Just Dreams (Brooks Sisters Dreams Series Book 1)

by L. J. Taylor

  Despite her better judgment, she believed him.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Darryl sent a coded message to his hacker buddies on Twitter. They’d set up a time and a date to bombard Peachtree Consulting’s computer system with simultaneous cyber-attacks from sources all over the globe to give him the chance he needed to infiltrate the system. His message was the signal to begin.

  While his friends kept Peachtree’s computer defenses busy, Darryl put the finishing touches on his own computer’s defenses. He bounced his signal off of four satellites, rerouted it and hid it in a nest of patterns so dense it would take the fastest computer known to man at least an hour to track down. He checked the program he had set up to monitor the attacks on Peachtree’s system and its defenses thereto. No less than ten assaults were occurring to Peachtree’s system at any given time. He raised his eyebrows. Peachtree’s system appeared to be holding its own against the multiple attacks. He shrugged. No computer could withstand sustained simultaneous attacks from multiple hackers forever. He rubbed his hands together and began his assault.

  His fingers were a blur over the keys. After fifteen minutes, sweat poured down his brow. He swore when an alarm sounded signaling that Peachtree had already burrowed through the second level of his defenses.

  He had five levels of security on his system. At this rate, he wouldn’t get the full hour he had hoped for. He checked the program monitoring the hackers’ united assault on Peachtree’s system. There were now only seven simultaneous attacks taking place. He briefly wondered what happened to the other hackers then shrugged and got back to work on his own attack. He needed to get into that system fast.

  ***

  McAllister walked up to the door of Donald Peachtree’s office, knocked once, and entered. He then turned around and left quickly. Peachtree was a little busy. He had his sexy assistant, Giada, bent over the desk facing the door while he rammed himself into her from behind. From the pained expression on her face and the little yelps she had let out with each thrust, she didn’t appear to be having a good time.

  McAllister waited outside the office for the two of them to finish. Eventually, the door to the office opened and Giada rushed out. Her hair was mussed, her skirt a little askew. She wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand and passed McAllister without so much as a backward glance. He watched her leave then entered the office.

  Peachtree finished lighting a cigar before looking at him. “What is it?”

  “Sir, we’ve been experiencing a series of cyber-attacks in the past half hour. The geeks in the tech department say that it’s unprecedented. The attacks appear to be coming simultaneously from places all over the world. They traced one of them to a place in New York, another to an address in London and a third to an address in Chicago. Since we have tactical units in all three places, I recommend we deploy and see if we can ascertain who’s behind the attacks,” McAllister said.

  Peachtree grunted. “That’s a good strategy, McAllister. Make it happen.”

  McAllister nodded. “Yes Sir.”

  ***

  Darryl cursed steadily as he continued to work the keyboard. He sensed that Peachtree’s system was about to let him in and he was determined to get there. So far, no computer system linked to the Internet had been able to elude him. He was what is known in the hacker world as “elite”.

  He watched as his computer screen finally went blue. A blinking white prompt appeared inviting him to search Peachtree’s system. He beamed at the monitor and pumped a fist into the air. “Yes!”

  He pulled up a directory of files, found one that was labeled “Charles Morgan” and pulled it up. He slid a flash drive into a USB slot and downloaded the information. Next, he searched for the other information Charles had requested. He implemented a program he had put together to randomly search for files and downloaded those to another flash drive. A high pitched beep sounded causing him to jolt. It was an alarm he had set up to warn him when Peachtree penetrated his fourth level of defenses. Heart beating furiously, he cursed and quickly closed his Internet browser.

  He sat there for a moment, staring at the computer screen. He then made three copies of the flash drives. He put one copy in a prepaid stamped envelope addressed to Charles and another in a prepaid stamped envelope addressed to Kathy Brooks. He hid one set of the flash drives in a space created by a loose floor board under the desk and slipped the original flash drives into his pocket. You couldn’t be too careful.

  He pulled out his I-Phone and sent coded messages to Charles and his hacker buddies. He then slipped the phone into his pocket and left the office.

  ***

  Charles checked his Blackberry and smiled. Darryl had come through. He’d sent a coded message telling Charles to meet him at the Starbucks on Lincoln Road.

  He’d noticed on the way back from the airport after his trip to New York that he had picked up a tail. He wasn’t surprised Peachtree was keeping an eye on him given recent events. He left his condo early to give himself time to lose the tail before meeting Darryl. As he pulled out of the driveway of his condominium building and turned onto Rickenbacker Causeway, he noticed a blue sedan pull out and head in the same direction. The sedan never got too close and stayed a couple of cars behind him but, no matter what direction he took, it continued to follow him. That was a mistake. It was so sloppy and so obvious that it made him wonder if Peachtree wanted him to know he was being tailed.

  An hour later, having lost the tail, Charles entered the Starbucks on Lincoln Road. He spotted Darryl sitting at a table in the back of the store. Even though it was close to midnight on a weekday, the place was packed with patrons. Charles took his time walking through the store looking for anyone who seemed out of place. The patrons were busily sipping on lattes, typing on their laptops, I-pads and I-Phones and/or chatting amongst themselves. It was a typical South Beach crowd – a mix of tourists and locals. No-one looked the least bit out of place. He ordered a tall black coffee and joined Darryl at the table. Darryl was sipping on a soy chai latte and tapping the keys on his laptop. He nodded at Charles.

