The Lion's Prey

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The Lion's Prey Page 18

by Camden Mays


  The executive floor receptionist pointed Ty to the sofa area, letting him know that the company’s CIO would be with him soon. Ty sat looking at the art collection on the walls. The company had come so far so quickly. He had interviewed with CIO Neal Dempsey when he was hired, but doubted Dempsey even knew his name now.

  Laughter echoed on the tiled marble flooring as executives came out of a conference room near the reception area. Ty reasoned that most of them had probably just doubled their wealth in the last few days. He was somewhat put off by the lavish decor of the elite floor. We’re a tech company for God’s sake.

  Dempsey finally arrived, and it was apparent that he didn’t recognize Ty, but he faked it well enough as he led him to his office.

  “So, Ty, I’ve got five minutes. Sorry I’m between meetings here, but your message sounded serious.”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate you seeing me.”

  “Well, I have to say, I’m a bit surprised to be meeting you without Timothy Lam here. Does he know you’re meeting with me?

  “No, sir.”

  “Relax, Ty. I can see you’re nervous. Tell me what’s so urgent and why Timothy can’t handle it for you?”

  “The program we’re releasing for upgrades is infected.”

  “What?”

  “Our upgrade is a trojan horse for a malware.”

  “Impossible. I saw the data and specs on the program myself. We ran it through every scan available, and there was no sign of any such malware.”

  “It’s very sophisticated, sir, and I only discovered it because I was testing software that I personally developed.”

  Dempsey held a hand up and dialed a number from his desk phone. “Beth, get Timothy Lam up here immediately and push back my next meeting.”

  “Sir, it’s Lam that put it in there.”

  “Ty, we’ve got the best minds in the country in our department, and you’re telling me some untested program you developed beats all of the other resources we put on this? Not to mention that I’ve worked with Lam for years. He was one of our early hires. You understand we’ve got tens of billions in annual revenue tied to this program?”

  Ty began to question Dempsey’s integrity. Something about his tone—his mannerisms—had shifted. He was uncertain if he could trust him with what he had overheard when Lam was on the phone.

  Lam entered the room and fixed his gaze on Ty seated at one of the two chairs.

  “Come in, Timothy.”

  “Neal, Ty, what’s going on?”

  “Ty here ran a new software scan on our upgrade program and says he uncovered something. Go ahead, Ty.”

  Ty Reichert explained that his program, Bee Sting, had uncovered the malware installed in Lam’s own code. Lam became indignant, accusing Ty of sabotage.

  “This is your pet program? You developed it with company resources. It belongs to Haslet. We’ll need you to give us all of Bee Sting’s files.”

  “Bullshit! That’s my program. I began developing it at Georgia Tech and built it with my own computer in my own time. I just ran a scan here last night.”

  “You were not authorized to do that!”

  Dempsey picked up his phone.

  “Beth, get security up here immediately and have Janson shut down employee Ty Reichert’s access to all Haslet programs.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Reichert, effective immediately, your employment with Haslet Securities is terminated.”

  “What the hell is going on? I came in here to report a problem, and you’re firing me?”

  “We’ll need everything you have on Bee Sting. Timothy and security will escort you to out, and someone will get your personal things from your desk.”

  Ty jumped to his feet. “What the hell are you guys up to? I’ll sue you for this!”

  “Good luck with that. The way I recall, in this meeting you were confronted for violating company policy and exposing our programs to your infectious code. You flagrantly disobeyed and became belligerent in front of myself and Timothy. We had no choice but to terminate your employment. Fight us and good luck ever getting a job in tech again.”

  Ty felt as if he’d been buried by an avalanche and was suffocating beneath the pressure. Two security officers entered before he could say any more, and Dempsey reminded him that if he distributed or used any copy of Bee Sting, which was now considered the property of Haslet, he would be sued.

  Down on Ty’s floor in the office, a few colleagues gathered around as a security officer placed all of his personal effects in a box. Gina approached the man, who was randomly tossing items in the box.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “What’s it look like? An employee was terminated.”

  “Why can’t he do that himself?”

  “He must have done something wrong, I guess.”

  “Wait, that’s his personal laptop there. He’ll want that.”

  “No, the company is confiscating it.”

  “They can’t do that!”

  “Maybe you should read the employment agreement you signed.” The security officer lifted the banker’s box and headed to the elevator.

  Down on the ground level in the lobby, the small box of belongings was shoved against Ty’s chest, and he was put out on the street. He stood humiliated with his box as a drizzle began to soak his shirt. He sifted through the contents, mostly Georgia Tech Yellow Jacket paraphernalia, and found a lighter with the Yellow Jacket logo. Ty pulled the cap off to find the disguised USB drive with the Bee Sting program.

  ✽✽✽

  Seattle, Washington – Wallingford Neighborhood

  Ty’s small house sat a few blocks from Lake Union in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle. Gina handed Ty another beer, and he continued filling her in on his version of the events that completely contradicted what Lam had shared with the team.

  “So you’re saying Dempsey is in on the malware?” Gina asked.

