by Lisa Harris
“You target practice?” she asked.
His gaze narrowed. “Spent the morning shooting, why?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. Best out of five. I win, you help us. I lose, and I’ll walk away.”
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t look like much of a sharpshooter.”
“Maybe not, but we need your help, so I’m willing to do what it takes.”
“How about with a bow and arrow?” he asked.
She watched as he studied her expression. “Fine.”
“Then follow me.”
He headed toward a more secluded part of the woods surrounding the house. Nate was not going to be happy about this. But that didn’t matter at this point. She had to win this bet.
Macbain stopped at a clearing where a bow rack hung secured to a tree and took down a bow and an arrow.
“Ladies first.”
“That’s our target?” she asked, turning to the other end of the clearing about sixty yards away.
“It might be a little rustic, but I made it myself out of recycled lumber.”
“Looks like it’ll do fine.” Grace hesitated, wondering how she’d ended up in the middle of the woods with a complete stranger whose only connection to her was a murdered client. And on top of that, wagering a ridiculous bet that she had to win.
“A fifty-pound bow, might be a bit heavy for you,” he said, handing her the bow.
She ignored the comment and concentrated instead on the task at hand, remembering what her father had taught her. She had no idea that shooting with him on her last visit to Montana would prepare her for a moment like this. Sturdy grip on the bow, but not too tight . . . She aimed at the target, then let go.
The arrow hit the top left of the target.
She frowned.
Macbain let out a low laugh. “My turn.”
Grace hesitated, then handed him the bow.
His pierced the target an inch to the left of the bull’s-eye. He was definitely a good shot.
“My turn again,” she said.
“You might want to quit while you’re behind.”
She made sure her stance was balanced. Feet shoulder-width apart and perpendicular to the target. Align the target, use the shoulder muscles, slowly pull the arrow back. Index finger above the arrow, middle and ring finger below it.
She released all three fingers at the same time.
Bull’s-eye.
She quickly pulled another arrow out of the quiver, let it fly, then pulled out another and another in rapid succession. She lowered the bow.
She’d managed to find her groove. All but one had hit the bull’s-eye.
It took Macbain a few seconds to find his voice. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“Deer hunting with my father. He didn’t have any sons, so I was his camping buddy. Hunting buddy . . . climbing buddy . . . you name it.”
“Most people stick with rifles and shotguns.”
“Bows are silent, for starters. On top of that, you can run out of ammo, but you can always make another arrow.”
He stared at her, clearly unsure how to take her. Grace held his gaze. “What about our deal?” she asked. “Either you beat me, or you agree to talk to my friend.”
“Our original deal was no cops.”
“Fine.” She handed him back the bow. “My father also used to say that one’s integrity was of far more value than one’s possessions. Though there’s one other thing I forgot about.”
“What’s that?”
Grace pulled out the picture Nate had given her. “This is from your daughter. She gave it to the detective who went to see your ex-wife. He promised he’d give it to you. She misses you.”
Macbain unfolded the page. “Do you have kids?” he asked.
“I had a daughter.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died from cancer when she was five.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” She drew in a deep breath and prayed for wisdom. “I don’t know exactly what’s at stake here, but there’s more to think about than just yourself—”
Grace jerked around at the sound of a gunshot. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she tried to ascertain where the shot had come from.
“What was that?”
“Remember when I told you I’ve been having trouble with a neighbor?” Macbain grabbed her arm. “I’m hoping you’re not about to meet him.”
17
Nate stood at the gate listening to the audio transmission of Gracie’s conversation with Macbain. Did she really think he’d wait a half mile away while she talked to a crazy hermit? He was betting on Macbain coming outside to talk to Gracie, away from any surveillance screens he’d have inside the house. But even being this close didn’t stop the gnawing anxiety in his gut. What in the world had inspired her to hinge his interview with the man on an archery bet? Winning wasn’t going to get her off the hook, as far as he was concerned. He never should have brought her here and let her go in alone. Hadn’t he already learned that lesson? She was strong, he knew that. But strong didn’t always win.
“She’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?”
Nate glanced at Paige, who’d waited with him along with a third car for backup in case things went south. “She’s vulnerable, after everything that’s happened.”
“Vulnerable is the last word I’d use for her.”
Maybe.
He pressed his finger against his earpiece and focused his attention back on the audio coming from Gracie’s phone.
“I had a daughter.” Gracie was talking again.
“What happened to her?”
“She died from cancer when she was five.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too . . . There’s more to think about than just yourself—”
The crack of a gun echoed in the distance.
Gracie said something he couldn’t understand.
“We’re going in now,” Nate shouted. “You two split up and take the perimeter. Keep your radios on. We need to know where that shot came from.”
Nate started running down the long drive. Had he heard the distress word? No. He was sure he hadn’t. Which meant he was probably overreacting. It was hunting season, and no doubt these woods were filled with deer, quail, and turkey. But he wasn’t taking any chances.
