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Steve Del Rio had often joked that his younger brother’s apartment was less a living space than it was a fortress of solitude. Four walls of solid glass, with the exception of the corners where the elevator and back stairs led to the only two entryways into the apartment, gave credence to the elder Del Rio’s description.
That, and the fact that Jack could count with the fingers of one hand how many people had actually been inside the apartment as guests. But he desperately needed a fortress, now more than ever, where he could try to put together the pieces of this puzzle in time to prevent disaster.
Sitting down at his desk he automatically launched the anti-trace program. Unlike his earlier effort, he didn’t think anything he was going to do would raise any flags. This was a different type of search, but he reset his IP address, making it seem as if his computer was now actually located in Wyoming, as it was always better to play it safe.
Once the program was set, ready to send any tracer off to a mountaintop in the Himalayas, Jack launched his browser and found a good Russian-to-English translation program to download. While he was waiting for it to install, his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since last night, sending him off to the kitchen for a sandwich and iced tea.
With lunch out of the way, Jack set to work on translating the files that he’d found on the Russian server. One-by-one he ran them through the translation program hoping for that one scrap of information that would unlock the entire mystery.
He found a number of transactions dating back decades along with hundreds of messages passed back and forth to senders and receivers with blatantly-obvious code names, some that bordered on the absurd. While the content of the messages all but confirmed his worst fears, that there was in fact an actual plot to infiltrate the U.S. Government and overthrow it from within, they did little to identify exactly who was involved or from what agencies they were embedded in.
He tried some generic searches using the names and some of the unique words that appeared in the messages with some frequency. But no matter what parameters he entered, nothing he tried was able to generate that needed clue that would lead him closer to his quarry.
He called up one last file, which translated into Sleepers, and was greeted with a briefly flickering screen that quickly settled into an ominously dark red screen marred only by a login and password entry box.
Before he could even begin to try to guess at a possible combination that might work, the screen flickered again and the query box was replaced with a single line of large, bold white text bearing a new message that spread across the screen: Illegal terminal access attempted/program terminated.
Flashing in the lower corner was the word: Tracing. The anti-trace program window in the upper corner was flashing for attention as well. Whoever was tracking him had an even more powerful computer on the job and was blowing right through his false trails with a vengeance that surpassed even what he’d seen the last time. Whoever it was, the fake IP address wasn’t fooling them.
Without closing any of the programs, Jack slapped the power button hard and yanked the power cord and the DSL line out of the back of the computer as quickly as he could. He’d pushed his luck too far this time. This computer could never be used online again, at least not until this was all over and he’d have a chance to do a little cleaning up of the hard drive.
He’d have to find another way to crack open the Sleeper file and, judging by the response his first attempt had generated, there was definitely some useful information to be found within that file. He sat back in his chair, trying to work out what his next move might be, when a knock on his door startled him.
He was out of his chair, his gun drawn and aimed at the door in the blink of an eye. Then he shook his head in irritation at his knee-jerk reaction. If the person on the other side of the door had in fact been with the people that were tracking him, and if they had been posted right outside the building the instant he had opened the triggering file, they would hardly bother knocking on the front door.
He went to the door, keeping the gun in his hand but concealed behind his back just in case, and looked out the peephole to find Collins standing on the other side and the elevator doors closing shut behind his boss. Jack opened the door, careful to keep the gun out of sight, lest he would be forced to explain why he was greeting his boss armed to the teeth.
“Rock,” Collins said solemnly, a sad look on his face as he entered the apartment. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. I want you to get ahold of yourself.”
“What’s wrong, boss?” Jack asked as he slipped the gun back into the holster unnoticed by Collins, who continued on to take a chair near the desk with Jack in tow.
Collins started to speak, then stopped, visibly gathering himself to deliver the news he had to give. Collins noticed the logo of the airline on the itinerary Sara had left for Jack and picked it up. After quickly examining it, he looked back to Jack. “Planning a trip, Rock?” he asked.
“Sara wants me to go to out to Vegas with her,” Jack explained. “She's signed up for a gig out there and she wants me to go out with her after I get done with the inauguration detail. Boss, you're really starting to worry me here. What’s up?”
“Rock,” Collins said with a heavy sigh, resigning himself to get it over with sooner rather than later. “We just heard from the Secretary of the Navy—” Collins cut himself off and took a long pause. “Look, I guess there is no easy way to put this. They're not going to make any public announcement until more information surfaces, but it looks like something has happened on board your brother's sub.”
