“Me individually and Martin individually? Or jointly?”
“Come on. Do I have to say it?”
“So that would be option number two.” She paused, foregoing the easy jab at Stan—the one that would point out he was jealous. Had always wanted his chance with Cynthia. Never got it.
“Emotions complicate things,” he said.
“And they create stronger bonds, too.”
“If they’re real.”
“What are you saying, Stan? That Martin would never fall for the likes of me?”
She waited for him to answer. She only got a shrug by way of reply.
“What does he see in me?” she said. “Is that your question?”
“It would just be less messy if things stayed professional.”
“He sees what we all see in one another, if we’re honest enough, Stan. A way to get ahead. We can call it devotion. We can call comradery or loyalty. We can even call it love. But at the end of the day, it’s all about what I can get from you and what I can do for you.”
His face grew longer, as if she’d pulverized the last of his hope in all that was good and wholesome with humanity. More likely, Stan saw her answer in more immediate terms, such as, all that she’d ever done for him, whatever bits of kindness she’d thrown his way, amounted to nothing more than manipulation. The thought shook her as well.
“Is that what Martin’s profile says?” he asked.
She shrugged and broke eye contact. Fixing her eyes on a small crevice in the wall to her left, she said, “He wants me on his side. As simple as that. Wants to make sure he has both Daddy and his little girl championing Spencer’s future at InfoStream.”
“What about Sasha?”
She faced him again. “What about her?”
“How does he feel about her?”
“He got what he needed from her a long time ago. That nifty code. And now, he’s squeezed her for a little more. For the same reason. To buttress his future at InfoStream.”
“That simple.”
“No, Stan. That complicated.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?”
She forced a smile. “Well enough, so long as we keep dangling promises of wealth and success.” She could feel her smile twisting into bitterness. “And me. We’ll keep dangling me as well.”
30» Final Answer
Whatever was going on in the control room by the time Sasha got to work at nine o’clock must have been serious.
“A situation,” the guard that escorted her to her office said. And he wouldn’t say much more.
She walked ahead of him down a long hallway adorned with one poster after another, each proclaiming InfoStream’s mission to safeguard the nation’s digital infrastructure. Sasha wondered which bits and bytes were in jeopardy today. From the looks of it, the ones with big dollar signs attached to them.
A quick ninety degree turn interrupted her musings. Heading the opposite way at speed-walking pace, Odehl brushed past her without any acknowledgment. In his wake, a middle-aged woman gave her a most imperceptible nod.
Sasha almost blurted out her name. Chana? She grit her teeth in time to avert the slip up, then blew the whole thing off by turning to her escort with a smirk. “Quite the fire, I guess.”
He said nothing.
“I’m sorry to disappoint, gentlemen,” Chana said to Robert Odehl and Stan Beloski. She gave Cynthia a sideways smile. “You don’t really expect me to contradict what my ambassador relayed to your State Department.”
Chana kept her gaze on Cynthia. What did she want? For Cynthia to break her silence? Cynthia kept her end of the bargain. Seated on the far end of the table, she retained the quiet observer role her father insisted she maintain throughout this meeting.
Stan leaned forward. “This is a sophisticated attack—”
“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time.” She waved off Stan like one swats at an annoying fly. “And the North Koreans and the Chinese wouldn’t go after Iran for teaming up with the Russians to destabilize the New York stock market, and in the process undermine several Israeli held investment funds. So that leaves us.”
“So you’re on the up and up,” Cynthia’s father interjected. “Mossad has nothing to do with this.”
Chana chuckled, then gave another dismissive wave. What did that mean? That Mossad didn’t do Cyber, a technically true if misleading observation? Or that if they’d executed it, the Iranians wouldn’t be up and running within hours of the latest attack?
Cynthia shifted in her seat, bemoaning her agreement to remain silent. If anyone should lead this conversation, it should’ve been her. Right now she’d love to bring up all those Cyber startups mining away inside the State of Israel—some of the best in the world, by many accounts.
“All right,” Chana said. “I’ll tell you something my ambassador didn’t dare say.” She waited a beat, enough for Odehl and Beloski to lean in.
“You ought not get so upset when the Iranians hold news conferences to blame you for things you haven’t done.” She waved her hand. “Thicker skins come in handy, even if you’re trying to angle for that gilded negotiation table.”
Almost in unison, her father and Stan leaned back in their chairs. Clueless, without an idea of where or how to press next, they sat there. Cynthia eyed her father. He avoided her gaze. When she returned her attention to Chana, Cynthia met her playful, borderline mocking smile.
“It must be good to work shoulder to shoulder with your father, yes?”
Cynthia let her eyes dart back to her father and Stan. Both of them stared back at her with doubtful frowns. Cynthia faced Chana again.
“Who would stand to gain in an attack that looked like either you or us perpetrated?” Cynthia said.
Chana narrowed her gaze. “Hmm. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have anything close to a solid guess.”
Cynthia swallowed. The way Chana said that suggested to Cynthia the opposite was true.
