Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2)

by Tiffany Snow

  “Is Cysnet under a black budget contract to hack Lu?” I asked.

  “If they are, I haven’t seen evidence of it,” Roscoe replied.

  “Let’s monitor traffic into Cysnet’s network. Let me know if it looks like Lu’s people are attacking.” I paused. “Anything else interesting?”

  Roscoe hesitated, then handed over a sheaf of papers. “This conversation.”

  I glanced through the transcript, my eyes getting wider. “This isn’t good.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Any idea who he was speaking to?” I asked.

  “It was scrambled and encrypted on the other end. Government issue, or maybe military.”

  Better and better. “Is Clark in yet?”

  “I think I saw him earlier, yeah.”

  “Can you ask him to come to my office on your way out? He needs to see this, too.” And help me figure out what we were going to do about it.

  “Will do, boss.”

  Roscoe left and a few minutes later, Clark gave a perfunctory knock on the glass door before strolling in. He settled into a chair opposite my desk, knees spread and reclining more than the chair’s lines should have allowed.

  “You owe me a pocket square,” he said, folding his hands across his abdomen. He’d actually dressed nicer for work today—still in dark jeans, but paired with a button-down chambray shirt. The cuffs were turned back, exposing his wrists.

  I grimaced. “Sorry about that. I’ll get you one.” Did they sell pocket squares on Amazon? They must. They sold everything from four pounds of caviar at eighteen grand a pop, to a body pillow in the shape of half a torso including an arm, for crying out loud.

  He snorted, his lips curved in the ghost of a smile. “I’m joking, Mack.”

  “Oh,” I said, thrown off slightly. Recognizing jokes wasn’t in my list of skill sets. I shook my head to refocus. “Okay, well, here’s what I wanted you to see.” I handed him the transcript. He read it quickly, his expression sobering.

  “I take it we don’t know who he was talking to,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Roscoe thinks they were using a government or military-grade scrambler on the other end, to prevent any kind of tracking.”

  “There isn’t a long list of who’d have that kind of device.”

  “And it should be an even shorter list of people who know about that weapon.” The weapon I was talking about was a groundbreaking type of gun that could fire a twenty-five-pound projectile at over a mile a second. It sounded more like a cannon than what I thought of typically as a “gun.” And someone was telling Lu all about it.

  “Looks as though Lu is also working as a spy for his government, acting as intermediary between them and the American source,” Clark said.

  “We have to tell someone,” I said. “They’re talking about meeting to exchange plans for the gun in return for money. We can’t let that fall into Chinese hands.”

  “Who will we tell? We don’t know who the source is, if it’s NSA, CIA, DoD . . . the list goes on and on.”

  True, but . . . “What do you propose we do?”

  “It says here they’re supposed to meet tonight for the exchange. I’d like to move it to later.”

  “We can call Lu,” I suggested, “impersonate the unknown caller, and tell him it has to be later.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do that,” he said.

  “And what’ll you do?”

  “I’ll take care of nabbing the spy red-handed before he meets with Lu.”

  It sounded like a good plan to me. “Okay. I’ll have Sam get on the phone call.”

  “You’re not going to have Sam do the talking, are you?” Clark asked.

  “Of course not. But Sam’s our telephony expert and the best one to spoof the call to Lu’s cell.” Sam was short for Samarth, who was Indian. His accent was quite pronounced. “I’ll have Derrick do it. We’ll modulate his voice so it’s a match, and we won’t say much.”

  “Good.”

  “Who are you taking with you?” These things were always dangerous and I didn’t want Clark to go without backup.

  “I hadn’t planned on taking anyone,” he replied.

  “You need to take backup,” I said firmly. “Someone from your team.”

  “I said I don’t need it,” he argued. “I like to work alone.”

  “You’re too valuable of an asset to risk by not taking along someone for backup,” I said. Our gazes clashed in a battle of wills. “It’s not an option, Clark.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line and I wondered if he’d openly defy me . . . and what I would do if he did. But after a moment, he gave me a curt nod and rose to his feet.

  “Let me know once the meet time has been changed,” he said, heading out of my office. The door swung shut behind him.

  It took about two hours to get everything just right and the call made. I was on pins and needles as I listened, but Derrick was spot-on, having listened to the actual recording Roscoe had made of the spy’s voice.

  “I have to change the time,” he said, sounding anxious.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Lu asked.

  “No . . . but I have to work and can’t get away. Can we do it later?”

  “Of course. Eleven p.m. Same place.”

  “Got it.” Derrick ended the call and I could breathe again.

  “Excellent work,” I told him and Sam. “Any chance he suspected anything?”

  “Well, I am not a mind whisperer,” Sam said, his accent thick, “but he seemed to accept the change of plan without a surprise.”

  “Mind reader,” Derrick automatically corrected. “And I agree. I think we’re safe.”

  I nodded. “I’ll let Clark know.” Getting up, I left the soundproof room where we’d made the call, leaving them to put away the equipment, and headed for Clark’s office.

