Encrypted: An Action-Packed Techno-Thriller

by Carolyn McCray

  Quirk turned back to his work. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

  “Did you see me out there? I rocked!”

  The youthful hacker’s tone sounded unimpressed. “Did you see the gun barrel pointed at your head? It was there, because I taught the kids to simulate Hunt and the other agents’ movements exactly.” He pointed to the smaller bank of screens as he typed. “Look at screen three if you don’t believe me.”

  But when Ronnie glanced at the screen, there was a plague report. Great. Quirk would be using a magnifying glass to look for boils on his skin for the next six months.

  “Sorry, go to four,” Quirk said. “I’m Tivoing three’s feed.”

  Of course he was. Then he would drop the show down to DVD and play the “Six Signs of the Plague” report every morning to add to his daily “health checklist.”

  “Now watch,” he ordered.

  Screen four split in two. The left half showed Zach and the FBI’s movements, and the right showed the kids. As the chase neared a close, the two screens merged so that a cartoon Zach was the one who captured Ronnie, cuffed her, and then pulled her into a passionate kiss.

  “Freak,” she said to Quirk as she pulled off her gear, throwing the thoroughly soaked equipment onto a table filled with dozens of “beta” devices.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Quirk shouted as he ran over, picking the discarded items up as if they were the crown jewels.

  “Hey, hey, hey, yourself,” she said. “You promised me seamless, real-time infrared-to-normal spectrum integration in case of a bright flash.”

  Quirk was still busy picking out the equipment, drying each with a dust-free cloth. “And how many times did those fireworks go off right by you, and voilà, no white-out?”

  “Hello? Blinding snow as I went to jump.”

  “The video feed took less than zero point one four seconds to kick in.”

  “Yeah, well, zero point one four seconds is a long time in midair,” she answered as she tugged off her damaged gloves.

  “Then join a freaking gym rather than leaping from tall buildings.”

  Ronnie chucked the gloves across the room. Unfortunately, they landed palm-side down, popping a few more beads. Worse, they landed on one of her assistant’s “proto-types.” And, given the fact that Quirk was a huge fan of classic sci-fi, many of the items either looked like something out of Flash Gordon or a future issue of Scientific American. No matter. These were his “babies.”

  Quirk rushed over to his workbench. “Oh! You are an evil, evil, evil woman.”

  Ignoring her assistant, Ronnie took one of his precious no-dust rags to wipe the clinging sweat from her face. “Fund redistribution complete?”

  “Down to the penny,” he said without looking up.

  “Our cut?”

  “Eleven point six two two percent of the total take.”

  Ronnie smiled. Even beside himself with grief, Quirk knew his numbers. “For a grand total of?”

  “A cool two hundred forty two million, two hundred thousand dollars,” Quirk said as he surveyed all the equipment. “But I’m not even sure that covers the damage here.”

  Once on a roll, not a lot could divert Quirk, so Ronnie turned her back while he enumerated each and every single, tiny component and what it was going to cost to get it repaired or replaced. Besides, she had a download to finish. Rapidly logging on to one of the auxiliary computers, Ronnie didn’t find the Panic! At The Disco bootleg, but the new Band of Horses cut was an adequate substitute.

  “Well, for once, you’re right,” Quirk said from behind her.

  Given the unusual admission from her assistant, Ronnie swiveled her seat around. She had to see this to believe it. “About?”

  Quirk nodded toward the mega-screen at Zach’s image. “He’s even hotter when he’s pissed.”

  When her assistant was right, he was right. Even though she had them memorized, Ronnie surveyed the agent’s every feature. Brown, close-cut hair. Not that G-man buzz cut, but a little longer on top, which made the bangs fall ever so perfectly over his forehead without a hint of product. If he had any mousse in there at all, he was a master at hiding it. Then that strong forehead, with just enough lines to know that he wasn’t a youngster, but not enough to make a woman worry that he might need Viagra. And his eyes. What could she say about those? Green, piercing, perfect. Full cheekbones and a square jaw were a given.

  Oh, but those lips. What would they feel like? Or better, what would they taste like? Even though the image was a headshot, Ronnie knew the contours of his body. Broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and thighs that made her blush. Guess that’s what two hours a day at the gym brought you. Could she get a more perfect fantasy boyfriend?

  Sure, some days she worried that she obsessed about a man she could never meet, but hey, what was the alternative? What real-life man could she have? She lived outside—way, way, outside—the law, living a life on the run. And any other hacker of her stature was either gay, or should have been. That lot was pretty pasty and anemic from years in front of the computer.

  No, the Zach fantasy was the far superior option. Otherwise, she would have no love life. And women with no hope and no dreams usually ended up in a smelly house with a bunch of cats while they themselves gave up on personal hygiene. She was not going to become that woman. Not with that hunk’s picture to keep her company. That and another two hundred million bucks in the bank made her a pretty happy, well-adjusted chick.

  * * *

  Life was not good, Zach thought as he parked the car in front of the field office. Another three cars pulled in behind him. Even though he had known it was fruitless, they had still done their due diligence and combed the area for any evidence of the Robin Hood hacker.

