Cyberian Affair

by Mark A Pryor

  There he is.

  Marko turned suddenly and glared at an old woman standing behind him. They had a short exchange before the woman shook her head and walked unsteadily away.

  Niko waved. “Leave any beer for me?”

  Nodding, Marko grabbed a pint glass filled with black liquid from the bar and handed it to him. “I know you prefer it warm. This is their imperial stout.”

  The hop aroma was inviting. He smiled at Marko and took a sip. “Very good.” He pointed to an open table with short benches on each side. “Let’s grab a seat.”

  Marko sat down and stuck out his left leg to inspect it. He lifted the pant leg and looked at his calf.

  Niko tried to see what he was looking at. “What’s wrong? Something happen?”

  “I don’t know. An old lady bumped into me and I felt something sharp. She apologized, but my leg still hurts.” He shook his head. “No blood, though.”

  “I saw her behind you at the bar. She appeared tipsy.” Niko looked around. “But I don’t see her now.”

  “The hell with my leg.” Marko sat up straight. “They’re tapping a special cask-conditioned double IPA at seven o’clock. You’ll love it.”

  They talked about beer, football, and women. When Niko bought the next round, he changed the subject to Joey. “The cops are full of shit. It was a professional hit.”

  Marko’s eyes scanned the room, his head barely moving, speaking in a faint voice. “You think Joey might have told someone what we did?”

  Ever since the murder, Niko had pondered the same question. “He knew better. Sometimes he drank too much and bragged a bit. But, shit, not about that. No way.”

  Even though the room was cool, sweat formed on Marko’s brow. He wiped it off and leaned forward. “I’ve had my suspicions about Joey’s death, too. Maybe we’re being paranoid, but if the Russians got Joey, they’ll come for us.”

  “I know about Russian assassinations—like the Bulgarian writer in London. Someone stuck him in the leg with poison. Used an umbrella.”

  “That was the Soviet Union,” said Marko. “Fucking KGB. You weren’t even born then.”

  “Soviets, Russians. All the same. They’re ruthless.”

  Marko wiped more sweat from his forehead. He lifted his leg onto the bench and looked at his calf. A circular area about an inch in diameter appeared pinker than the skin around it. He poked at the center.

  “Are you okay? You don’t suppose—”

  “Shit! The old woman.” Marko clutched his chest “My heart. It’s too fast. Call 9-1-1.” He handed his phone to Niko, then lowered his leg and laid his head on the table. “Use my phone, not yours.”

  “Your heart?” Niko reached for the cell. It slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor.

  Calm down.

  He picked it up and punched in the number, speaking as soon as an operator answered. “This is a medical emergency. I’m at Alpha World Brewpub in Ashburn. My friend … I think it’s a heart attack.”

  Marko waved his hand and spoke, his voice weak. “Hang up.”

  Niko ignored him.

  “Hang up,” Marko demanded.

  Niko ended the call. “What’s wrong? They had more questions. They’ll call back.”

  Shaking his head, Marko whispered, “First Joey, now me. You’re next. The ambulance will come. Turn off my phone. Leave now. Go deep.”

  Go deep?

  All of Niko’s training kicked in. Focus! Extreme measures were required when clandestine operations went bad. That’s when you go deep. Disappear. No phone. No credit cards. No car. No home.

  He turned off the phone and took Marko’s hand. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

  A young man in a jogging suit rushed over and looked at Marko. “Is he okay?”

  “It’s his heart. I called 9-1-1.” Niko struggled to remember what he knew about heart attacks. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  The man rushed back to his table. A woman rummaged through her purse.

  Marko grabbed Niko by the shirt and pulled him close. “Get out of here now! Go deep. Call the emergency number from a burner phone.” His eyes fluttered. “Use the pass phrases.”

  Niko had memorized the number. It was part of his training. Also, the two-part pass phrase: I’m calling from Provo … I’m The Pythia.

  The man returned with pills. Marko chewed and swallowed them, then lay down on the bench in obvious pain.