  “Well, if he wasn’t in on it before, he’s certainly complicit now. I’m sure he’s protecting his share value. For all I know, the whole damn bunch of them on the forty-second floor are involved.”

  “What are you going to do? I mean, it sounds like they’ve got you by the balls.”

  “My dad has some connections with the FBI. I’m talking to him tomorrow to see if he can give me some guidance.” They sat still for a moment. “Hey, thanks for coming over. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Sure thing.” Gina stood and grabbed her leather jacket. “I guess it’s time for me to go home.”

  “Hey, since we’re not working together anymore, why don’t you stay?”

  “Hmm, I don’t think I’m your type, Georgia boy. Anyway, you just lost your job. I feel like I would be taking advantage of you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Good night, Ty.” Gina left the house.

  Lam and one of his associates watched her leave as they sat in a car just a couple of doors down. Lam scrolled through the laptop and played back the recording to verify he had indeed captured the conversation. They had hacked Reichert’s home Wi-Fi and smart speakers that had voice recognition capabilities. He dialed Dempsey’s number.

  “We have a problem.”

  ✽✽✽

  The light drizzle threatened to give Hannah Jacobs a bad hair day as she scampered the three blocks from her hotel to the FBI division office. She was annoyed that of all the travel essentials she could have forgotten, she had come to Seattle without an umbrella. Inexcusable. Inside the lobby, after passing through security, she found the restroom, shook the dampness from her suit jacket, and tried to fix her hair problem. It was futile, so the brunette mop went into a standard ponytail.

  Earlier in the week, Hannah had met with the Seattle SAC who expressed his appreciation for the support, introduced her to some of the agents that worked on the floor, and showed her to a desk. There were a couple of backlogged cases she was asked to review, and then she offered assistance to junior agents.

  The last few days had passed qui
ckly for Hannah as she bounced around from providing assistance, conducting interviews, and building out reports. She even accompanied the team on a raid of a suspected terrorist’s cell in Federal Way. The bust made the local papers, since weapons and bomb-making material were found. This was the kind of work she thrived in.

  One of the junior agents asked Hannah to accompany him on an interview with a whistle-blower at one of the larger Seattle companies. The meeting was taken at the request of someone out of the Atlanta office, so the junior agent wanted an extra set of eyes and ears. The informant had requested a meeting at a neutral location. Hannah agreed to join the meeting, and they set it for Friday morning in the hotel lobby where she was staying.

  Chapter 22

  Torrance, California

  Jess threw her gym bag in the worn passenger seat of her seventeen-year-old VW Cabrio. She loved this car, its style, its silver color with the charcoal convertible roof, and especially its five-speed manual transmission. She loved driving it with the top down. Her parents had purchased it for her when she was in high school. Her grandfather paid to put a new convertible roof on the vehicle. While her classmates flaunted their new sports cars and expensive vehicles, she proudly drove the old beach-worn car as a teen. It was a 2002, the last year of production for the Volkswagen model, and it had character. The damn thing ran as good today as it did when she first drove it seven years ago.

  The little four-cylinder engine started right up, and soon Jess was weaving through the morning traffic in the congested South Bay area of Los Angeles. She noticed the morning sun shining on her blonde head as she checked her mirrors for a lane change. Her forehead glistened with the perspiration of her early morning workout—or was it from the sun beaming on her head? She turned the radio on to catch the news. Unlike most of her friends, Jess had a keen interest in the geopolitical events that were shaping history. Most of her peers seemed obsessed with the latest trendy story or celebrity gossip. But Jessica Cameron was well aware of how the looming international threats could come home quickly and didn’t have the dismissive attitude of most people her age.

  As she stopped at a red light, the screen on her phone showed a text from her mom, asking her to stop by her favorite coffee shop and pick her up a cup. Really? You still owe me for the last one, she thought, but instead hit the thumbs-up icon.

  A voice from a black Ford F-150 sitting to her left broke her thought. “Hey, chica! Supposed to be hands-free, ya know.”

  Jess glanced up. The wannabe gangbanger checked her out from his elevated position with a disturbing sardonic grin. “Ya look like you’d be fun to party with. Wanna go for a ride in my friend’s new truck?”

  Fortunately, the light changed, and Jess shot him the signature Cameron dirty look and pulled away. A couple blocks up, she turned into the coffee shop parking lot, watching her rearview mirror to make sure the truck continued down the street. The drive-through lane was packed, so she backed into a parking spot, threw her bag in the trunk of the Cabrio, leaving the top down, and ran inside to order.

  After several minutes, she finally was able to leave the crowded store with her mom’s special order. She came to the door of her beloved car and gasped as she saw a long scratch mark running along the driver’s side. The two young men from the F-150 came from behind the van that was parked adjacent to her. One rounded the rear of her car and the other walked to the front between her and the store. She was boxed in.

  “Dang, chica. Looks like someone scratched your sweet little ride.”

  Jess stood frozen.

  “Must be karma, bitch. Maybe you should show some respect when you get paid a compliment.”

  “Back away from me now!” Jess said firmly as her training began kicking in.

  The first man walked up close and, within inches of her face, threatened her with a glare. “What ya gonna do about it, chica?”

