by Lynn Ames
It was at moments like this that Sabastien was most appreciative of his inheritance and his paranoia. In his former incarnation, before Vaughn caught him hacking into her CIA operation and “acquired” him as a CIA asset, Sabastien purchased six safe houses around the globe using a dummy corporation. This place was one of them. A caretaker managed the landscaping and upkeep directly around the house, but had no idea to whom the property belonged.
Sabastien grabbed his go-bag and his backpack and headed inside. He had a lot of work to do. Top on the list of priorities was to set up a secure connection and let Vaughn know where he was and what was happening.
“Have you heard anything yet?” Jay asked without preamble when Lorraine answered the door to admit her and Kate.
“You two made it in record time.”
“It might have been the urgent text saying that the Frog was missing.”
“Come in. Peter tried to reach Vaughn with no success.”
“Hi, you two.”
“Speak of the devil and he appears,” Kate said.
“Be nice, or I won’t share with you the other piece of news and the reason Sabastien went silent in the first place.”
Jay’s ears perked up. “You’ve got more?”
“You know that Vaughn and I suspected that the Black Knight might have been a pseudonym for a hacker who’d previously been active under another moniker?”
“Oddly enough, I followed that,” Jay said.
“Good, because Sabastien thinks he’s figured out the hacker’s original handle.”
Peter led the way into the living room where Jay took a seat next to Kate at the end of the very comfortable leather sofa. Peter and Lorraine sat down opposite them in matching leather chairs.
“Do you have a real name for the Black Knight or just another pseudonym?” Kate asked.
Peter shook his head. “What we have is a long history of hacking governments and major corporations by a guy whose code work is identical to the Black Knight’s. It’s the technological equivalent of a perfect match of DNA markers in the blood. We’re certain this is our man.”
“Or woman,” Jay said. “We can’t discount that it could be a woman, can we?”
“No, but the profiler friend I contacted this afternoon strongly believes that this is a man,” Lorraine offered.
“You brought in an outside profiler?” Jay’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “I thought we were trying to contain this situation—to involve as few people as possible.”
Kate put a restraining hand on Jay’s leg. “I’m sure this is someone Lorraine trusts with her life.”
“I do and I have,” Lorraine agreed. She sat forward and clasped her hands between her knees. “When I was deep under cover with the Commission, I needed to know who I was dealing with. My understanding of their psyche meant the difference between being accepted and being detected. Literally, it meant the difference between life and death. Matt was my lifeline. He was the profiler assigned to assess my Commission contacts and help me navigate their personalities, to know which buttons to push, and which to avoid.”
Jay was disappointed in herself. She should’ve known better than to doubt Lorraine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question your judgment. I know you wouldn’t read anyone into the situation who wasn’t ironclad on our side.”
“It’s okay, Jay. You’re under a lot of pressure. I don’t blame you a bit for being protective.”
“So, before we got sidetracked,” Kate said, “you were about to tell us your profiler’s assessment of the Black Knight.”
“The summary Sabastien provided didn’t include a specific list of corporations and governments that the Black Knight targeted in his earlier incarnation as John Robie—”
“The hacker used as his alias an old movie protagonist? Who does that?” Jay asked.
“The good news is, our guy does,” Peter said. “That gives us valuable information about what kind of person we’re dealing with.”
“It does,” Lorraine agreed. “It would’ve been helpful if we had a list of specific targets, since that might speak to his motivation. It also would give us a way to cross-reference the entities he hacked with any known Commission members or associates. But the fact that the Black Knight has an affinity for classic movies and what he perceives as persecuted characters tells us a lot.”
“He’s likely someone who felt misunderstood as a child, someone who perceives himself as a sort of modern day Robin Hood or vigilante, righting the wrongs of the oppressed, exposing those who prey upon the downtrodden,” Peter said.
“That would make him appealing to the Commission. I’m sure they’d fill his head with all the ways they were fighting against the establishment, creating a new world order,” Kate said.
All four of them jumped as Peter’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up. “Yes.” He listened for a moment. “You’re sure?” He nodded. “Okay.” Peter grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Go ahead…” He scribbled on a blank page. “Uh-huh… Roger that.” He listened for another few seconds. “Understood. Call me back when you can.” Peter disconnected the call.
“Well?” Jay asked.
“Sabastien is safe for the moment. He lost a tail in Gibraltar and was able to get enough separation to reach his destination.”
“Which was…” Kate asked.
“Vaughn didn’t want to risk divulging that, even on a presumably secure line. She did say that she had eyes on Sabastien and that, at least for the moment, they were staying put. She’s working on enhancing their security and will get back to me when she’s satisfied that they are as protected as they can be. After that, we can work on ferreting out the Black Knight’s real identity.”
“What did you write down?” Jay asked.
“A set of coordinates for an equipment drop to give Vaughn and Sabastien some much-needed resources.”
“But I thought you said you didn’t know their location.”
