lazirprene would render Garbo’s body unresponsive to brain cues. Yet, he would still be able to feel the pain of his skin being sliced thousands of times with a razor blade, Tubeec’s current weapon of choice.
Garbo glanced up toward Tubeec, then looked away.
“I expanded the attack to ensure that all evidence against Rono would disappear. That means evidence gathered on others might also be erased, but I didn’t think you’d care about that,” explained Garbo.
Garbo could obliterate all traces of electronic documents from the world with his Venom virus. IT experts and law enforcement agencies would bet their lives that the outcomes of Venom were impossible. An ignorance that worked to Garbo’s advantage as he made possible what no one could fathom. A virus that could creep undetected through the networks and servers around the world, strategically deleting targeted information was beyond comprehension. Complete and utter destruction of undesirable information could be attained in mere hours, with no proof the information had ever existed. Venom singlehandedly caused identities and data to vanish. Garbo’s virus had made it possible for Tubeec to avoid capture for the past decade.
“I don’t. Make it run faster,” Tubeec ordered, releasing the man’s neck.
Garbo nodded, ignoring his soiled pants as he sat back down and turned his attention to the computers lining one side of the old van.
Tubeec took a step back, easing down onto the worn brocade covered bench seat lining the opposite wall. He twirled the syringe between his fingers.
Tubeec ran a finger along the flash drive. The contents would give him the ammunition he needed to assert his influence over Deputy President Rono. And if Rono was successful in knocking Noah Thairu out of the top spot, Tubeec would have secured a president under his control. He would owe his success to the man who’d paid him handsomely to abduct Mena Nix. With the money and Mena’s close ties to Wangari Irungu, Tubeec had been inspired to grab the top-secret evidence he’d heard DPP Lagat was gathering against Rono.
As lines of texts and strange graphics crowded the computer screens, Tubeec focused on the low symphony of the hacker’s fingers moving across the keyboard.
The cell phone buzzed. Reaching down, Tubeec pressed the talk button and placed it against his ear. This was the call he’d been waiting for. Mena Nix should be secured at the airstrip, awaiting the arrival of the man his second team had been sent to deliver back to Kenya.
“Mena Nix is … gone.”
“What did you say?” Jolted, Tubeec clutched the phone tight.
“She escaped. Bashiir, Dalmar and Harbi are out looking for her now,” Cangrejos said, a slight tremor in his voice.
“Who was assigned to her? Who was supposed to take her to Mandera?” Tubeec asked, forcing his words through clenched jaws.
“Rahim. He’s usually so good, I don’t know—”
“Make him feel the consequences of his incompetence,” Tubeec said.
“He’s missing, too. And there’s more bad news.”
Tubeec sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly.
A three-dimensional depiction of a globe appeared on the computer monitors across from him. Bright green lines lit up the globe as it turned, darting from city to city throughout Africa, Europe, and North America.
“We lost five men at the compound about an hour ago in an attack.”
“There should have been no attack. I paid al-Harakat handsomely to allow us passage in their territory,” Tubeec said, feeling his blood boiling.
“It wasn’t al-Harakat. A team was sent to rescue the hostages. They got Wangari Irungu,” Cangrejos said, his words slow and measured. “But, Assad, Liban, and Suleymaan are with me.”
“It couldn’t be ASF. Who was behind the attack?” Tubeec asked. Tubeec’s reputation would take a hit for this. He’d expected the ASF to be fumbling through the carefully crafted maze of confusion in Uganda, not orchestrating a sneak attack on the compound where he was holding Mena Nix and Wangari Irungu.
“We think it was …” Cangrejos hesitated.
“Tell me,” Tubeec demanded.
“TIDES.”
Tubeec almost dropped the phone, then regained his composure.
Tactical and Intelligence Defense Executive Services.
Created with money and resources he’d supplied.
Owned and operated by Sunny Tate.
