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Viper lowered the binoculars thoughtfully, her eyes resting on the large gray structure in the distance. The police still had the front yard to the prison taped off and two uniforms were making sure no one got curious. It hadn't taken two seconds to spot the plain-clothed, FBI agents stationed at the prison, one in front and one in back. She really should talk to Stephanie about the art of blending in for her agents. The FBI could be so much more productive if they weren't so glaringly obvious.
Setting the military binoculars down, Alina pulled a small tablet from one of her cargo pockets. She pulled up the latest newspaper articles on the events at the prison and scanned through them, stopping when she got to a picture of Karl, the friendly night guard. Alina studied the picture thoughtfully before highlighting his face and copying the image. Opening a customized database, she pasted the picture and tapped to run a search. Lifting her eyes, she turned her attention back to the prison while her tablet searched the database for information on Karl.
Allowing Blake Hanover to see her had been a risk. Only a handful of people in the world had seen her and recognized her, and those people were all known liabilities in her mind. She added another today, but she wanted Blake to know she was here, and that she was watching. He took a chance on her two months ago in Washington. Viper wanted him to know that she was willing to return the favor.
An alert flashed on her tablet and Viper glanced down as information on Karl Didinger poured in from various government and private databases. She raised an eyebrow slightly. Karl certainly had a checkered past, and his financial situation was a mess. She noted his home address before sending the information to her private server at the house. A moment later, she turned off the tablet and slipped it back into her pocket. After taking one last look at the prison, she got up and turned to leave the roof. Dropping over the side and onto a fire escape ladder, Viper silently disappeared into the afternoon.
Stephanie sat on the uncomfortable couch in the entryway and watched as the woman behind the desk picked up the phone. She had been asked to wait over five minutes ago after showing her badge and requesting to speak with Philip Chou. Crossing her legs, Stephanie suppressed an impatient sigh and pulled out her phone. Swiping the screen, she opened her email and scrolled through it while she waited. Still nothing from Matt on Rodrigo's PCs and still nothing from the BOLOs they had out on the missing guide, Jessica Nuñez, Karl, or Lorenzo Porras.
Closing her email in frustration, Stephanie glanced up as a man emerged from a hallway on the other side of the entryway and approached the desk. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him adjust his tie nervously while he spoke to the woman at the desk, glancing in her direction. A feeling of foreboding stole over Stephanie when he turned toward her.
“Agent Walker?” the man asked, moving toward her. She stood up and he held out a shaking hand. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Scott Reynolds, the head of Program Development here. I'm Philip Chou's boss.”
“Hello.” Stephanie shook his hand. She frowned at the damp palm grasping hers. “Is everything alright, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Yes, yes.” Scott pulled his hand away and smiled nervously. “Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. Is Philip in any trouble?”
“Not at all,” Stephanie assured him, resisting the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. “I just have a few questions for him regarding an ongoing investigation. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Good, good! I guess I don't have to tell you that we don't get visits from the FBI very often.”
“Of course not,” Stephanie murmured. She looked at him expectantly and Scott seemed to hesitate, looking slightly embarrassed. “What's the matter, Mr. Reynolds?” she asked bluntly.
“Well, the thing is, Agent Walker,” Scott said, taking a deep breath, “I can't seem to find Philip.”
Stephanie stared at him.
“I'm sorry?”
“It's really the strangest thing,” Scott said, shaking his head and running a hand through his dark hair. The unruly curls, already a mess, seemed to stand up on end when he pulled his hand away. “He was here not more than an hour ago. We had a conference call and he was at my desk with me. When the meeting was over, he went to the bathroom. No one seems to have seen him since.”
“Mr. Reynolds, are you telling me you lost your employee?” Stephanie asked after a moment of incredulous silence.
“Well, in a word, yes.” Scott shook his head again and turned to the front desk. He motioned for her to join him. “We've been calling his cell phone and paging him, but...well...nothing.”
