The Adversary (A Chris Bruen Novel Book 1)

by Reece Hirsch

  Chris and Zoey stopped for a moment to assess the progress of their pursuers. There was nothing to be said. They were both breathing hard and didn’t need to waste the energy. The landscape was quiet, except for the sound of the Tramvia Blau rumbling to the bottom of the hill. Chris and Zoey tried to run down the steep slope and fell repeatedly. Chris’s hands were bleeding from using them to break his falls. The bloodstain on the knee of Zoey’s torn jeans was spreading down her leg.

  Everything was very simple now. There was nothing in Chris’s mind but the animal instinct of flight. If they didn’t make it to the street before the two agents caught up with them, they would, at best, be imprisoned for a very long time.

  Now they were only a half mile from the street. The agents were falling behind. They were trying to make their way through a stand of trees that impeded their progress, while Chris and Zoey were on open ground. A gunshot cracked in the still air. Chris looked back and saw one of the men with a hand raised high.

  “Don’t stop,” Chris said. “They know they can’t catch us. We’re too far away and we’re too close to the street. They don’t want to hit bystanders. That was a warning shot.”

  “I like your certainty,” Zoey said.

  Chris and Zoey finally reached flat ground and then the bustling sidewalk, with their pursuers still far behind them on the hillside. They crossed a busy intersection and walked quickly through the city streets. They passed a wall plastered with posters for museum exhibits and dance clubs.

  Chris hailed a taxi. “Sagrada Familia,” Chris said to the driver. He just wanted the taxi to pull away quickly, so he spoke the two words that every cabbie in Barcelona immediately understood. The taxi ride to Barcelona’s most famous tourist attraction would buy them a little time to regroup.

  “I don’t think it’s safe to go back to the hotel,” he said.

  “You know, it’s possible that we’re the primary targets now,” Zoey said, gingerly examining her bleeding knee. “Has it occurred to you that they might think that you and I are Enigma and Ripley?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Chris said.

  “What do we do now?” Zoey asked. “I mean, it’s one thing to run when faced with two guys with guns who aren’t dressed like cops. It’s another thing to keep running after you know who’s after you.”

  Chris stared out the window of the taxi. “I need to know what we’re up against. I want to know what’s in those files that were planted on my computer.” He paused, and the silence was filled with honking car horns from the street. “They’ve probably already contacted my law firm. I think we need to reach out to a friend of mine there and see what he knows.”

  “I hope you can trust him,” Zoey said.

  CHAPTER 20

  Even in their rattled state, when the cab dropped them in front of Sagrada Familia, architect Antoni Gaudí’s famous cathedral, the sight was so overwhelming that they spent a few moments just taking it in. Their eyes were drawn to the sky by the cathedral’s four soaring, ornately decorated towers. Floodlights blinked on, illuminating the spires in response to the gathering dark.

  Gaudí’s cathedral was strangely organic and bore so little resemblance to traditional architecture that it looked like the work of an insane man. The structure didn’t seem to have been built but rather accreted, like some gargantuan geological deposit. The cathedral was the color of a wasp nest, and it looked like it had the same consistency. Chris thought the word visionary was tossed about far too casually these days (see Dave Silver, CEO of BlueCloud Inc.), but it was the only term to describe Gaudí’s masterwork.

  Gradually, they became aware that the people on the sidewalk were staring at them. Apparently, Chris and Zoey stood out from the crowd of tourists because they were the only ones who were scratched and bleeding. It was only a matter of time before someone pointed them out to a policeman.

  Chris knew they couldn’t return to the Hotel Casa Fuster to retrieve their bags. It was a certainty that one or more law enforcement agencies had staked out the hotel. Luckily, they had their passports and all of their currency with them.

  They stopped at a convenience store and bought two prepaid cell phones, which would be untraceable. Then they found an Internet café near Sagrada Familia with weathered wooden tables, threadbare couches, and a handful of students working on laptops. Chris sent Ed de Lamadrid a text that provided a public email address at the café and said simply: “Skype me here. Don’t use your work or home computer.”

  While they waited for Ed, they speculated on what the denizens of the café were working on. Here a novel, there a term paper, there a revolutionary manifesto. Twenty minutes later, they were video-chatting with Ed, who was in a coffee shop.

  As soon as they were connected, Ed leaned in close to the speaker and whispered, “Do you have any idea the Category F-5 shit storm that’s headed your way?”

  “It’s already here,” Chris said. “Two CIA agents tried to arrest us today. They think we’re involved with Enigma and Ripley.”

  “Jesus,” Ed said. “Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine, but what’s going on there?”

  “The FBI and Homeland Security were at the office yesterday asking about you. They questioned me for nearly an hour. They think you’re involved with the Lurker virus, the January 14 cyberattack, and even the Albuquerque airport hack.”

  “Did they say what gave them that idea?”

  “I snooped around on the system and found a memo that Don Rubinowski wrote for firm management summarizing what the agents told him.”

  “And?” Zoey interrupted.

  “Apparently, DHS received an anonymous phone call about Chris that led them to enter his apartment and check his home computer. I don’t know exactly what they found, but they seem to view it as a smoking gun linking you to the Lurker crew. This is a manhunt, not an investigation.”

