“Dan Hendricks. Danny. We were on his team of aides.”
Of course, Danny. She had even somewhat liked Danny. It was a somewhat nice flashback.
But so fucking late. What the fuck?
“I hope it’s not too late,” he said, sounding like he’d just drunk a case of beer. “I’m in Prague right now, so, uh, the time. . . .”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Sorry, um . . . ” there was a pause, and then the sound of him taking a deep breath. “I guess you know why I’m calling, huh?” His voice had changed. Become more somber.
“No. . . . Is everything okay?”
“You haven’t heard the news? About Joan?”
“What’s wrong?”
“She uh . . . she passed away.”
“Oh, geez.” Carly pictured the smile of her colleague. They’d only met a few times, just like she and Dan, at various conferences.
“Yeah,” he said glumly.
It was sad news, certainly. But the call was still confusing. “That’s terrible,” she said, feeling a little guilty about not feeling worse, although it was certainly alarming in a different way. “I never heard anything. I’ve been on the road for weeks.”
“I don’t know why, but, I found myself worried about you. I just had to call. Sorry this is so out of the blue and everything.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Thanks for, um, letting me know.”
“Carly, uh. . . .” His voice became even quieter. “They say it was suicide, but. . . .”
“But what?”
“Well. . . . It’s, like, suspicious.”
Now the call made sense. Carly opened a browser window on her laptop and began searching for any news stories on the topic.
“You know what I mean?” he said. “I think it has something to do with, you know, what’s going on. She was subpoenaed two days ago to appear at court. The Feds were gonna force her into testifying.”
Carly’s search for news was fruitless. There were no recent sad stories about Joan McIntyre.
“Did you know about that?” Dan asked.
Carly came across a news article about Joan’s upcoming testimony, what she may or may not disclose, and how damaging it would be for Bryce Johnson. “Yeah,” she said weakly. “I just heard about it. . . .”
“Forgive me for asking, but . . . have you been subpoenaed?”
“No,” she said, pushing the laptop aside and stretching her legs out. “Of course not. Why would they?”
“Okay, well it just made me think of you,” Dan continued. “And, just . . . I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and that you’re with people.”
“With people? What do you mean?” Carly gripped the phone a little tighter. “What happened to her? Why is it suspicious?”
“It was ruled self-strangulation,” he said, sighing again. “With an electrical cord.”
Carly still had the mental image of Joan’s smile, only now the smile had changed to a pale grimace.
“Where are you right now?” he asked.
“I’m . . . I’m on the road right now.”
“Where?”
The voice in her head started up again, screaming at her to hang up. Hang up the fucking—
“Are you on vacation?” he asked.
“Listen, Danny. . . . Thanks for calling, but I gotta go.”
He tried to say something else, but it was cut off by her ending the call. Carly sat for a moment, almost shaking, thinking of how utterly bizarre the whole thing was. And then she tried to not think about it, instead racing over the door to check the deadbolt for the third time that night.
10
Tansy
“We got something.”
The voice startled Tansy awake, his eyes squinting against the harsh light pouring through the open door into his once-dark room. He clutched the side of the bed, still unsure about what room he was in and why someone had just busted into it. And who the hell—
“We got a hit, Tansy. Time to get up.” It was Jackson. An excited Jackson, tapping his foot against the tile floor.
“What?” Tansy leaned up on his elbows, still squinting. “What time is it?”
“You’re in The Silo. Time doesn’t exist here.”
That sounded accurate. He certainly felt disoriented.
“Just ask one of the guys; they’ve been waiting to sleep for weeks.”
Tansy had been chasing sleep even before flying out to Vegas. The night after DEFCON had only compounded the problem. And then the early morning, and the long drive through in the desert. And now this. Whatever the hell was going on at The Silo, that was more important than Tansy’s sleep.
“Leave the light off,” Tansy said. He patted around the floor for his shoes in the dark. He was still fully clothed, having meant to take only a quick nap. After sliding on a pair of sneakers and walking stiffly out of the room, he was ready to get back to whatever work Jackson’s crew had just drummed up.
“There’s been a point of contact,” said Jackson. “Do you know anyone in West Wendover?”
Tansy rubbed at his still-tired eyes. “I’m sorry, where?”
“It’s right here in Nevada. On the Utah border along the interstate.”
“What happened?”
Jackson clicked a few buttons on a small remote control, dimming the room lights while projecting someone’s work screen onto the wall.
“We caught a data exchange that matched the Sagebrush signature. We can’t tell who it’s from, exactly. But we’re keeping an eye on the West Wendover side of things.”
Tansy found an empty chair and collapsed into it. “Like what? What’s happening there?”
“Someone’s poking and prodding around the same database as the worm. Bureau of Land Management. Nice coincidence, huh?”
“Should we set a trap?” Tansy asked. How skilled could a hacker from West Wendover be, anyway? “It’s probably worth a shot. We can watch them work, see what they’re after, and then plant some files that might interest them.” He was already planning a “honey-pot” tactic, drawing the hacker toward a trap file like an ant to poisoned bait. The hacker would unknowingly download a file secretly loaded with trackers and time bombs.
