Cynthia didn’t press her point further, even if she could highlight how Sasha was skilled enough to fool everyone. That made her doubly dangerous, because it showed intent and purpose—and perhaps even training. Not that she would need it much. Everyone seemed fixated on overlooking her faults, even the mysterious disappearance of all that money. Yeah, look right past it to get at whatever they thought they could tap into between her ears.
“Well, we got her on the inside, and with lots of eyes on her,” Stan said. “If she’s doing something off, we’ll know it.”
Cynthia didn’t say it. It wouldn’t help her cause. But it was that inside part that worried her most. Inside and shoulder-to-shoulder with Martin, to put the sharpest point on it.
They gathered for the scheduled daily crisis status meeting twenty minutes later. Martin couldn’t figure out why they still held these meetings. Sasha had helped dismantle the crisis on the first day. Not yet allowed to touch a computer, she’d done the pointing, and he’d done the typing. It had proved a long day, and a tough one for him personally, coming directly from the hospital after getting released mid-morning.
But it was all over but for the whining—and the hand-wringing.
The rest amounted to a bunch of public relations machinations to pin this on someone other than the US, and provide the Chinese enough evidence to show full cooperation and defuse their ire. That’s what these crisis meetings had focused on, and he couldn’t tell why after the second one he needed to be here. At least today, attendance had dropped. Only he, Stan and Cynthia had come into the small conference room so far. Maybe that meant things were winding down. Finally.
“Anyone else coming?” Martin asked Stan.
“Robert and a guest.”
“Not Sasha?”
Stan traded a look with Cynthia before answering. “We’re necking down.”
“About time. Last of these meetings, I hope?”
“The last meeting was yesterday,” Cynthia put in.
“Funny. My computer calendar still says crisis post mortem.”
“Cover,” Stan replied. “Consider this a transition meeting. A pivot point of sorts.” He checked his watch.
Martin went to do the same, only to realize he’d forgotten his watch at home. He eyed the wall clock. One could never trust those things, but it said seven minutes past the top of the hour. Whoever the fourth person coming to this meeting was, he or she deserved a tardy slip.
“Transition,” Martin said. He eyed the clock again, this time to make a point. “Some VIP coming in to tell me all about this transition?”
Cynthia was grinning when he lowered his gaze to meet hers. She didn’t say it. But her half-mocking, half-flirting expression shouted it. Further proof of Martin’s sharpness and keen intellect. And something else danced with playfulness behind those blue eyes.
“Something like that,” Stan replied.
“Big VIP.” Martin tapped his watch-less wrist. “The kind that keeps you waiting, and you smile and act all thankful he’s gracing you with his presence when he finally shows up.”
“Something like that, for sure,” Cynthia said.
The door cracked open, its hinges moaning to part wide enough for a young African American woman to poke her head through.
“He’s here,” she said.
At once, Stan stood up. “We’re ready for him.”
Martin noticed Cynthia stood up as well. Yeah, VIP for double-sure.
The young woman stepped away, leaving the door open. Martin stole a glance at Cynthia, only to realize that with her attention fixed on the door, he could look at her as long as he wanted, and she wouldn’t notice. She stood almost at attention. For good measure, she tugged down on her suit jacket. Her jaw squared, and her mouth drew a thin, tight line. Her demeanor left Martin wondering what magnitude of VIP was about to grace them with his presence.
The young woman came back to hold the door for Mr. VIP himself. Realizing he was still sitting, Martin pushed up from his chair. Good thing, too. Mr. VIP gave Stan a quick pat on the shoulder and pushed past him to come straight for Martin. Robert Odehl came in behind him, shooting Martin a look—a be-a-good-boy look, Martin supposed.
Mr. VIP extended a hand, and Martin took it. Robert Odehl did the introductions. They shook hands. Martin lost the name in all the greetings, getting only the Secretary of Homeland Security title in front of the name.
