Last Man Standing

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Karin played a game of digital warfare against the great and notorious SaBo, only the risks and rewards involved were far beyond any ‘game’. They were life-threatening.

Time and again she breached his system, only to be routed out. Komodo kept her going with coffee and Mountain Dew. When his eyes started to glaze over from trying to keep track of the scrolling code, keywords and flashing warning signals, he wandered over to a second bank of computer terminals where a man wearing an army uniform sat at ease.

“How ya doin’?”

“Good.” The man he knew as Sergeant Pearson gave him a perfunctory smile. “Feeling a little undermanned at this moment. But otherwise okay.”

“Undermanned?” Komodo asked. Nobody had said anything about being undermanned.

“Budget cuts. Recession. We’re two men down twenty four hours a day. Add that up, sir, and that’s a lot of slack.”

“Damn straight.” Komodo nodded at the door. “How safe is this place?”

“Well, it’s not Tesco, sir, but it certainly isn’t MI6 either.”

Komodo grunted at the lack of real information. “Bud, we ain’t exactly got a great track record when it comes to safe houses. If there’s someone you can call I’d do it now.”

The ex-Delta man walked away, returning to Karin’s side.

“Sir,” the man called from behind. “This isn’t a safe house. It’s a joint government-private sector run building. We just rent the basement.”

Komodo just stared. “Then call someone.”

Karin glanced around at him. “What’s all that about, T-vor?”

“Nothing special,” he said. “How you doin’?”

“Wins and losses,” she said. “Nothing vital. SaBo’s reputation is well-deserved. It’s a dance, like combat, only we don’t get hurt like you do.”

Komodo grumbled. “I never felt combat was much like a dance.”

“You know what I mean. Look…” She tapped a button, executing a command. The picture flashed across immediately to the screen to her right, tracking the progress of her latest attack, showing circuits penetrated and firewalls breached. Several layers disappeared like confetti on the breeze, destroyed, but then a flashing grid-barrier stopped them and a net enveloped Karin’s point of infiltration. All of a sudden the screen went blank.

Karin sighed. “And another attack is thwarted.”

“What about your secret weapon?”

Karin smiled. “Worming its way through a myriad of redundant circuits. It is most definitely the key to beating SaBo. I just have to keep him busy until it gets to where I need it to be.”

“Got it.”

The room’s single door swung open. Komodo, still thinking of Sergeant Pearson’s words, swung around with a hand hovering over his holstered weapon. A Glock was all they would let him keep, and that only as a courtesy. To Komodo, it felt a little like brandishing a lollipop, but he knew the effect would be somewhat different.

Now, however, only Pearson came into sight. “We just received an update from the field,” he reported. “Our forces have assembled at Sunnyvale. The SAS are there, coordinating with elements of the British Army, Hostage Rescue, what was SO13 and SO12, now SO15, and CO19 along with the Special Projects Unit, which had actually been formed to combat hit men, or assassins, and several units of special police are ready to move. Hardware is on the ground and in the air. A full-scale assault will begin within the hour.”

Karin bit her lip. “They are aware of the merc army, yes?”

Pearson nodded. “We have civilians already in extreme danger. Their safety is the prime concern. The Prime Minister and COBRA have signed off on it. They’re going in, Miss.”

Karin nodded, her eyes betraying her concern. Not only for her friends but for everyone involved. An assault would leave many dead. But if she could just defeat SaBo in time, she might be able to help save lives.

In her distress, apprehension and determination she failed to notice that one of SaBo’s lesser signals had breached the tiniest part of her system. It would feed him nothing, give him no upper hand in their cyberbattle.

But if he piggybacked a cell signal onto it he would instantly have their location.