Phantom Instinct (9780698157132)

by Gardiner, Meg

  “How can I help the sheriff’s department?” he said.

  “It’s about the shoot-out at Xenon.”

  The smile remained bright. His eyes were astute. “Come on back.”

  He got her a visitor’s badge and punched a code into the door lock, which opened with a pneumatic hush. They passed open-plan departments partitioned behind thick glass. He escorted her to a conference room. On a gleaming cherry tabletop, a tablet computer was waiting for him.

  He closed the door. “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  He spread his hands. “The case is officially closed. If you’re here, there’s a new angle that nobody’s reported yet.”

  “You sound curious.”

  “Absolutely. Spartan wants any and all information on the incident so we can debrief correctly, game out future scenarios, and offer improved security in similar situations.”

  The investigative report did not fault Spartan for the breach at the club. Spartan’s remit that night was to provide unarmed guards at the entrance, who were to check all guests for tickets, over-twenty-one IDs, and weapons. Spartan was already Xenon’s plant security provider—alarm systems, electronic locks, CCTV. The report speculated that an employee had failed to securely close the back door on the alley. Two kitchen staff had died in the fire, so there was no way to question them about it. The shooters’ route into Xenon remained an open question.

  And White had to know that.

  He smoothed his tie. “We didn’t control hiring at Xenon. We didn’t perform criminal background checks on its employees, though we could have. An integrated security solution might have prevented what happened.”

  Sorenstam let him finish his spiel. “We’re sweeping up the last specks of sawdust. Double-checking whether Spartan collected data from Xenon’s employee swipe cards.”

  “From that night?” He shook his head. “Everything was destroyed. The CCTV cameras, the magnetic card readers in the door locks, and, I hate to remind you, most of the cards themselves. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”

  “If I supplied a swipe card, could you retrieve data from it that had been uploaded to your system?”

  She had asked a forensic tech in the sheriff’s department lab about recovering data from Harper Flynn’s swipe card, hoping to track Flynn’s movements that night. The lab was backed up, and the tech had said: No way. To begin with, the card was damaged. Beyond that, it was not designed to record and store an employee’s movements. The magnetic strip contained the cardholder’s name and employee ID. Each time the card was used, it might or might not create a record. But the card itself didn’t contain that record. It was dumb.

  Harper Flynn had to be aware of that. Sorenstam didn’t understand why she had given the card to her. But the word nefarious lodged in her mind.

  “Xenon was on a basic contract,” White said. “We supplied the manpower for special events, but we were limited by their budget. And we were limited by their facilities. The electronic door locks were an older design. The swipe cards were primarily intended to monitor employee access to the cash registers, to prevent theft. Same with the CCTV cameras—they were all aimed at the registers, to watch for bartenders slipping money into their own pockets. Same with the fridges and the stockrooms in the basement.” He shrugged. “As for the door locks, they had electronic keypads that anybody could open with a code. The swipe cards just sped things up. The locks, as far as I know, didn’t register the particular ID on the card when an employee swiped a card.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “I didn’t install the system. And you’re the first person who’s personally asked me that question.”

  “Can you find out?” Sorenstam said.

  “Happy to inquire.” He looked eager but slightly edgy. “Any particular card you’re looking for?”

  The card was in the evidence locker at the station. Sorenstam handed White a high-resolution photo instead.

  “The name and employee ID number should get you started,” she said.

  He nodded in acquiescence. “Understood.”

  She said, “We’d like to look at your records again.”

  “I can arrange for you to speak to Legal about access.” He turned quizzical. “The sheriff’s department has seen our records before. And didn’t you see the state of the club after the fire?”

  “I was there,” Sorenstam said coolly. “As I said, we’re covering all the bases.”

  “Yeah, you had a deputy injured, didn’t you?”

  “Indeed.” She waited, pulse threading through her wrists, for him to mention Aiden’s name.

  He leaned back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to rub pepper in an open wound.”

  “If I may ask, Mr. White—what’s your official capacity at Spartan Security?”

  She had checked his entry on the Spartan website, but little was available beyond his title.

  He raised his hands as if surrendering. “You got me.” His smile looked rueful. “I didn’t handle the Xenon account. The manager who did has since left Spartan’s employ. I’m filling in. I’m in corporate cybersystems, mainly.”

  “You don’t handle physical plant security?”

  “I have and I do. But my role here is primarily in safeguarding companies from cyberintrusion.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card.

  TOM WHITE. CYBER SOLUTIONS, CORPORATE SECURITY DIVISION.

  He set his hands on the polished conference table. “Spartan handles cybersecurity for both digital files and physical plant access. As you probably know, many businesses put their control systems online. Door locking systems. Power plant programs. Dams that have automated sensors to determine whether to open or shut the floodgates.”

  “Nuclear power stations,” Sorenstam said. “Hospital intravenous drip systems.”

  “Yes. We manage data protection, but so many companies have integrated physical and cybersystems that they’re not fully aware of, that’s where I come in.”