  The coffee cup dropped to the asphalt pavement, and Jess rammed her right open-palmed hand into the nose of the attacker. Without thought, she leaned back and drove her foot into the knee of the other assailant, sending him reeling in pain to ground. Then, with one fluid motion, she spun and side kicked the back of the legs of the man who was bent over holding his nose. He went flying backward fast and hard, as his feet flew over his head, the top of his skull smashing hard into the pavement. She stood over him and delivered a second blow to his already broken nose and moved to the second man with the wounded knee who was already trying to crawl away. She high kicked him in the face, spinning his head around as he fell unconscious. Jess stood poised and ready to continue fighting if they moved or—God forbid—if anyone else dared to step into the fray.

  Whoop whoop . . . whoop whoop. The police car signaled for the crowd huddled around the incident to move out of its way. EMTs followed it to work on the injured parties.

  It was a long morning for Jess. The questions from the police officers were nonstop. The adrenaline rush had dissipated, and what followed was a hormonal letdown that exhausted her. But now she knew that all of her training had been worth it. Regardless of the legal implications, she had kept her promise to herself, that she would not go down without a fight. She was proud of that and now, truly battle-tested.

  The African-American female officer with the Torrance police department looked at Jess’s driver’s license once more.

  “Why do you look so familiar, Ms. Cameron?”

  Jess just shrugged, reluctant to go down the path yet again.

  “I know. You’re the girl that was attacked in DC. It was big news here in Torrance, since you guys used to be here and all. It was in the Daily Breeze—you know, the local paper here?—almost every day for a while.”

  Jess watched as her two attackers were attended to by the EMTs.

  “Damn, girl,” the officer said, turning back to Jess, “you got some skills.”

  The officer handed Jess her license. “We’ve got everything we need. We’ll contact you later if there’s anything else.”

  “I’m free to go?” Jess was surprised she wasn’t going to jail.

  “Witnesses say you were defending yourself. I suggest you get a lawyer, though, because you never know, they might try to sue you for damages.”

  A barista from the coffee shop approached in her green apron with a to-go cup in her hand.

  “Well, thanks darling, that’s really nice of you,” the officer said, reaching out her hand.

  The petite barista looked offended and pulled back the cup. “It’s not for you. It’s for the blonde wonder woman here!” She gave the cup to Jess. “I remembered how you ordered it. I hope you enjoy it. And oh, here’s a hundred-dollar gift card from the manager. You were awesome.”

  Jess arrived at her mother’s two-story townhome and came into the kitchen where Grace was chopping veggie snacks for the day.

  “Wow, that took a lot longer than I expected,” Grace said.

  “Next time, get your own damn coffee!” Jess slammed the cup down along with the gift card and headed upstairs.

  “Well OK,” Grace said, clueless of the ordeal her daughter had just been through. “Oh!” her face lit up when she saw the gift card.

  “Thanks, Jess,” she hollered up the stairs. “Oh, I left a letter that came for you on your bed.”

  Jess had already ripped off her clothes and was cooling down in a hot shower. She finished, put her robe on, and wrapped her long wet hair in a towel. She saw the letter on her bed. It didn’t have a return address. She ripped it open and pulled out a handwritten note signed by Grant Ramsey.

  ✽✽✽

  Seattle, Washington

  The curtains in the hotel room had been drawn by the cleaning crew. Hannah pulled them open to enjoy the skyline view before changing out of her business attire and into her shorts and T-shirt. She plopped on the king-size bed and grabbed the remote to the TV, remembering fondly Cole’s obsession with cleaning remotes with sanitary wipes before touching them.

  “There are more germs on that than anyth
ing else in the room,” he told her. She laughed at the memory of the look on his face, then thought it best to follow his example. She wiped the remote off and flicked through the channels.

  Hannah had been pulling twelve-hour days but found the work invigorating since she was back in her element. She also enjoyed the team of agents she was working with at the Seattle Division. They were approachable and friendly. It was something of a contrast to the vibe at the NCTC. She pondered the possibility of a transfer. How would that work for Cole?

  Her cell phone vibrated, interrupting her thoughts. The call was from Jess.

  “Hey, Jess.”

  “Hi Hannah, sorry to bother you.”

  “You’re never bothering me. Is everything OK?”

  “Well, something happened today.” Jess paused. Hannah sensed her hesitation.

  “Jess, what happened?”

  Jess shared the details of the attack and the mystery of the letter waiting for her when she arrived home. A letter from the late Grant Ramsey. Hannah listened in disbelief.

  Jess continued to explain that in the letter, Grant apologized and shared he was glad that she had survived the attack. The letter stated that there was relevant information that her dad needed to have.

  “I looked up the address and unit number he gave,” said Jess. “It’s a mini storage place on Fourteenth Street in Santa Monica. He said my dad has the key.”

  “What?” Hannah said. “Oh, I remember your dad told me that Grant gave him a key in one of the drop pickups. He never knew what it was for.”

  “I know. It stayed on my dad’s desk in his study. I called Brittany and had her go by the house to get it and ship it overnight to me. I’m going by there tomorrow.”

 

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