Harrington and his now four-man team were picked up by the hovering helo from the roof of the container. The rectangular steel structure was the closest area the helicopter could come in close to, given that the bridge was swamped with the acrid black smoke of burning vehicle and fuel and bodies. They had evacuated the site as magazines from their fallen team members’ weapons started to cook off and high-velocity rounds pinged against the steel bridge structure and surrounding rocks.
“Back to base,” Harrington said over their tactical radios. His crew, as hardened as they were, fell silent and somber at the loss of two comrades. “We regroup, get better intel, find out exactly who the third person was. He was a tech head of some sort. I want to know what they were looking at. What servers, what databases, what files they touched. Make sure I have that intel by the time we’re on the ground.”
Kent said, “What are we doing about finding them?”
“They’ll show up soon,” Harrington said. “Aside from Trapwire running their facial rec against every picture and video in the country, I’m declaring a state-wide man-hunt for the three of them. Who was that guy on the bike?”
Kent flashed Harrington a picture on a tablet. Harrington took the device and showed their sniper, who had scoped the scene as they’d parachuted in.
“That’s him,” the sniper said. “Hundred percent.”
“Good.” Harrington scrolled down. “Paul Conway. Works in IT security in Palm Springs.” He passed the tablet back. “We need to know everything there is to know about him. In the meantime, I want roadblocks on every interstate. Start them a hundred miles out of here. Have county deputies cruise every B-road. We’ll get them. They’ll get theirs.”
•
The private detective drove the Crown Vic near the speed limit, which was annoying because Walker wanted to get to Jasper’s apartment as quickly as possible, but it did give him time to think and decompress.
Walker and Monica sat in the back; the rear seat was as comfortable as a plush sofa. Walker had his window cracked, and the radio was turned to the news, and they listened as they drove northeast on the Interstate 5. They were thirty minutes beyond Beaumont.
Walker couldn’t figure out why Paul had not said anything about the book cipher, but he did know where Paul would now be headed: Jasper’s apartment. He would need the book that matched the cipher, and even if he had the exact copy and edition back at his own house in Palm Springs, he knew well enough that it would now be crawling with cops and Feds. They just needed to get there before Paul, or while Paul was still there.
“Maybe just a little faster?” Walker said.
The PI picked up the speed by five miles per hour and seemed reluctant to go much beyond that.
Walker imagined the trip taking five hours, best case. If they hit any traffic in or around LA, people headed back into town after a weekend away, or headed into San Fran for the same reason . . .
The passenger headrest was all the way down and Walker could see clear over the top of it. The road ahead was a ribbon of blacktop largely devoid of cars on this Sunday lunchtime. The back of the PI’s head was bulbous and there were scars in the bald patches that signified he’d had a tough time of it at some point, either in a fight or maybe even a car wreck.
Granger had been genuinely happy to see them. Walker assured him that there was no heat coming down on him from any kind of federal authorities, though Walker was happy to maintain this illusion as a possibility to keep the guy in check.
In turn, the PI had told Walker that he’d followed his instructions to a T. He’d booked the motel room with cash, had not contacted anyone, and had sat and scoured the news and made notes about anything that seemed pertinent about the cyber attacks.
He’d spent the past twenty minutes recounting those notes, which he summed up as: the President seemed unlikely to use the Internet kill switch legislation because it would be too big a blow to the economy, local and global; the General in charge of Cyber Command was now running quarterback—and she was a no-nonsense woman; and basically no one in law enforcement had any idea who had Jasper or where he was being held hostage or what might be coming in the next attack. Nothing had been reported of the ICANN members being abducted, and Walker made a mental note that he should ask McCorkell to look into that when he next rang and checked in. He’d have Granger do it.
“Oh,” Granger said, “and you should hear the world bitching on about all their social-media accounts being hacked. I mean, you’d think they’d be smart enough, right, to figure out that anything written or spoken in the world is out there for all to see. I mean, really, has nobody heard of the Patriot Act? That thing’s been in place since 9/11, right? Idiots. Tell you what, though, this is going to mean big business for me. Since that Ashley Madison hack in 2015, my phone’s been running hot. Now, with all this out there? Damn. It’s Christmas in March and will be into April and May and beyond for the next five years for guys like me. I’m gonna need staff. I’m gonna need a bigger office . . .”
Walker tuned out. Monica had already done so as soon as they’d sat in the car, cradling a bottle of water and leaning back in the seat. She’d closed her eyes and may have been sleeping. Walker checked over his shoulder and looked up into the air out the back window. Nothing showing. No Suburban, no helicopter.