“Could he be in the lunch room? Visiting a friend in another department?” Stephanie suggested. “I'm sure he didn't just disappear.”
“I've got security checking the entire building,” Scott told her. He looked at the woman behind the desk. “Anything yet?”
“I'm sorry, sir, nothing,” she answered apologetically.
Stephanie pressed her lips together and pulled out her phone again. While Scott leaned over the desk and picked up a phone, presumably to check with someone else, she turned away and hit speed dial. It was picked up after one ring.
“Connor? Are you still outside?” Stephanie asked, her voice low.
“Yep. I saw you go in,” Connor answered. “What's up?”
“They've lost Philip Chou,” Stephanie told him grimly.
There was a short silence on the line.
“His car's still here. I'm staring at it,” Connor answered. “He hasn't come out of the building since he went in five hours ago.”
“Did you see anything suspicious? Anything at all?” Stephanie asked.
“Nothing.” Connor paused for a moment and it sounded like he was sucking soda through a straw. “There were a lot of people coming and going over the lunch hour, but he wasn't one of them. In fact, he hasn't gone out for lunch for the past two days. He never leaves the building until it's time to go home.”
“Ok. I'll be out soon,” Stephanie said and disconnected. She turned back to the front desk as Scott was hanging up the phone.
“I just spoke to security,” he said. “They haven't found him. They're still looking, but the only places left to check, Philip doesn't have access to. They're checking anyway. This is really quite embarrassing.”
“Do you mind if I take a look at his desk?” Stephanie asked, slipping her phone back into her purse.
Scott looked startled, but nodded quickly.
“Of course not,” he said. He turned to the desk again and grabbed a sign-in log and a visitor's badge. “Sorry. You have to sign in and wear this,” he said apologetically, flashing her a twisted smile. “I feel stupid asking a federal agent to do this, but it's company security policy.”
“Not a problem,” Stephanie assured him, signing the log quickly and dropping the lanyard with the visitor’s badge over her head. “I understand.”
Scott nodded and turned to lead the way into the hallway he emerged from earlier.
“I'm sure he'll show up,” he said as they walked past cubicles filled with people staring at computer screens. “This is very unusual. Philip is kind of a loner, you know. He's a cool guy, but he doesn't socialize much. He usually comes to work, eats at his desk, and doesn't stray far from the department.”
“What does he do, exactly?” Stephanie asked.
“Oh, he's one of my top programmers,” Scott answered readily. “He's been working on a security program for the mainframe for the past few months.”
Stephanie glanced at him sharply under her lashes.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. After all the banks were hacked last year, Philip came up with a program that would make the mainframe virtually impenetrable. I'm sure you remember the incidents last year. It was all over the news. Most of the banks in the US were hacked and mainframes shut down. The hackers didn't take anything, but the disruption in business was catastrophic. We had clients unable to access their accounts for days. It was a mess.”
“I remember that,” Stephanie murmured. “They hit all the banks over a few months, didn't they?” she asked, pretending ignorance of the incident that jump-started her whole investigation.
“Yes.” Scott motioned for her to precede him around a corner into another short hallway. “Well, after that incident, we were given the impossible task of trying to ensure it would never happen again. I didn't see how we could do it when we didn't even know how they got in to begin with. I mean, how do you plug a hole you don't know is there, right? But Philip figured it out. He figured out how they got in, and has been working on a firewall program for the mainframe ever since.”
“So, he's kind of a smart guy, then,” Stephanie remarked with a smile.
“Scary smart,” Scott agreed.
“Just one question.” Stephanie stopped walking at the end of the hallway and turned to look at Scott. “If the bank wanted to install a security layer on the mainframe, why are they doing it through this building? Isn't your main office in New York?”
Scott chuckled.
“The main office is, yes, but this is the main IT hub,” he explained.
“Ah. So, you guys are the big guns of New Federal's IT,” Stephanie said with a grin.
