Misled

by Anderson Harp

  “What do you want?” The smaller man’s English was broken but clear enough.

  “I know what Ridges found out.”

  The man stood up, spoke to the other one in Spanish, and turned back to Newton with a smile.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  The second man brought down a small metal bucket that held two tacos. The meat was stringy like a goat’s, but Newton consumed it rapidly, licking his fingers after they swept the inside of the bucket. The taste lingered in his mouth.

  He knew that this was a dangerous tactic. At best, it would only buy him time. But time was a commodity like gold to a dying man.

  “We talk to the man. You can tell us what to say.” The little one spoke slowly, as if the words needed to be absorbed.

  “Tell him that Ridges has planted back doors.”

  It wasn’t necessarily true. It was, however, the right answer for buying time. Todd was playing the bluff that they were concerned that Ridges had access deep in their computers. A back door would be the way for Ridges, or anyone, to get in and out. If a man wanted to get in, this would be the way to do it. And if the man was afraid someone was in, the only way to stop it was to close the back door. More importantly, Todd knew that it would take some time for the message from his captors to get to whoever was running this nightmare. It would have to be sent and received. The two Mexicans could not understand the first part of what he was talking about. It would require someone with some sense to know what to ask next.

  Buying time. I’m buying time, he thought as he lay back on the small bunk. Todd could only hope that his feint would mean something to the person directing his captors. He couldn’t have known that his best chance of survival resided in a man more than 10,000 miles away who was being chased by the most brutal and efficient Gestapo-like service in the world.

  Chapter 43

  Moscow

  The snow was starting to come down in thick sheets as Will walked out of the little Russian bistro. Another snowstorm was coming in. It had served him well. The cameras would all be blurred, requiring more time for those looking through the thousands of views and videos on the streets of Moscow. Even the automated facial-recognition programs would have difficulty with the blur caused by the sheets of snow. The thousands of security cameras that crossed the city meant that he had to keep moving and couldn’t go into any place of business that would have cameras that might get a clear facial shot. He needed a hiding place where cameras would not exist. He had time to kill as well before his rendezvous. The rumble of a jet came from above as it landed in one of the many Moscow airports. The snow clouds muted the noise of the engines, but this one seemed a little lower than expected. He headed north on one of the side streets.

  After several blocks, Will saw a white marble baroque building that occupied a triangular space between two side streets. It displayed the year 1808 and its name above the entrance. It was clear that this was an early resident of the city.

  It occurred to him that this was the perfect place to buy time.

  The clerk of the Turkish bath hadn’t seen the man with the Belarus accent come in before. Parker knew he would sound a little like Mikhail Gorbachev, whose famous southern accent was long a joke to those from Moscow. Gorbachev had been raised not far from a fictional place that Will would suggest he was from.

  “I need a bath.” Will spoke with just the right accent.

  “Did you know Mikhail?”

  The clerk’s joke caused Will to laugh out loud.

  “No, but he was from Stavropol Krai, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not far. My grandfather had a farm near there.” Will saw that he was winning over the man with the casual conversation.

  “How about some food too?” The clerk’s smile displayed one gold tooth directly in the center of his mouth.

  “I just ate.”

  “Okay, a bath then.” The man turned to the register and rang up the charge. He handed Will a key to a locker.

  Will stared at an array of framed black-and-white photographs on the wall behind the desk. One showed a different building surrounded by bombed-out husks of buildings on both sides.

  “How close did they get?” Will pointed to the photo of three Russian officers decked out in uniforms from World War II standing on the front steps of the bath.

  “The Nazi scouts got within seven miles.”

  Seven miles from the center of Moscow. The Russians had a reason for fearing the world.

  “We never closed.” The clerk smiled with pride. “Russian officers took their baths while an invading army was at their doorstep. My father said the artillery rounds flew right above this building.”

  Will nodded, feigned wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, and said, “I think I’ll take that bath now, thank you.”

  He passed through the ornate gold, white, and blue hallway to the bath’s locker room, where he stripped off his clothes, put on a towel, and walked into the steam room. The long bench was empty except for one older, bent man sitting on his sheet in the corner. The steam came on and off in waves. Between the waves, Will took in a longer glance at the man, whose body seemed to have been wracked by rheumatoid arthritis. His hands, arms, and legs were bent in odd shapes. His crooked body seemed to scream out of a later life of pain. He used a small white towel to rub his face.

  “Afghanistan?” The old man suddenly spoke after a period of silence.

  “What?” Will turned to him.

  “Afghanistan?” The man pointed to the scars on Will’s body. They were from combat, but not from when Russia occupied Afghanistan.

  “Yes.”

  “I served in the Pacific fleet on a submarine. The Som.” The old man’s pride showed in his face. Here in the bath, they were two veterans connecting, albeit from two different wars and two different sides. They sat and talked for most of an hour. Will spoke of a fictional grandfather and the man spoke of his grandchildren. His son had been lost in Afghanistan more than twenty years ago.