By the time Sasha walked out of InfoStream’s lobby, she had little doubt Chana would contact her. Sure enough, their agreed sign, a single brown coffee cup standing next to one of the outer garden’s benches confirmed it. Time for more clothes shopping at the local mall. Time for more furtive chitchat in a dressing room while whoever tailed Sasha waited outside.
In late afternoon traffic, it took Sasha nearly twenty minutes to reach the mall parking lot. Another five, and she entered the store, perused a couple of racks, and headed into the dressing room with an assortment of slacks and blouses. She didn’t see Chana in there. Not until Sasha came out to stand in front of the mirror to check out the first ensemble’s fit.
The woman didn’t look much like Chana. No one would have recognized her through the voluminous blond hair and crooked, eagle-beaked nose. For her lack of that usual dancing, mocking smile of hers, Sasha almost didn’t recognize her either. But one phrase, the sound of that voice, removed all doubt.
“Sometimes our actions have undesirable consequences,” Chana said.
Sasha didn’t respond. She could guess well enough. Her attacks on the Iranians had provoked a response the exact nature of which she did not know, but whose severity rose to a high enough level to grant Chana access to InfoStream for an emergency meeting.
“I know what you did.” Chana stepped up. Her voice dropped to a hiss. “I know why you did it. Or I can guess at the possibilities, anyway.”
“Do tell.”
“Because it makes your boy Martin’s project look all the more necessary. And perhaps, your skills to assist in the quest for ultimate security will trump all concerns about a checkered past.”
“What do you want?”
“Must we ask that question? Must we review first day class material?”
“I do not have what you want. They don’t let me touch anything but the upfront, conceptual stuff. I haven’t written a line of code—”
“No, not for them you haven’t.”
Sasha felt a heat rise up from her stomach and a chill de
scend along her back. “It will take more time to get what you want.”
“Based on today’s big event, I doubt you’ll ever get close enough to get at all of Martin’s final solution.”
“That’s just it. It’s not final. It’s still in development. And Martin wants to get me in. He’s pushing for it. Once I get cleared—”
“It won’t happen.”
Those three words pounded into her. There she had it, confirmation of what she’d known all along. But why did it upset her so much? Hadn’t she wanted for this day to come? Hadn’t she wanted her freedom? She had. She also desperately wanted to spend every moment with Martin. Now she knew those moments wouldn’t come inside InfoStream. Not for much longer. And she had little to no confidence that Martin would want to leave with her.
Sasha eyed the door. Outside another woman, a slender one this time, stood guard. Sasha slid back toward her dressing stall.
“What did they tell you about me?” Sasha said.
“You never came up.”
“Then how do you know—”
“One look at Cynthia Odehl, soon to be Cynthia Spencer is all it takes. She’ll never have it.”
Sasha fought back the urge to lash out. “She doesn’t make those decisions.”
Chana let out a truncated chuckle. “That’s right. Daddy Odehl does.”
“Martin has pull. He can make it happen.”
“You can keep believing that.” Now it was Chana that eyed the door. “Or we modify the mission so that you can give us what you already have.”
“What I already have?”
“Don’t play me for a fool, Sasha. Please. We’re both intelligent women who’ve reached a mutual accommodation. Let’s not ruin that through a fit of silly deception.”
Sasha looked away. She did her best to hide her face while acting out the part of someone reaching for the next outfit to try. She also knew the futility of the attempt. Chana knew. Or she suspected it, maybe had suspected it all along. And whatever she learned by talking to the Americans today had provided the clinching bit of evidence she needed to know, or to at least add to her suspicion a sufficient measure of certainty.
“It isn’t the full prize,” Chana added. “But it will do. Quite nicely.”
Yeah, nicely. The boys in Tel Aviv would love it if Sasha turned over what she had, or what they imagined she had. Which more than likely involved—in their minds—a way to breach the Iranians at will. No way they could guess that Sasha had by now tapped nearly every digitally connected intelligence apparatus the Iranians used. If they only knew that, they would rejoice and salivate greatly.
Sasha pulled up a royal blue blouse and held it up to the light. “I don’t have much of this color in my wardrobe. I kind of like it. What do you think?”
A tap on the dressing room’s main door signaled them. Incoming civilian.
A round woman and a waif teenage girl walked in.
“It’s good,” Chana said. “But it’s not your size.”
“You think?”
“Clearly too big. Let me get you one that’s one size smaller. In the meantime, do think about that other one. I think you should decide about it quickly.”
With that Chana walked out, leaving Sasha to ponder “that other one.” She knew it would come to this, but not quite like this. Why had she done it, gone through all the effort? Precisely so that she’d have something to trade in. Whether that involved a trade with the Americans or with Chana’s Tel Aviv crew, she hadn’t known. As she changed back into her own clothes and as she walked out, it occurred to her that it would all come for naught. What did the Americans or the Israelis have to trade? Not what Sasha wanted. Not who she wanted most.
Martin tried not to go into the meeting already sulking. But who knew? Maybe a little righteous indignation would help. They’d kept him waiting all day with meetings he couldn’t attend. They hadn’t said that, but he got the vibe. Invitation not granted.