A branch snapped beneath his foot. He turned to the left as an explosion ripped through the trees in front of him. He could feel the heat burning the hair off his arms. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and started running toward the burning house. Gracie was in there. He had to save her . . .
A second later it was all gone.
He stopped in the middle of the drive. Silence surrounded him. He was imagining things. There was nothing there. No explosion. No fire. Nothing.
Nate’s radio buzzed. “Looks like the shot came from a couple of teens target shooting. Everything’s fine.”
Everything was fine. Maybe, but he needed to be sure.
“Wait for me at the gate,” Nate said. “I’m going in to talk to this guy.”
He ran the rest of the distance to the porch of the small wooden cabin. Forget what Macbain had said about trespassers on his property. He was finished playing games.
A man came around the side of the house with a rifle aimed at him. “Who are you?”
“Detective Nathaniel Quinn.” Nate aimed his own weapon back at the man before holding up his badge with his other hand. “Put the rifle down now.”
“It’s okay, Nate,” Gracie said, stepping out from behind Macbain. “You heard the shot?”
“I just got the report that it was a couple teens out doing some target practice near your land,” he said, still holding his gun steady. “Put your weapon down so we can talk.”
Macbain hesitated another second, then leaned his rifle against the porch railing. “Those boys are always causing trouble. Shooting BB guns at my dog. Setting off fireworks. Local law won’t do an
ything about it, let alone their parents.”
“I’m sorry about that, but as you know, that’s not why I’m here.”
Macbain glanced at Gracie and frowned. “She did win our bet—though something tells me you already know that. I still don’t think I’m going to be any help, but I’ll give you five minutes, then I want you both gone.”
Five minutes. Nate frowned. Nothing like good ol’ southern hospitality.
“When’s the last time you heard from Stephen?” he asked, reholstering his weapon.
Macbain shoved his hands into his pockets. “I lied earlier. Stephen called me last week.”
“What did he want?”
“He was scared. Told me how he thought he was working for the FBI, but then he realized that the people he was working for weren’t using the information he was coming up with to stop hacking. Instead, they were using his programs to gain access to classified information and steal login and password credentials.”
“Why call you?”
“He needed some advice. He had no idea what he’d gotten into or, for that matter, how to get out. He also thought they might try to recruit me. He didn’t have any proof yet—for any of it—but he said he was getting close. Sounds like maybe he found what he was looking for.”
“And was murdered for it,” Gracie said.
Nate studied Gracie’s expression. She seemed fine, but he wanted her out of here. For the moment, though, he was going to have to take advantage of Macbain’s seemingly cooperative mood.
“What kinds of computer stuff did you do together when you were back in college?” he asked.
“Mostly a lot of dumb pranks, like flipping computer screens and rearranging the keyboard so it couldn’t be typed on properly. We realized from the beginning that as fun as hacking was, we didn’t want to end up in prison, so we made sure we never stepped over the line. But Stephen was always light-years ahead of me. He was brilliant when it came to coding and solving security issues, which was his specialty. He’d find the vulnerabilities for companies and fix them.” Macbain turned to Gracie. “You mentioned there were some maps in the box you saw. What kind of maps?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was there anything distinct about them? Markings, gridlines . . .”
“I didn’t see much, but the country was divided into three colors, I believe. Most of it was two colors, and there was another color at the bottom.”
“Give me a second.” Macbain headed up the porch stairs and into the cabin. A second later, he returned with his computer and the dog. “Bear, sit.”
Bear immediately sat.
Macbain punched in a website, then flipped the screen so she could see the photo he’d pulled up. “Like this?”
“Yeah, exactly like that. What does it mean?”
“I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but in putting all this together, it actually might make sense.”
“What do you mean?” Nate asked. The man’s demeanor had changed. No longer was he focused on getting them off his property. He was actually working with them.
“We know Stephen got involved with the wrong people,” Macbain said. “Someone who was exploiting his expertise to find vulnerabilities in security systems. We also know it was something that would have a huge fallout if implemented. Why else would these people risk murder charges? I believe what you saw was a map of the electric grid. What if Stephen was hired to find a vulnerability in one of the national grids with the intent of taking it down?”
Nate let out a low whistle. A cyberattack would have its own set of serious repercussions, but taking down the grid . . . “Explain to us how something like this could happen.”
“The simplest way to explain it is that the electric grid for the US is made up of a very complex network of power plants and transmission lines, with most of it privately owned. Most people probably assume there is only one national power grid, but there are actually three main grids that are interconnected and cover the United States. The Eastern, Western, and Texas.”
“Texas has its own grid?” Nate asked.
Gracie let out a low chuckle. “What else would you expect? This is Texas.”
