Born with Secrets: A Political Thriller

by Greenwood, Bowen

  When she finally reached the CDMS building itself, it sat isolated in the middle of a vast expanse of parking lot. When crossing it, the dark of night would be her only defense. At this hour, the only cars in it were those that had been left overnight. Alyssa picked one of those and sprinted across the open space to it, hating the exposure. One more sprint took her to the back wall of the building, where she leaned against the door catching her breath for a moment.

  Moira mentioned this place, and Zack mentioned it. If there was a clue to be had about Moira’s current whereabouts, it would be in here.

  Alyssa plugged in her toolbox and opened the door.

  ***

  Matt Barr and Mike Vincent were blindfolded, so they couldn’t see each other or the office where they were being held. They were gagged so they couldn’t speak and tied to the chairs so they couldn’t move. But in the jostling and tumbling that had gone on since they were taken out of the hotel room, one crucial fact was never far from their minds.

  They were still together.

  Matt knew Vincent was in the room with him. Based on the struggling sounds he heard, it seemed likely that the Congressman was in front of him. Based on the physical sensations he experienced when he moved as much as he could, Matt suspected they were tied to chairs that were at or near a table.

  Conclusion: He and Vincent sat at opposite sides of a table. From that deduction, Matt formed the beginnings of a plan.

  He said a quick prayer and then used the friction of his feet against the floor. He pushed, trying to move the chair away from the table. Little by little, it began to work.

  Slowly, because he wasn’t sure if there was a guard nearby, he began to move further. The idea was to get to the end of the table, scoot around, and get near to Mike. If their chairs were right next to each other, then each man could work on the other’s knots. They might be able to get free.

  With his wrists tied to the chair, Matt couldn’t do much about occasionally mashing a finger into the table or a nearby chair as he began to move. But he just ignored the pain.

  In time, he began to hear noises from the other side. It sounded like Mike had the same idea or had heard Matt doing it and decided to join in. Gradually, the sounds of Mike scuttling toward him grew nearer and nearer, until Matt’s patience wore out. He jerked his chair harder and harder toward Mike, until he hit his shin on the leg of the table. He clamped his jaw shut over the cry of pain that wanted to come out, and just growled.

  Finally, their chairs touched.

  There followed a rough experimentation, trying to get the chairs into a position where one could help the other. Both of them got their fingers pinched again but eventually soon Matt found his fingers touching a rope that wasn’t his own.

  From there, it was only a matter of time and patience. Eventually, both were free.

  “Do you think there’s still a guard outside?” Vincent whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Matt replied as quietly. “I don’t think we’re guarded. I tried my best to be quiet about moving the chair, but we made some noise. I’d think a guard would have heard that if he was out there.”

  The Congressman said, “Yeah, but are you willing to bet on it? If we open the door and you’re wrong, then all that effort was for nothing, and we’re tied up worse than before.”

  Matt nodded. He looked around the room, trying to formulate some kind of plan. He saw Mike doing the same. They were obviously being held in an office, and not just some lowly middle manager’s office either. A heavy teak desk dominated the end of the room, with a giant, floor-to-ceiling glass window behind it. Framed artwork hung on the walls, and the conference table and chairs that had been used to secure them were solid hardwood that matched the desk perfectly. The floor was also wood.

  Suddenly, a rare obscenity slipped halfway out of Congressman Vincent’s mouth before he could cut it off.

  Matt turned to look at him in surprise, raising his eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” Vincent whispered. “But I just figured out where we are. This is Doyle Bloody Cobalt’s personal private office.”

  Matt blinked. “It can’t be.”

  “I know, it’s crazy. But this is Doyle Cobalt’s office at the big server farm where he archives electronic genetic data. We’re in northern Virginia, maybe two hours from D.C.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He used to donate to my campaigns before he ran against me. I’ve been out here picking up $5,000 checks every two years for a while now.”

  Matt shrugged and replied, “OK, well, now we know where we are. How do we get out?”

  Vincent held his palms open. “Hey, I figured out the first part. Now it’s your turn.”

  The reporter rolled his eyes and then went back to looking around the room. He settled on the computer sitting in the middle of the giant desk.

  “Let’s see if there’s anything on the boss’s PC that might help,” Matt said.

  He went over to the desk, sat down, and touched the mouse. The screen came to life when he did.

  Matt started clicking through folders on what they assumed must be Doyle Cobalt’s computer, scanning through the lists of files for something that stood out. But there was nothing.

  Then Matt whispered, “Of course!”

  He opened the web browser and dialed up his email account.

  Vincent stared at him. “Really? Your best idea is to clean out your spam folder?”

  “Nice, wise guy,” Matt shot back. “The people who kidnapped us asked me about my email account password. I’m going to find out why.”

  When he looked, most of his email was predictable. His editor had sent about a dozen emails, increasingly frantic about where he was. An incredible mass of political press releases clogged up the inbox. An offer from Nigeria had slipped past his spam filter.

  And there was one email from a sender he didn’t recognize. Some woman named Moira LeBlanc had sent him a huge, multi-gigabyte file attachment.

  Matt clicked on that. The moment it opened, he stopped clicking and typing and backed away from the keyboard..