Letting go of Martin’s hand, the secretary looked over at Cynthia. “Good to see you.”
With her lips drawing a tauter line, she gave him a curt nod. Really? Ms. Witty had nothing to say? For once, Martin mused.
Odehl broke the what-to-do-now awkwardness that followed the introductions. “The secretary is on a tight schedule, so we’ll get right to it.”
Cynthia upheld her tense stance for another moment before she reclaimed her seat. “Shall we?” she said waving at the other seats around the table.
The secretary took a seat next to where Martin stood. Stan drew a chair next to Cynthia. Martin, once more last on the uptake, sat last.
As it turned out, the secretary was there for ceremonial purposes only. At least that’s how it came across to Martin. Odehl did most of the talking, more than Martin had heard from him since Martin had joined this crazy ride.
More now that ever before, Martin saw where Cynthia got her gift for clever gab. Odehl took things a tad more seriously. He talked in a more direct manner. But man, did he love to talk about himself, and in particular, his accomplishments as head of a new—and hush, hush, Martin, not to be discussed beyond these walls—piece of government bureaucracy. It came with a cute acronym. ITAA, which stood for Information Technology Assurance Agency. Now that the US government had caught up to the vulnerabilities created by an ever-interconnecting digital universe, they wanted to secure the Homeland from the types of threats few saw, but would feel soon enough, if no one addressed them.
The secretary nodded with vigor. “Case in point, our most recent situation,” he said, avoiding the C word, “crisis.”
Martin felt compelled to say something, like: yeah, man, that’s what he was here for. To do his part in securing the Homeland. Glad to keep that to himself, he only nodded.
The secretary shifted in his seat before he added, “This situation illustrates how fragile and exposed our economy is to malicious acts.” He waved his hands as if to signify a grand, ungraspable thing. “This spans all of our digital infrastructure, not just military or government installations, but the key, crucial elements that run and enable our economy.”
He nodded, like that mumbo-jumbo gave any sort of clear direction on how to fix the problem or address threats. Martin held that in. He nodded back and pursed his lips like he’d heard a revelation.
The secretary turned to Odehl and nodded at him, passing the oral baton.
Odehl nodded back and turned to Martin. “So, a guy like you needs specifics, right?”
Martin smiled back.
“We’re looking to expand our scope,” Odehl added. “We have no choice, actually, but to extend beyond a limited, defensive role.”
Martin caught Cynthia raising an eyebrow and leaning in over the table. “I take it we’ve gotten special dispensation from on high.” She traded a look with Stan.
He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. His hand, wrist resting on the table, rose to convey a stop motion.
“Final arrangements are still in work,” the secretary said. “Suffice it to say we learned from 9-11 that we can’t over-constrain ourselves where it comes to securing our nation.”
Rah, rah, rah, Martin wanted to say, also glad he’d kept it to himself. He gave Odehl another nod, and tapped twice on the table with his fingers.
“You’re very quiet,” Odehl noted. “Any questions so far?”
“Consider me in receive mode.”
Odehl smiled. “Good.” He paused for a second, eyed Cynthia, then returned his gaze to Martin. “We’ve taken a hard look at your accomplishments.
All of our analysis indicates you’re the right guy for the job. We need people who think outside the box. We don’t want to be reacting to the clever malice the other guys might be dreaming to inflict on us. We don’t even want just to predict or imagine what that might be so we can plug up all the holes before they find them. What we need is innovative, outside the box thinking.”
“We want to do to them before they do to us,” Stan put in.
Odehl stopped to regard Martin. The secretary did the same, half-squinting. The other reason he’d come, Martin supposed—to get a reading of this boy wonder into whose hands they were about to entrust the keys to the kingdom.
Though Martin wanted to keep quiet, he felt compelled to say, “Your ITTA team is plenty sharp.”
Odehl smiled. “Thanks. But are they? Where they sharp enough to undo what… she cooked up?”