  Soon it was time for Will to go.

  “You must stay. A veteran of your war comes in here often at this time.”

  “Thank you, but it is snowing hard again and I have to get to the metro.”

  “He was also wounded in Afghanistan. You would enjoy meeting him.” The old man was trying to make a connection, the main highlight of his life being the visits to the bath.

  “I’m sorry that I can’t meet him.” Will walked over to the man and shook his crippled hand. “You take care.”

  “I am old with not many friends now. Soon I will see many.”

  “Not too soon.” They laughed as they parted ways.

  As he left the steam room, a man built like Will Parker passed at the doorway. They smiled at each other and said a small greeting. The man also only had a towel, his scar cut across his face. Another injury went from the bottom of his neck down across his chest.

  Will thought he had seen the man somewhere before.

  He showered, bundled up, paid his bill, and went back out into the snowstorm.

  Time to move.

  Out on the street, it occurred to Parker where he had seen the man.

  Chapter 44

  Cupertino, California

  “There’s a problem.”

  The young woman with the shaggy bob haircut and green highlights called her boss over to her screen. The operation center at Integral Transaction Data quickly became crammed with people. Her boss, his boss, and the chief information officer of the data company stood at the desks, looking at the displays.

  “What’s up?” her boss asked, looking back and forth at the several screens.

  “He’s tapping into all of the accounts. Now, it seems like a joke. He’s adding a penny to each credit-card charge.” She pushed up her Tom Ford glasses on her nose.


  “So, we have a breach?” The CIO, a well-dressed, slightly older woman, studied the screens from the other side of the chair.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Can they get to our data?” The CIO pointed the question to the head of the operations center.

  “They have.” The woman with the green bob haircut spoke out of turn. Her manager gave her a look that could have frozen a freshly boiled hot dog.

  “Can we fix this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” her boss answered quickly.

  The young operator returned him a quick look, as if to say, Are you kidding?

  “I need to know quickly. We can’t sit on this. We are not doing an Equifax,” said the CIO, determined to get control of the situation. “We need to get general counsel and our public-relations people on standby.” She was muttering to herself as she left the operations center. Then, louder: “I need some good news, guys.”

  * * * *

  “We have a problem.” The CIO was on her cell phone with the chief executive officer of ITD in the empty hallway outside of the operations center.

  “Let’s get to some secure phones.” He always had a calm demeanor. He was a self-made man, not with Ivy League credentials, who had worked his way up from an entry-level job to the top position after his mentor reached retirement age and nominated him for the position. The CEO might not have been an Ivy Leaguer, but he had learned the game well and learned it quickly.

  “There’s a breach. It’s sophisticated.” She gave him the download on the secure telephone.

  “The board members need to know so no one will go out and make the foolish mistake of selling any shares.” The CEO knew that the one way to burn both the company and the board was off-loading stock at the wrong time. ITD’s shares had just hit a record high of $101. “Equifax dropped seventeen percent of its value in just the first twenty-four hours after word got out of the breach.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need to call our duty expert on this to check out his sources.”

  The CEO’s next secure call was to the man who was paid a lot to ensure that such headaches went away.

  He reached Alexander Paul, who answered on the first ring.

  The CEO explained the situation. “This could be from anywhere on the globe…any ideas?”

  “Yes.” Paul didn’t say more and the CEO didn’t ask. It would not benefit either man for Paul to speak what was on his mind.

  * * * *

  Paul hung up and made a call to the bank in the Cayman Islands. He was not a member of the ITD board of directors. He had no obligation other than ethics and professionalism, which were not about to hold him back. Or at least no problems that would be directly connected. It was insider trading, but going through the offshore bank would make it nearly impossible to follow the international trail.

  “Buy a short position on ITD.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred million. Spread it out over several accounts.”

  Paul already had a good idea who was behind the hack, but he wasn’t going to move too quickly in his efforts to fix it.

  Chapter 45

  Paul’s Headquarters Near Dulles

  “I understand that the FSB has a lead on Parker in Moscow.” Alexander Paul sounded positively gleeful, as if all the stars were aligning for him. “He’s under the name of Donnelly.”

  “Huh?” Caldwell’s response was muted. He’d only glimpsed the screen for a second, but it was enough to conclude that Paul was on the deep web. The Tor logo with an onion was the giveaway, a symbol signifying the layers of virtual tunnels the transmissions went through to reach their intended recipients. He tried to shift his eyes quickly away, but in the same moment, Paul caught his gaze.

  With a sickening sensation growing in his stomach, Caldwell knew what Paul was up to and, more dangerously for the young Ranger, Paul knew he knew, which meant that Caldwell was becoming a risk.

  “Frank, do you like it here?” Paul looked directly into Caldwell’s eyes.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have a great future. A happy life with more money than you’ve ever seen.”

