BRR-ING BRR-ING. The telephone on the nightstand next to Keke awakened her with a jolt. She waited for Paul to answer the phone before remembering he’d gone to Taiwan on a buying trip with his uncle.
Brr-ing brr-ing. Telephone calls in the middle of the night always frightened Keke, ever since the Highway Patrol had called to tell them about her father’s fatal car accident. She reached for the phone, praying Paul was all right. He traveled to the Orient twice a year; every time he went, she worried.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sis. It’s me.”
“Chad? Where are you?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
His tone sent a ripple of anxiety through her entire body. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to send nine thousand nine hundred dollars to the America Express office in Naples, Florida. Don’t make it any larger. Go over ten thousand dollars, and it has to be reported. Large cash transfers make the Feds think it’s drug money.”
Keke hadn’t known this, but it didn’t surprise her that Chad did. He’d walked on the wild side more than he’d ever told his family. “I’ve got it. Nine thousand and nine hundred dollars.”
“Put it in the name of Barbara Ashton.”
“Who’s she?”
“A friend.”
Keke had heard about many of his friends, but she didn’t recall him mentioning this woman. “Why don’t you go to American Express yourself? They’ll give you a cash advance against your credit card.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
She flinched at the dark undertone in his voice. “You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. If you get me the money, I can be home late tonight.”
“You’re with that woman.” Frustration with his evasiveness added to the fear gripping her. “She’s gotten you into trouble.”
“Keke, trust me. Everything will be okay. Just wire me the money.”
He was with Pele’s ghost but he wouldn’t admit it. Keke had realized Devon was trouble since the moment she’d met the woman.
“It’ll take me a day or so to raise that much cash.”
“No, it won’t. I’m going to give you the combination of my safe. You remember where it is, don’t you?”
“Behind the painting outside your master bathroom.”
“Right. I keep plenty of cash in it. That way if I have to leave suddenly, I don’t have to bother stopping to get money.”
Keke jotted down the safe’s combination on the pad next to the telephone. This was a very troubling request. Chad had access to unlimited funds through his bank or credit cards. The Porsche. This call. Now, she was positive he was involved in something dangerous. If he couldn’t discuss it over the telephone, there must be a good reason. Keke loved him—more than her other siblings—she admitted. She had to do everything in her power to help him.
“Keke could you be at American Express when it opens?”
Keke sucked in her breath, thinking of two children, lunches, carpools. She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I’ll be there.”
He repeated the name of the woman who would pick up the money and the address of the America Express office in Naples. Then he added, “Keke, don’t tell anyone I called or say anything about the money.”
“Everyone knows I’m looking for you. I called around when you didn’t show up for the luau.”
“Say you heard from me, and I’m out of town investigating an accident. I should be home tonight.”
“Call me the minute you get in. No matter how late it is.”
Chad hung up the telephone and turned to Devon. “It’ll be four hours until American Express opens in Honolulu. That means we’ll need to wait about five hours to pick up the money.”
“It’s really beautiful here. We could see if we can spot some interesting birds with your binoculars while we wait.”
He had been using the telephone at the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary, a preserve run by the Audubon Society. It had a boardwalk trail that wound through stands of trees. Pools with water lilies had formed in the shallow water seeping up everywhere from the ground. Nearby a baby alligator was basking in the sun.
“Let me make a call, then we’ll go for a walk.”
While Chad picked up the phone again, Devon drifted over to a group of impressive looking trees and read the plaque. Bald cypress. The trees were over five hundred years old. Amazing.
Chad waited by the payphone for Danson to call him from a secure line. He debated how much to tell Danson about Devon.
“Good news,” Danson said when he called back a few minutes later. “The engineers worked out the bug. You’ll be able to tell what’s on a boat now. I’ll overnight a new device to you.”
“Okay. I’m in Florida right now. I expect to be home late tonight.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Is the device safe?”
“Yes.” It was in the backpack slung over his shoulder. “I was wondering if you know of a company called Obelisk.”
‘Where did you hear about them?” His voice held a challenge.
“A friend was working at PowerTec and met Kilmer Cassidy and Brock Hardesty.”
“Jesus H. Christ. With friends like that your buddy doesn’t need an enemy. PowerTec’s executives are about to be indicted. The Obelisk guys are just as shady. It’s a front for Bash Olofson.”
“Great.” The general was notorious among military men for supplying mercenary soldiers to Third World countries. Once a man left the military, Bash had a job for him that paid a lot more than he’d made in the service. Olofson also provided countries with weapons. Many experts thought the armaments had disappeared from military bases.
“Bash isn’t directly involved in Obelisk. He’s too cagey. The government’s been after him for years. They haven’t been able to prove anything.”
“What about Cassidy and Hardesty?”
