“He initiated and made direct contact with us,” Jim finally said. “He claims to have critical national security and potentially life-saving information.”
She studied him with a critical eye. “How do you know he’s the real deal? Don’t we get a half dozen probes like this a week?”
“We do. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know if it was him. Not at first. Neither did CISB. But the channel he contacted us on was unusual and valid. It was one of our older servers and not well-known. He quickly identified himself as the Avenger and offered this potentially life-saving intelligence. That alone flagged CISB’s interest, which is why he passed it to me. However, I didn’t intend to bring it to you until I had confidence the individual might indeed be the Avenger.”
Candace’s eyes gleamed with interest. Jim could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. Bringing in the Avenger would give her a high-profile boost toward her goal of becoming the director of the NSA. Ever since General Norton announced his forthcoming retirement next year, and had offered the stunning news that, for the first time, the position would be open to a civilian, Candace hadn’t kept it secret she wanted the job. She was already well positioned to get it, but there were plenty of other people who wanted it, too.
Personally, he thought Candace would be an excellent director. He also liked the idea that if she succeeded, she would become not only the first woman in NSA history to get the position, but the first nonmilitary individual to do so. It also meant there was the possibility she’d bring him along as her deputy.
“What did he offer that’s brought you to my office?” she asked.
“Not a lot, but enough. He provided a few minor details as to the intelligence he says he possesses. Homegrown terrorism. I ran the details past Jack Fowler at the CIA, and he said they panned out and jibed with potential information he’d heard.”
“That’s it?” She looked slightly disappointed. “We weren’t able to trace him?”
“We were not.”
Candace moved from her perch on the desk and walked over to a small refrigerator, where she pulled out a bottle of water. She offered him one, but he declined. She took off the top and took a swallow.
“So that’s all you’ve got?” she finally asked.
“That’s it. At least for now. One thing is sure—he has serious reservations as to whom he can trust at the agency.”
“No wonder.” She set the water bottle on her desk. “There are a lot of people at the NSA who would like him to hang. What were the hints he gave you that you ran past the CIA?”
“The big one is he says his surveillance indicates one of the terrorist networks is plotting a major attack on US soil in the next six months.”
Candace whistled under her breath. She leaned back against the desk and studied him, assessing the validity of the information, as he had already done.
“Yet we still have no idea who this Avenger is?” she asked.
“Other than he’s an elite hacker who seems to know us inside and out…no.”
“Do we know what he wants in return for this information?”
Jim leaned forward in his chair. “That’s the interesting part. He wants immunity from prosecution for himself and his family.”
“For what?” Candace frowned. “Plugging the hole? Hacking? Did he do something else we don’t know about?”
“That’s the problem. I have no idea. He’s not giving up the details until we agree to broker a deal.”
Candace pushed off from the desk. “That’s ridiculous. Even if we knew what he did and who he was, we don’t have the authority to make that kind of deal.”
“We can take it up the chain. He must know that. But that isn’t all. He has other demands.”
“More?” She waved a hand, stopping him before he spoke. “Let me guess. He wants money.”
“Possibly. Again, he’s not saying yet. Only that immunity and protection for his family will not be his only demands.”
Candace narrowed her eyes and walked over to the window. She stood there, staring out at the parking lot below, silent. After at least a full minute, she spoke.
“Why do you think he surfaced now?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe he does want to help us by passing on the terrorist info. But honestly, I think he’s testing us. First to see if we’ll deal. Second to see if we’ll deal fairly.”
“Do you really think he controls ShadowCrypt?”
“I don’t see why he’d come to us otherwise.” Jim lifted his shoulders. “He knows we’d require a certain level of authenticity before we’d deal.”
“What do you recommend?”
He was flattered she asked. “I recommend we apply the Washington Post test. If a major terrorist attack occurred here, and it got out that we had the ability to stop it and didn’t, could the agency handle the fallout?”
She sighed and shook her head. “No.”
“Exactly. I don’t think we can risk that scenario, either. We need to find out what he has and whether it’s worth the deal. I’m not high up enough on the food chain to do make that happen, which is why I brought it to you.”
Candace turned around from the window, her expression impassive. “All right, then. Let me see what I can do.”
Chapter Nine
ANGEL SINCLAIR
Did no one care I was almost sixteen?
I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, yet my mom acted like I was a little kid. I wasn’t sure what was worse—suffering the humiliation of my sister leaving work to come babysit me or the swelling lump on my forehead from knocking myself out.
At least my sister, Gwen, is sort of cool, even though I’d never admit that to her face. She’s six years older than me, but we look alike. She’s no slouch in the smarts department, either. She’d gotten a full-ride scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, majoring in microbiology. She isn’t into math or computers as deeply as I am, but she has a better understanding of biology and technology. Plus, a germ doesn’t stand a chance against her.