  Chris looked at Zoey. “Do they know who Zoey is?”

  “They seem to know everything about you two. They’ve already spoken to the folks at BlueCloud.”

  “So where does that leave us? What’s the firm’s position?”

  “The firm’s position is to run away from you as fast as possible. They realize what would happen to a law firm that’s associated with a cyberterrorist. Every corporate client we have would drop us the instant this becomes public. Don says that you’re suspended from the partnership pending the outcome of the investigation. They’ve already called an emergency meeting of the partners to vote on it.”

  During Chris’s tenure at the firm, an emergency partners meeting had been convened only once before to terminate a partner. It had involved a corporate attorney named Will Connelly, who had somehow gotten mixed up with Russian mobsters, insider trading, and a variety of other sordid enterprises. Chris didn’t like being in such shady company, but he knew that was the least of his concerns.

  “And what about BlueCloud?”

  “I think you can consider your assignment—and your expense account—terminated.”

  “But you believe us, right?”

  “Oh, man, how can you even ask me that?” Ed said, genuinely indignant. “Hackers like Enigma are pranksters. This is exactly the kind of thing you would expect them to do. That’s what I told those agents.”

  “I guess when it comes to terrorism, the FBI and DHS don’t have a sense of humor.”

  It had occurred to Chris that the file the FBI had discovered could have been planted on his computer by any one of the many hackers who made a sport of trying to take down his system.

  As soon as he spoke the word “terrorism,” Chris scanned the café to see if anyone was eavesdropping, but no one was paying attention. They had staked out a spot in the back as far from everyone else as possible.

  “What else do you know?” Chris asked.

  “Well, those two FBI agents, Hazlitt and Falacci, are apparently coming for you, too. They’re the ones who found the files on your home computer.”

  “Yo
u can’t do any more for us, Ed,” Chris said. “We’re toxic now. You probably shouldn’t have even done this much. Accessing Don’s memo was a dangerous move.”

  Ed leaned in close to the camera, his broad face swelling to fill the screen. “If I cut you loose now, I wouldn’t be much of a friend, now would I?”

  Chris knew there was no dissuading Ed, so he simply said, “Thanks.”

  “I know you’d do the same for me.” He rocked back in his chair. “So where do you go from here?”

  “I think it’s probably best that we turn ourselves in to the FBI. We can share what we know with them and hope they believe us. If we’re lucky, they may allow us cooperate in their investigation.”

  “You really think that’s likely?” Ed asked.

  “No, I don’t.” Chris said. Hazlitt and Falacci had been unwilling to work with him even before he became a suspected terrorist. The agents were smart enough to know that it was possible he had been set up, but once he and Zoey were arrested, it would probably take months, if not years, to extricate themselves from the system. Homeland Security’s process for detaining and prosecuting suspected terrorists was an enormous, powerful machine that was easy to switch on but nearly impossible to shut down before it had ground its subjects into a fine paste.

  “If we turn ourselves in, what’s going to happen then?” Zoey asked. “If they think we have information about a terrorist attack, their interrogation techniques are definitely going to be—enhanced.” She sounded alarmed, and Chris didn’t blame her a bit.

  “But if we don’t turn ourselves in, we’ll be confirming their suspicions.”

  “It’s not going to help that I actually do have a connection to Enigma and Ripley,” Zoey said.

  “What did she say?” Ed interjected.

  “It’s okay,” Chris said. “I’ll explain later.”

  It was clear that Ed really wanted to hear that explanation, but he let it go for the moment.

  “Don’t do anything until you hear from us,” Chris said. “I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble unnecessarily. We should probably cut this off—it’s dangerous for you. But first I have two favors to ask.”

  “Name them.”

  “I’d like you to send me a copy of the code for the Lurker virus. I want to have the ability to study it here, see if there’s anything else that I can learn. Use a secure file-sharing site.”

  “You got it. What else?”

  “You know that hacker Blanksy, right?”

  “Yeah. You think he planted those documents on your hard drive when he hacked your computer?”

  “No, I scanned afterwards and it was clean. But I would like to talk to him to see if he has any idea who might be targeting me. You know the IRC channel where he hangs out. Tell him that I need to talk to him and give him this new cell number.”

  “No problem.”

  A few minutes later, Chris had downloaded a copy of the Lurker virus code and saved it to a flash drive.

  “Good luck, you two,” Ed said.

  “I really appreciate this.”

  Ed nodded in acknowledgment, then terminated the connection, and the screen went black.

  “Do you really think we should turn ourselves in?” Zoey asked.

  “It’s probably the best option. You didn’t sign on for this. If we run—”

  “We’re already running,” Zoey said.

  “If we continue to run, now that we know what’s happening,” Chris continued, “this could get both of us killed.”

  “Are you doing this for me?”

  “No,” Chris lied. If Sarah was dead, he held himself accountable, and he resolved that he would not be responsible for Zoey’s death as well. “I’m going to call Michael Hazlitt at the FBI and put an end to this.” Chris had kept Hazlitt’s card, which included his cell number.