“Nothing on them, either—that I know about.”
Chad glanced at Devon who was at the far end of the boardwalk admiring a snowy egret. “If you had information that could crack their organization, who would you take it to?”
“You have the goods on Bash Olofson?” Disbelief etched every syllable.
“It’s possible. I’m not sure yet. I’m worried it’ll get into the wrong hands.”
“Be careful. Those guys will do anything to protect themselves.”
No shit! Chad thought a moment before asking, “Did your agent find out anything about who killed to get the other device?”
“A little. I’m still working on it.” Danson laughed, a sound that could take chalk off a blackboard. “Don’t you think you’d better level with me? Why did you really call?
It took Chad just a split second to make up his mind about what to tell Danson. “Remember I asked you to get to Nathan Albert?”
“Sure. About a girlfriend who never existed.”
“Devon made up the story to protect herself. She’s in the Witness Protection Program because she worked at Power-Tec.”
“I’m familiar with the case. An FBI agent was murdered while investigating.”
“Devon may have a computer disk with important information on it that may impact the case.”
Danson let out a low whistle. “If the Obelisk guys even think she has the goods on them, she’s a dead woman.”
Chad took a few minutes to tell him about the hit in Santa Fe and the near miss last night. “She thinks it’s Rutherford and Ames from PowerTec.”
“I’m betting it’s Olofson’s group. The FBI has the noose pretty tight around the PowerTec guys. It’s hard to believe they could have contacted a hit team. Give me an hour. I’ll call you back at this number.”
AFTER SCHMOOZING the security guards, Brock trudged up the stairs to Kilmer Cassidy’s office. He could have taken the elevator, but he wanted to delay this meeting. He was in deep shit and he knew it. He went into the CEO’s office, and his secretary greeted him with a cool nod. There was a young punk with spiked hair sitting in the reception area. Brock thought he might have to wait, but the blonde waved him in.
Cassidy was on the telephone. “Here he is now. I’ll debrief him and get right back to you.” He paused while the general said something. “I think Tango Charlie was brilliant. Our only choice.”
Tango Charlie. Cassidy had to be talking to Olofson. Bash lived to talk in code. Brock had always found it annoying. Cassidy hung up, and Brock remained standing, expecting to be offered a seat. He wasn’t.
“What the fuck happened? You claimed this was a foolproof plan.”
“The bitch has a pro with her. He stabbed to death one of my best agents.”
Cassidy didn’t blink at the news of the murder. “Do the Miami police have any reason to think we’re involved?”
“None. I set it up perfectly. They believe it was a drug deal gone bad.”
Anger lit Cassidy’s eyes. “So where’s the woman now?”
Brock didn’t go into details about the wild-goose chase down to Key West where they’d found the locator in some frat boy’s car. “The pro got lucky. He managed to sneak away with her.”
“How could he? You were supposed to have an agent seconds behind him in another car.”
“He got hung up by a traffic accident. By the time he arrived, they were gone.”
“Alpha Bravo isn’t a happy camper,” Cassidy said with a sly grin. “This news will really piss him off.”
Brock knew the shit would hit the fan when he’d reported in late last night. Alpha Bravo, as General Olofson like to call himself, wanted the bitch interrogated, then killed. Brock had muffed it twice.
“I’m close,” Brock informed Cassidy. “A photograph of the pro helping her is on the computer being analyzed. We have two dozen near matches.” Actually it was more like fifty near matches, but Brock didn’t want to give Cassidy more ammo. “You know how slow the Homeland Security software is. I’ll have an exact match, but it’ll probably take the rest of the day.”
The computer would compare the near matches to the photo from the security camera. It used data such as the number of blue pixels per eye compared with black pixels. Every iris had a certain number of black dots in them, a telling characteristic. Eyebrows and angles of cheek bones could also be analyzed. A match would be found.
“It’s too late,” Cassidy informed him, his tone smug. “We’ve gotten you help.”
“Help?” Brock couldn’t keep the fury out of his voice. “I don’t need help. I’ve headed security for—”
“That’s the problem. You’ve been down in that bunker too long and not in the field enough.” Cassidy tapped the intercom on his desk with a manicured index finger. “Tiffany, send in Kyle.”
The fine hairs at the base of Brock’s skull prickled to attention. His instincts had been dead-on. Something was wrong and had been for some time. The punk kid he’d seen in the reception area earlier sauntered into the room.
“Brock, this is Kyle Kramer. He’s going to be your assistant.”
Cassidy completed the introduction, and Brock almost lost it. The punk with the GenX name and spiked hair was going to be snooping through his files. Getting in his way.
“Kyle is General Olofson’s nephew. He’s worked overseas for the last two years. He has the highest security clearance.”