“What happened?” Jack replied harshly, feeling the cold hand of fear squeezing his heart.
“They've lost contact with the Los Angeles,” Collins replied, hating himself for the lie he was telling but knowing it was for the best to get Jack to leave town. “The Navy thinks she may have sunk, but—”
“But what?” Jack demanded.
“There was no distress call sent out, and her emergency beacon isn't transmitting. They tell me that there are a few reasons how that could happen, including a simple breakdown in communications. But the Navy is strongly considering the possibility of a mutiny. They'll continue searching in the area of the North Atlantic where the Los Angeles was last reported to be patrolling...”
Jack hadn’t been paying attention to the words Collins was speaking until that last bit of information relating to the sub’s last reported position. He knew there was no way Steve would go where he was expected to be at this time. He had specifically said that he was going to stay as close to the coast line as he dared until the matter was resolved.
“Where did you say she is?” Jack asked, interrupting Collins’ narrative.
“She last reported her position as being on patrol in the North Atlantic,” Collins repeated, misinterpreting Jack’s question as shock. “Look, Rock, I'm sure everything's going to work out just fine. Maybe you should take some time off until this blows over? I think that you've done more than enough with the inauguration and you’ve got more than enough time off accumulated.”
“Thank you, but no,” Jack replied, the thought striking him that the fact the Navy was actively looking for the Los Angeles meant that someone connected to the conspiracy was aware that Cashman was on board the submarine. “I think Steve would want me to keep on working and not sit around worrying about him. He'll be all right out there, I know he will.”
“Okay, but think about what I said, and if you change your mind, let me know. Spend some time with Sara. Hell, get an early jump on your trip and go on out to Vegas now. I mean it, Rock, we can actually manage to get along without you right now. I’m sure Jeremy would agree with me, and not just because you’ve been raising his blood pressure lately.”
Collins had thrown in that last remark as a joke, and Jack took it the way it was intended.
“Thanks, Boss,” Jack said, touched by Collins’ concern. “I’ll let you know and thank you for coming by in person.”
“No problem at all, Rock,” Collins said, placing a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder. “But if the news turns out to be the worst, then I want you to take time off. And don’t say no to me, or I’ll sick Sharon on you.”
Jack smiled despite himself. Sharon Collins could mother hen a man like no woman before in the history of mankind. She’d likely whack him on the back of the head with a wooden spoon all the way to the airport.
“No fair dragging ‘mom’ into this just because you’re losing,” Jack said with a glint of humor he didn’t truly feel.
“I play to win, Rock,” Collins replied, “you should know that by now. Call me if you need anything, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything new.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Jack replied as he walked Collins to the door.
No sooner had the door closed than Jack returned to his desk and collected the thumb drive, his mind already focused on the next step. So much so that he never for a moment stopped to consider why Collins had come looking for him at his own apartment in the middle of a work day when he should have either been over at the Secret Service or in the Hoover Building.
But Jack never gave a thought to that or to why Collins hadn’t said anything to him about it either, as he gathered his gun and jacket and headed out the door to find somewhere else to work on cracking open the Sleeper file.
***
LIFE ON BOARD A U.S. Navy submarine was far from simple or routine but there were still a fair share of normal, day-to-day routines that a crew expected. On board the Los Angeles those routines had been disrupted, and while the entire crew had not been told what was going on, the rumor mill was working overtime.
The crew knew two people had been pulled from the water under mysterious circumstances, only shortly after they’d left port in Norfolk, and then had been visited by the Captain’s brother, who they knew to be an FBI agent, before diving under the surface to run silent ever since.
Only a handful of the crew had laid eyes on the two men, who had taken up permanent residence in the Captain’s cabin. And while no official announcement had been made, someone had finally recognized Cashman. Within an hour, the entire crew had heard and began to wonder why the Vice-President elect was hiding out on their boat.
When the attempts to contact the submarine went unanswered by her command staff, the whispers really began in earnest. The side-looks from the crew and the ever-so-slight delays in acknowledging commands did not go unnoticed by her captain, or her XO.
“I don’t think we’re looking at open mutiny anytime soon,” the XO said to his commander as they sat with Cashman and Kliene in the wardroom over coffee, “but we’re going to have to tell the crew something. They know we aren’t acknowledging communications from the shore and they damn sure know we haven’t moved too far off the coast when we are supposed to be halfway across the pond. They trust you, Captain, but they are starting to wonder exactly what you are up to, and absent of any official word, they are filling in the blanks for themselves.”