  “What’s up?” Charles asked.

  Darryl removed two flash drives from his pocket and slid them across the table. Charles picked them up and slipped then into his pocket.

  “What’s on these?” Charles asked.

  Darryl sucked his teeth. “Ras clot! What do you think, mon?”

  A smile spread slowly across Charles’ face. “All of it? You were able to get all the information I wanted? The files on Manning too?”

  Darryl sneered. “Isn’t that what you pay me for? Speaking of dat . . .”

  Charles pulled a thick envelope from his back pocket and slid it across the table. The Rasta scooped it up and tucked it away. He didn’t bother counting it.

  “Hell,” Charles said, “I got the best of that bargain.”

  “Remind me to charge you extra next time,” Darryl said. “Listen, you are dealing with some very dangerous people. I had to get ten of my buddies to attack their computer system at the same time to get access.” He paused for a moment and stared down at the table then he looked up at Charles, his eyes bleak.

  “Peachtree tracked three of them down and killed them dead - but not before torturing them. I’m going to have to disappear for a while to make sure they don’t get me too,” he said.

  Charles stared at him. He knew that Peachtree was dangerous and that they’d stop at nothing to keep their secrets. He also knew that he was putting Darryl in danger by hiring him for this job. But now that three of Darryl’s friends were dead, witnesses were being picked off, and Kathy’s career was on the line, he was beginning to wonder if his single-minded quest for revenge was worth the price others had already paid for it.

  “Look man, just let me know if you need more funds to lay low for a while or a passport or anything,” he said.

  Darryl shook his head. “I’m just going home for a little bit.” He patted his pocket. “This should tide me over for a li
ttle while. If I need more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” Charles said. He rose from his seat and extended his hand to Darryl. “Safe travels, man. Call me if you need anything. And thanks for everything.”

  Darryl stood up, clasped Charles’ hand and pulled him forward for a shoulder bump. “My pleasure. I hope you find what you need.”

  “I hope so too.”

  Charles walked out of the store and headed into the parking garage across the street. He rode the elevator up to the third floor where his car was parked. He took his time peeking into the other cars on the floor. No-one was sitting in any of them. In fact, with the exception of a young couple who, judging from the way they staggered, appeared to have imbibed a few too many drinks, there was no-one else on that floor of the parking garage. He waited until the young couple got into their car and drove away, then he extracted a laptop from the trunk and climbed behind the wheel. He booted it up and inserted the flash drive Darryl had given him.

  He scanned the files until he came across an incident report dated February 23, 2009 - the day Patti was killed. The report was written by Wilkes and copied to McAllister and Donald Peachtree. A notation on the report indicated that a copy was sent to a fax number. He’d have to get someone to trace the number for him.

  In the report, Wilkes wrote that, as a result of the accident, he’d lost the “target” he was assigned to follow. He referred to the target as “Viper.” He stated that Patricia Morgan - the occupant of the car with which he had collided – was killed on impact. That was consistent with what the police told Charles when they investigated the crash.

  His hands balled into fists. Willing himself calm, he searched the other reports authored by Wilkes on the flash drive. He learned that Wilkes and others had been conducting surveillance on “Viper” for ten days prior to the accident. They had picked up his tail outside of a cheap airport motel and documented his whereabouts during that time period. He was described as being a tall male of Middle-Eastern descent in his early twenties. There were references in the reports to his meeting other men of Middle-Eastern and African descent in restaurants, parks, malls and other venues. There was also a reference to a meeting at a warehouse near the airport and that a raid of the warehouse was conducted by someone named Manning. There was that name again.

  The Manning he knew was a C.I.A. operative. Since when did the C.I.A. conduct raids of private warehouses on U.S. soil? If this Viper was thought to be a potential threat to national security, why wasn’t the raid conducted by Homeland Security or the F.B.I.? The reference to Manning didn’t make sense unless the C.I.A. was operating on U.S. soil.

  He searched the flash drive for other references to Manning and found several. They were contained in reports prepared by Peachtree employees pertaining to assignments going as far back as three years. The reports referred to surveillance and security operations taking place all over the U.S. and in Europe. Three of the reports were written by Wilkes.

  Charles exited the files on the flash drive. He then pulled up his copy of the documents produced by Peachtree from the hard drive. Armed with his newfound knowledge, he conducted searches for Wilkes’ report on the incident. He found the report, but it was so heavily redacted as to be almost unintelligible. All references to Viper were gone. He next searched Wilkes’ employment file and located his expense reports. A smile spread across his face when he saw that Wilkes’ travel records lined up with the reports he had filed on the assignments involving Manning. He had them. With this proof, he had Peachtree right where he wanted it - by the balls.