Scott grinned back.
“I've been called worse,” he told her with a laugh, “but that's about the size of it. Here we are.”
Stephanie looked around as they emerged into a huge space divided into sections with half-cubicle walls. A dozen programmers were at their desks, engrossed in their work. The level of privacy was minimal, resulting in an impression of openness and team-oriented work.
“Philip's desk is over here,” Scott said, leading the way around the perimeter to a desk on the other side of the large room.
Stephanie stepped into the cubicle that housed Philip Chou's desk and glanced around. The desk was littered with notepads and pens, a stress ball shaped like a baseball, and an assortment of network cables and flash drives. Philip had two, twenty-two inch flat screen monitors, both dark, and a desktop PC on the floor under the desk. There was also a docking station on the desk and Stephanie glanced at Scott.
“Does he have a laptop?” she asked, pointing to the empty docking station.
Scott nodded and his frown deepened.
“Yes, he does. He had it earlier at my desk,” he said, looking around the cubicle. “It doesn't seem to be here, does it? I wonder if he went home. It would be odd for him to leave and not tell anyone, but I don't know where else he would have taken his laptop.”
“He didn't go home,” Stephanie said grimly.
She pointed to a set of car keys sitting on the corner of the desk, alongside a blackberry silently lit up with several missed calls.
“How many does this make? Five?” Rob demanded. The edge in his voice made Stephanie wince as she strode toward the Mustang, her phone pressed to her ear. “How do you lose five witnesses?!”
“With respect, sir, I didn't lose them. They seem to have lost themselves,” Stephanie retorted.
“What are we doing to find them?”
“We have BOLOs out on Nuñez, Porras and the guide,” Stephanie answered as she reached for her door handle. “John put one out this morning on Karl, and we'll get one out on Philip now.”
“I'll take care of that,” Rob said. “I'll do it as soon as I hang up with you. You worry about finding at least one of them.”
“I'm working on it,” Stephanie answered, sliding behind the wheel. “I have a lead on Philip. Connor, the agent I put on him, said a white catering van pulled around the building at lunch time, unloading food for one of the conference rooms. It was the only vehicle that went in or out of the parking lot that wasn't an employee.”
“What was the name of the catering company?” Rob asked.
“Los Azteca Mexican Restaurant,” Stephanie replied.
There was a short silence before a heavy sigh.
“Too much of a coincidence,” Rob muttered. “Follow it up. I'll get the BOLO out on Philip and put one out on the catering van. What's the tag?”
Stephanie pulled out the piece of paper where Connor had scrawled the license plate number and read it off to Rob.
“Got it,” Rob said. “I'll call this in now.”
“Thanks.” Stephanie started the engine and the Mustang came to life with a growl.
“And Stephanie?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Michael glanced over to the dining room table where Angela was still working away. He shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to his laptop. After a moment's hesitation, he opened up his work VPN portal and logged in, his curiosity getting the better of him. He had never been one to sit by and let everyone else have all the fun.
He sipped a bottle of water while he waited for the network to load. Alina still hadn't reappeared and he didn't expect to see her anytime soon. She hadn't said where she was going, and he knew better than to ask. Angela hadn't seemed to notice Alina's attire, but Michael had noted the multi-pocketed cargo pants and loose-fitting jacket with interest. He hadn't seen much of Alina's alter-ego two months ago, but he saw enough to know that cargo pants seemed to go hand-in-hand with work. Wherever she had gone, Viper was prepared for any eventuality.
That made Michael nervous.
He set the water bottle down on the coffee table and sat back as the network finished loading. He typed in Lowell Kwan's name and waited. He didn't know if he would pull up any information on the software expert, but Michael figured it was as good a place to start as any. The Secret Service databases were the best in the country, but you had to have a reason to be included in them. As far as he could tell, Lowell Kwan had flown under the radar until now. Therefore, Michael was surprised when he got an immediate hit.