“I don’t. This is a dead drop.”
“What else can we do?” Kate asked.
“Nothing for now,” Peter answered. “I’ll secure them what they need and get it delivered to the designated location at the designated time.”
“On another topic… Jay?” Lorraine asked. “How’d your meeting with Dara go? Want to tell us what’s going on?”
“Ma’am? Ma’am? I’m going to need you to put your seatback up and raise your tray table. Ma’am? Ms. Thomas?”
Dara’s head jerked up. “I’m sorry? What?” The beleaguered flight attendant was standing over her, exasperation written all over her face.
“Your seatback and tray table need to be in the upright and locked position. We’re preparing for landing.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry.” Dara pushed the button to raise her seat and secured the tray table. “I was so engrossed in what I was reading I didn’t…hear you.” By the time she finished her apology, the woman already had moved on.
Dara checked to see how many pages were left in the chapter she was reading. She tried to calculate whether she could finish it before the plane touched down.
When she felt the jolt of the wheels hitting the tarmac, she still had two pages to go. Part of her wanted to rush through and finish the chapter, but the bigger part of her preferred to savor the words on the page. She flipped the book closed and powered up her cell phone.
Rebecca answered the call on the first ring. “Hi.”
“Hi, darling. I’m on the ground. Are you here?”
“Waiting for you in the cell phone lot. See you soon.”
“I can’t wait. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Dara disconnected the call as the plane reached the gate, unbuckled her seatbelt, and grabbed her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment.
Ten minutes later she was standing on the curb when Rebecca pulled up.
“Hi.” Dara folded herself into the passenger seat and leaned in f
or a long, lingering kiss. She closed her eyes. This, this was home. Home wasn’t a place; it was a person. She marveled, as she always did, at the miracle of love, something Dara never thought she’d have.
“Hi, yourself.” Rebecca smiled against Dara’s mouth. “Now that’s a greeting.”
Dara sat back and buckled her seatbelt. “I love you. You’re my heartbeat.”
“And you’re mine.” Rebecca checked over her shoulder and pulled away from the curb.
When they were halfway home, Rebecca asked, “So?”
“It’s incredible. The language is evocative, the plot is a page-turner, and the characters are three-dimensional. It’s all that and a box of chocolates. Wait until you read it. I think it’s Jay’s best work yet.”
“You know that’s saying something.”
“It is. This work is so different from anything she’s written before. It’s visceral and real enough that you feel as though you’re running for your life along with the protagonist.”
“How would you classify it? Is it a thriller? A mystery?”
Dara watched the scenery go by and pondered the question. “You know, I’m not sure it’s that easy. This one has elements of both genres. It’s part who-done-it and part race-against-time-to-save-the-world. It’s part Jason Bourne and part All the President’s Men.”
“I can’t wait to get a look at it.” Rebecca took the exit ramp that led to their Malibu beach house. “Which brings us to the bigger, more relevant question of the moment. How would it translate on the big screen?”
Dara closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. She hoped she could convey what she saw as the movie running in her head as she read. “Oh, my God. This thing is tailor-made for Hollywood. It’s got everything that grips an audience and pulls them in. It’s got characters to root for and to fall in love with, it’s got characters to boo and hiss at, it’s got tension, drama, and angst. It’s got more potential than anything like it I’ve seen in a long time.”
The car cruised to a stop and Dara opened her eyes. Rebecca was staring at her, a bemused expression on her face.
“What?”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you this jazzed about something you read.”
Dara nodded. “Well, I’m willing to bet you’ll agree with me.”
“Is there really a role in it for you?” The traffic light turned green and Rebecca proceeded through the intersection.
“The main character is a thirty-something female broadcast journalist—a workaholic White House correspondent who’s got a tough-as-nails reputation and a Peabody Award for exposing political corruption in New York State.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect.”
They pulled into the drive and Rebecca parked the car in the garage. “Are you tired?” She waggled her eyebrows and Dara laughed.
“I’m not technically tired, no. But I could potentially be talked into taking a nap.” Dara slid her hand into Rebecca’s and she stroked her palm, keeping her touch feather-light. “You game?”
Rebecca swallowed hard and said, “Mm-hmm.”
“Care to come inside?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Going to say anything more profound than that?”
“Nu-uh.”
“Come on, professor.”
Jay stretched languorously in Kate’s arms. These moments—after lovemaking, when their hearts beat together as one—these were the moments she treasured the most.
Kate nuzzled her neck. “What are you thinking about?”
Jay pushed up so that they were face to face. “I was thinking how desperately in love with you I am. I was reminding myself never to take this for granted. I was counting my blessings.”
Kate kissed Jay’s forehead. “That’s a lot of thinking.”
“That’s a lot of love mixed with a good dose of gratitude.” Jay snuggled back into Kate’s embrace.
“Did you hear anything from Dara today?”
“Oh my God! How in the world did I forget to tell you this?” Jay rolled off of Kate and sat up.
