The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  “Can’t say I have.” With a contented smile, Anna’s head swiveled from vista to vista.

  “It should be quite beautiful with lots of flowers, elk, and goats. The high altitude makes the colors really pop.”

  “So, more time for photos?” she mused. She repositioned the camera bag perched on her lap.

  “As you wish. Just remember, we’ve got a two-day drive to Glacier National Park.”

  “Let’s not rush it. I want to savor my new freedom.”

  That response made Pete’s next question more awkward. “Babe, a while back you thought the Russian mob was after you.”

  She continued gazing out the window at the high tundra and jagged crags. She felt sometimes his questions were like small clouds on an otherwise perfect sky. Her smile faded and after a moment’s silence, she answered in a soft voice, “Yes, but perhaps they’ve given up.” She averted her eyes lest her concern was betrayed.

  “Why would the Russians be involved?”

  She sighed. With an air of resignation she turned toward him. “The end of July, when I was at the Black Hat Convention at Caesar’s Palace in Paradise—”

  “You mean Las Vegas.” He interrupted while keeping his eyes on the twisting road.

  “Trivia. The Las Vegas Strip is actually in an unincorporated township called Paradise. Anyway, it’s a four-day event that starts the end of every July—”

  He whistled. “Hackers willingly make a public appearance?”

  “Thousands do, and it’s been a good four-day recruiting place for me in the past. This year was to be the payoff.”

  “Because of the assignments you gave out?” His eyes darted between her and the twisting road.

  “Yes. After you left my villa, I reconsidered my life goals.”

  “The solitary elegance?”

  She squeezed his leg. “Yeah. I needed you.... I spent the weeks leading up to Black Hat changing my hackers’ instructions to target the Agenda 21 financiers who were gambling against humanity.”

  “Did the target list include Swanson?”

  “Uh huh. While there, Aspen warned me my Russian ‘comrades’ were looking for a woman coordinating hackers who could hurt their financial interests.”

  “Your disguise was Russian?”

  “And a Goth computer hacker.”

  He cleared his throat, and added whimsically, “Please tell me you have photos.”

  She cocked her head and looked at him quizzically. “Pete, do your tastes in women really extend to the unusual?”

  “No.... Just curious about my wife’s...extremes.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a few.” Her fingers slowly walked up his arm as she spoke in a slow, seductive voice, “Tell me your fantasies and just maybe I’ll make some come true.” Her index finger punctuated the offer by landing on his parted lips. She suddenly laughed and pulled back. “You’re fun to tease!”

  She sipped a Coke, then continued, “Anyway, at the show, I stayed hidden inside my enclosed booth, where I was tasking the hackers. But as I was finishing my second day, a Russian ex-GRU guy appeared outside my front table using an infrared scanner.”

  “Infrared?”

  “He was attempting to penetrate the fabric.”

  “How’d you know he was ex-GRU? That’s like a Soviet CIA.”

  “I had a fiberoptic camera feeding images into facial recognition software.”

  “You really do go prepared.... Does he know what you look like?”

  “Nothing more than my disguise. My enclosure material was designed to prevent IR and electronic scanning, so when he left frustrated, I bugged out as fast as I could. I knew he’d return.”

  Pete chuckled. “On the Riviera you were a socialite, in your dojo you were Catwoman...that’s how I’m going to remember it, okay?”

  “Yes, Dear,” She replied, tongue-in-cheek.

  “At Dark Energy you were an emo, leaving Geneva...what was the redhead...Syrian? Oh, and in the Maldives you were a Spanish diplomatic assistant. Oh how I wish you’d kept a portfolio. I’d love to see your transformations. It’s like you’re playing roles in the movie Sybil – where a woman had 13 distinct personalities.”

  Anna was not so amused. “I had more...and now I’m a housewife...as yet without a house. Transformation’s key to my survival. As I was saying, I changed my appearance in the hotel room, and when leaving, I kept my face shielded with a wide brimmed hat and large sunglasses. I used a relay of taxis to work my way to the hotel opposite Caesar’s.”

