Cutting Edge

38

One hour later Lund was counting, just as they’d instructed. When she reached a hundred, she pulled the hood from her head.

She found herself in the parking lot of the Hilton Hotel, almost the very spot where she’d been standing this morning when they’d abducted her. She looked all around, but saw no sign of the silent man who’d ushered her here, nor the car she’d heard pull away. Lund had played by their rules, and she was glad for it. She was free again.

Now she was going to do her damnedest to return the favor to DeBolt.

She breathed deeply on the chill night air — after a full day of captivity she allowed herself that much. Lund turned on her phone. It booted up, and she poised her finger over the screen, ready to tap on DeBolt’s number. Before she could do so, her phone chimed a handful of times as it collected the business of the day. Three voice mails, two texts, and a half-dozen emails. Back to the old captivity, she thought.

Lund made the call, and as the connection ran she began walking. She was almost to the lobby entrance when DeBolt answered.

“You okay, Shannon?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Right back where we started.”

“No issues?”

“Don’t worry. I’m back in the hotel lobby and there are people all over the place. I’m safe. What about you?”

“I’m good, but I can’t talk for long. Listen closely — there’s a flight on American, it leaves at nine fifteen, connects in Chicago. It’ll have you back in Anchorage by noon tomorrow. From there you can catch the C-130 and be back to Kodiak in time for dinner. There’s plenty of room on all the flights.”

“How do you know all … oh, right.”

“Yeah, I know. It takes some getting used to.”

“Are you going to keep the phone you’re using?” she asked.

“No, I’ll have to ditch it. But I’ve got your number. I’ll call if I need anything.”

She didn’t respond. The contrast between their situations could not have been more stark. She would be home for dinner tomorrow. He had no idea where he would be in a day or a week. Didn’t know if he would ever be able to reclaim the life of PO2 Trey DeBolt.

“I can still help,” she said. “I have access to information too, things you might not be able to find.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But for now the risk is too high, Shannon. I don’t want you involved.”

Instead of arguing, she said, “Take care of yourself, Trey. I mean it.”

“You too.”

The connection ended, and Lund lowered her handset. She stared at the hotel’s front desk, and it dawned on her that she’d only booked the room for one night. She wondered how they handled it when a guest disappeared but left their things in a room. Guess I’m about to find out.

She nearly pocketed her phone before remembering the messages. Lund checked them one by one. The texts were from friends wondering where she’d gone. The emails were all work related and none pertained to DeBolt. The second voice mail sent her finger straight to the call back button. Jim Kalata answered right away.

“Hey, Shannon. Did you get my message?”

“Yes. You said you made some headway on the William Simmons case.”

“I did. First of all, Matt Doran came in and showed me the pictures he took on the scene. There was definitely somebody else up there, maybe even signs of a scuffle. I also checked Simmons’ home laptop and found some pretty heated email exchanges. He was getting sideways with some kind of patient advocate over at the big hospital in Anchorage. Simmons was upset that nobody there would admit to knowing anything about Trey’s case.”

“So he was ruffling feathers.”

“Big-time. Along with what Matt came up with, it bugged me, and it seemed to go beyond the island. So I did one of your arrival searches.”

Lund had devised the procedure. Most crimes in Kodiak, like any place, were local in nature — victims and perpetrators were residents. But occasionally the involvement of outsiders had to be considered. Kodiak being an island, and a small and remote one at that, there were few avenues by which anyone could arrive and depart. If a date could be approximated, it was a simple task to go over the manifests for the few scheduled flights and see if any names stood out.

Kalata said, “I threw in as many discriminators as I could. I looked for a male who arrived and departed within two days either side of Sunday, the day of the accident. I screened out anybody less than twenty years old, and because Matt said that path up the mountain was really challenging, I also tossed anybody over fifty.”

“And?”

“Honestly, it’s a reach. But I really busted my butt on this, so you’re gonna owe me.”

“Dammit, Jim—”

“A beer — I just want a beer. Maybe two.” He let her stew a moment longer, then, “My best find was a guy who flew in Sunday morning, then left that same night. He wasn’t here more than eight hours. Never booked a room or rented a car, nothing. And get this — he flew in all the way from Vienna, Austria. That’s four flights each way, like thirty hours of travel. Does that make sense to you? A guy flies halfway around the world to spend eight hours in Kodiak — as far as I can tell, to do nothing.”

“There could be a lot of explanations, Jim. He might have been closing on a house or visiting a sick parent.”

“I know, it’s not much. I cross-checked his last name with the local phone directory — no matches. Same with county arrest and property records. I even called the hospital here. As you know, it’s not a big place. There were only nine logged visitors that day — none were our guy.”

Lund put some thoughtfulness in her voice. “You have been busy. Thanks for going the distance with me on this, Jim.” She immediately regretted her choice of words, and before he could respond, she asked, “What’s his name?”

“Douglas Wilson. The airline had an address for him in Missoula, Montana. I tried to look it up, but drew blanks — I’m pretty sure the street address doesn’t exist. Oh, and there was one other thing. According to Doran, the second set of footprints on the mountain were really deep.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning this guy was nimble enough to get up a mountain, but he’s one large individual. Altogether, it wasn’t much to go on, but since I knew the flight times I went to the airport and looked over their surveillance video. One fuzzy image stood out — I’ll send it to you now from my iPad.”

