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Damon jogged down the stairs and strode down the hall into the back of the house. Alina was seated on a bar stool, her .45 in pieces in front of her. She was meticulously cleaning the barrel when he walked in and he raised an eyebrow.
“Kasim's up to something in Philadelphia, Stephanie's sending live updates on your movements to a server God-knows where, and you're cleaning your Ruger?” he asked, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge.
“I'm working on both of them,” she retorted, not looking up. “There's nothing to do except watch code and script run on the screens down there. You know how much that bores me.”
Damon chuckled and pulled a beer out of the fridge.
“You rely too heavily on algorithms,” he said, opening the bottle and taking a swig. “I spent all afternoon trolling through chat rooms looking for Kasim.”
“And where did it get you?” Alina finally looked up, a grin pulling at her lips. “Why waste my time when a computer can do it faster and better than I can? For the record, though, I spent most of the morning doing the same thing. Now, I'm giving the bots a chance.”
Damon went over to the bar and looked down at the pieces of the gun resting on a soft cloth.
“That calms you down, doesn't it?” he asked suddenly, his blue eyes meeting hers.
Alina raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Cleaning the gun, it calms you down,” he said, sipping his beer. “I've noticed the crazier things get, the more you clean your weapons.”
She dropped her eyes back to the barrel between her fingers and set it on the cloth.
“I like the straight-forwardness of it,” she said after a moment. “It's a machine. If I take care of it, it takes care of me. Simple and uncomplicated.”
Damon smiled slowly.
“Like I said, it calms you.”
Alina was opening her mouth with a smart retort when her watch vibrated against her wrist, distracting her. She frowned, glancing at it. A message was incoming.
Damon followed her gaze.
“Charlie?” he asked, surprised. “I thought he wanted you to stay dark until he figured out his leak.”
“That's the last I heard,” she said, pulling out her phone and swiping the screen. “I know he doesn't want me working, so it can't be a job.”
“Maybe he finally has information on the bastard,” Damon muttered, taking another swig of his beer and turning to go over to the island. He lifted the sauté pan down and set it in the center. “I'll go help the bots with Kasim.”
“Does he know you're here?” Alina asked, watching as the island slid aside.
Damon shrugged.
“I didn't tell him, but he's Charlie.”
Alina nodded and Damon disappeared into the stairwell. A moment later, the island slid back. She sighed and pressed the number on the screen, holding the phone to her ear. When the line connected a second later, she was prompted for her security code. She typed it in, then put the phone on speaker and set it down while she waited. There was no hold music, only dead air as the call was routed through layers of security on its way to its destination.
Viper picked up the slide to her .45 and eased the barrel back into place until it clicked. She was re-inserting the spring assembly when Charlie came on the line.
“Viper?”
“The one and only.” She replaced the slide and pulled it back, locking it into place. “What's going on?”
“Are you alone?” Charlie asked.
“Right now.” Viper pushed the pin through the frame and pulled the slide back again, releasing it to spring forward. She picked up the magazine, slamming it home into the handle, then laid the pistol down. Picking up the phone, she took it off speaker, holding it up to her ear again. “I don't know how long that will last.”
“I have information on Kasim,” said Charlie, getting straight to the point. “He's in Philadelphia.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You found him?”
“Not yet. He popped up on security footage in Center City.”
“Where?”
“Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, both this week. I'm trying to track him down now.”
“That's in line with my intel,” Charlie told her. “We intercepted a communication that we believe was between Tarek and another member of Al-Jibad's group in Damascus.”
Viper stilled.
“And?”
“He's planning on hitting both locations tomorrow,” he said briskly. “There are re-enactments throughout the day, and several schools are sending groups. The rough estimate of schools so far is ten, possibly more, all ranging in age from second through eighth grade.”
Viper cursed in a low voice.
“That's right in their wheelhouse,” she muttered. “Nothing makes more of a statement than a bunch of kids. When?”
“We don't know.” Charlie cleared his throat. “You studied Asad. You knew him better than anyone in the end. What will his brother do?”
“Go for the highest body count,” she said without hesitation. “When will both locations be at maximum capacity? That's when he'll detonate.”
“Hold on.”
Charlie put her on hold, and she was stuck with dead air again. Viper looked at her cleaned and re-assembled .45 in front of her and shook her head. It had to be a bunch of school kids. The disgust rolled through her. As many times as she had seen it, and as many times as she had heard their rhetoric, Alina would never understand the fanatical disregard for children's lives.
“I've got someone determining when the Bell and Independence Hall will be at full capacity,” Charlie said, coming back on the line. “With everything else going on right now, I don’t want to trust anyone in DHS or FBI with this. As soon as we have an idea of the window, I'll send it to you. I know I said I wanted you low and dark, but you're the best choice to take out Kasim. You know him, know how he works and how he thinks. You're already primed.”
