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He shook his head, as if trying to shake himself awake. “Not Congress.”
No, not Congress. “We have to find someone to listen to us. Everyone is on super alert and nervous. On one podcast I heard that the whole military is going to Defcon 4 and Defcon 3 isn’t far behind.” Which was super scary shit. Defcon 3, known as Round House, was an increase in force readiness. Defcon 2, known as Fast Pace, meant armed forces were ready to deploy and engage in less than six hours.
And of course, it could all go to Defcon 1, known as Cocked Pistol, which was nuclear war.
“I’m going to contact my boss, Morris Sartan, first. Then I know someone at Homeland Security. He’s a reasonable man. Let me see if I can get in touch with him.”
“Here.” Riley placed a flash drive in his hand. “That’s what I just showed you. It’s encrypted.” She wrote a long string of letters and numbers on a piece of notepaper and tore it. “I want to sayswallow this, but of course it would be useless. It’s the code to decrypt it. Fold it tightly and put it somewhere on your person where a guard wouldn’t find it if you were frisked.”
Henry took the strip of paper, folded it into a tight cube and put it in his suit jacket pocket. His hands trembled. “I’ll think of something better, while on my way over. I’ll get in touch as soon as I’ve spoken to the boss and then my friend, okay?”
Riley nodded. “I think I might go home early. But I’ll always answer my cell. I’m too agitated to stay here.”
Henry nodded. He opened his mouth, shut it, and left. Riley understood. There wasn’t much to say. Either she was wrong, and was risking her career, Henry’s career, and possibly jail, or she was right and the risk was nuclear warfare and the annihilation of civilization over a scam.
God, she hoped she was wrong. She had serious skills. If she lost her job here, she could always find another one. As a matter of fact, her friends Felicity, Hope and Emma were always on her case to come to Portland, Oregon and work for their company, Alpha Security International. A good company, they said. Where they had maximum freedom, a great salary, and worked with good guys.
No hierarchy. No office politics.
The NSO was okay, the work was interesting, but it was a massive bureaucracy, and she was a cog in a huge mechanism.
The way her friends described their bosses, there would be no problem talking to them, putting this whole mess in their capable hands.
Right now, at NSO, she had nowhere to go. She’d never met the new Big Boss, who’d just arrived two weeks before. She had no idea what to do, whom to approach. Her immediate boss, Henry, obviously didn’t trust people higher up the pecking order, if he wanted to avoid everyone in-house. He was going to take this to his boss, Morris Sartan, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic.
Riley trusted her friends in Portland more than she trusted anyone at work. And she had a secret way of getting in touch with them.
The HER room. A place in the dark web only they had access to. They used it to ask for help, like a bat signal. She was about to call them when she saved her life by looking up.
She had a room of her own, a tiny glass-enclosed cubicle. The vertical blinds were half open, which allowed her to keep an eye on what was happening in the big room outside, but which blocked a view of her office from outside.
Three people entered the big room at the far end. Three men, tall, fit, in military uniform though she didn’t recognize what branch they served in. They were athletic, wore hard scowls, and were armed.
They were definitely not in-house security. She’d never seen them before. And then one of the men turned to the side to ask a question of a female colleague. She paused, turned, and pointed. Straight at Riley’s office.
As the man turned, she stiffened with terror. The man had a flame outlined in gold stitched on the arm of his jacket. The symbol of the Sommers Group.
The mercenaries of the Sommers group.
Here.
Coming for her.
Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like her chest vibrated. She was used to making inferences with insufficient data, but this data wasn’t insufficient at all. She’d uncovered criminal behavior by members of the Sommers group and,surprise surprise, here they were. After her.
The three men were walking—almost marching—in synch toward her office. She had about half a minute to disappear.
But her office was glass-enclosed, the windows to the outside were welded in place, because God forbid NSO employees get whiffs of fresh air. Which suited them, nerds all. Fresh air was poison to nerds.
She was on the fourth floor, so even if she managed to break the glass, which was bullet-resistant, she couldn’t escape, she’d just splat on the ground. The façade of the building was smooth, not even a ledge to inch across.
But…she shared an internal door with Sylvie Carter, an IR analyst who was back in California dealing with a sick mom. They were friends and had long ago unlocked the door between them.
Riley had the key on her fob, because she’d forgotten to take it off. In an instant, she had the door open, shot through to Sylvie’s office and locked the door behind her. She looked around. The only place to hide was Sylvie’s bathroom, on the opposite wall. No choice.
She was closing the bathroom door behind her when she heard noises coming from her office. It only took them a second to realize her office was empty. Angry male voices. Someone rattled the door between her office and Sylvie’s, but stopped when it was clear that the door was locked.
“Check the video feeds,” she heard one man say and her heart sank.