  On a different corridor than mine, his office was smaller, but not by much. He had a computer that I thought he only used for company email and when I walked in, I was momentarily taken aback by the dismembered handgun on his desk.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He looked at me as though I’d asked him what color the sky was.

  “Cleaning my weapon.” The Obvs was implied in his tone.

  “You have to do that?” I’d never thought about it, but I supposed a gun needed cleaning just like anything else.

  “If I want it to work when I need it to, yeah.”

  Okay then. “Lu thinks the meet’s been changed, per your request. Eleven o’clock.”

  “Perfect.”

  An idea struck me. “I think I should be issued a weapon.” I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before.

  Clark snorted. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I replayed my words, looking for something amusing in them, came up empty. “Why would that be a joke?”

  “Because you’re a techie who’d probably only get yourself shot in the foot if someone actually gave you a weapon.”

  He began reassembling the handgun. I stepped forward and held out my hand.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Give it to me.”

  “I haven’t put it back together yet, in case you hadn’t noticed.” The dripping condescension in his tone set my teeth on edge. But still I stood there, hand outstretched. Finally, one eyebrow raised, he set the weapon in my hand.

  Closing my eyes, I reversed the image of the parts on his desk that I’d seen, turning it into a map inside my head. Reaching down, I unerringly picked up the first part. Twenty seconds later, I set the gun down on the desk—fully assembled—and opened my eyes.

  Clark was staring at me, his gaze unreadable. “Nice party trick. How’d you learn that?”

  “Jackson taught me how to shoot. I wanted to know how the gun worked. So I took it apart.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, his brows drawn together. “Is that how you do it, then?”

  “What do you mean?”r />
  “You find something you don’t know about or don’t know how to do, so you just decide to learn?”

  “Well . . . yeah.” Now it was my turn to imply the Obvs.

  He shook his head. “That’s pretty amazing.”

  “No, it’s not. Anyone can learn anything, if they put their mind to it.” Something I wholeheartedly believed.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said,” he paused to eject the magazine, check it, and slam it home again. “You’re wrong.”

  “How am I wrong?”

  “Anyone can’t learn just anything. Joe Blow off the street may not comprehend theoretical physics any more than Mary Jane can learn how to run a bulldozer.”

  “I don’t believe that. You just have to have the will to learn—”

  “Bullshit. You’re trivializing how exceptional you are.”

  That creeping embarrassment I felt at compliments struck me and I glanced away, nervously pushing my glasses up my nose. If it wouldn’t be so obvious I was uncomfortable, I would’ve tightened my ponytail.

  “Well, will you check on me getting issued a weapon?” I asked again.

  He stood, tucking the gun into the holster at his side. “I will.”

  “Thank you. So who’s going with you tonight?”

  “Genna.”

  My eyebrows lifted. “A woman?”

  Clark’s lips twisted. “Don’t tell me you of all people are sexist.”

  “Of course not. I just thought you’d want someone more . . . capable.” Genna was Clark’s hire. A six-foot German brunette with a short, sleek haircut that set off her sharp cheekbones and full lips. She’d been the German version of a Navy SEAL, the official name being one I couldn’t pronounce. I’d felt every inch the cliché dowdy, geeky girl when I’d met her.

  “She could bench-press you,” he retorted. “I think she can be my backup.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t trying to second-guess you.” I changed the subject. “I’ll let Gammin know what we’ve found so far.”

  “Did you find out what Lu and Coop were talking about last night?”

  “Jackson says Lu’s company has been cyber-attacking his.”

  “Why? Have they been doing any government contracts?”

  I shook my head. “No, but they’re a very prominent tech company. They’re always on the cutting edge. It’s not a surprise that they’re a target for Chinese hackers. My larger concern is actual weaponry being given to the Chinese by people in our own government.” The very idea was offensive to me.

  “Sounds like the quicker we get our hands on this spy and debrief him, the better,” Clark said.

  “Good luck then. And let me know when you have him in custody.”

  “Will do.”

  I thought again of the gun in Clark’s holster as I left his office, and the nagging worry at the back of my mind. He is more than capable of apprehending one man, especially with backup, or so I told myself. I didn’t know which was harder . . . being out on a job as I’d been last night, or sitting in an office waiting.

  Gammin was less than thrilled about our plan.

  “You should’ve run it by me first,” he said.

  I bristled. “You gave me autonomy to handle situations and inform the correct authorities as I see fit, not hold my every decision up for your scrutiny and approval.”

  “Terrorism is one thing. Espionage is another.”

  “Until we find out exactly who this person is and where they work, I thought it best to take the lead. It would benefit Vigilance to be able to debrief them first. Clark agreed.”

  “What else have you found with Lu?” he asked.

  “You’ll be receiving an encrypted file with his communications,” I said. “We’re also following up on the people he’s contacted. Some are US citizens who work in various government occupations.” A worrying bit of information, if the unknown spy was any indicator.

  “The Chinese never send anyone over here without them having a specific task. Given Lu’s high profile and wealth, I’m sure his tasks are more comprehensive than most.”

  “We’ll keep you posted,” I said, ending the call shortly after.