  He sat there for a moment thinking how to best utilize the information. With the confidentiality order in place, no-one except the Judge, the jury, the attorneys and a few Court clerks would ever see the documents or learn the truth. To destroy Peachtree, he needed to expose the documents to the public and make them available to Homeland Security, the F.B.I. and a congressional oversight committee. The government agencies would start a turf war with the C.I.A. and shut Peachtree down as a defense contractor once and for all.

  He thought about handing the documents over to the F.B.I., but quickly dismissed the idea. They’d want to keep the information quiet pending their investigation while they played everything by the book. No. The best way to get this information out to the public would be to give it to a reporter. He knew just the one. He pulled out a burn phone and made a call.

  ***

  An hour later, he knocked on the front door of the Miami Shores home of Judith Bailey - a reporter for the Miami Herald. A tall, thin, attractive African-American woman with a short Afro, dressed in a pair of sweat pants, an old t-shirt and a pair of flip flops opened the door. She yawned and gave him the beady eye. “This had better not be a booty call. I’ve been working on a big story for weeks and I just turned it in. I was just about to shower and hit my bed with a sledgehammer when I got your call. I almost didn’t pick up the phone.”

  Charles smiled and lifted his right hand. “I swear this is not a booty call.” He then looked her up and down. “But could you really blame a brother for trying if it were? You’re looking mighty good there girl.”

  Judith shook her head and twisted her lips in an unsuccessful effort to mask a smile. She stepped back and pulled the door open further to let him in. “Come on in here before my neighbors hear you talking that foolishness.”

  Charles stepped inside and gave her a kiss on the cheek. They were really good friends who had known each other for years. He knew her from high school back in New York when they worked together on the school newspaper. They were New York transplants who had come to Miami for the sun, the fun and the job. She was a good reporter with lots of good sources, a knack for getting to the heart of a story and a keen sense of ethics. He knew he could trust her. He also knew that she wouldn’t submit the story unless she had reliable sources and corroboration. He’d have to convince her.

  Judith locked the door behind him. He took a seat at her dining room table and set the laptop down on top. She took a seat at the head of the table next to him. “So, what’s up?”

  He told her everything. Well, almost everything. He left out the part about how he had obtained the computer files and the fact that Kathy may have to face disciplinary proceedings from the Florida Bar because they’d decided to get involved. Judy would find that out soon enough.

  He showed her the documents to back up his story. When he finished, she slid her chair back, stood up and started pacing the dining room. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she figured out the angles.

  “So,” she said, “let me get this straight. You want me to publish a story accusing one of the largest defense contractors in the country of assisting the C.I.A. with operating illegally in the United States and link that to Patti’s death.”

  “Right,” he said. “The proof is right here.”

  Judy scratched delicately at a spot on her scalp just above her right temple with a perfectly manicured fingernail. She shook her head. “Sorry. My editor will never let me run the story based on what you’ve shown me so far. I need more proof.”

  Charles sat back in his chair and threw his hands up. “More proof? What more could you possibly need? The proof’s right there.” He pointed a hand toward his laptop.

  “No. It’s not all there,” she said. “For example, we don’t have proof that Manning is a C.I.A. operative.”

  When Charles opened his mouth to speak, Judy gave him the look she used to give him when she was the editor of the high school newspaper and he used to argue with her over a story. He closed his mouth.

  “You know that Manning used to be C.I.A. because you worked with him on joint missions when you were in the military. But that was more than ten years ago. For all you know, Manning could have left the C.I.A. and joined the F.B.I., the N.S.A. or any other government agency authorized to operate in the U.S.,” she said.

  Charles sat there for a moment considering her point. He hated to admit it, but she was right. They n
eeded more proof that Peachtree was acting on orders from the C.I.A. He rested his elbows onto the dining room table, put his head into his hands and racked his brain trying to figure out how they could acquire the proof they needed. He ran a hand over his face and noticed the stubble on his chin. It had been a long day and it promised to be an even longer week. Then it came to him. He looked up at her. “I’ve got a buddy in the F.B.I. who should be able to confirm that Manning is not an F.B.I. agent. He may be able to find out whether Manning is C.I.A., but he’s not going to be able to confirm or deny that publicly.”

  Judy smiled and joined him at the table. “All I need is a reliable source telling me that Manning is still a C.I.A. operative. That source could be you once you confirm with your F.B.I. buddy that Manning is still working with the C.I.A.”

  “We also have the fax number that Wilkes and the other Peachtree operatives sent their reports to. There’s got to be a way to look up who owns that number,” he said.

  “Leave that to me,” she said. “I’ve got a friend at the telephone company.”

  It was Charles’ turn to smile. “Why am I not surprised? You always had lots of helpful friends.”

  She laughed. “How else is a girl supposed to get what she needs in this world?”

  “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to help me,” he said.

  She waved a hand at him. “Anything for a friend. Besides, I should be thanking you. This is a big story. I need something like this to put me on the map. Who knows? After this, maybe the New York Times will offer me a job.”

  “Just be careful,” Charles said. “These people are dangerous. They’ve already taken out four people to cover this up. I don’t want you to be next.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. Besides, once the story’s out, the cat will be out of the bag. Peachtree won’t dare touch you or me then for fear of giving it credence.

  “I hope you’re right,” he said.