He caught a glimpse of her leaving: an old woman he didn’t recognize. She’d given him one short, sharp glance. She knew who he was, no doubt about it. But when they’d brought him into the same room they’d used for their limited attendance meetings, no one had said anything about her.
Martin decided to let it slide. He wanted something from them. Best to focus on that, act as amenable as possible, avoid his instinct to turn into the class jerk. Besides, from the glum expressions Robert Odehl and Stan Beloski wore on their faces, they probably wouldn’t take sarcastic or cynical remarks about secret meetings well. They hadn’t gotten whatever they wanted from their chat with that lady. That much Martin knew.
Now, Cynthia—she was a hard read. Seated on the far end of the narrow, wood top conference room table, she wore a blank expression, though a spark of something danced in her eyes. Something playful, something flirty, even. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to think.
“Thanks for waiting,” Odehl said once he closed the door.
“We didn’t expect it to go that long,” Stan said with an apologetic, almost cracking edge to his voice.
“Something I should be concerned about?” Martin said, trading glances among the three of them.
Odehl waved off the question. “Nah. Your payloads are still doing great.”
“Good. So on to business, then?”
“Why not?” Odehl said.
“Everything on track?”
“Sure,” Odehl replied.
Stan kept quiet and shifted in his chair. Whatever danced in Cynthia’s eyes, sparked brighter.
“Everything?” Martin said.
Odehl’s face went back to glum. “It doesn’t look like Sasha’s clearance is coming through.”
Doesn’t look like… That suggested hope. In the way one hints at it when there isn’t any?
“That doesn’t sound like good news.”
Odehl shot his daughter a sharp look. Martin got it. Too chicken to deliver the full extent of the bad news, he’d left it up to her.
Martin turned to her.
She leaned forward and rested her weight on her elbows. “It’s a no-go, Martin. Too much murky baggage in her past.”
“So we pumped her for what she could give us, and now, off with her head.”
Cynthia flashed a faint smile. “We’ll take good care of her.”
“With or without an ankle bracelet?”
Cynthia turned to her father. “Give us a minute, please.”
Without objection, Odehl and Stan stood up to leave the room. Cynthia watched them, as if ensuring the door closed behind them just right was of critical importance. Then she got up and came over to Martin. With unhurried movement, she grabbed a chair and turned it so she could sit facing him. Once more she leaned forward, this time resting her elbows on her knees.
“You know I care about you, Martin.”
“Still angling for that CFO job?”
She held his gaze for a moment. “Not the point.”
“Sure.”
“There are things I rather not say because I know that if you hear them, you’ll be hurt. Greatly. I rather let you keep thinking of her as a silly hacker.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That murky background of which we spoke a minute ago…”
Martin bit the inside of his lip. “I’m a big boy.”
She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. Left it there. “I don’t mean to talk down to you.” Her voice came soft and soothing.
“Is it that bad?”
“She’s Iranian. You know that.” She paused to let that sink in. “You watch the news. Let that fill in the blanks for you.”
“You think she works for the Iranians?”
“We don’t know that. Let’s just say we find enough red flags to make a full clearance an act of foolishness. So, yes, unfortunately, we get what we need from her and take her out of this building.”
Martin started to withdraw his forearm, but her grip held him there. With gentle firmness. And he didn
’t mind it. Felt drawn to it, in fact. He found her forcefulness appealing, maybe even comforting.
“You never thought she should’ve been within one hundred miles of this place,” he said.
She smiled. “And as you can see, I don’t always get what I want either.”
“You were out to get her all along. You went digging for more and found it.”
She kept her voice low. Melodic. “I’m not an investigator, Martin. All we had to do was wait for the background check to complete. It all poured out then.”
“That woman that was here earlier? She part of the flood?”
“How about we look forward?”
“Sure. What happens to Sasha now?”
“Today was her last day. We’re collecting what few things she had in her office as we speak.” She straightened up. With her hand still on his forearm, she pulled herself closer. “Now let’s focus on you. Your future.”
And hers with him. She didn’t have to say it, but he got it.
What was this? Her attempt to seduce him into compliance? The thought struck him as repellent. For about ten seconds. Then he fell into her eyes. He smelled her perfume. Her mint-flavored breath enveloped him. That same confusion he’d felt about her before swirled now. It came down like a tornado spout, ready to touch down. Would he hate himself for this? Would he regret what he was feeling, what he was about to let himself do?
She closed her eyes. He closed his, too. And they kissed. He let himself sink into her, and did his best to push the sense of betrayal away. But it wouldn’t budge. He tried to cover it with self-promises that this would work out for the best: that a life with Cynthia assured his success at InfoStream. But the betrayal poked through all the same.
He pulled back.
“I want to be there when she goes.”
Cynthia pulled back too. Her eyes wavered between warmth and cool steel. “Sure about that? It may turn… awkward.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Very well.” She stood up. “We go now.”
On the way, Cynthia told him they would pick up Sasha at her apartment and take her to the airport that night. Cynthia called her team. She drove while Martin looked out the window. Sometime during the drive, she reached across to take Martin’s hand. He let her.
Feral: An Our Cyber World Prequel Page 21