  I was on my second Red Bull when Roscoe came into my office without even bothering to knock.

  “We have a problem.”

  The dread in the pit of my stomach I’d been trying to ignore gained ten pounds.

  “Tell me.”

  He handed me a typed transcript. “Lu knows something’s up. He started using code. Zack picked up on it first.” Zack was our needle-in-a-haystack guy. He could find the one line of code that broke the whole thing, and he was a genius at puzzles. His previous job had been encryption analysis for the CIA.

  “So what is he saying?” The transcript looked like an ordinary conversation to me, which was the best kind of code to have.

  “He’s still working on it, but I think we should warn Clark.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was thirty minutes until the meet. Lu and the guy had arranged to meet in Nash Square, which was smack in the middle of downtown, only a block or two from the capitol building.

  “Yes. Contact Clark and Genna. Tell them to proceed with extreme caution, that we don’t know what Lu may be doing.”

  “You got it.”

  He was on his phone immediately, and I watched, chewing my nails while I waited. A bad, nasty habit I should really stop doing. Roscoe frowned, looked at his cell, then put it to his ear again.

  “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t help myself from asking.

  “He’s not answering. It’s going straight to voice mail.”

  “Try Genna.”

  I waited, moving on to the next nail on my right hand.

  “Same thing.” He glanced at me. “Something’s not right. I think someone is jamming the signal where they are.”

  It took a moment for those words to process. “That’s impossible. Who’d be operating a jammer strong enough? That we wouldn’t already know about?”

  Getting out my own cell, I tried calling Clark, too. It went straight to voice mail.

  “I don’t know, but if we don’t figure it out, we’re not going to be able to warn Clark.”

  I was already on my feet and grabbing my keys. “Pinpoint the jammer and disable it. I’m going to warn Clark.”

  “You’re not in Ops, boss,” Roscoe warned. “You should call someone else in to do it.”

  “By the time I do that, it’ll be too late,” I said. “Clark and Genna are my responsibility and I’m not going to let them walk into a trap. Not if I can help it.” I brushed by him and rushed out the door, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. In thirty seconds flat, I was running through the garage to my car.

  Nash Square was fifteen minutes from Vigilance and I drove as fast as I dared. Being pulled over by a cop would slow me down even more. I told myself that we were probably worrying over nothing, that Clark could handle himself even when something unexpected happened. That was what he was paid very well to do. And Genna was capable, handpicked by Clark to have his back, so the weakest link here wasn’t them so much as it was probably me.

  But my job responsibility wasn’t to sit in the safety of the office when I knew my people were headed into a fluid situation where the danger level could have just increased exponentially.

  I parked a block away from the square, made sure my phone was on vibrate and shoved the keys in my pocket. As an experiment, I tried to make a call. I had no bars on my phone and all it showed was that it was searching. Definitely within the bubble of the jammer, then, which meant Roscoe had been right.

  Secret spy agent I was not, though I supposed at least I had the fact that I was wearing tennis shoes so my steps were silent on the pavement. Traffic was nearly nonexistent in this area at this time of night on a weekday, and as I crossed the street toward the square, I realized I had no idea how to find Clark.

  The square was surrounded by streetlights, but th
e park itself was full of trees still in their fall foliage glory. Concrete paths crisscrossed through the grass and trees, and I skirted a small war memorial. The view of the streets was diminished the farther I ventured into the center of the park. Sound seemed muffled as well, though maybe that was just my imagination.

  My eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but every shadow seemed to hide something more, and I cursed watching too many episodes of Supernatural. I stopped for a moment to listen.

  Cars passing by. The whisper of wind through the dry leaves overhead. Sirens in the distance. But nothing that would make me think anyone besides myself was in the park. Had I gotten the time wrong? The place?

  Tentatively, I ventured farther, my steps slower and more deliberate. A cold gust of wind sent a shiver through me and I tugged my flannel shirt tighter around my torso. Up ahead, I saw the faint outline of a bench. As I grew closer, I squinted, then pushed my glasses up my nose.

  A man was sitting on the bench, a dog on a leash at his side. Was it Clark? I couldn’t tell from where I was standing.

  I moved forward, trying to see without giving away that I was staring. And it would’ve been fine . . . if I hadn’t tripped over my own feet and nearly done a face-plant.

  The man turned then, but it wasn’t Clark. It was Lu.

  9

  I was frozen with surprise and a dawning horror at just how badly this had gone. Where was Clark?

  “You,” Lu said, rising from the bench. “I must say, I am surprised. Though perhaps not as much so since I found out who you really are.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “China, the girl genius prodigy who used to work for Cysnet and Jackson Cooper.”

  I was unnerved. He knew my real name. “I was just working late, thought I’d get some air,” I said, making it up on the spot. “Good to see you again.” I turned to go, but was halted by two men who’d melted from the shadows to block my path.

  “Don’t be so quick to leave. We should talk.”

  I turned back toward Lu, swallowing hard. “What do you want?”

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to the seat on the bench next to him.

  “People know where I am. I’ll be missed.” It was as much a warning as it was an attempt for a way out.