Between the three of them, they managed to finish preparations for dinner and had just settled around the table when Stewart arrived and joined them.
Marta had expected he’d come with some printouts of their itinerary. He showed up empty-handed.
Liza set another place at the table and smiled. “I’m so glad you made it in time to join us.”
He took a bread roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “As it turns out, I couldn’t make any flight arrangements for you two,” he said. “My sources tell me Vasquez has people at the airport, looking for you. You can’t fly out of here or any airports nearby.”
Marta shot a concerned glance toward Crusher. “We can’t take forever getting out of here,” she murmured.
Crusher nodded. “And we can’t let Vasquez get his hands on you.” He turned to Stewart. “What’s the plan?”
“Your transport will arrive early tomorrow morning to take you out of Panama.” He slathered butter on his bread roll.
“How will he get us out?” Crusher asked.
“You’ll be going cross-country in the back of a delivery van. Your escort will fill you in on all the details.” Stewart took a bite of his roll as if to end that line of questioning.
Marta’s stomach sank. While they were burning through time trying to get somewhere, Vasquez could have someone else working on perfecting the virus's release. Her knee bounced quietly beneath the table. She had so much adrenaline coursing through her veins that she needed to move. To do something.
A hand settled over her thigh and squeezed gently. She locked gazes with Crusher.
In his gentle touch, he seemed to be saying that everything would be all right.
She hoped he was right.
In the meantime, she fought to appear calm as they finished eating.
“I’ll wash, if someone will dry,” Liza called out as she carried dishes toward the sink.
“I’ll dry,” Crusher offered.
“I’ll be in my room,” Stewart said and left the kitchen.
Marta followed. “Stewart,” she called out.
He stopped and turned back toward her, a frown pulling his brow low. Then he nodded, and the frown disappeared. “Oh, right. You wanted me to get you logged onto the internet.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”
“You can use my mother’s computer. It’s in her office.” He led the way to the back of the house and into a small room barely large enough for a little desk and a tiny bookshelf. The room didn’t have a window, making Marta think it had been a closet before being converted into an office. A large monitor sat on the desktop with a keyboard and mouse.
“Mom uses this to run her bed and breakfast. She spends more time day trading than anything else. We don’t get too many visitors as we’re a little far off the beaten path.” He sat in the chair and touched the mouse.
The monitor blinked to life.
Stewart entered a password, and a browser appeared.
“It’s all yours.” He rose and stepped back, allowing Marta to sit.
She sank into the chair and rested her hand on the mouse. “Are you sure people can’t trace back to this IP address?”
“Positive. I learned my lesson in Chicago. I have a network of redirection to keep that from happening. Hack away,” he said, and left the room.
Marta accessed the World Health Organization website and slipped into one of the backdoors she’d created when she’d seen the writing on the wall with the incoming administration. She’d known the CDC would be impacted and had put several safeguards in place that would allow her to access information she’d helped to compile with the research she’d conducted over the past decade—not only at the CDC but also with the other organizations that had relied on her research, especially when that research had a global impact.
She’d also set up a history tracker on her data so she could see who had accessed it and when.
Fortunately, Vasquez had insisted that she store the research and work she was doing for him in an online database accessible only to his technical team. That had been another place Marta had inserted a backdoor into the data and added a history tracker there as well.