Gwen now works for ComQuest, a cutting-edge technology firm in Baltimore, as a microbiologist. At first I didn’t understand how a microbiologist could work at a company that spent most of its money designing microchips and circuit boards, but apparently, she is very much in demand. Although she isn’t permitted to give me many details about her work, she’s part of an innovative team studying yeast as a possible engineering design for microchip security. Sounds crazy, I know, but she’s super smart. Sometimes she picks my brain to get a better perspective from the computing side of things, which in turn gives me insight into her world.
She has a small efficiency apartment near her work in Baltimore, but she often comes home on the weekends to help Mom and me. We live in Laurel, Maryland, which is nestled between Washington and Baltimore. She’s got a cool boyfriend, a total computer geek who is smart as heck and a nice guy to boot. It’s not that I want or need a boyfriend, but if I ever decide I do, that’s the kind of guy I’d want—brilliant, nice, and totally into computers.
When my mom and I arrived at our apartment, Mr. Toodles, our adorable white shih tzu, yapped and ran so many circles around my legs, I almost fell again. Mom insisted I sit on the couch while she fixed me a cup of hot chocolate, accompanied by plate of chocolate chip cookies. Perfect snack for the four-year-old who got a boo-boo.
Sigh.
Mr. Toodles snuggled up next to me on the couch and looked hopefully at the cookies.
“Forget it,” I said to him. “Chocolate is a killer for dogs.”
Mr. Toodles looked disappointed as I sipped the hot chocolate and nibbled a cookie. I was seriously considering playing the I’m-too-injured-to-go-to-school-tomorrow card when Gwen strolled in.
Her hair was windblown, her cheeks ruddy. A backpack, which probably carried her laptop and some books, was slung over her shoulder. She gave Mom a hug and Mr. Toodles a bunch of kisses before dropping her backpack on the couch and standing in front of me.
/> She put her hands on her hips and inspected me, looking scarily like Mom. “What happened to you, Angel?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Got a bump on the head and everyone is acting like it’s the end of the world.”
“Mom said you knocked yourself unconscious.”
“For about ten seconds.” Technically, that was a lie. I didn’t know exactly how long I’d been out, but I doubted it had been more than a minute or so. I figured I was safe with a little fudging. “It was an accident in PE. Softball. My favorite sport. NOT.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Seriously? On the first day?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like I went to school hoping for an opportunity to knock myself out, okay? Let’s drop it. Having to relive the experience is making my head hurt worse.”
There was no way I was telling her about the bleacher incident, because she’d probably freak out six ways to Sunday. I wanted to unwind and do some online surfing.
When Mom left to go back to work, Gwen went into the kitchen to get herself a snack. As soon as she was gone, I pushed Mr. Toodles aside. The dog wasn’t too happy with his displacement and jumped to the floor, padding into the kitchen to see what Gwen was doing. I opened my backpack and slid out my laptop. Time for more research on my dad.
It was times like this, after I’d done yet another hugely dorky and stupid thing, that I missed my father the most. He’d been a math and computer geek like me. Had it been a lonely life for him when he was growing up, or was he more socially adept, like Gwen? Did he leave us on purpose because he couldn’t handle the emotional and social demands of a family? Even more important, would I do the same thing to my family?
That last question got to the crux of the matter. How much was I like my father? Would I turn into him one day?
Blowing out a breath, I logged on and resumed reviewing my personnel file on my father. I’d already compiled most of his medical and educational information, including Social Security, passport, and DMV data. I had the complete police report of his disappearance. I also had a document where I’d combined whatever personal data I’d gleaned from Mom over the years. For example, my dad loved praline ice cream, cheese enchiladas, football, puzzles, and lemon-frosted cookies. While that was nice to know, I needed more substantive information, like what he did as a security engineering analyst and was that a normal occupation for a mathematician?
Information was scarce.
Other than a few mementos of Dad that Mom kept in a trunk in her closet, including a favorite tie, his wallet, a pocket watch, his passport, some papers, and a couple of photographs—including one of him holding me shortly after I’d been born—I had no tangible connection to him.
Since his disappearance, I’d been able to confirm no one had used his Social Security number, old addresses, personal information, or any variation of his identification. Today I was expanding my search into the databases of several large physical security companies. I’d already completed an exhaustive—not to mention morbid—search of the profiles of dead John Does that had never been identified. I’d reviewed hundreds of hospital, missing persons, police, and cemetery reports. While many had met the general physical and age profile of my father, none were a match with his dental records. Just because I couldn’t find a match, it didn’t mean my dad wasn’t dead. It meant I couldn’t confirm it.
Gwen returned to the living room carrying a sandwich on a plate and a white mug that probably contained lemon herbal tea, her favorite. Mr. Toodles padded after her. I closed the window I was working on. She wouldn’t approve of my search for Dad. Not that I planned on telling her about it, but if she noticed, we would have words.
For her, the matter with him was over, closed and forgotten. At least that’s what she said. Maybe it helped her deal. I didn’t begrudge her that.
That wasn’t my style, however. I needed answers and information. I was the leave-no-stone-unturned kind of girl. Knowledge was my endgame. Until then, the search for my father would stay on my radar.
My business, my quest.