“And I'm the closest asset,” she finished. “I was going to find him and stop him anyway, regardless of what you said.”
There a brief pause on the line.
“You already knew he was planning an attack,” he stated. “Of course you did. How?”
“He wasn't sightseeing in the images I saw. He was doing reconnaissance.”
“Is Hawk with you?”
Viper's lips curved faintly. “Yes.”
“Good. He can take the other one while you take Kasim.”
“Is this a sanctioned operation?”
“Yes. Get in and get out,” he said briskly. “I don't need to remind you that you absolutely can't be seen.”
“Understood.”
Michael rubbed his eyes and reached for his half-empty, lukewarm beer. He took a sip, grimaced, and put it down. Glancing at his watch, he pushed his chair back from the dining room table, dragging his eyes away from the laptop screen. He grabbed the offending beer, turning to carry it into the kitchen and pour it down the drain.
It was already past ten, and he was no further ahead on Mr. X than he had been at five-thirty this evening when he got home from work and sat down at his laptop with a Five Guys burger and fries. Honestly, he didn't know what Viper expected him to find. She obviously believed something was rotten somewhere in that corner, but he was damned if he could find anything. The man was clean.
Too clean.
The thought popped into his head and Michael sighed, turning to the fridge to get another beer. Perhaps Viper was right. No one was that clean. Everyone had something they didn't want the world to know.
Michael popped the top off a beer with a bottle opener and took a long drink. Maybe he was looking at this wrong. Maybe instead of looking for what he might be hiding, he should look at what he wasn't hiding. After all, how many times had he heard that if you want to hide something, put it in plain sight?
Michael was crossing the kitchen to return to his make-shift office when the clean phone Viper had given him began vibrating in his pocket. He frowned and pulled it out.
“Hello?”
“Working hard, gunny?” Alina asked cheerfully.
“Trying to,” he said, returning to his chair in the dining room. “I don't know how much I'm actually accomplishing though. What's up?”
“Don't suppose you want to bring that work up here for a few days, do you?”
Michael frowned.
“You're the second one to ask that,” he said. “What the hell is going on up there?”
“Who was the first?”
“Blake.”
There a beat of silence.
“That doesn't sound good,” she murmured. “I had no idea New Jersey was getting so popular.”
Michael snorted.
“I don't think that's quite the word I would use,” he said. “Why do you want me up there? The other night when I said I would stick around, you almost bit my head off. As I recall, you told me you didn't need me.”
“You make that sound a lot harsher than it was meant, gunny. At the time, you were suffering under the delusion that I needed someone to take care of me.”
“I never said I was going to take care of you. I said I would be another gun. There's a difference.”
“Well, come be another gun now.”
Michael frowned and sat back in his chair, lifting the cold beer to his lips.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing yet, but given our recent track record, I expect that to change,” she said dryly.
Michael sipped his beer, the frown still on his face.
“I'm in the middle of something with work,” he said slowly. “I can't leave until it's finished. Possibly this weekend I can make it up there. Is the SEAL still there?”
“Yes.” There was a beat of silence, then a faint sigh. “I have a problem that I should have seen coming and made allowance for, but I didn't. Now, I need another pair of hands and eyes that I can trust. That leaves you, gunny. You and Damon are the only two I trust right now.”
“I'm flattered.”
“You should be.”
Michael lowered his beer slowly, his frown getting deeper.
“What's the problem you didn't see coming?”
“Angela,” came the unexpected answer.
“Angela?!” he exclaimed, his mouth dropping open. “Not again! Now what?”
His exasperation drew a chuckle from Alina.
“Nothing...yet.” She sobered. “She's just about figured out what I really do and who I really am. I don't need to tell you how dangerous that is for her right now.”
Michael rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
“No, you don't,” he agreed reluctantly. “What does she know?”
“She's put most of it together. She just doesn't know exactly what my job description is, or who I work for.”
“It was only a matter of time. She's not stupid, your Angela. What did you tell her?”
“Nothing yet, but she won't let that continue for long. She's already been targeted twice because of her connection to me. If the people trying to kill me get even a hint that she might know something, they'll go after her again.”
Michael stared blindly at his laptop screen, the beer forgotten in his hand.
“You want me to help protect Angie?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And you don't trust Stephanie to do it...why, again?” Silence greeted that and he sighed. “I'm not saying I won't do it. As soon as I wrap up what I'm doing at work, I'll come up and help you figure something out. But I'm trying to understand why you suddenly don't trust your lifelong best friend. She's a Federal agent. She can handle this with her eyes closed.”