  “Why?”

  “To stake out Caesar’s entrance from an upstairs room. I’ve got photos of a large Slavic man and a redheaded woman. Someone in a limo drove up to talk with the woman, but the window tinting blocked identification. The pair must have gotten access to the casino’s security footage, because within the hour they found my first taxi driver.

  “That must take horse power to get a casino’s cooperation,” he said.

  She nodded. “That’s when I fled Las Vegas and came to you in Dallas.”

  “So I have the Russians to thank for scaring you back into my arms?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” Her smile widened.

  “How do you say ‘thank you’ in Russian?”

  “Spasibo.”

  “Good. I’ll remember to say thanks if I run into any of them.” He affectionately touched her arm.

  “Pete, being polite won’t stop their bullets.” Her voice was monotone. “They don’t mess around.”

  “Then neither shall we. If you have their photos, how about showing me tonight, okay?”

  “O-k-a-y,” she said hesitantly.

  “Remember, Babe...we’re a team.”

  Chapter 39

  August 28, 1100 hours

  The Spider

  A small rectangular box lay on a workbench. From it, wires connected to a desktop computer. A large monitor displayed various output windows.

  “You may leave us now,” Gabriel patted the technician on the back as the young man exited the equipment-loaded workshop.

  Swanson sniffed the air and grimaced. “Okay, Gabriel, why did you want me down here?” Swanson’s nose scrunched. “And what’s that smell?”

  “Ozone, machine oil, solvent, burnt wiring.” Gabriel grinned. “We think we figured out how she did it.”

  “Did what?” The older man’s brow lifted.

  “Caused Jared’s car to careen off the cliff.”

  Swanson leaned forward. “How?”

  “She tampered with the vehicle’s computer.”

  “How could she have gotten access without Jared knowing?”

  “Wirelessly.”

  “I need more than that.”

  “Well most modern cars have wireless upgrading capability. The software in his vehicle’s computer is the correct version. But my technician played a hunch. When a computer file is erased, it doesn’t disappear, instead, its file name changes. The file on the computer was erased, then reloaded.”

  “So?”

  “Between the erasure and loading she created a window that gave her control. In this window she had uploaded another version she used to accelerate the vehicle and lock up the right front brake. Then as the car crashed through the barricade, she deleted her software and uploaded the original.”

  “Why didn’t the Gendarmerie find this?”

  “Because they saw what they thought was the original software and didn’t know to look for deleted ghosts. Deletion always leaves a trace.”

  “How could she have known when to time the signals?”

  “She must have had his car in sight...possibly used a directional antenna. I’ll bet she was close behind him and had an accomplice driving.” Gabriel’s smile reflected paternal pride. “She’s a gifted strategist but the design’s beyond her abilities. I’ve never heard of this technique used against a vehicle, but now that we know what we’re looking for, we might be able to track the inventor.”

  Chapter 40

  August 28, 1300 hours
>
  Glacier National Park, MT

  Alpine valleys revealed themselves as their SUV climbed higher. They had taken their time, stopping to explore hiking trails, following rushing streams through dark forests to cascading waterfalls, crystalline lakes, and glacial tarns. The SUV made another sharp turn on the Glacier National Park ridge road. A deep blue sky was a perfect backdrop to the rugged peaks and white glaciers visible from the aptly named Going to the Sun Highway, the apex of the drive.

  “The sky matches your eyes,” Pete said.

  “This is beautiful, Honey.... Is that a visitor center up ahead?”

  “Yep. It’s Logan Pass, on the continental divide. I want you to see the Highland Trail. You’ll love it!”

  Her eyes alit with anticipation as she pulled out her camera.

  With unbound hair, she was out of the car the moment the engine was off. Her arm wrapped around his while they walked toward the boardwalk trails that traversed the fragile tundra.

  Small alpine flowers carpeted the coarse tundra in every direction. Rugged peaks extended from glacial blankets, gray and white against an azure sky. She let loose and twirled to admire the view.