“I don’t know,” Jackson replied. “That might give our presence away. For now, I’m just happy to hide in the shadows. There’s a certain advantage in that.”
“I know, but we can’t wait in the shadows all day.” Was the team’s avoidance of any direct action the reason why it had taken them so long to identify the hacker?
“I know,” Jackson sat and slumped a little in his chair.
“Besides, if we’re caught, we can just hide ourselves all over again. It’s not that hard.”
Jackson was still quiet, his eyes looking up in thought. He then held his head back, stretching, rolling it from shoulder to shoulder. “Well,” he finally said. “I guess you’re here for a reason.”
“Yeah, so let’s get on with it,” Tansy rubbed his hands together, warming them up for work. “Where can I start?” He looked around at the various workstations, most of them still occupied regardless of whatever time of day or night it was.
He was eventually set up in Jackson’s own semi-private corner workspace. There, sitting in front of maybe the best machine in the whole compound, Tansy got down to business. First he checked the server’s own defense software, its capabilities, what kind of logs they created for each visit, and if they had recorded anything suspicious. He opened up the most recently created folder, which he hoped contained information on the hacker’s visit—what kind of activity, what type of connection, what kind of—
His screen suddenly went to black.
What the hell?
Tansy stared into the void, expecting his screen to flicker back on.
Any moment now would be great.
It had never happened before, his machine shutting down while just reading through a server’s log files. Maybe Jackson’s prized setup wasn’t so great after all.
&nb
sp; “Jackson,” he said, turning around. “Um. . . .”
Tansy didn’t have to say another word. The confusion had already spread across the room.
“What did you do?” he heard Jackson saying to someone.
“Nothing,” that someone said.
“What happened?!”
“Nothing!”
There was another wave of scrambling. More movement. More chair legs scraping along the ground.
“I’m taking us offline,” said Jackson. “Jimmy, where are you?”
The confusion only heightened, with coders now running around every which way, mumbling, swearing. Through all the commotion, Tansy could see that everyone’s screen had gone as blank as his. Blank screens. Blank faces.
“Jimmy, hit the switch.”
Someone, maybe Jimmy, ran out of the room.
“Alright, everyone,” said Jackson. “Let’s take five.”
The outside air was a nice change, the night having brought some relief to the otherwise unbearable heat. Tansy was lying on the brittle plank boards of the ranch house’s back deck, his head propped up on his folded hands. He stared out at the moonlit communications dish, thinking, hoping, worrying that he wasn’t the one who had caused the shutdown. Jackson had propped him up elaborately in his introduction speech, how he was a badass hacker, best in the world, someone who would take care of business. He’d been sent from the nation’s capital. And by Jackson, DARC Ops’ esteemed leader. He wasn’t supposed to blow up the whole compound with his carelessness.
But was it really carelessness? What bothered him most about the shutdown was that he still had no idea how it had been caused. He’d followed the usual safeguards, downloading by proxy, working through several barricades—which were hardly even necessary for what he was doing. It had been a completely routine, low-risk move. And strictly procedural.
So what the fuck had gone wrong?
Tansy’s self-flagellation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the pebbly ground. He spotted a shape in the darkness, approaching. A short, slender outline against the dark slopes of mountains.
“Is that you?” Mira asked.
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” She climbed onto the deck. “Homesick already?”
“We’re having some technical difficulties. I think I blew up the servers.”
“You what?” She sat next to him.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I did, to be honest.” Tansy propped himself up by his elbows. “What were you doing? Hiking?”
“Just going for a walk,” she said. “I had to give my eyes a break from staring at a screen.”
“What’s he got you working on?”
“Croatian. I’m translating a bunch of tapes, transmissions to and from a US ambassador.”
“Sound like he’s up to no good?”
“Yeah. A lot of no good. There’s about a hundred hours of it.”
“Hmm.” Tansy didn’t really know what else to say. He went for a joke, instead. “Your new job sounds kinda like your old one.”
Mira shot him a hard look.
“Sorry. Too soon?”
“No, I guess it is similar. Except now I like my boss,” Mira said with a smile.
She did, indeed. Their attraction was palpable. They seemed happy, and they were quickly becoming a power couple of Washington’s cybersecurity community. They’d arrive arm in arm at all the banquets and soirées, similar to their first public outing at the Embassy Row Ball. Only now, instead of ruthless thugs and their traps, they just had to save each other from boring conversations, or from someone wanting to hear “their story” for the thousandth time.
“So how are you guys doing? Jackson seems happier than I can remember him ever being before.”
“Aww. Does he? That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, he really does. He used to have a lot of . . . ups and downs. But now he’s just. . . . He’s all good. You know?”
“Yeah, I know. It is all good. I just can’t wait to get back home, though.” She laughed quietly. “This place is driving me crazy.”