  Zoey sat next to Chris so that she could hear the conversation.

  The phone rang a few times and then he picked up. “Hazlitt. Who’s this?”

  “Chris Bruen.”

  There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line.

  “You’re in some trouble, Chris.”

  “I realize that. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “Why did you run from those agents?”

  “When we started running, we didn’t know who they were.”

  “Okay, so now you know. So why don’t you tell me where you are so that we can pick you up? Things will go a lot easier for you that way.”

  “As a matter of fact—” Chris was interrupted by the buzz of his smartphone signaling an incoming email. He clicked the call with Hazlitt onto speaker and examined his inbox.

  “What’s going on?” Hazlitt said.

  The email’s subject line: “HANG UP THE PHONE NOW.”

  Chris opened the message, which read, “You are under surveillance—we know everything that you’re doing. Hang up the call to the FBI NOW or we will kill Sarah. For proof of our seriousness, open the attachment. Your friend, Enigma.”

  Chris clicked on the attachment to the email while Hazlitt called to him through the tinny cell phone speaker. “Bruen? You there, Bruen?”

  The attachment slowly opened. It was a color photo that had probably been shot with a cell phone. The photo showed a severed finger resting on what seemed to be a white washcloth stained with blood. It was a woman’s little finger. The nail of the finger was painted in a plum hue that Chris had seen before. He was fairly certain that it was the same color of nail polish that Sarah wore.

  Chris felt a wave of nausea. He didn’t want to, but he already had the mental image of the event—from the video they’d seen in the abandoned factory. Now he knew what Sarah was staring at with such horror, and why she was screaming.

  “Are you there, Chris? It would be a big mistake for you and Zoey to run. We’re going to assume the worst then. We’ll go after you with everything we’ve got and we will find you.”

  Chris disconnected the call.

  “What happened?” Zoey asked. “Why did you hang up?” The look on his face seemed to unsettle her.

  Chris showed the message and attachment to Zoey, the cell phone screen casting a pale illumination on her face in the dim café.

  “Oh god,” Zoey said. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

  “I don’t know, but I would assume so. They want leverage with me, and they’ll lose it if they can’t produce proof that Sarah is still alive.”

  “How did they know that you were calling Hazlitt?”

  “They must have hacked my cell phone.”

  “They couldn’t have had physical access to that phone, you just bought it. So they must be nearby.”

  Chris and Zoey once again looked around the Internet café, but all eyes were still glued to laptops.

  “They must have followed us from Tibidabo and then intercepted the wireless transmissions, gotten the phone number of the burner that way.”

  “I don’t know exactly how they did it, but there’ll be time to think about that later. Right now we have to move.”

  They left the café and surveyed the street, which was dark, with few people on the sidewalk. If the hackers were still tailing them, it wasn’t apparent.

  “Should we ditch our phones again?” Zoey asked.

  “You should, but I don’t think I will. The FBI still can’t track us using this phone and I’m actually glad that Enigma has the number. I want them to contact me.”

  “Where to next?”

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t think we should travel together now. I’m going to keep trying to find Sarah, but we should split up. Law enforcement will probably be focusing most of its attention on me. I’d recommend that you turn yourself in, but I know how terrorism suspects are treated.”

  “I’m sticking with you,” Zoey said.

  “No.”

  “You want to find Sarah, don’t you? You need me to do that. This is my world. That’s why you brought me in the first place. You stand a better chanc
e of finding Sarah with me than without me.”

  Chris knew that this was true.

  “I have to go with you—how else are we going to save the girl, stop the cyberattack, prove our innocence?”

  “Don’t be flip about this,” Chris said. “This may be the biggest decision of your life.”

  “You think I don’t understand that? My point is that it’s really not much of a choice when you think about it.”

  Chris stared at Zoey and she stared back at him.

  Finally, Chris said, “If you want to come with me, I’m not going to stop you, but I hope you know how this is likely to end. They’ll probably catch us within the next twenty-four hours—if we’re lucky. And it will be much worse than if you had turned yourself in.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Zoey said, already moving on. “I think we need to do something about the way we look together. Tall, gawky, buttoned-down guy who looks like a lawyer. And me—I don’t look like I should be with you.”

  Chris couldn’t help but be a little hurt by the remark.

  Zoey read his expression. “I’m just saying that we’re going to stand out. Just an observation.”

  It was true, Chris thought. They were the kind of odd-duck pairing that people remembered.

  “If you ask me, you should change your look a bit. In the interest of not getting caught. You could make yourself a little bit—funkier.”

  “Or you could—”

  “I don’t do Junior League.”

  “All right. I’ll buy some new clothes.”

  “Good,” Zoey said. “I pick the wardrobe.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Chris and Zoey searched for a clothing store on Las Ramblas, a broad street that ran downhill from Plaça de Catalunya to the port. It was Barcelona’s most famous street and busiest thoroughfare At almost any time of day or night, Las Ramblas was as crowded as Times Square and filled with sidewalk merchants and street entertainers. It was early evening and the streets were filling.

  They passed a man standing on a soapbox who was dressed like Che Guevara. A couple of American tourists were getting their pictures taken with Che. Viva la revolución.