Captain Del Rio took a sip from his mug as he pondered the situation. He had a good crew and they deserved better treatment than what he was giving them right now. But it would be best for them not to know the whole story until Jack had a chance to do his job. As much as he hated it, there really was only one option open to him, to assuage his crew’s concerns and buy Jack the time he needed.
“I can’t say as I blame them,” the Captain said. “Here’s what we’ll do. Tell the crew we are participating in a special war game. Not telling them from the start, as well as ignoring any contact from the shore is part of the game. Then tell them that we are to continue to run silent and avoid being detected by anyone for as long as possible. That should buy us enough time to resolve this one way or the other.”
“Sounds like what I was going to suggest,” the XO replied with a grin.
“That’s because you’ve been serving under me for too damned long,” the Captain retorted with a matching grin.
“I see where your brother gets it from,” Cashman broke in. “I’m glad the two of you are honest men because you’d make a formidable pair of master criminals.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
“You should,” Cashman said. “I would also like to apologize for being a burden upon you and your crew. I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess of your routine.”
“That’s part of our job description, sir,” the Captain replied.
“Well, it is still appreciated,” Cashman said. “About these communication attempts, are you sure the best course of action is to continue ignoring them?”
“Yes,” the Captain answered. “We’re not scheduled to report in for another week. The fact that they are trying to reach us at all means someone found out you are on board and they want to know exactly where we are so they can finish the job.”
“It could be your brother trying to let us know it’s safe to come home.”
“No, Jack would have made sure to include something to let me know it was safe to surface. He’d know I wouldn’t just pop up at the first signal. I wish I knew how he was doing up there.”
“He seems to be very capable,” Cashman remarked. “He did quite well resolving that case on the Navajo Reservation a few months ago.”
“He’s very good at his job,” the Captain said with no small amount of pride. “But that business out west took a lot out of him. It doesn’t help that he’s all alone up there, and if they really do know that it was my boat that pulled you out of the water—”
“Then they might come after him to get to you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Captain,” Cashman said quietly, “if at any time you feel it necessary, I am more than willing for you to surface this boat and set me ashore. I am not overly fond of hiding while others put themselves in harm’s way on my behalf.”
“Sir,” the Captain replied, touched by the offer. “You underestimate my brother. If I did something like that, he’d likely shoot both of us. No, I promised Jack I’d give him until the morning of the inauguration and I’ll honor that promise. But I never said anything about not worrying about him.”
“An elder brother’s right,” Cashman replied with a knowing smile. “In case I don’t get a chance to do this as much as I should later, I thank you both again for what you are doing.”
“Wait until we are all still breathing the day after the inauguration,” the Captain said, adding jokingly. “Then maybe you can thank us by naming me Secretary of the Navy and Jack the Director of the FBI.”
“Captain,” Cashman said, only half-joking in reply, “if your brother stops this conspiracy and saves this country in the process, I have a feeling I won’t be the only person calling for your promotions.”
***
WITH HIS HOME COMPUTER off limits, Jack knew he needed to find a computer with internet access where he could make one last run at getting into the Sleeper file. The problem was where to find a safe haven that would remain that way long enough for him to make the attempt.
He couldn’t attempt it on any computer connected to a government server. No doubt the people tracking him the first two times already had easy inroads to those systems and would be on him almost before he began to open the file.
Which ruled out a public computer, or a public WiFi, as well. If he were to use either of those, he might as well stand on the steps on the Capitol and shout out his intentions over a bullhorn. Nor could he turn the file over to anyone with the kind of computer savvy he needed. Provided they could even open the file, they likely wouldn’t have the first clue what to make of whatever information was inside, nor could he in good conscience put them in the kind of jeopardy they’d be in by just opening the file for him.
No, Jack knew he’d picked up enough computer tricks over the years that he could use to get the file open. He’d just needed to find the right system in the right place to do it that would give him enough time to get in, get what he could, and get away before his unknown foes descended on him.
He’d driven around town for an hour before the idea struck him. He had a Secret Service ID that was as close to a key to the entire city as he could possibly ask for. Whoever these people were, they had to have at least one person embedded in every key agency, including the Secret Service. He would use the server used by the Secret Service to do his search and set it up to look like he was actually running a trace that was trying to locate him somewhere else.