Lund took the phone from her ear, and twenty seconds later it arrived. She opened the image and pinched it wider. When she did, the resolution suffered. There were three people in the frame, but she had no doubt which one Kalata was talking about: bald, unsmiling, massive build. His head was down as he parted the thin crowd. The human equivalent of an icebreaker.

Kalata’s voice carried from the phone, “Ever seen him before?”

She put the handset back to her ear. “Never. You?”

“Not in my life.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Look, Shannon, you’re right — this might be nothing. But I knew it was important to you, so I tried.”

“Thanks, Jim. You did good. If anything else comes up please give me a call.”

“How’s your dad?”

The question caught Lund off guard. “Oh … he’s—”

She was cut off by his chuckle. “Good luck, Shannon.”

The call ended.

Standing in the hotel lobby, Lund whispered the name to herself. “Douglas Wilson.” Hearing it aloud was no help. It meant nothing to her.

It was well after midnight in Vienna, and Patel had been on the phone with the technician in D.C. for nearly an hour. His name was Nelson Chadli, and he was the man Patel had chosen specifically to manage META on the server end. He and Chadli had studied together at Caltech, so Patel knew he was smart. He also knew he was timid by nature and prone to indecisiveness. On the scale of malleability, Chadli was a rock-solid nine.

“You’ve finished the sequence?” Patel asked.

There was a slight delay as the call ran across the ocean. “Yes, it is done now. I’m getting a response. There we are … the command algorithm is running.”

“How long will the sweep take to confirm?” Patel asked.

“Well, things have been busy. Our real-time restricted databases, the ones with tailored access operations — they don’t often get modified using an alpha-priority clearance.”

Patel was happy the phone connection could not convey his grin. So lost in a technical haze was Chadli, he had no idea what was about to happen. The changes he was making would on appearances erase META from the primary server. They would in fact do quite the opposite. Once finished, Patel’s software would be fully embedded, his Trojan horse complete. Although it wasn’t a classic Trojan horse play. He intended no damage to the government’s host system, nor was it meant to attack other databases. It would simply exist, working in the background, feeding and extracting like the parasite it was from the most labyrinthine network on earth. Aside from Patel, no one knew of its existence, not even Chadli, who at that moment was making META’s intrusion permanent. The software was now operationally proven. In five years or ten, it might be discovered — if the overseeing agency restructured its servers to an entirely new architecture, or if a very, very clever auditor stumbled upon it. But Patel doubted any of that would happen. For the foreseeable future, he had private access to the most powerful information gathering network on earth. Then Patel amended this thought. In truth, he wasn’t the end user — Delta was.

But Delta was his.

He said, “Yes, I’ve discussed this at length with the supervisory team. The alpha-priority clearance was authorized far above our level — that’s the point of the entire exercise, but I can’t divulge details, and certainly not on an open line.”

Chadli said, “I understand. While we’re waiting for confirmation I’ll run a usage scan.”

“No!” said Patel quickly. “That’s not nec—”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. It only takes a few seconds.” A pause, then, “I see there has been some use.”

“Yes, those are authorized test inputs,” Patel said quickly, which was true in the strictest sense. “Most were from here, in Vienna, followed by a few in Alaska. We were assessing geographic coverage and measuring response intervals.” Then he added, “You may also see activity in New York City.”

“Ah,” said Chadli, “here we are. Yes, Vienna for the past month, and Alaska. New York today. Also up in New England for the last few days.”

On hearing this Patel went rigid. The last few days? He sat upright behind the desk in his hotel room, and tried to keep a level tone. “Where in New England?”

“All across Maine, from top to bottom. Then New Hampshire briefly and Boston.”

For the second time in twenty-four hours Patel was stunned. He knew Delta’s schedule precisely — he had been nowhere near New England until a few hours ago. Then he was struck by an outrageous possibility.

Bravo?

He knew DeBolt had survived the surgery — that was a surprise to everyone — but could he possibly have gone active?

Patel tried to think clearly. He had specifically enabled Delta months ago, the final links made. Yet those instructions had pertained specifically to him. How could Bravo possibly be using them? Was there a weakness in the code he’d written, a back door that had somehow allowed access? Then a greater worry flooded into his head — the man had so far escaped Benefield’s vaunted team of killers. Had Bravo gained an advantage over them by leveraging META?

“Dr. Patel? Are you still there?” came the reedy voice from across the ocean.

Patel reacquired his focus. “Yes, of course. My connection is a bit dodgy. Tell me one thing … where is the most recent activity?”

“I show usage in Boston right now … actually hits on two nodes. They’re separated by about a mile. How could that—”

“No, that’s fine,” said Patel in a rush, “exactly as it should be. I have another call I must take. Let me know when the uninstall sequence has finalized.”

“Yes, I’ll—”

Patel cut the man off. Dozens of worries rushed into his mind, any of which might threaten his control of the situation. But if it’s true …

He quickly went to his texting app, selected the contact he wanted, and typed a frantic message.