Bear picked up a ball from the porch and brought it to Macbain.
“On top of that,” Macbain said, taking the ball out of the dog’s mouth and throwing it across the yard, “parts of the grid are actually shared with Canada and Mexico.”
“What happens if a section of the grid goes down?” Nate asked.
“Most of the time, nothing serious. Everyone knows that it’s common for sections of the grid to go out temporarily, primarily because of severe weather, but that’s not the only reason.” Macbain set the computer on the wide porch railing. “Back in 2003 there was an outage across a large section of the United States that was caused by a software bug. In this case there were thousands who didn’t have power for a couple of days, because what should have been a manageable localized blackout ended up cascading into a widespread power outage.”
“I remember that,” Nate said. “What other reasons would the grid go out for?”
“In 2013 there was a sniper attack on a substation in California that caused $15 million in damage. The engineers were able to reroute the lines and keep the power on. But you can imagine what might have happened if they hadn’t been able to fix it. The government is continually working to protect the grid from cyberattacks. Their major concern is that even if security is breached, the grid continues with critical functions.”
“Which is what Stephen thought he was helping to ensure,” Gracie said.
“That would be my guess. What experts are worried about is not just a hack but a cascade effect that could potentially take down the entire grid.”
Nate glanced out across the yard as Bear retrieved the ball before running back toward them. “Guess that’s why you live here?”
“It’s always been a part of my motivation. Because it will happen one day. Criminals target various infrastructures, not just here, but in Europe as well. Power grids, water supplies . . . taking down the grid would automatically destabilize—perhaps even destroy—the US economy. And what makes it scary is that some of these hackers are actually backed by other governments or even some terrorist organizations. There is compelling evidence that if only nine of the fifty-five thousand substations went down, we’d be talking coast-to-coast blackouts for at least eighteen months.”
“Eighteen months would devastate the country,” Gracie said.
Bear stopped in front of Macbain, ready to continue their game. His owner wrestled the ball from the dog’s mouth, then threw it back across the yard.
“But while there’s been a push to physically secure the substations, cyberattacks are a constant threat. And my guess is that if anyone could come up with a way to find vulnerabilities, that person would have been Stephen.”
“So you really believe he thought he was working for the FBI?” Nate asked. “He didn’t know he was working for the other side?”
Macbain shook his head. “Stephen was no black hacker, and I find it hard to believe he’d knowingly do something like that.”
“What would be the motivation behind something like this?” Gracie asked.
Bear dropped the ball halfway back, then ran after a squirrel.
“Money, which is why cybercrimes are what you normally see,” Macbain said. “Today, data theft goes way beyond just your credit card. Information is hacked from social media sites like LinkedIn and Twitter and sold to the highest bidder. There’s also money to be made off of hacked medical records. Stolen IDs can be used to submit fake insurance claims.”
“But the electricity grid. We’re talking about something that will completely change our way of life,” Nate said. “How long are we talking?”
“That depends on a lot of things. They might simply find a way to temporarily shut down the grid like in the Ukraine. But if they found a way to actually destroy the components that run the grid, we’d be looking at a compl
etely different situation. Months, if not years, of downed power.”
“So how do we stop this from happening?” Nate asked.
“The only thing I can think of is if Stephen came up with a security patch that would fix the vulnerability he found.”
Gracie looked hopeful. “Maybe the patch is on one of the flash drives from the safe-deposit box. Maybe that’s what Stephen wanted me to have.”
Nate turned back to Macbain. “And if the patch isn’t on one of the flash drives . . . could you write one?”
Macbain laughed. “Not by myself. Stephen was the genius. I was always just his sidekick. At MIT, the three of us worked on one serious project and created a worm. It was similar to the Stuxnet worm released a few years ago that seriously damaged Iran’s nuclear capabilities. We eventually stopped working on it and promised each other we wouldn’t finish it.”
“What could it do?” Nate asked.
“If you know anything about Stuxnet, you know that the worm didn’t damage the computers themselves, because they were not its real target.”
“What do you mean?” Gracie asked.
“Stuxnet was built to go beyond simply stealing information from its targeted computers. It went straight to the control systems of factories, chemical plants, nuclear power plants—”
“And electrical grids.” They’d already brought the FBI in on this, but what if they couldn’t stop the threat? “Could this worm, if modified, take down the grid?”
“It’s possible. And if he wasn’t working for our government and that information got into the wrong hands . . .”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence. They all knew what the outcome could be.
Macbain’s brow furrowed. “There was this fourth guy.”
“What was his name?” Nate asked.
“Donnie Banks. He was smart, but was always a bit of a loner. He hung out with us a few times, but never quite connected with us.”
“Did he know about what the three of you were working on?”
“He probably had an idea. And he was jealous. The three of us were getting awards and he couldn’t quite measure up. I can see him involved on the wrong side of something like this.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”