“We have to go,” said the cop in the hallway. His colleague stood in the open doorway.
“Where?” Walker asked. He headed down the hall, Monica a few paces behind him. The four of them stood in a circle in the entry way, where the hall was at its widest, before the stairs started and took up half the hall’s width as it continued back to the kitchen. Both cops looked torn. Walker had seen that look before: orders from on high that weren’t what they wanted to follow but they knew they had no choice.
“It’s a Homeland Security code,” the cop said in monotone. “All officers of the law are to respond and report to their assigned stations for the protection of critical infrastructure and to ensure public order and safety.”
“Jasper’s next attack,” Monica said.
“Must be,” the cop replied as he checked the time on his phone. “Sorry. The Feds will still send someone within twenty minutes. Just hang tight and lock the door.”
The two cops left without another word.
Monica went to the door and watched them move quickly down the steps to the street and across the road to their unmarked Ford, which started up and tore off with a roar of rubber and the siren bleeping in the quiet of the night, the red-blue-and-white lights on the back parcel shelf and behind the front grille strobing in the dark. She closed the door and clicked the two locks, the bolt and the chain. She turned and faced Walker, but he spoke before she could.
“This isn’t right.”
“Threats have been made,” Monica replied, “it makes sense. Maybe they’ve even seen a pattern emerge, noticed some activity online some place that’s alluding to the next attack.”
Walker was looking at the windows in the front room, and then down the hall toward the flimsy back door. “Do you have a firearm in the house?”
“No.”
“I do,” Walker said. He tapped at the small of his back, where her father’s Colt .45 was tucked.
“Great.” She brushed past him and headed for the kitchen. By the time he joined her she was seated on a stool at the bench, the side Walker had been on before. Her shoulders were slightly sagged, her forearms rested on the granite bench top, her fingers interlaced. She was waiting.
“This isn’t about the next cyber attack.” Walker remained standing, facing the back window and door.
“Then what do you think the cyber attack will be?” Monica asked.
“No idea. But it’s not whatever those cops are responding to, it’s too soon. Too broad. I don’t like it.”
“They must have received a threat. Or intercepted something. Maybe they’ve managed to hack into the computer Jasper is using, and seen what’s coming. Or detected a penetration on a network—that’s a thing, right?”
Walker remained silent. It didn’t feel right. Not like this. There were still twenty-one minutes until the FBI was scheduled to show up. Unless they too had to respond to the Homeland Security threat, setting up security at LAX or federal government installations.
“Why don’t you contact your FBI lady?” he said. “The Assistant SAC, and see what’s what?”
Monica looked at him, then nodded and typed a text message. She hit send and placed the phone in front of her. They both watched the screen, waiting for a reply.
“You’re not going to call her?”
“She said to message.”
Walker remained silent.
Monica said, “Who do you think has Jasper?”
“I’m working on it.”
“You really think you can figure it out?”
“I can try.”
“You know what you haven’t asked me yet?”
Walker looked at her. “Where your kid lives?”
“What—oh . . .” Monica looked at the photos on her fridge. “She’s with her father, in Shanghai.”
“It’s none of my business. But it’s good to know she’s out of harm’s way.”
“Harm’s way?”
Walker nodded.
Monica said, “I was going to say, you never asked why I haven’t been worried.”
Walker heard her, but he didn’t answer. He was looking out the back of the house. The yard was small, paved and just big enough to park a car in. Bordering on the back fence was another yard, and another two-story house. It was dark. Deep shadows were thrown by streetlights and neighboring windows. He was sure he saw something there. In the dark. The darkest part of the shadow. The umbra. Movement.