  Of course, there was none. And the one piece of equipment that might have held any clues he had thrown across the roof in a moment of rage. He was sure there would be a write-up on that incident in his future. And did he mention that his shins still hurt like a “mo” from that high-jump stunt?

  Before the other agents cast him a curious eye, he exited the car and walked toward the entrance. Walked. He didn’t charge toward it, or even stride in that direction. Nope, walking without a limp was about the best he could muster at this point.

  As he opened the door, Zach realized that his night was about to get even worse. Grant sat on top of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. The cat that ate the canary.

  “I got my man…” Grant said, pointing his thumb toward the sole occupant of the holding cell, an older man with even more haunted eyes than Zach. Only Fifer could be proud of bringing in an obviously demented senior citizen who had chosen to torch a painting while security was in the room.

  “And you?” Grant asked with that syrupy-sweet tone of someone who already knew the answer to his question.

  Zach didn’t indulge his partner. Grant might have been away from the crime scene when everything went down, but, no doubt, his partner was filled in on the drama over the radio.

  Biting back the pain from his shins, Zach headed for the coffee machine. He had never needed caffeine so much in his life. As he passed the holding cell, the old man lunged, grabbing Zach by the lapel.

  “You must release me!”

  Zach struggled, but the geezer had a grip like steel. During the struggle, the old man’s sleeves fell back to reveal a mass of old scars. What in the hell was this guy into?

  “We must burn the false effigy to find the true symbol!”

  There was no breaking the arsonist’s hold.

  “The Hidden Hand must—”

  Pulling back, Zach thought he was almost free, but then the old guy jerked him forward, banging Zach’s forehead against the bars. Add that to the list of bruises to both his body and ego that he had to endure today. Zach wasn’t surprised when his fist flew back reflexively to punch the perp and end this struggle right here and now, but something in the old man’s eyes stopped him.

  It wasn’t insanity.

  It was cl
arity. A level of clarity that Zach didn’t know existed.

  “Armageddon comes, child,” the man said as he released his coat. “You must prepare.”

  Like breaking from a trance, the arsonist stumbled backward. Zach lunged to catch him, but the old man crumpled to the floor.

  “Dude, I got him into the car without resorting to violence,” Grant said, obviously mistaking the action as a punch. “That’s going on your record.”

  Zach ignored his partner and watched as the man rose, mumbled to himself, and then finally slumped on the cot. Before Zach could get out his keys to open the cell and ask the old man what he meant, his boss’ door flew open.

  “Hunt!”

  Everyone else melted away as Zach sighed.

  “In my office, now!”

  This night was never going to end.

  * * *

  The room’s energy had shifted from angry grumbling to frantic confirmation as Amanda sat quietly. What else could she do? The sound of typing filled the room as the only layperson in the room continued to study the map.

  “This may not be as bad as it seems,” the CIA liaison said.

  Henderson cocked an eyebrow. “The first plague ravaged Europe and brought on the Dark Ages.”

  “Okay, probably that bad for Europe, but the EU has been very cooperative about placing travel restrictions on international flights, even instigating body temperature checks before passengers board.” Seeming not quite as self-assured, Devlin scanned the room. “I mean, we might be able to keep this from crossing the pond.” He paused and looked at Amanda. “Right?”

  Amanda kept her eyes averted as Henderson picked up the argument.

  “He is right. If these fanatics are looking to re-create the Black Death, this continent might be spared.”

  “I doubt it,” Amanda said before she thought. The spotlight was away from her. Why did she swing it back on herself?

  Henderson was on his feet again. “But we weren’t involved in the last epidemic.”

  His logic might feel sound, but Amanda knew in her gut that it was flawed. “The plague claimed a quarter of the world’s ‘known’ population. I don’t think anywhere is safe this time.” She looked at Devlin. He, of all people, knew the resentment that the rest of the world felt toward America. If someone were willing to throw down the gauntlet of bioweapons onto the world stage, the United States wasn’t going to get a free pass.

  “Especially not this country…not this time.”

  * * *

  Lino stood in line, exhibiting patience far beyond his years. While others grumbled about the long delays created by the new ear-temperature check, he was content to wait. The Hidden Hand had anticipated this precaution. Anticipated it, and used it to their advantage.

  Just before it was his turn to have the flight attendant insert the cone into his ear, Lino used a cough to cover spraying his ear lobe with the contagion. Apologizing in Italian for the wait, the weary attendant placed the cone into his ear, and then waited for the beep.

  Thirty-two degrees Celsius. Perfectly normal. Lino watched as she pulled off the plastic sleeve from the digital thermometer. His intent was not to contaminate the thermometer. That was impossible, since they were using the sterile technique. But the flight attendant? A small bead of contaminated liquid touched the attendant’s gloved finger. That was all it took.

  He moved forward to make room for the next passenger, but stayed close enough to quench his curiosity. Perfectly executed, the flight attendant gently pulled down on the man’s earlobe before she inserted the thermometer. Once it beeped and the cone was free of his ear, the man rubbed it to shake that strange feeling of being somehow violated, and then walked off.