  “Pete! This is gorgeous! They’re so many colors!” Anna rushed ahead to take panoramic shots.

  Pete caught up to her while she was on her knees framing one particular grouping of purple blooms.

  “This area’s called the Garden Wall,” he said. His smile faded when he noticed Fuzz strands clinging to various plants.

  “I can see why. The plethora of colors is astonishing!” she said appreciatively. “Why do the signs say we can’t leave the path?”

  “Because of the fragility of the plants and the soft ground when it’s wet. Some can be as old as a hundred years,” he said in an academic voice.

  She looked up at him with unbelieving eyes. “Really? Think we’ll make a hundred years, Pete?”

  “I’m sure of it....” His smile returned. “These flowers just don’t grow much each year. And they’re almost all perennials, hardly any annuals. There’s not enough time up here to grow from seed.”

  “Why are they so small?”

  “To protect themselves.”

  Her head cocked. “From snows?”

  “Primarily, the dry Chinook winds. They’d desiccate larger flowers. It’s a tough environment. But look closely.” He knelt next to her and pointed. “While the petals are small, the reproductive organs are large.”

  “You’re teasing me.” She gently punched his chest. “You made that up!”

  “I kid you not,” he smiled. “Plants adapt. These economize in this harsh environment and put their resources where it matters...reproduction. In fact, some plants have parabolic petals that focus the sun’s heat on the reproductive parts.”

  Her head tilted and eyes gleamed. Her hands cupped her firm breasts. “Petals?” Standing up and checking first to see that no families were nearby, she clenched her lower lip she gave him a come-hither. Her hands took his and pulled him close, then wrapped her bare arms around his waist. She whispered seductively, “I’d love to find a private glade like this and pretend to be a flower.”

  “Right now, so would I.... As I said, reproduction matters.” He chuckled.

  Bending his legs slightly, his arms wrapped around her narrow waist and pulled her tight. He stood straight, lifting her feet off the pathway. Her arms tightened around his neck. In a slow twirl, they kissed passionately, surrounded by nature’s colorful quilt, as others passed, pretending not to notice.

  Minutes later, Anna broke the embrace. “While we’ve got this spectacular backdrop, I need to get you into more of my photos.” She posed Pete, paying attention to his position, expression, and lighting.

  He reciprocated by taking more photos of her.

  In a moment of faux modeling, she tossed her long hair, then presented Pete with serious as well as silly expressions and poses. Later, she found a willing visitor and cajoled him into using her camera to take number of photos of them as a couple. After profuse thanks, Pete and Anna hiked back toward the SUV.

  In the parking lot, a ring of tourists were snapping photos. Anna approached the focus of their curiosity. “Honey, there’s a mountain goat and a big horn sheep, just walking between the cars!” She readied her camera.

  “Don’t get too close,” Pete warned. “They can charge and do some real damage. A wild goat killed a tourist in Olympic National Park back in 2011.”

  “Killer goats?” she mocked while taking photos.

  He added quietly, “Nature can be tough. If you pull that sword and kill the goat in self-defense, you’ll probably send kids to the psychiatric ward. There are quite a few families looking from inside their cars.”

  They turned back to the SUV.

  “Would be sort of gruesome,” she said with a chuckle. Her hand instinctively touched the buckle. She whispered, “Did I tell you it was a present from Gadget?”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “Probably felt guilty charging me a thousand euros an hour as a consultation fee.”

  “You meant charging Swanson, don’t you?”

  “Exactly what I told him. That it wasn’t my money he was getting.” She laughed. “Anyway, Gadget was wearing his own sword that day. One moment his hand was on his belt buckle, a second later his 36-inch sword sliced a tossed water bottle in midair. That demonstration convinced me to wear it whenever possible.”

  “Well, the facial expression of the guard you decapitated at your villa lacked surprise.”

  “He never saw it coming.” She nodded and slipped her arm around his waist. “Much like the guard you hit from behind with that rock. His eyes rolled up until they were white.”