“Me, too,” came a muffled voice from inside the house.
The door behind them suddenly creaked open.
“Sorry about this,” Jackson said, stepping out on the deck. “It’s pretty embarrassing.”
“I’m embarrassed,” said Tansy. “I think I was the one to cause the meltdown.”
“Everyone’s blaming themselves in there. You don’t have to take any—”
“It happened right as I downloaded a report from the Bureau of Land Management’s server. The very second.”
“That’s a logic fallacy. You know better than that, Tansy.”
“What?”
“Correlation is not causation.”
“Well, it’s a gut feeling,” said Tansy. “That’s more important.”
Mira stood up, sighing as she brushed some dust off her pants.
“Well, you just try to relax,” said Jackson. “Don’t let yourself get frustrated. Maybe get back to that nap that I interrupted.”
It was a tempting idea. Tansy felt like he could drift away at any moment.
“Or go for a walk,” said Mira, walking toward the door. “That’s what works for me.”
“We’ll find out what happened,” Jackson said, following Mira. “It’s probably nothing. Chin up.” Together, they stepped inside the house, no doubt returning immediately to the missile silo basement.
Alone on the deck, Tansy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, lying there for a moment before rolling over onto his side. His mind was similarly restless, replaying his actions step by step until the shutdown. But after all the refection, it still made no sense.
Maybe it wasn’t his fault. It could have been something ridiculously unrelated, like a missile silo rat that had crawled up and chewed through the wrong cable. For as clean as the place looked, Tansy was almost certain there would be a few resident rats capable of the task. It made more sense than the idea that he’d caused the shutdown.
That is, if the hacker hadn’t infected the log files, which would have had the basic effect of honey-potting the honey-potter. It was a tactic Tansy himself had used, back in the day. Back when he’d worked alongside Carly. An older-style technique, but one that she knew nonetheless, and one she’d used in her own deceptively simple but brilliant way.
One that he’d never seen anyone else use. Not in the same was as she had.
Crap.
Tansy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He needed directions to West Wendover.
11
Carly
It had been just an hour of driving, but it felt like more than double that, because most of the trip was spent looking constantly between the road and in her rearview mirror. She kept watching for an old blue pickup truck, the creepy driver of which she’d made eye contact with at a West Wendover gas station. He had stared at her across the pump as they filled their tanks, a neck-bearded mouth breather, complete with trucker hat atop long greasy ringlets of hair.
And now he was following her, no matter how intentionally slow or fast she drove.
“Just pull off up there and let him go by,” said Taylor. She was beginning to sound annoyed.
“No, fuck it,” said Carly. If she spoke loudly enough, maybe she’d even convince herself. “We’re driving to Wells. He can go fuck himself.”
Nothing like fake bravado. Fake it till you make it.
And then she looked in the mirror again.
It probably would have been a non-issue were it not for the little surprise she’d received that morning at the motel. A bouquet of flowers delivered to her door by the inn-keeper. He’d come by their room in the morning, smiling, maybe expecting a tip. But all Carly could afford was a look of confusion and a meek “thank you” before swinging the door back and shutting it in his face. When she’d read the card, her confusion turned into a sharp, stabbing fear.
Cscape
One word writte
n in blue ink. Nothing else. No sender’s name, no note, no explanation.
It was a mystery, and it had been eating away at her the whole afternoon. The flowers, the blue pickup, it had to all be connected to her late-night-hacking efforts. She’d dug a little deeper after Dan’s phone call the night before and what she’d uncovered about the server they were asking her to hack . . . well, it was enough to make her seriously question what the hell she’d gotten herself into. Add on the phone call about Joan’s mysterious death and she could feel the panic attack coming from miles away. From the salt flats of Utah to the rocky desert mountains of northern Nevada, an anxiety grew from Oasis to Pequop Summit, and onward to their destination of Wells. It was a part of their original plan, where they were supposed to meet up with the honey-oil buyers. It would have been a big payoff, the reward for all the risk and all the bullshit—bullshit, in this case, now meaning everything to do with being in a traveling, gigging band.
“I still can’t get into it,” said Megan. “I just can’t.”
Carly nodded in agreement before checking the mirror again.
Maybe in their younger and more naive days, the music itself would have been the reward. There was even a time when they’d been excited about playing for free. But this tour had a way of gutting the last vestiges of youthful enthusiasm. Maybe thirty was too old. Maybe she should just finish up the tour, and definitely finish the hacking job, and then settle down in Fort Collins with any halfway decent man. Just get married, have a baby, and fade away like everyone else.
“Like, what’s the point?” said Megan, looking defeated with her head almost resting down at the armrest she’d been picking at. For three days, she’d been peeling at the covering with a nervous, if not angry energy. “We’re not going anywhere. Like, we’re never gonna get signed to a record deal or anything. And touring sucks. I’m sorry, but it does. I have to just say it.”
Dark Web (DARC Ops Book 2) Page 10