“We would’ve snuffed it soon enough.”
“We. Yes.” Odehl aimed a stiff index finger at Martin. “Meaning you. With them. I’m here to talk to you about that. How we want to expand your role.”
Martin forced a smile. “Like I said. In receive mode.”
“Good.” Odehl scooted his chair to draw closer. “Listen, Martin. I know that until now this hasn’t been a pleasant experience for you. Maybe you’ve even felt at times it’s beneath you. Taking out the digital trash, as it were.”
“It all pays the same.”
“But that’s not you. Not what makes you tick, is it?”
Martin shot Cynthia a sideways glance before returning his gaze to Odehl. “Is this the ‘I was made for something more’ part?”
Odehl exchanged a look with the secretary. The two of them had a little private moment, conveyed through half smiles.
Odehl turned back to Martin. “Weren’t you, Martin? Made for something more? For something more creative and meaningful? We’ve been observing your job performance. You’ve cooperated fully. You’ve done your part to help us sift through difficult technical situations. You even went operational, as it were, to bring Ms. Javan in. But, yes, Martin, you are meant for more. We can tell your current situation isn’t sustainable. Not for you, and not in light of the nation’s best interests.”
“So… I’m getting the corner window office, then.”
Cynthia snickered. Stan grinned. The secretary lifted his chin a bit, as if to get a better reading.
Odehl’s lips broke into a proud, fatherly smile. “Well, in this business, none of us get window offices, I’m afraid. Can’t let those probing eyes and ears peek at us through sunbathed windows.”
Martin eyed Cynthia again. If she’d said it, she would’ve sounded just like that. He thought how best to respond to Odehl’s slow, roundabout pitch, and decided for the shortest distance between two points.
He eyed the secretary. “Stan’s been telling me you guys are thinking of letting out a contract.”
The secretary turned to Odehl, gave him a brief little nod.
Odehl nodded at the secretary, then at Martin. “Yes. The government is about to release an RFP—request for proposal, that is. Normally these things get competed.” Odehl paused for dramatic emphasis. “But this one will need to go out ultra-black.”
“Sole source,” the secretary said.
Martin pursed his lips for a second. “Huh.”
“Which more or less means, it only goes out to trusted entities.” Odehl didn’t quite wink, but the sparkle in his eyes did it for him. “In this case, someone’s spent a great deal of time documenting justification for why we only have one such trusted entity.”
“Huh,” Martin said again, playing dumb. “I’m going to need more details on that.”
The secretary gave Odehl another nod. Odehl leaned back in his chair and turned to Stan Beloski. Tag, he was it.
“The sole source RFP is only one part of it,” Stan said. “We’ll need capital. Which means investors. Obviously, they’ll need to be trusted, too.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw Cynthia frown, like she’d connected a couple of important dots. Whatever they were, they had to do with funding.
“So… you’re creating a front company,” Martin replied. “Then you hand it a contract, and hope the Federal funding makes it self-sustaining. The trusted investors are happy, and hopefully the feds get the product they’re after.”
He eyed Cynthia again, wondering why she needed to be in the room for the pitch. She smiled and nodded back in approval. Martin got it then. He ought to think of her as the human lie detector. She sat there to gauge his every reaction, see what psychological markers he gave off in response to this proposal.
He faced Odehl. “So you went on this wide search for a trusted entity, and the best you could find was a hacker on probation?”
“Once they trusted you enough to remove your ankle bracelet, things started looking up,” Cynthia put in.
Martin had to smile at that. He and Cynthia exchanged another darting look.
“All right,” he said, once more facing Odehl. “I’d have to look at the fine print, maybe get a trusted lawyer to help me out. But it sounds… promising?”
Odehl let out a gruff chuckle. “Promising, huh?”
“It all depends on how interesting the work is,” Martin replied. “Like when you said a few minutes ago that you’re tired of playing defense and plugging holes.”