If he set it up correctly, he might be able to muddy the water just enough to allow him to get his work done and get away clean before the real tracers could work their way through the confusion. It was a long shot, but it was really the only shot he had left where this particular file was concerned.
Gaining entry into the non-descript building that served as the headquarters of the Secret Service was no problem. The security guard barely looked at the ID badge as Jack showed it to him. In less than five minutes, he had located the building’s computer server room and commandeered the administrator’s computer station. The man had obligingly forgotten to log off before leaving for the day, making Jack’s task of hacking into the system so much easier to accomplish.
Within twenty minutes, he had set up his false tracer as well as a sub-program to alert him when the real trace was underway and closing in. He spent the next ten minutes reviewing what he’d set up while mentally reviewing what he’d learned over the years from several sources, both criminal and non, regarding the kind of computer work he was doing.
Only when he was certain he’d done all he could, did he finally start the search of all of the computer systems of the FBI, CIA, Pentagon, and the Navy looking for anything recently connected to the Los Angeles. If they actually were aware Cashman was on that sub, and Jack was almost certain they were, he was hoping to find out what had tipped them off to the fact.
He found references to the attempts to contact the submarine that had only begun in the last twelve hours. But there were no references to why the Navy was trying to contact his brother’s boat, nor who had ordered it. That information was marked at a level of classification that would trigger the trace back to him and he was not ready for that to begin just yet.
He had hoped to find a clue to the identity of just one of the conspirators he was hunting, but in the end he once again came up completely empty. Whoever these people were, they knew how to cover their tracks all too well.
He checked his alert program and was relieved to find the indicator bar still safely at zero. So far his presence in the system hadn’t been detected by anyone, but that was all about to change. It was time to throw his Hail Mary pass and hope it was completed.
Jack plugged in the thumb drive and launched the Sleeper file, bringing up the login window. He’d been thinking over how to get past this particular road block with only one way to do it. It would guarantee that he’d be traced, but he had no other option.
He accessed an FBI program that the cyber division used to crack password protected files and systems around the world and turned it loose on the Sleeper file. As soon as he did it the trace alert window flared to life and the indicator bar quickly moved off of zero and was heading toward 100 at an alarming rate.
It reached the quarter mark just as the login and password fields were filled in and the Sleeper file opened up to reveal its secrets. Jack scrolled through several records, coded messages, transfers, military orders and bank records from around the world, but none of them yielded a solid lead or pointed to any specific individual who could possibly be in a position to engineer an overthrow of the U.S. Government, from within or without.
The trace alert program began to flash red as the bar passed seventy-five percent. Jack had little time left but felt a slight flare of hope as he stumbled across a curious posting in an obscure chat site on the Internet. The sender was named Shadow and it had been sent to an e-mail address, Hoover@beltway.com.
“Found an eagle and bear exhibit on island trip,” Jack read the message aloud. “Of note: eagles return to nest at night and bears are extremely hard to track.”
The message had been posted on the same day and near the time that Cashman had taken his trip to Nassau to meet with his old friend Karpov.
“Right day, right time,” Jack muttered softly to himself. “Alright, let me see if I can find out just who this mysterious Mr. Hoover is.”
With a quick glance at the trace alert, now approaching ninety percent, Jack punched in the command to search globally for any reference to a Hoover@beltway.com. A few popped up on the screen, but nothing of any relevance showed up. He sat back, thinking for a second. He decided to try to trace the sign-on to its source server, but just as he began to enter the commands to start the trace the entire screen flickered and changed to a solid white with ACCESS DENIED in big, bold red letters filling the screen. In the upper corner, where the tracing message had been flashing, there were now just two terrible words, TRACE COMPLETE.
Jack stared at the upper corner for a very long minute. He failed to get any pertinent information that he was in desperate need of and now he’d just tipped his hand. The conspirators now knew that he knew something and they would be coming directly after him now. He would be lucky to get out of the building a free man, and his odds of living to see Inauguration Day had just dropped dramatically.
Moving with a deliberate slowness, he shut down the computer and pulled out the thumb drive as he got out of the chair. Then violently, he slammed his open right palm against the side of the monitor, sending it flying across the room. Pieces of glass and plastic scattered across the room when the monitor impacted the wall.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it...” he swore quietly before exiting the server room. There was a maintenance exit nearby. If he hurried, he might just be able to get out of the building. But where he could go next completely escaped him.