  “Hey, it’s me Lyss. Zero time to talk and please don’t stop coming for visiting day because I got mixed up in this. But trust me, you want this file. It’s about Mike’s opponent, Doyle Cobalt. It might win Mike the race.”

  Matt just stared at the screen with his mouth open. Vincent knelt down beside him and put his arm around his shoulder. “Hey man. It’s cool you get to hear from her. I wonder how she got access to a computer? Last time I talked to her, no one was letting the infamous data thief anywhere near one.”

  Matt had to take a few deep breaths before he spoke.

  “Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t had an email from Alyssa since long before she went to prison. It’s like you say, they don’t let her use a computer.”

  The Congressman said, “Don’t be embarrassed, brother.”

  “Thanks Mike. Anyway, I’m sure the ‘How did she get access to a computer?’ question is related to the ‘Please don’t stop visiting because I got mixed up in this,’ line. About which, by the way, how much more do I have to do before it’s clear that someone will have to kill me before I stop coming to see her?”

  “I’m sure she knows, Matt,” Vincent replied. “Judging by the rest of the email, I’m guessing she was under some stress when she wrote.”

  “Yeah,” the reporter agreed. “So let’s have a look at this video that she went to so much trouble over.”

  Vincent asked, “Right now? While we’re supposed to be escaping and there might be a guard outside the door?”

  His friend replied, “You’re the one who says we’re in Doyle Cobalt’s office. If so, and this email is about Doyle, and it was important enough for Alyssa to risk gaining unauthorized access to a computer…”

  Vincent nodded and said, “Maybe it’s relevant right now.”

  Matt Barr and Mike Vincent began to play the video.

  CHAPTER 17

  Alyssa tiptoed down the d
arkened hallway, night vision monocle strapped to her head. At the edge of the building, illumination from the parking lot filtered in through the windows. But the deeper she went, the blacker it became. The shot-glass-sized bit of electronics pressed to her right eye gathered and amplified every last scrap of light. It gave her a clear, green-shaded picture of her surroundings.

  She hated winging it. In the old days, she would never have entered a building like this without memorizing a full map of the facility, learning the work schedule of the security guards, and having a support team waiting in a van outside.

  Tonight, she had barely done more than look up the address on the Internet. She’d had no time to prepare for this break-in at all. She hadn’t stopped moving since Wheeler escorted her out of FCI Rocky. She left a bunch of very annoyed Correctional Officers in her wake, flew to D.C., visited Zack, and come here. No research, no backup, no plan.

  Alyssa found a door and tried it. Unlocked, it concealed an office with a cheap metal desk, cheaper chair, and no windows. Leaving the door open, she went in to rifle the drawers. The usual collection of pencils and pens, half-gone notepads, and abandoned business cards occupied the center drawer. The file drawer on the side held what looked like personnel records. There was a long row of folders with people’s names on the tabs, but none of those names was Moira LeBlanc.

  Alyssa peered uncertainly at the computer occupying the center of the desk. The flat, black, rectangular screen sat next to a squat rectangular box of the same shade.

  On the one hand, computers were virtually guaranteed to have overflowing smorgasbords of information. On the other hand, if there was any kind of electronic security in place at all, turning on a computer was like shouting “Come and get me!” into a bullhorn.

  Just as she was reaching for the screws on the back of the case so she could open it and disable whatever security measures might be in place, the lights in the hallway went on.

  Her hand flew back from the computer like lightning, just in case she had somehow set off an alarm. But no, she couldn’t have; she never touched it. And if opening the drawers had set off an alarm, wouldn’t the light have come on when she did that, rather than afterward?

  Out the door and down the hall, she heard footsteps.

  Alyssa eased the door to the office shut, just as she had found it. She leaned against the beige metal door to listen.

  She held her breath.

  Outside the door, she could hear muffled voices engaged in conversation.

  “This job is getting out of hand. How many people are we holding here, anyway?”

  “It’s three unless there’s someone I don’t know about. We’ve got the girl downstairs and the two guys upstairs. And you’re right, it is out of control. I’ve had way more than I bargained for so far, and that’s without even talking about Luther.”

  “That guy’s certifiable. I thought he was going to kill Karl.”

  “He might have if we hadn’t been there.”

  “Why do you suppose he didn’t want us to put the guys in with the girl?”

  “I heard him telling his brother that the girl’s got something to do with politics. I don’t know what. All I know is if he sends us out to kidnap anyone else, I’m quitting.”

  As the voices faded down the hallway, Alyssa finally allowed herself a deep breath. She hadn’t understood a lot of that, but one part had been impossible to miss.

  They were holding a girl in the basement who had something to do with politics.

  Alyssa was looking for a girl who had something to do with politics.

  Judging by the direction their voices had moved, the guards were heading back the way Alyssa had come in. Assuming they were patrolling inside, then they would turn back when they hit the door Alyssa had come in through, since that was the end of the corridor.

  When they did, she would follow them.

  ***

  Matt and Congressman Vincent sat at Doyle Cobalt’s computer watching the video that Alyssa had emailed from inside the prison. They did not have the guidance that Alyssa had gotten from Moira. They didn’t know to fast forward almost five hours into the video.