Odehl kept smiling. “Yes, what about that piques your interest?”
“Oh, that I’m assuming it has something to do with finding and poking holes in the other guy?”
Odehl’s perfect lineup of white teeth gleamed. “You were right, Cynthia. He’s sharp with far more than computer code.”
The secretary nodded, allowing a more generous smile to curl his lips this time.
The rest of the meeting and the remainder of the work day went by like a blur—one in which Martin recalled the bracelet on Sasha’s right ankle, and how it signified how far he’d come. His dazed state shook to some clarity when Cynthia approached him a few minutes after five.
“Shouldn’t you call it a day?” she said.
“I guess.”
“And celebrate a little, perhaps.”
“That sounds… premature?”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“I get it plenty.”
She tugged at his arm. “No you don’t. Dinner, genius. I’m asking you out to dinner.”
19» By Candlelight
Thirty minutes into it, Martin felt himself relax. As dates went, this one was going well. First, they hadn’t met by the restrooms to then run out through the kitchen. That was a big plus right there. Music played in the background. Their bottle of Meritage, allegedly Bordeaux-styled California wine stood two thirds empty, while their glasses already needed a full refill. Their main course plates stood in the disarray of near total consumption. Cynthia was laughing at his latest quip.
“So that’s how you judge restaurant quality?” she said.
“Like I said. Poor lighting makes me think, fishy, very fishy. And I don’t mean Salmon or Chilean seabass either. Every burger joint has full-on light. Anything goes creepy-crawling around the table, and you’re going to see it.” He pointed at the lone, LED candle at the center of their table. “Here? Not so good.”
She let out a short laugh. “But are you sure it’s only the food you’re concerned about?”
He grinned, catching on to her meaning and happy to run with it. “Well, yeah. If you’re going to make other evaluations, such as, for instance, the aesthetics of your dinner partner, light helps there, too.”
She laughed again. He wanted to believe he was making her laugh. On some level, it reassured him to know he could have that effect on her. But maybe the wine had more to do with it. Or maybe something else. Like she wanted to stoke his ego, make him feel like he was scoring big points with her. He couldn’t be sure.
He let her laughter subside. With a wide smile of his own, he watched her dab her mouth with the napkin.
“This is really nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
She held her glass out to him, and he poured most of what remained of the wine into it. He stopped only because she held her hand out to him and asked him something or other about whether he was trying to get her drunk so he could have his way with her.
“Anyway, you’re welcome,” she said.
“You didn’t have to.”
Cynthia gave him a single shoulder shrug. “Of course I did. Whenever I have a big achievement, like a promotion or something like it, Mommy and Daddy achieve détente, and take me out to dinner to celebrate.”
She didn’t say the rest. That he had no local family, not much of one anywhere, actually, and he had no social attachments to speak of. She was filling the gap. So very nice of her. For his part, he didn’t acknowledge her reference to work and his upcoming opportunity. He didn’t want to get into it with her, and had purposed not to touch the topic throughout their evening. Besides, it was all black, wasn’t it? Ultra-black. Can’t talk outside the vault.
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia said.
“Nothing.”
“Sure?”
“I have a lot to think about.”
“What’s there to think about?”
He didn’t reply. She was pushing, wasn’t she? She really wanted to go there, only to dance around it all with clever, vague references only he and she would understand.
“Actually, there is one thing to think about,” she added.
“If it has anything to do with wearing a tie every day, forget it.”
She smiled. “You can let others wear the ties. Like the CFO, for instance.”
“Huh?”
“Chief Financial Officer? A trusted… person that will look after the financial health of the enterprise.”
“What?”
“What’s this, you mean.”
“OK, what’s this?”
“Your first interview. Except you’re the one giving it.”
“You’re losing me.”
“Am I? Stop and think a bit.”
He did. “You?”
“Wow, such drenching confidence.”
Feral: An Our Cyber World Prequel Page 12