  “Not fully aware?” Sorenstam said.

  “Companies sometimes put control systems directly onto the Internet without a firewall or password protection. Putting shutdown protocols directly onto the Net with a raw IP address, for instance. And certain search engines can locate things of that nature.”

  “Are you suggesting that Xenon had a vulnerability like that?” Sorenstam said.

  He shook his head vigorously. “Hardly. Xenon had a standard system. Not that sophisticated. It worked for them perfectly adequately. Until it didn’t.”

  Sorenstam considered it and tapped the photo of the swipe card. “Can you find out what data this card could have transmitted?”

  He nodded. “I’ll check it out.”

  “I presume you have a list of Xenon’s employees, and of everybody who was injured or killed, and of all the people interviewed in connection with the shootings and fire.”

  “I’m sure we do. Any names in particular you want me to investigate?”

  “Bar staff.”

  “Will do.”

  “And if you have staff photos on file, I’d be interested in any that show tattoos. Right hand.” She stood. “I’ll be back in touch tomorrow.”

  He saw her out. As she walked to her car, she felt that a thousand electronic eyes were watching her from behind the blue glass windows. She turned and surveyed the building, to let it know she wasn’t blind. She drove away without another glance.

  15

  Harper and Aiden climbed the stairs at her apartment building and she unlocked the front door. “I’ll get water for Cobey.”

  Aiden scanned the apartment. The kitchen was sized for an Easy-Bake Oven, the living room barely big enough to hang a Georgia O’Keeffe print. He walked to the balcony door. Outside, a Moreton Bay Fig spread green shade across the street.

  “Nice cave.”

 
“G.I. Bill, plus my student loan, work-study, and my job, means I can cover the rent. I can live here and finish my degree, instead of tossing a bedroll on the floor of a storage container.”

  “Lemons, lemonade.”

  He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. He was waiting for her to explain about Susannah. Harper filled a water bowl and set it down. Cobey lapped gratefully.

  She walked over to Aiden. “I get that a lot. People told me the shoot-out and fire were a message from God that I was meant do something with my life.”

  “People are assholes.”

  “I asked them, what was God’s message for Drew, then? Die, dude?”

  A look crossed his face, as if she’d splashed him with ice water. His expression brightened. “I doubt the Lord of the Universe burned down a packed building to nudge you toward self-improvement. If that’s God’s way of text messaging us, he’s an incredible bastard.”

  “Amen.”

  She handed him a laminated card she had taken from deep in a kitchen drawer.

  He examined it. “This is?”

  “My high school student ID.”

  “That’s not an explanation.”

  “You asked about Susannah.” She nodded at the card. “That was her.”

  He eyed her slantwise. “Susannah Flynn. You.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You changed your name.”

  “I changed my name, I bugged out, I dropped chaff behind me to scramble their radar so they couldn’t follow. I knew they’d want to come after me.”

  “Because?”

  She took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and filled two jam-jar glasses. “Because of what I did to escape.”

  She handed him a glass and led him onto the balcony.

  “Back on the beach, you asked why I didn’t talk to somebody about my situation. You meant, why did I go along?” she said.

  “You were coerced. I get that.”

  The breeze stirred the leaves of the fig tree. She gave him an astringent smile.

  He said, “But you didn’t run.”

  “Not for a long time.” She sat down. “You know about the ATM heist. Maddox obtained stolen debit card numbers, sourced blank cards, loaded them with the stolen data, drove us to Vegas, and put us on the street to empty cash machines.”

  “I know some. What don’t I know?”

  She remembered it as she told him. The heat in the van had been stifling. When Maddox pulled to the curb, he said, “You will be standing on this corner when I return. Fail, and Zero will find you.”

  The younger kids, Jasmine and Oscar, looked panicked. The Strip: a million watts of neon and a river of cars and trucks. Zero had confiscated their phones, cash, and wallets.

  Four hours later, Harper rushed toward the meeting point, her backpack stuffed with thousands of dollars, her nerves like frayed electrical wire. Overhead, an airliner screamed past. She wanted to grab it by the tail and let it carry her off.

  Now she looked at Aiden. “Zero and Travis were waiting on a side street.”

  They grabbed her from behind and marched her away from the Strip into a neighborhood of broken sidewalks.

  “You looked at that jet like you wanted to fly away,” Travis said. “You planning to steal Rowdy’s money?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Her voice trembled, and Zero smiled. Travis stared, the light in his eyes strange and hungry. A cold heat settled in her stomach. They shoved her across a vacant lot humped with weeds and trash, to the edge of a ditch. Zero pulled off her backpack.

  “No, Eddie, don’t . . .”

  “You even think of running, you end up here.” He leaned in. “Nobody’s gonna help you.”

  They threw her into the ditch and ran with the pack. She hit hard and slid into rank mud. Shaking, she got to her knees.

  From the bushes beyond the ditch, a young voice said, “Are you okay?”

  It was Oscar, twelve years old, smart and scared and skinny as a chopstick. He was covered in ditch mud, too.