“I don't trust anyone right now. I can't afford to.”
“You just said you trust me,” he pointed out.
“I trust your word to my brother, Michael,” Alina told him bluntly. “You've proven time and again that you won't break your word.”
Michael sputtered, torn between being insulted or gratified.
“That's...touching, Viper. Really.”
“How's it going with Mr. X?” she asked, changing the subject.
Michael shook his head and lifted his beer to his lips. She wasn't fooling anyone. He'd hit a nerve when he questioned her about Stephanie, and she wasn't about to let him know what was really going on there. He was going to have find out for himself.
“Not good, but I'm trying something different.”
“Keep at it, and keep me informed.” She cleared her throat, hesitated, then spoke again. “Thank you for doing all this. I know it's frustrating, only knowing part of the story, but trust me. It's better this way.”
Michael sighed and set his beer on the table.
“You don't have to thank me. Just keep yourself alive. I've told you before, I don't want to visit two graves in Arlington.”
“No guarantees, but I'm doing my best. Be careful, and let me know as soon as you have something.”
And then she was gone.
Michael put the phone down slowly. Her best had always worked in the past, but he knew this time was different. She was making sure everyone in her life was taken care of, moving them all into positions to protect each other. That could only mean that Viper had no illusions that she would be there to protect them herself. This was a new kind of ballgame, and one that she clearly wasn't sure she would win.
He bent over his laptop again. At least the SEAL was with her. Between Damon and himself, they just might have a chance of getting her out of this alive. And if they didn't, at least he knew they'd all go down fighting.
Stephanie waited until the door closed behind Blake and Buddy before picking up her phone. Blake had noticed that she was quiet, but she couldn't tell him what was wrong. As much as she hated keeping anything from him when he was being such a rock for her lean on, she had assured Harry she would tell no one about their arrangement. When Blake had realized that she wasn't going to tell him what was bothering her, he went about trying to cheer her up. It almost worked, until she remembered that she had most likely sent Viper's locations directly to the very people who wanted her dead.
She was halfway through their takeout dinner of meatball sandwiches and fries when it suddenly hit her. Matt! The basement gnome might be able to figure out where those messages had gone. If he could track the recipient down, she could give Harry the information and he could take care of it. Hopefully, Alina would never be the wiser.
Stephanie tapped the phone to dial Matt. He was the FBI's forensic wizard who worked in the basement of the building, earning him the nickname of Basement Gnome from John. A wave of sadness washed over her as she listened to the phone ring. John had coined the term shortly after Matt proved his worth to the Bureau. Now John was dead. Just like that.
Well, not exactly just like that. A faceless, nameless assassin had gone into his hospital room and killed him.
“Hello?”
“Matt, it's Stephanie,” she said, snapping her mind back to the present. “Can you talk?”
“I'm on my way home, sitting in a pile up on 295,” he said. “Talk is about the only thing I can do right now.”
“Would you be willing to do another favor for me? Off the record?”
“Will it get us any closer to figuring out what the hell happened to John?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“I don't know. Maybe. It's worth a shot, anyway,” Stephanie said, getting up and reaching for the cane near the couch. She grabbed it and leaned on it as she made her way toward the kitchen. “At the very least, it will help me out in a huge way.”
Matt sighed in her ear.
“What do you need?” He sounded resigned. “And can it wait until I'm in the office tomorrow?”
“Yes. I'll bring it to you. It's sensitive.” Stephanie opened the fridge and pulled out a can of soda. “I want you to see if you can find out where some messages I sent went.”
“You don't know?”
“Not exactly. I sent them to an email that was supposed to be on a secure and encrypted server, but they never got there.”
Matt whistled. “Was it classified information?”
“In a way, but not for work,” she said, turning to make her way out of the kitchen and back to the couch in the living room. “This was something personal I was doing for a friend. Do you think you'll be able to find out where the messages went?”
“Doubtful,” he said. “I'll try, but without the destination server IP, I don't how much I can do. You don't happen to have a message that came from that server, do you?”
“No, but I do have messages from the person who set up the server. I don't know if that helps?”
“Hm. Probably not, but I'll take a look. Did you send them from your laptop?”
“No. My tablet and phone.”
“Oh!” Matt brightened. “That's different. I might be able to get something from the provider network.”
“Really?” Stephanie collapsed onto the couch. “I don't know if I should be happy about that or alarmed.”
Matt chuckled.
“If you knew just how little privacy you have any more as a citizen, you'd run away to Alaska and live in the wild. Come see me first thing in the morning in the lab, and I'll see what I can do. No promises.”
“Thanks, Matt.”