Raising his eyebrows, he clicked on the file and scanned the information quickly. Born Lowell Kwan, he was raised in Arizona by his mother under the name Jared Yang. Lowell was an early bloomer, brilliant and quick from a young age. He got a full academic ride to college and when he got to Stanford, he was on track to becoming the next Bill Gates. Then, midway through college, he developed relationships with some of the more radical political groups on campus. By graduation, Jared Yang had made it onto two government watch lists, both for radical political affiliations.
Michael frowned and stared at the screen thoughtfully. Jared Yang made quite a name for himself, and the Department of Homeland Security added him to their watch list just before he closed down his software company and changed his name back to Lowell Kwan. The name change didn't fool DHS, and upon moving to New Jersey, Lowell Kwan was being watched by the government very closely.
Michael clicked to move on to the next file, only to find that there weren't any. He scowled, glancing at the date on the last report. It was 18 months old, and the last record available.
“What the...”
Michael spent the next half hour trying to discover why the trail on Lowell Kwan suddenly ended before finally giving up and pulling out his phone. He hit speed dial and waited. It was picked up before the first ring had even completed.
“Mike! I was just about to call you,” Chris Harbour, his direct boss, answered the phone.
“Oh yeah?” Michael asked. “Good timing, then.”
“What are you doing working while you're on vacation?” Chris demanded. “I thought I told you to relax.”
“I am relaxing, I'm just...wait, how did you know?” Michael asked with a frown.
“Because I just got a not-so-nice call from the CIA,” Chris answered bluntly. “Why are you interested in Lowell Kwan?”
“Why is the CIA interested in why I'm interested?” Michael retorted.
Chris chuckled.
“That's what I said,” he admitted. “They never actually answered that particular question.”
“They never do,” Michael muttered. He closed his laptop and glanced into the dining room where Angela was still talking on her Bluetooth. “What are they doing monitoring Kwan's file?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“I don't know, Mike, but they aren't happy with you poking around,” Chris answered. “They wanted to know what you're working on that led you to Kwan. I stalled them for now, but they won't go away for good. What are you doing?”
“It's a long story, Chris,” Michael sighed. “A friend of a friend got herself into a jam and this Kwan character is making life uncomfortable for her.”
“How uncomfortable?”
“Very.”
Chris sighed.
“I know it's pointless to tell you to go back to Brooklyn and play pinochle, or whatever your folks do up there, but I'm going to try anyway,” he said.
“Bingo,” Michael interjected with a grin.
“Whatever this Lowell Kwan character is all about, you don't want to be involved.” Chris ignored him as if he hadn't spoken. “Leave your lady friend to the proper authorities, whoever they may be in that area, and go back to vacation. Have a beer. See a show. It's Halloween in a few days. Go to a haunted house.”
“The haunted attractions around here seem to make people lose their heads,” Michael murmured dryly.
“Mike, do my acid reflux a favor. Drop it,” Chris said. “The last time you got involved in the CIA's backyard, your kitchen was set on fire.”
“Since I'm not home, that's not a concern this time,” Michael retorted cheerfully.
“This doesn't have anything to do with that rogue agent, does it?” Chris demanded after a moment's silence.
“She wasn't a rogue agent,” Michael snapped. “She was cleared.”
“Oh God.” Chris groaned in resignation.
Michael chuckled.
“What can you find out for me?” he asked.
“Not much,” Chris replied. “They have it all locked up. I'll see what I can do, but don't hold your breath.”
Michael pursed his lips.
“How bad do you think it is?” he asked after a moment.
“They knew what you were doing three minutes after you ran the search,” Chris told him. “Whatever it is, Kwan is a priority for them. Hell, they probably already have a lock on your location.”
Michael glanced at his laptop, then at the dark plasma screen above the mantel. He thought of Alina and her paranoid, GPS-altering security measures and smiled.
“I wouldn't lay bets on that,” he murmured.