  She wrapped her arm around his and squeezed. “So glad I have an ex-quarterback husband.”

  They entered the SUV and drove east.

  Farther back in the parking lot, a scroungy mid-20s photographer sat on his faded blue pickup truck’s tailgate looking at a new iPad photo. His stringy black hair draped over his denim shirt and partly shaded the LED screen. He angled the image to his shorter redheaded friend with the flat-top cut. “Man, did ya see that blond on the other side of the ram? I got ‘er first!”

  “Yeah, she’s beautifmagnifiscrumptious!”

  “I’m gettin’ a photogasm!”

  The shorter man squinted. “Don’t look like she’s wearin’ no makeup neither.” He grinned at his friend. “She’s definitely outta your league. Besides, the babe’s got that big dude standin’ next to ‘er.”

  “I dunno, if ‘e weren’t around—”

  “Notta chance!”

  “Notice I didn’t snap ‘is mug.”

  “Well, ya got lucky I was chargin’ my battery. I’d a got ‘er fer sure. I’ll bet ‘er score beats any of the girls we shot back at the resort.”

  “Whatta ya think? 9.5?” He opened up a photo software application, cropped the face and pressed ‘calculate.’

  The skinny redhead nodded, then shrugged. “If so, ya win. Best I shot today was 9.1.” He sighed. “Beer’s on me.”

  A number appeared below the image. “Wow! 9.72! I claim top score! That’s the best we’ve ever captured. Shooter-thirty!”

  “Ya musta got a model or somethin’. You otta take more pics of ‘er,” the redhead said more soberly.

  The photographer looked over his shoulder and shook his head. “Bummer, man. Their SUVs drivin’ out. Oh well, I’m gonna upload this into that contest website befur we ‘it the bars. Maybe I’ll win today’s talent shoot.”

  Chapter 41

  August 28, 1610 hours

  Billings, Montana

  Duke Shoreham flicked the crushed can. With a shallow arc, the flattened aluminum disc dropped into a waste container mounted behind the passenger seat joining the other five carcasses. The bounty hunter’s aging 6’4” frame shifted, and his legs stretched onto a footlocker containing a small arsenal. He massaged his fingers and wrists, then popped the top of another Budweise
r, swallowed a couple Motrins, and took a swig.

  Above his desk, three computer touchscreens, mounted on the inside of his Chevy conversion van, illuminated his mobile office.

  His attention turned back to flipping through hundreds of leads – none of them panning out. The left-most screen cycled through various images of his prey – variations of hair color, skin tone, cosmetic use, and styling.

  After a while, Duke turned to his middle-aged companion lying on a small pad in the floor’s center chewing a butcher bone.

  “Kyler, you believe Olga Svechinsky’s her real name?”

  The Australian shepherd looked up, eyes alert in his mainly black and tan face. His tail remained flat on the ground.

  “Me neither. Our client, Harley, edited out backgrounds and all personal identification. Our target’s got a Homeland Security file but it’s sparse and brand-spanking new. I’m guessing it’s faked. Googling her doesn’t provide any leads. And besides, the woman doesn’t have Slavic features...the name’s a red herring.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t care, so long as Harley didn’t give other skip tracers more information than us. Just makes the game more interesting, don’t it boy?”

  The dog’s tail slowly pounded the van’s floor.

  He turned back to the left monitor, then smiled. “Ah, if I were only 25 years younger.... She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”

  The shepherd’s tail beat rapidly increased.

  “Yeah, you’ve got good tastes. Looks like a model, but don’t get too smitten, boy! Look in her eyes. They’re intense, calculating.... Must be dangerous too, don’t ya think?”

  The dog cocked his head.

  “Well, since you asked, a few images have subtle cosmetic changes.” He enlarged one image and his finger traced her features. “Some she’s done and others are features Harley believes she can manipulate. Variables. Get a good look my young warrior! You’re my second set of eyes.”

  Duke grinned at one particular photo, which he paused on the monitor. “I’ll tell ya, only a cosmetology expert can alter appearance this good to fool face recognition software.”