Monday
Gary Phillips, Delcroft’s deputy chief operating officer, loved his corner office on the sixty-fourth floor of Delcroft’s Loop office building. The eastern window framed a magnificent view of Lake Michigan, and it was high enough that low-hanging diaphanous clouds occasionally hugged his window. Phillips had flown F-16s during the First Gulf War, and like most pilots, he loved the solitude and power of flying, the sense that he was the only human in the sky, both servant and master of his own fate. But after the war Delcroft lured him away from McDonnell Douglas, and he spent most of his time at a desk. Now, though, with the problems Delcroft was facing, he wished he could fly back into the clouds.
He was lamenting the pile of Monday morning messages and decisions to make when his office door flew open and Delcroft’s chief of security, Warren Stokes, barged in. There had been no intercom warning from Gena, Phillips’ executive assistant.
Phillips looked up from his desk. He didn’t like Stokes, but the ex-Agency guy had been forced on him by Delcroft’s CEO, Brian Riordan, to whom Phillips reported. Delcroft thought they had a secure system in place, Riordan said, but their contacts in the military persuaded them that the escalating concern about corporate espionage, particularly by offshore hackers, made people like Stokes a necessity. He had a clean record, Riordan added. Phillips, himself a member of the Ivy League old boy’s network, had no choice. The days of handshake deals and honor codes were long gone.
Stocky, with ruddy cheeks, a buzz cut, and a web of tiny spider veins on his nose, Stokes looked like he’d be more comfortable in a bar than Phillips’ office. As the man pulled up a chair to the edge of his desk, Phillips noted his denim shirt and khakis. You’d think with all the money Delcroft was shelling out to him, he could afford a suit.
Phillips pulled the plug out of his desk phone and switched off his cell, as he’d been instructed. Only then did he let his temper show.
“Okay. Tell me what the hell is happening around here. Ever since Hollander saw that video I’m hearing strange things.”
Stokes replied in an even voice. “I talked to Hollander. She was concerned about Gregory Parks when he showed up in the video.”
“Parks…Parks…why do I know that name?”
“I’m sure you remember. He was the guy in the video that Hollander went bat-shit crazy over. The guy who—supposedly—jumped off the subway platform last week.”
“Yes. I remember. But what does ‘supposedly’ mean?”
“It means that Parks turned out to be a huge security risk. I had to neutralize the threat.”
Stokes had had a thirty-year career at the CIA, with postings in Eastern Europe, Afghanistan, and Iraq. But, according to the CEO, he’d exited the Agency several years earlier. He went on to create his own security firm and, apparently, had become highly successful. He now operated a mini-CIA, staffed with more than fifty former intelligence operatives from the Agency, the Bureau, Secret Service, even Blackwater. The company was known for getting results fast. Which was both a blessing and a problem.
“Wait a minute, Stokes,” Phillips said. “Are you saying you had something to do with his death?”
Stokes didn’t answer, but his smug expression told Phillips what he needed to know.
“Goddammit, Stokes. This is not something we do at Delcroft.”
“You didn’t. I did.”
“Yeah, but I sure as hell didn’t authorize you to push the guy off a subway platform.”
“I don’t hear anyone saying you did.”
“Stokes. Listen to me. Assassination is not part of our mission statement.”
Stokes leaned forward, his expression flat. “My charter is to do what I deem necessary to protect the security and safety of the largest and most important defense contractor in the world. Parks was a ticking time bomb. You can’t trust the Chinese. They’re polite to your face, but behind your back, they’re just waiting to screw you. They’re worse than the Russians.”
Christ. They weren’t even speaking the same language. Phillips massaged his temples.
“Look,” Stokes added. “I know this is not your area. That’s why Riordan hired me.” He looked Phillips in the eye. “Parks was a problem. And now we have a bigger one.”
The faint stench of cigar smoke wafted over Phillips. Stokes had probably lit one up before coming in because he knew Phillips hated them.
“What’s that?”
“Hollander.”
Phillips bent his head. “Charlotte? What’s going on?”
“She’s gone. Disappeared. Not here.”
“What are you telling me?” Phillips straightened his spine. “You didn’t—”
Stokes cut him off. “Relax, pal. All I did was stake out her house over the weekend. Her mailbox was overflowing. No lights on. And her car hadn’t been used in days. She’s outta here.”
“Maybe she went on vacation. You talk with her people?”
“Didn’t have to.” He folded his arms. “I checked her computer.”
The security measures put in place by CEO Riordan were excessive. Especially when someone like Stokes was implementing them. If Riordan knew Stokes had killed Parks, he’d explode. Stokes was acting like a third-rate hit man. Even if he had worked at the Agency. What did they call them—cleaners? Phillips decided to talk to Riordan. This had to stop. “Is there anyone here you’re not bugging?”
Stokes pretended to smile. Phillips guessed the man didn’t like him very much either. “My team accessed Hollander’s computer and phone. There were four calls to a number that turned out to be Parks’ cell.”
“From Hollander?” Phillips asked. “Are you sure?”
Stokes nodded. “She was desperate to reach him. Even left him a voice message. When my guys checked out her hard drive, we think we know why.”
Phillips gazed at him.
“All her correspondence was encrypted.”
“So is mine. Everyone’s is. You were the one who made us do it.”
“In her case, she’s using a program we didn’t approve.”
Phillips thought for a minute. “That might have been a wise decision on her part. She deals with extremely sensitive information.”
Stokes crossed his arms.
“Did you decrypt the files?”
“A buddy of mine is working on it. But we got lucky with the logs, and we’ve been able to extract a few headers. You know, the ‘from’s’ and ‘to’s.’ Other metadata as well, which—”
Phillips cut him off. He’d been through a full day of training on computer security at the CEO’s order. “And?”
“There were half a dozen or more emails sent to someone named Gao Zhi Peng. Want to take a guess what nationality he is?”
Phillips, knowing he was being patronized, let out an irritated breath. “So he’s Chinese.”
“A general in the Chinese army. There are also three-way emails between Parks, Hollander, and Gao.”
“Your conclusion?”
“We’re still investigating, sir.” Stokes emphasized the last word. “Anything I say would be purely hypothetical.”
Phillips felt his patience slip away. “What do you think is going on? Hypothetically?”
Stokes unfolded his arms. “Well, your director of engineering might be selling DADES to the Chinese, using Parks as a middleman.”
“That’s a goddamn huge assumption.”
Stokes inclined his head. “Why not cash in her chips? Get ready for retirement?”
“Charlotte? No way. Her father was in the military. A four-star general. She enlisted when she was eighteen. The army paid for her engineering degree.”
“Look, Phillips. I’ve seen this more times than you know. Someone isn’t getting their due, their credit, their promotion. So they sell out. Bottom line, it’s all about the money. I’ll wager the Chinese are paying her a shitload more than Delcroft.”
Phillips plucked one of the cuffs of his shirt.
Stokes smiled again. “Look at it this way. Now you have a reason to get rid of her. She’s your only real competition for the top spot.”
“This is not how I wanted to run the company.”
“You’re not,” Stokes said. “Running the company. Yet.”