  The contagion should last for at least another hundred passengers. Another hundred who would become ill, spreading it to their families and friends. Then, they would die. Then all of them would die.

  With a grin on his lips, Lino boarded his plane. The nonstop flight from Venice to New York, New York.

  CHAPTER 5

  Undisclosed Location

  10:48 p.m., MST

  Ronnie was well into downloading her fourth bootleg as Quirk finished packing up the damaged equipment.

  “You know…” her assistant began in his singsong voice. Ronnie braced herself. She wasn’t going to like what came out of his mouth next. “When we experience these ‘technical difficulties’ during your little ‘training’ sessions, we could take a higher percentage of the total take to keep our profit margin up.”

  She gave him a “don’t go there” look.

  It didn’t work. “I mean, what’s the difference between eleven point four two two and, let’s just go wild and say, sixteen point one?”

  She gave him her “don’t you dare go there” look. This one worked.

  “Fine, fine. It’s your paradise.”

  Both looked over at screen eight. An ad for a beautifully tranquil island shimmered back at them. Beneath the picture was the price. Four point five billion dollars. A small price, really, to pay for your own country.

  Quirk obviously decided to try a new tack. “You know, someone could swoop in and buy your island out from under you before you fill your coffers.”

  “With this information coming up on Google?”

  Ronnie ran an Internet search on the island, and read the results. “The island’s limited fresh water is contaminated with arsenic. Malaria infestation wiped out the indigenous population.” She turned to Quirk. “And now, with the plague stuff I could put in there? No one is going to buy this tiny municipality.”

  “How did you…” Quirk looked at the top of the website. “That’s France’s official…” He got up. “Whatever. I’m out of here.”

  The twentysomething checked his hair in a mirror. What gay man went outside without checking his appearance first?

  Ronnie grinned. “We should probably pack up tomorrow and run silent for a few weeks before we head to Japan.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Satisfied with his level of beauty, Quirk headed for the door. “You’re not coming?”

  Swinging her chair back toward the computer, Ronnie shrugged. “Nah. I’ve got to re-download that bootleg.”

  “You’re not going to call him again, are you?”

  She tried to sound innocent. Really, really innocent. “Who?”

  Quirk spun her chair back around and pointed to the larger-than-life image of Zach.

  “Come on! That was a phase I went through,” she deflected.

  Her assistant seemed thoroughly unconvinced. “If you call him, you could give away that we’ve finally been able to patch into their internal surveillance.”

  “Calling him didn’t even cross my mind.” Except, like, twelve million times.

  “And they’ve upgraded their server. Warp may be a government worker, but he’s not stupid.” Quirk searched her face. “Today proved that he’s caught on to our tricks. He might just be able to trace us.”

  Ronnie tilted her head. Trace them? Trace the two greatest cyber minds in the world?

  Quirk must have read her mind. “Okay, maybe not track us down to this building, but at least within a hundred miles.”

  “I know, totally, I know,” Ronnie tried to sound extremely convincing, since she had already cued up the speed dial number for the El Paso field office.

  Quirk gave her that long, disbelieving look, then sighed. “Maybe even fifty miles.”

  “Got it,” Ronnie said, trying to sit perfectly still.

  “Okay then, tomorrow,” Quirk said as he walked out, shaking his head the whole time.

  Thank goodness he was gone! Not a second later, a voice came over the Internet connection. “El Paso’s FBI field office switchboard. Who may I connect you with?”

  * * *

  How many different ways could Zach’s supervisor say that he screwed up? Dropped the ball? Came up empty? The Agent in Charge was going to have to pull out a thesaurus soon.

  “Are you even payin
g attention, Hunt?” Danner asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Danner scowled, obviously not believing Zach one bit. “At some point, we’ve got to reassess our strategy.”

  Zach sat up straighter. He had been waiting for this talk. The warm-up to pulling him as the point man on the Robin Hood hacker case. Trying to keep his breathing steady, he studied Danner’s face. Even though his boss was a ball-buster, this wasn’t easy for Danner.

  “You’ve had a good four attempts, this last one with a running start, and you still haven’t even been able to identify where she was, let alone develop a strategy to catch her.”

  Before Zach could ramp up his well-rehearsed defense, a knock came at the door.

  “Later,” Danner said with authority.

  But despite the obvious dismissal, Agent Hollinger cracked open the door.

  “You deaf?” Danner demanded.

  “No, sir…” Hollinger answered. “But…”

  Danner didn’t have much patience on a good day. “But, what?”

  “Well, somebody claiming to be the ‘Robin Hood hacker’ is on the line for Hunt.”

  “Yeah, right,” Danner replied. “Tell her to throw us a couple mil.”

  Zach sighed. They got at least a dozen calls like this after one of her escapades. News spread fast over the Internet of her victories, and kooks always wanted to take credit.

  “Why are you still standing there?” Danner asked Hollinger.

  “Um, Warp was pretty excited. He said something about the way the signal was being rerouted had her signature.”

  Zach was out of his chair. She had called the office before. But it had been months. Could it really be her? He looked at Danner, who clenched his jaw and then nodded toward the door. “Go.”

  * * *