  At the sound of a siren, Niko turned toward the door. “It’s coming! You’ll be fine, Marko. You’ll be fine.”

  Through the glass doors, he watched the ambulance arrive. Two people in blue uniforms jumped out. They opened the back of the ambulance, removed a stretcher, tossed a red duffel bag onto it, and rushed inside.

  Marko spoke in a weak, yet forceful voice. “Go! Now! Don’t try to contact me—or the hospital.” He turned his head and threw up.

  Niko stepped out of the way to make room for the emergency responders. More people gathered, all of them staring at Marko except for one middle-aged man who seemed interested in Niko. Russian? He had a squarish face and a long, bulbous Slavic nose.

  Can’t stay here.

  The Slavic man stood at the back of the crowd. His eyes shifted away when Niko spotted him.

  Time to go deep. Niko ran out the door, straight for his Camaro. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Slavic man running outside with a phone to his ear.

  Gotta be Russian.

  Niko jumped into his car and sped toward the highway. In the mirror, he saw a dark BMW pull up next to the Russian man who hopped in.

  As Niko approached the intersection, he glanced back. Under a streetlight, a blue BMW appeared, approaching fast. He turned right without slowing down.

  The Russians followed, two cars behind.

  At the next intersection, Niko turned left through the yellow light. The car behind him stopped, blocking the Russians.

  A heavy truck pulled into the intersection. In the mirror, Niko saw one car, then another, go through the traffic light behind him. Neither was a BMW. He turned at the next street and pulled into the lot of a shopping mall. Racing to the side of the building on the end, he drove behind it. Niko spotted two delivery trucks parked at a dimly lit loading ramp. He backed into the shadows between them and shut off the engine and lights.

  No way they’re gonna find me here.

  Niko grabbed his phone, then stopped himself before making a call. Go deep. Marko had told him his cell was like a flashing beacon to electronic surveillance equipment. Its constant communication with cell towers meant spies could locate his phone. Niko powered it off and removed the battery and SIM card. He hoped he’d done it soon enough to shake this guy.

  A few minutes later, the BMW appeared ahead on the right and drove slowly past the loading ramp. Niko’s heart pounded. He held his breath while the vehicle moved out of sight. Then he spotted lights—white lights.

  He’s backing up!

  Niko turned the ignition and waited while the starter cranked, but the engine refused to start. When it finally turned over, he punched the accelerator to the floor. His tires squealed as he raced out of the slanted loading ramp. Not letting off the gas, he rounded the building, nearly skidding into a wall as he raced toward the exit at the highway.

  The BMW raced up from behind.

  Niko yanked the wheel to the right, directly in front of a truck.

  The truck swerved, tires squealing, as it narrowly missed a car in the passing lane.

  A loud bang came from outside as cracks burst across Niko’s windshield on the passenger side, spreading out like a web from a small hole. The passenger window shattered, glass fragments flying at him.

  Niko turned the wheel sharply. A second bang and a second hole.

  The Pythia

  Chapter 3

  Holy shit! Niko jammed his foot against the gas pedal, darted into the passing lane, and picked up speed. He jerked the wheel, pulling into the right lane to swerve around the c
ar in front of him. A moment later, he cut back to the left, only to switch and swerve around another slower car. A traffic light in the distance turned red.

  No tail was visible in the rearview mirror. So far so good.

  The traffic signal ahead spread its red light through the spider-webbed glass around the bullet hole in the windshield.

  Niko sped toward the intersection without slowing down. He leaned on the horn and drove into the intersection to the sound of squealing brakes. Halfway through, a pickup clipped the left side of his Camaro and spun him half around. He jerked the wheel to aim the car forward, punched the accelerator, and steered into the right lane.

  Shit. I can’t see the Russians. Where are they? Where the hell are the cops?

  Niko punched the accelerator and took a hard turn at the next intersection. He spotted headlights behind him coming out of the turn, speeding closer. Shit!