  Conscious of the fact that there might be a guard outside the door, they kept their voices low and turned the volume down on the computer. As Matt clicked through the footage one piece at a time, they saw various scenes from the exercise yard at the Federal prison where — as far as they knew — Alyssa was still being held. Eventually, they happened upon one frame of a tall, bald Correctional Officer with a crooked nose talking on a cell phone.

  Matt immediately clicked the pause button on the video.

  “I’ve seen him before,” he said. “I overheard Doyle talking to him after your last debate. He was saying something about how there’s more to the Genetic Probable Cause Bill than anyone appreciates. When he caught me eavesdropping, he tried to attack me. He’s a prison guard?”

  They pushed play again. On the video, the following words came through, with the volume set almost to zero.

  “…Doyle, you just do not get it. I didn’t pull in all my favors with the intelligence community just so we could give them a new toy to spy on people. This is so much bigger! So you’ve found a gene for criminality. Big deal! What happens when we know the gene for alcoholism? The gene for overeating? The gene for all addictive behaviors? And when our company has the contract to store all the genetic data the Feds are gathering, we can sell that stuff. How much will beer and wine retailers pay to know who might be an alcoholic? Or who’s an addictive shopper they can get with a sale ad? Or a thousand other uses. Sure, we can make some money on the Federal contract, but that’s only the beginning!”

  Barr and Vincent turned to look at each other in surprise.

  Mike paused the video and said, “I knew the Genetic Probable Cause Bill was bad, but I had no idea how bad.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Matt replied.

  Mike whispered, “What Doyle Cobalt’s telling the world is, ‘Genes can tell us who’s likely to be a criminal. Let’s find out who has those genes and put them all under surveillance. It can stop murders. It can save lives.’

  “But if this other guy is right, they’re talking about way more. It’s not just, ‘Genes can tell us who’s a criminal.’ It’s, ‘Genes can tell us everything about you.’ Doyle Cobalt is planning to be sitting on a giant database holding everyone’s genetics. From what this guy’s saying, it sounds like they think they can give the government or corporations a perfect list of everyone who’s vulnerable to any idea, any temptation. It’s—”

  That’s when Matt got punched in the head.

  He fell over to the side with a groan, and Vincent leapt to his feet in surprise. Standing in front of him was a huge man, well past six feet, with a bald head and one eye of a different color than the other. He was the one they’d just been watching on the video.

  The man said, “Mike Vincent. Here you are in my brother’s office, illegally using his computer. Looks like you broke in here to me.”

  Cobalt’s tone of voice made the smirk on his lips unnecessary. He was obviously relishing telling Mike the spin he planned to put on this.

  “We had a break in. I discharged my weapon in self-defense. Who knew a candidate would be so desperate to get back up in the polls that he’d break into the other candidate’s office?

  “Don’t you think that’s a terrible way for the myth of Mr. Clean to end?”

  ***

  The guards did, indeed, go down the hall and then come back, just as Alyssa expected. She listened to them pass the door behind which she hid. They were still discussing whether or not their boss might be too psychotic and violent to continue working for. Based on her own encounters with Luther Cobalt, she felt like she knew exactly where they were coming from.

  Once the voices sounded like they were at a safe distance, she opened her door and looked out. Carefully, she tiptoed out into the hall to follow them as the guards turned a corner. They were turning lights
on as they came and shutting them off as they went. The lights in Alyssa’s hall went out as they turned the corner and in the distance, she could see lights come on.

  These weren’t garden-variety rent-a-cops, either. They carried carbines and tactical shotguns, not just pistols. They were clad in Kevlar helmets, fatigues, and heavy, bulletproof vests. And these weren’t the light, form-fitting kind that Alyssa wore. The guards wore heavy, ceramic-plate ballistic vests designed to stop rifle bullets, not just pistols.

  She scurried up to the corner and poked her head slightly around it. The guards were stopped in the middle of the hall, clustered around one door. She couldn’t distinguish what they were saying but several of them pointed at the door.

  Eventually, they turned away from whatever had their attention. They continued down the hall. Apparently, they’d been ordered to patrol the whole building. Based on past performance, they would go down to the end of the corridor, turn back and return to the corner where Alyssa waited, and then try the next hall.

  Which left her wondering where to hide when they came back.

  The walls of the lighted corridor were wood paneled and lighted with discreet sconces. The floor was stone tile. This wasn’t just any office building; someone had invested in making it look nice.

  The problem was that places to hide were limited. There was a door a few feet down the hall that the guards were in now. Unfortunately, the only way to get to it was to step out into the hallway — into the open. She looked. The guards were almost at the end of the hall. They would turn back in moments.

  Alyssa zipped to the doorway, opened it, and shut herself in to wait for them to go by. Judging by the lack of any commotion, they hadn’t seen her.

  She was in a supply closet. Brooms, mops, cans, and spray bottles full of cleaning fluid filled almost every available space.

  She heard the guards coming back. She held her breath, to make sure she kept silent as they moved. Apparently, they reached the end of the corner because, as they had before, they shut out the lights in the hall once they were finished with it.