  “You can hide here with me,” he said.

  She wobbled to her feet and held out her hand. “No. We have to get to the meeting point.”

  As soon as they limped back toward the Strip, Maddox’s van crawled up the street. The window came down and he said, “Get in.”

  Now, she held Aiden’s gaze. “They were always watching.”

  He sat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and was quiet.

  “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Harper said. “I’m not offering excuses. I’m telling you how it was.”

  “I don’t ignore context.”

  She tried to slow the pounding of her heart. His eyes were gray, almost pewter, with a metallic sheen that flecked brightly when the leaves dipped and the sun caught his face. Leaning on his elbows, shoulders filling his shirt, he looked open and accepting. She had an urge to reach over and brush his hair back from his face.

  “Good to know,” she said.

  His smile was dry. “Meaning, for a paranoid cop, I’m not half bad?”

  “My outlaw years are in the past. I’ve stopped mistrusting lawmen.”

  “Also good to know.” His gaze hung on her.

  So trust him. “Sorenstam told you about the armed robbery.”

  He nodded.

  “It happened September, my senior year. During the day, I went to physics and read Macbeth. At night, I held the bag, literally, while Zero broke into warehouses,” she said. “Travis was taking classes at the community college and cranking out phishing schemes. His dad had developed a taste for white-collar crime.”

  “It’s a trend. Even street gangs have realized they can make money without butchering each other. Plus, sentences are lighter for cybertheft than bank robbery.”

  She held tight to her jam-jar glass. “Rowdy had a computer shop. Travis was his tech, the guy who did installations and helped mom-and-pop businesses set up their systems.”

  “Travis hacked their customers.”

  “Mostly installed malware. Viruses, worms, Trojans. Then he’d charge them to remove the infection.”

  “And if they didn’t pay . . .”

  “They paid in other ways.” She set her tea on the deck. “I could deal with nighttime burglaries. They scared the hell out of me, but nobody got hurt. Travis had a contact at an alarm company who gave him deactivation codes. It was relatively low risk. The thing was, Zero liked breaking things. He saw no reason why the world should be allowed to stay whole. On jobs, he”—she forced herself to slow down—“he smashed framed family photos. He stopped up toilets and flushed them. Once, he poured a kid’s aquarium into the kitchen sink and turned on the garbage disposal.”

  She paused. She could still hear Zero laughing. “He was always going to escalate to violent crime.”

  “What a prince,” Aiden said.

  Heat poured from the palms of her hands. “Travis decided to rob the jewelry store because the owner had threatened to sue Rowdy for infecting his computers. It was going to be in and out, smash and grab,” she said. “They told me I was going to do the driving.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because I was good at it.”

  She’d learned to drive in the desert. She could handle cars, pickups, dirt bikes. On the asphalt or off-road. Boondocking. Street racing, on hot nights when the roads were just empty enough to make it risky but doable.

  She stood and walked to the balcony railing. Beneath the trees, traffic was desultory.

  “I knew the robbery would be the start of a fast slide to a ditch I could never climb out of. Some people have no bottom, but armed robbery was mine.”

  “But you did it,” he said.

  “I did it like nobody’s business,” she said. “Necessity is the mother of invention. Desperation is the author o
f crazy-ass exits.”

  She turned and faced him. “They didn’t search me. Before we got in the car, they handed me a ski mask and sunglasses and a baggy sweatshirt. I was a skinny, flat-chested chick. Covered in polyester and Ray-Bans, I looked like a teenage boy at the wheel of a stolen Camaro. But I had a cell phone taped to my calf.”

  “What’d you do?” he said.

  “The store was in a strip mall—wide open, nothing but four-lane blacktop and green lights all the way to Nevada.” She thought of Zero, jacked up. And Travis, coolly setting a sledgehammer on the floor by his leg. “The plan was, the guys get out. I drive around the block so nobody gets suspicious about a car idling outside a jewelry store. I come back, they get in, we drive away.”

  “But?”

  “I’d learned some of Travis’s tech tricks—like how to spoof phone calls so they seem to be coming from other numbers. I drove around the block, stopped and dialed 9-1-1.”

  “You called the cops.”

  “I spoofed the call so it appeared to come from a pay phone. Then I threw the cell phone down a storm drain and hauled ass back to the strip mall.”

  “That was—ballsy.”

  “When the guys came out, the cops were racing up the street. China Lake PD, coming like a couple of Sidewinder missiles. Zero and Travis jumped in, and I floored it, straight into the flashing lights,” she said. “I rammed a police car.”

  He eyed her. “Deliberately.”

  “The cops swerved across the road to block the Camaro. They left six feet of daylight between them and I could have threaded the needle, but the guys didn’t know that. Travis was screaming at me. I was going seventy-five when I threw it into a skid and slammed sideways into a black-and-white.”

  “You purposely got yourself arrested.”

  “I thought it was my only chance,” she said. “I still do.”

  For a long moment, he looked at her, his face unreadable.