  The passing lane ended. Only one lane each way. A line of trucks appeared ahead, backing up as they approached Route 7. He drove on the shoulder to pass them, but it narrowed abruptly. Behind were the Russians’ headlights. Niko pulled back onto the road between two trucks. A blaring horn and squealing tires signaled the driver’s rage.

  For a moment, no cars approached in the other lane, so he turned into it, passing two trucks. He would reach the red light in seconds.

  Change. Damn you. Green. Come on.

  Niko yanked his wheel hard to the right and cleared the front of a truck, sideswiping a Toyota Corolla. His car fishtailed as it merged onto Route 7. Okay, assholes, catch me if you can.

  Horns and squeals filled the air as cars swerved to avoid hitting each other while Niko forced his way onto the divided highway. The Camaro shimmied. It took all his strength to hold the wheel steady.

  A break in the tree line appeared on the median strip a few feet ahead. He cut his lights and turned left across three lanes, driving onto the grass beyond the trees, downshifting to reduce his speed and maintain control of the Camaro on the frozen ground. In another fifty feet, Niko circled around the trees and came to a stop facing the opposite direction. He shifted into neutral and kept his foot off the brake.

  His heart raced as he twisted around to watch out his rear window, hoping to see the Russians drive by.

  If they spot me, I’m dead.

  A dark-colored sedan swerved along the highway, brake lights coming on briefly when it changed lanes. There they go. Didn’t see me!

  When the Russians disappeared into the distance, Niko pulled forward off the grass and onto the shoulder of Route 7. Seeing an opening, he turned on his lights, pulled out, crossed to the right lane, and turned at the next intersection.

  He drove into the parking lot of a shopping village, came to stop next to a Dumpster, and turned off the car.

  The frantic chase and the events of the night caught up with him. Niko gripped the wheel. Life as he knew it was over.

  Go Deep. Disappear. Leave the car. Never go home.

  He’d done it before when he fled from the Ukraine. Marko had prepared him for this possibility. Something he never expected would happen. Goddamn Russians. Niko had to do this alone.

  From the warmth of his car, with his breath fogging the cold window, he studied the signs on the shops. Clothing stores, restaurants … Starbucks. That would be a warm place to plan his next move—and to call the emergency number.

  Niko checked the glove compartment to be sure nothing personal was inside. Then he grabbed his laptop case and got out, spotting a large dent on the back quarter-panel of the car. He unlocked the trunk, but it wouldn’t open. He struggled to force it, but it didn’t budge. He kicked it—once, twice. On the third kick, it moved. One more kick and it popped open.

  Exhausted, Niko sat on the edge of the trunk. He removed the panel over the spare tire and retrieved a gray gym bag. Marko called it a go bag—told him to keep it ready for emergencies like this.

  He unzipped it and took a quick inventory. Water bottles, energy bars, a change of clothes, and a 9 mm Glock with four clips and ammunition. But the most important items were three pre-paid throwaway phones, false ID, and a bank card. He put those items in his pocket, re-zipped the bag, grabbed his laptop case, and abandoned the car.

  Niko used the bank card to make a three-hundred-dollar withdrawal from an ATM machine near Starbucks. Marko had never told him whose bank account the money came from, but he was glad to see the cash. With only forty-three dollars in his wallet, and unable to use his own cards, he would have run out of money quickly. Stuffing the bills into his pocket, he walked into the coffee shop and looked around.

  The young woman at the counter smiled. “Can I help you?”

  Any other day, Niko would compliment her. He loved to talk to pretty women. But tonight, he just nodded. The coffee smelled great and he needed something warm. “Anything strong and black. No special flavors.”

  “We have a dark roast. What size do you want?” She pointed to a choice of cups on display.

  Niko read the label on the big cup, “Venti.”

  While waiting, he eyed a small table in the corner away from other customers. When she brought his coffee, he took it to a seat at the table and sat with his back to the wall.

  Niko set his go bag on the floor between his chair and the wall. He removed the laptop and mouse from their case, setting them on the table. He thought about plugging it in, but the wall plug was too far away, and his battery was fully charged.