“What are you doing?” she asked me, sitting on the couch and pulling up her bare feet beneath her. She balanced the plate on her lap and set the tea on the end table with the lamp that was positioned between us. Mr. Toodles sat at her feet, eyeing the sandwich.
I shrugged, tried not to look guilty. “Stuff. I’m fine, you know. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I understand.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “I’m not worried about that. You have a hard head. And I mean that in more ways than one.”
“You’re terrible at making jokes.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” She got a thoughtful look on her face.
My stomach tensed. She always got that expression when she was about to launch into a lecture of some kind.
“Look, I know school is hard for you, Angel. Not academically, of course, but socially. It wouldn’t kill you to try to be nice to people occasionally.” She plucked a piece of turkey from her sandwich and popped it in her mouth. “Stop looking at the world with such a cynical eye.”
“I am nice to people.” I frowned. “To a point. And I’m not cynical. I’m realistic. There’s a difference.”
Gwen sighed and straightened her legs, resting her ankles on the coffee table. She relocated the plate with her sandwich to her thighs. Mr. Toodles jumped from the floor to her chair, squeezing in beside her and watching the sandwich with great interest.
“I know. But you need to break down your walls a little more. Put yourself out there. Make some friends, go to a party, meet new people. Just show some interest in the human race, okay?”
“I do show interest. And I get out enough. I have friends.”
“In the real world?”
I shut the lid of my laptop. “I take offense to that term, but I’ll answer anyway. Yes. I talk with Wally, Piper, and Brandon all the time at X-Corp.”
“About computers and code and stuff no one else in the world understands. Do you ever do anything with them outside the internship?” When I didn’t answer, she pressed on. “Do they invite you to parties? To the movies? To a football game?”
I remained silent.
She sighed. “Look, you’re a great kid, Angel, and a pretty decent sister.” Gwen looked at me sadly, which I hated. I didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity, even my sister’s. But I couldn’t stop her, so I didn’t try. When she was on a roll, there was no stopping her.
“You’re funny, clever, and interesting. But the truth is you need friends. It’s not because kids don’t want to be friends with you—they do—but you don’t show any interest or provide any incentive or encouragement.”
“Because I don’t have any, okay?” My blood pressure was rising, which might not have been the best medicine for someone who got hit in the head. “Why is my social life, or lack thereof, so interesting? Can’t you leave me alone? Maybe I like being by myself.”
Her face softened. “I’m not trying to force you into relationships. I want you to be open to them. Like if a friendship or relationship came along, you wouldn’t shoot it down before even giving it a chance.”
Before I could retort, the landline rang. Gwen put her plate on the coffee table and walked across the room, picking up the receiver.
“Hello?”
She listened for a minute. “Yes, it is. How can I help you?” She paused and then lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, sure.” She walked over to me and held out the phone. “It’s for you. It’s your friend Frankie, from school.”
I couldn’t help it—I gave her an I-told-you-so look and snatched the phone, even though I was pretty startled myself.
I pressed the receiver to my ear. “Frankie? How did you get this number?”
“Hey, Angel. Wally, of course.” Her voice sounded funny and strained, not at all like the chatty, happy girl I’d met today in the locker room. “You forgot to give me your cell number.”
I hadn’t forgotten. It had never occurred to me t
o give her, or anyone, my number. What would be the point?
“What’s up, Frankie? Why did you call?”
At first I thought maybe she was checking up on me to make sure I’d gotten home safely. That would have been weird since I’d just met her, but Frankie was all about friendliness, and I wasn’t an expert on that kind of behavior. How the heck would I know?
“Listen, Angel, I need to tell you something.” Her voice wavered. “It’s something I thought you would want to know before school tomorrow. Something terrible has happened.”
Terrible? How terrible was terrible? What could be worse than knocking myself out with a bat?
I looked up at Gwen and saw she was staring at me. Okay, this was sort of a novel situation—me getting a phone call from a friend, even if it was one bearing bad news.
“Tell me already, Frankie. What happened?”
She exhaled audibly. “Well, I had to stay after school today because my mom needed to sign some forms and she wanted to talk with Headmistress Swanson about my transfer. While we were in Ms. Swanson’s office, a call came in. It was about Mr. Matthews. He was in a terrible accident. On the way home from school, he hit someone with his car, Angel. A woman. She’s in bad shape. And Mr. Matthews…” She let her sentence trail off.
Shock swept through me. Mr. Toodles nudged my ankle with his cold nose and whimpered. “What…happened to him?” I asked. My hand started to shake.
Gwen’s expression turned to alarm. Frowning, she put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a questioning look.
“He’s alive,” Frankie finally said.
I closed my eyes in relief. At the minimum, I could work with that.
“But he’s seriously injured,” she continued. “Even worse, the police and witnesses told Ms. Swanson the accident is his fault. They’re saying he hit her on purpose. He ran her over without stopping.”
“What?” That did not compute at all. “That’s impossible. That’s attempted murder. Mr. Matthews wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t hurt people, he helps them. He saved us today.”
White Knights Page 5