Kate scooted up so that her back was against the headboard, as well. The sheet that had been covering them fell away and pooled at their waists.
“Guess what Dara told me?”
“That she loves your book and can’t wait to make it a huge Hollywood hit?”
Jay bumped Kate’s shoulder. “No. I haven’t heard from her since she left here.”
“But you just said…”
“Oh. No. This is something she told me after I picked her up at the train station.”
Kate looked at Jay expectantly.
“Aren’t you going to guess?”
Kate smiled indulgently. “She’s going to star in another Constance Darrow adaptation?”
“Not exactly. But you’re warm.”
“I give up.”
“You give up too easily.”
“That’s not what you said a little while ago.”
Jay blushed. “That’s another story for another day, smart girl.”
“We’ll be here all day if you’re waiting for me to figure it out. Tell me.”
“Dara is Constance Darrow.”
Kate’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”
“Constance Darrow is a pseudonym. The reason no one has ever met her, or even seen a picture of her, is that she is Dara.”
“Huh.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say? ‘Huh?’ This is huge.”
“I agree. I’m still processing.”
Jay waited a beat. “Are you done processing yet?”
Kate laughed. “Almost.”
Jay bounced up and down. “How about now?”
Kate grabbed her and wrestled her onto her back. “Patience is a virtue.”
“That’s not what you said a little while ago.”
“Good one. Turnabout is fair play.” Kate lowered herself and Jay’s breath caught at the naked expression of desire in her eyes.
“S-so you’re not impressed that Dara is Constance?”
Kate kissed her. “On the contrary, I’m very impressed. But right now I’m more impressed with this beautiful, little, blonde number.”
Jay’s body rose in supplication as she surrendered again to the only woman who had ever owned her heart. Any more discussion about Dara and Constance would have to wait.
“You’re right.”
“Hmm?”
Rebecca closed the manuscript and placed it on the end table next to her recliner. “I said, you’re right. This is fabulous, and stylistically worlds away from anything else Jay’s written.”
Dara set aside her laptop. “I told you.”
“You did. The screenplay could adhere so closely to the manuscript that we wouldn’t have to do much to it. It’s practically ready-made for the screen.”
“I know.”
“Who are you thinking for actors?”
Dara cocked her head to the side in thought. “I hadn’t gotten that far. I was more focused on finding backers that wouldn’t fold under pressure.”
“You ought to give consideration to actors that won’t succumb to scrutiny either.”
“True. But first things first. We need to call Jay and tell her we love the book, then figure out a time when we can get together and collaborate on the screen treatment and the screenplay.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jay was almost through with her workout. She set the weights for her arm curls and bent down to pick up the curl bar. Over the years, they’d updated and upgraded their gym so that now the equipment rivaled that of a professional fitness center.
She turned around and glanced over at Kate, who was into her fifth mile on the treadmill. Sweat dripped liberally from her face, down her neck and into her sports bra. She was completely absorbed in whatever Rachel Maddow was saying.
In the early days, they’d worked out to Charlie’s Angels and Jaclyn Smith. These days it was Rachel Maddow and the news. Wh
at was becoming of them?
Jay, who wasn’t in the mood to watch the news, cranked up “Uptown Funk You Up” on her iPod, picked up the bar, and started counting repetitions. Twenty-one, twenty-two…
The volume on the television suddenly turned ear-splitting and Rachel Maddow’s voice reverberated off the walls. Jay whipped her head around. “What the—”
“The Department of Justice and the Director of the FBI announced today that they are beginning an official investigation into Time magazine and reporter Niles Masterson’s acquisition of classified data from the Administration of President Charles Hyland.”
Jay dropped the curl bar to the mat, ripped the buds out of her ears, and powered off the iPod.
“Sources tell MSNBC News that investigators with the Federal Bureau of Investigation descended on Masterson’s apartment with search warrants and removed computers, hard drives, and several boxes of files early this morning. Reached at his Time magazine office, Masterson refused to comment. Lawyers for the magazine say they will take their case to Federal District Court and argue that this was an illegal search and seizure.
“So far, Time has yet to reveal what, specifically, was leaked to them, nor have they published a story based on the documents in their possession. The plot thickens.” Rachel waggled her eyebrows and gathered her papers. “Back in a moment.”
Kate muted the television, walked over to Jay, and took her in her arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
“The Feds are escalating. Before, what they were doing was behind-the-scenes—it was all veiled threats and intimidation. This,”—she pointed at the television screen—“this is legal action.”
“It’s a fishing expedition,” Kate said. She kissed the top of Jay’s head. “They want to know what Niles has. They obviously don’t know.”
“Well, they’re going to know soon enough.”
“Maybe not.” Kate stepped back and sat down on a weight bench. “Didn’t you tell me when you got off the phone with Niles that day that he was frantic? And that he already was being pressured by the big guns and threatened with search warrants?”