So? Big deal, Brock thought. He was still a kid compared with the kind of experience Brock had.
“Kyle, tell Mr. Hardesty what you’ve found so far.”
So far? Unfuckingbelievable! The punk had already been nosing through his files. How could that be?
Kyle consulted his Blackberry. “There’s a reverse ID on every phone in the building. Mr. Hardesty has a software program that tells him exactly who called.”
Brock struggled to keep his voice level. “That’s just good security.”
“Your personal computer has proprietary information on it. The info is never supposed to leave the building,” Cassidy said.
How the fuck could he know that? Only by checking his PC. “I work at home and on the road,” Brock replied, although he knew it was a weak excuse Cassidy wouldn’t accept. “I keep it totally secure. It’s with me or in a safe.”
“Problem is,” Kyle said, “there’s a keystroke logger on your laptop.”
“No way!”
Like the worm he’d installed on Bash’s machine in an online greeting card, the spy could be anywhere in the world.
“Kyle’s right. Someone installed a logger on your computer. Now they have information on Obelisk that we never wanted to leave the building.”
Brock nearly doubled over, his mind numb with shock and disbelief. He couldn’t imagine worse news. Not even the theft or destruction of his cars could compare. This was an intolerable security breach. Brock would have ordered a fuckup like this to be killed.
What could he possibly do?
The best defense is a good offense, Brock reminded himself. “When did you check my computer?”
“This morning while you were debriefing the security guards about who’d been in the building over the weekend.”
Cassidy’s reply hit Brock like a sucker punch to the gut. Every Monday morning, he checked with security to see who’d been in the building during the weekend. He liked to do it in person. That way the guards felt more loyal to him. He wasn’t just some asshole suit who took them for granted.
The debriefing took less than fifteen minutes and wouldn’t take that long, except Brock liked the bonding bit where he had coffee with the guys. That meant the punk had entered his office and checked his computer in record time.
“How’d you get into my office?” Brock snapped.
“I let him in,” Cassidy replied. “Too many botched missions. Now we know why. Someone’s tracking you, and it isn’t anyone at Obelisk.”
The image of a knockout redhead with Bugatti tits flashed into his mind.
“Any idea how someone got to your computer?” Cassidy snapped.
Jordan Walsh.
He’d thought she’d been after the DARPA gadget. But no. The bitch had wanted to infiltrate Obelisk.
“There was an incident,” Brock began, scrambling to formulate an explanation so Obelisk would investigate Jordan Walsh and excuse his transgressions. “When I was in Miami for a car show, I met a woman.”
Cassidy’s knowing smile irritated Brock and made him more uneasy.
“Jordan Walsh was showing a one-of-a-kind Gull Wing. We went out to dinner to discuss the possibility of her selling the car to me. After eating, I didn’t feel all that well. I went to my room and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. I had a killer headache. I mean it was bad—”
“Was this woman near your PC?” Cassidy asked.
“Yes. She brought me some literature on her Gull Wing. My laptop was in the room safe along with a special device being developed by DARPA.”
“Oh?” Cassidy said, clearly taken by surprise.
Brock instantly realized Cassidy didn’t know a thing about the gadget because Brock had never used his computer to discuss it. He went on to explain about the device, embellishing on its potential and his part in trying to obtain it for Obelisk. Anything to save his bacon. He finished, adding, “The woman must have pocketed my key and come into the room while I was asleep.”
“Wouldn’t you have heard her come into the room and break into the safe?”
This from the punk.
“I’m sure Jordan Walsh slipped me something like a roofie that would knock me out. I didn’t hear a thing. I slept until midafternoon the following day.”
“Roofie? What are you talking about?”
Brock opened his mouth, but the punk explained it to Cassidy. Brock listened, deciding the kid had used the date rape drug before or he wouldn’t know so much about it.
Cassidy pondered his explanation for a few seconds. “She cracked the safe and installed the keystroke logger. How would she do that without knowing your password?”
“It can be done,” Kyle assured him. “There’s a special logger that can be installed without turning on the computer. It invades the system the next time the authorized person logs on.”
“Who the hell does this woman work for?” Cassidy asked.
They debated the situation and decided Walsh was with the CIA. They’d been trying to link General Olofson to a stolen armament ring for years. Nothing in Obelisk’s records would incriminate the general, but they could be fried.
“I’ll investigate,” Brock said.
“No, you won’t!” Cassidy paced across the room to the window. “Kyle will handle it.” He spun around and pointed a finger at Brock. “You find Samantha Robbins and take her out.” He dropped his arm. “Otherwise, you’re out—and I mean out.”
Brock knew they intended to kill him even if he whacked the bitch for them. He was O-U-T. And he knew it. His brilliant mind was already hatching a plan.