  The warmth of the coffee cup was welcome, and he held it with both hands. The first sip started to take the chill from his body. He set the cup down and opened his laptop—one Marko had hardened against attack. This computer would not be an easy target for anyone trying to penetrate its defenses, or to identify the owner.

  Usually, Niko used an encrypted connection to a private network in Ashburn, but tonight he chose a network in Los Angeles. That would make it even more difficult for anyone who tried to identify or track him.

  He took another sip of coffee and searched for information on Marko. Despite using his best computer skills, none of the emergency alert systems or local hospital systems gave up any confidential information. Too bad he wasn’t a super-hacker. Vyper would know how to find out, but Niko didn’t know how to contact the computer wizard. The only alternative was to call each hospital in the area and pretend to be a relative. That would take a while, and he didn’t want to attract unwelcome attention from Starbucks’ patrons.

  Niko needed a safe place to stay tonight. He’d have to find a hotel. One that accepted cash. More important was the emergency number. Marko told him to use it. He could call from here, but he’d have to be careful about what he said.

  He grabbed his phone and punched in the number.

  An eerie voice answered, “Hello.” It sounded like it was electronically altered.

  Niko took a breath. “I’m calling from Provo.”

  “Provo? … Give me a few minutes. Don’t hang up. I will be back.”

  Someone’s scrambling their voice. Why?

  Niko looked around. No one seemed to have any interest in him. Three minutes passed with no noise on the other end. He checked to see if the call was still active. It was.

  The strange voice returned. “Sorry for the wait. Please hold a bit longer.” The phone went silent again.

  Marko had told him to call this number, so the person on the other end must be someone he could trust. Niko hated sitting there and waiting. Maybe I should have mentioned The Pythia.

  A sudden response from the same unnatural, mechanical voice on the phone startled him. “You do not have a camera. I cannot see you.”

  Camera? This person hacked into my phone? Niko wanted to hang up. No. Marko trusts this person. “I’m using a flip phone. No camera. What—”

  “No problem. You are in Starbucks. Look up at the man in front of you. The one holding a cell aimed in your direction.”

  What? How? Two tables away, a man was totally absorbed with something on his phone. May
be the guy was texting or playing a game. The back of his phone pointed toward Niko. Shit! Was he using it for surveillance? This didn’t make sense.

  Before he could say anything, the mechanical voice continued. “Good. I needed to see your face.”

  “Is that man working with you?”

  “Certainly not. I just used his phone.”

  Niko knew how to hack computers—not phones. This mysterious voice must belong to someone who could hack both. Despite his technical curiosity, he had to focus on priorities. It was getting late, and he had to find somewhere to hide and sleep tonight. “I need—”

  “No explanations yet. Tell me who you are.”

  “Niko … I mean The Pythia.”

  “Pythia? … Certainly. Wait there. Someone will come for you immediately.” The phone went dead.

  Vyper

  Chapter 4

  From his seat at the back of Starbucks, Niko peered through the windows at the well-lit shopping plaza. No sign of the Russians.

  So far, so good—gotta leave soon.

  While waiting for a ride from his mysterious contact, he tried to focus on another hacking trick—attempting to break into the emergency dispatch system. He needed to know how Marko was doing.

  EMTs got there fast. He’ll be okay.

  He started uploading a file to gain root access to the system when his burner phone rang. Only one person should know this number—the one Niko called half an hour earlier. Even so, he answered cautiously. “Hello?”

  A female voice responded. “I am calling from Provo. Who are you?”

  Provo. Marko’s contact. “The Pythia. Are you—”

  His phone chirped.

  “No conversation. I just sent you a code. Enter it into the form.”

  Niko looked at the screen. An unfamiliar program appeared with a highlighted text box. He copied the code from the message and pasted it into the box. “Is this for encryption?”

  “Quiet. Give me a minute.”

  Damn. The Russians were looking for him, and this woman wanted him to wait. Who is she? Her voice was flat and emotionless.

  She spoke once more. “We are secure. Take everything you have. Walk out the front door. Turn right. Get in the passenger side of the dark green Ford Taurus.”