  Caldwell knew his boss was playing to his background as a kid from a lower-middle-class family who’d had several brothers and sisters. It was also a veiled reference to his wife and young son. “We need to go to Alaska.” Paul turned back to his computer as he spoke the words. “It might be an insurance policy in case things get difficult in Moscow.”

  Caldwell nodded. Though he couldn’t be 100 percent sure, it seemed as though Paul were planning for an alternate action in case the situation required it. A contingency for the unlikely eventuality that Will Parker managed to get Ridges out of Moscow—or even slipped out of Moscow alone with whatever information Paul was worried about. In that case, it wouldn’t hurt for Paul to have his hands on a particular CDC doctor as a bargaining chip.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where exactly is the doctor?”

  “We understand she’s in a remote location and the closest city is Anchorage.” Caldwell didn’t know exactly where Snag was, but had a sense that it would be within reach of Anchorage.

  “Let’s get a team up there.” Paul had several men that he described as his bodyguards. They were an odd assortment of past Delta Force operators. From what he’d seen of them, Caldwell wasn’t impressed. They struck him as would-be cowboys who thought their missions were above the law. Paul didn’t seem to discourage that impression.

  “I’ll get the ball rolling,” Caldwell said noncommittally.

  “Tell my assistant to get the G650 ready.”

  The Gulfstream was the Rolls-Royce of the sky and cost infinitely more. But the crisis at ITD granted Paul license to spend even the exorbitant $25,000 per hour for aircraft rentals. Of course, the fact that the G650 could fly 8000 miles at speeds above 600 miles an hour made it an ideal choice for a mission requiring haste despite distance.

  Paul’s team was more than capable. An innocent call to the CDC office in Anchorage had revealed Snag as their destination. Soon, they would have supplies and helicopter support in Alaska, waiting for the arrival of the Gulfstream.

  “I’ll meet you at the airport in forty-five minutes.” Paul looked at his watch as he spoke.

  Caldwell was surprised that Paul was coming. He rarely left his corporate headquarters. But some time ago, he too had been trained as a Ranger.

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * *

  Paul was already at the signature flight operations before the jet landed. Frank Caldwell found Paul and his team in the waiting room when he arrived.

  “Gun bags?” Caldwell immediately noticed that the bodyguards had black bags with the stencil HK in red on their side. Each also carried backpacks and vests packed with magazines of ammunition.

  “Oh, I guess.” Paul was looking at his cell phone.

  “Sir, the cold-weather gear will be at the FBO.”

  To Caldwell, this operation felt similar to the ones that he’d undertaken years ago with his Ranger unit. It felt strange to be back in action. Odder yet, however, was the fact that Caldwell didn’t know exactly what the action would be. They were packing out for what looked like a combat mission.

  “And we have a helicopter that’s reserved, but the weather’s gonna be dicey.” And by “dicey,” Caldwell meant life-threatening.

  Paul looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “A front’s coming in, and there’s a mountain range between Anchorage and Snag.”

  “Okay.” Paul looked out the window at the run of aircraft coming and going to and from Reagan. A wisp of visible air spun up from the wings of the plane. It was overcast and the air was full of water molecules. As the wind over the wings churned the sky, the particles put on a show coming off of the surface.

  “Didn’t you say you talk
ed to Parker’s buddy?”

  “Yes, sir. Moncrief is his name.”

  “What’s the story on him?”

  “Retired Marine gunnery sergeant. A good man. Served under Parker. Wounded. Parker saved his life.”

  “Oh. So, he’d take a bullet for Parker if it came to that?”

  Caldwell hesitated in answering. It was an odd comment.

  “Yes, sir, I believe he would.”

  Chapter 46

  The Cabin Near Snag in the Yukon

  The sun broke through Snag. Karen gathered up her gear, her backpack, and snowshoes to start the trek looking at each of the traps. She didn’t forget her Winchester. Ever since the first day, when she had the encounter with the ill fox, she had been careful in keeping her eyes out for the animal.

  She checked on the little fox in the cage. It was still alive, not stirring and bundled up in the straw. The fox’s red-tipped ears stuck out from the cover. It had plenty of water and she had caught a mouse in a cabin trap. The dead mouse lay in the same spot on the straw. The vixen’s appetite seemed to be waning.

  The air was still. The potbelly stove gave the air in the cabin a smoky smell.

  She had used up the last of her fresh food the evening before.

  I’ll miss the bananas. She always lamented the end of fresh fruit the most. It never lasted long.

  Now it’s MREs, she thought as she closed the door to the cabin. The meals were a benefit of working for the government. The CDC had an ample supply of meals-ready-to-eat, and she had been given a case to carry with her into the Yukon.

  Chili with beans or chicken fajitas?

  First, she wanted to make a call.

  The satellite phone rang on Will Parker’s cell phone number and then went to voice mail.

  “Odd,” she said into the dead line. He should have been back by now.