The boils were rupturing, which meant that her lymph nodes were rupturing. Which meant her immune system’s last resorts were giving out. Amanda turned to Jennifer. Her assistant’s lymph nodes had been gone for over four hours. Now her arms were a wreck of pustules and open sores. Yet still she typed. Slower than even an hour before, with breaks to catch her breath.
“I want to grow up to be just like you,” Amanda said, placing her hand over Jennifer’s. Her assistant gave it a weak squeeze, and then went back to calculating the average mean derivation of plague resistance in the tristate area.
“Amanda, you had better listen to this,” Henderson said as he turned up the television. Anderson Cooper was back on, and looking a hell of a lot like Jennifer. They weren’t even bothering with makeup anymore. How could any makeup cover bloodshot eyes?
“All U.S. air travel has been suspended. I repeat, even small, private aircraft have been grounded. The only aircraft allowed in the sky is Air Force One. Please be advised that if you attempt to fly and ignore demands to land, you will be shot down.” Anderson stopped and wiped his face with his hand. “This is what it has come to, my fellow citizens. Anybody that is considering fleeing, please think it through…Where are you going to go?”
Devlin, who must have snuck in during the broadcast, turned the volume back down. “I’ve got equally bad news.”
Seriously, how much worse could any news get?
“Our CIA operative, the one tasked with finding the code breaker, has gone silent. We don’t know if he is dead or gone underground because he was hunted, but we’re pretty sure the hacker has escaped.”
Amanda felt the air rush from her lungs. The entire point of doing all of this was to be ready when the Hidden Hand’s code was broken. What were they doing, then? What hope did they have left?
Devlin, though, gave a tight grin. “So, I’d like to offer my assistance in any way I can.” He looked at Henderson. “Better late than never, right?”
The CIA liaison then turned his gaze on Amanda. “May I?”
Why the hell not? Amanda thought as she scooted her chair over.
If they were on a fool’s errand, they might as well all be fools together.
CHAPTER 21
Memphis, Tennessee
2:57 a.m., CST
Graceland. Graceland. Graceland. Quirk repeated the name over and over again in his head. Graceland. It couldn’t be true, could it? He would pinch himself, except, you know, he didn’t want to bruise his well-moisturized, delicate skin.
He was so excited that he didn’t even complain that the small aircraft they “borrowed” didn’t have sparkling water, nor did he even utter a peep when he was crammed in the back of this “borrowed” SUV with the stinky Frenchman and Ronnie. They were in Memphis on their way to Graceland. How could he complain?
Graceland.
Ah, to visit where Elvis had lived and died. To breathe the air that the King breathed.
The only downside to being a world-renowned hacker was that you seldom went sightseeing. You lived your life in safe houses and lead-lined rooms. Which worked out nicely with his desire to avoid all form of germ contact, but oh, Graceland was so worth the risk—of even the plague.
Which reminded him. Quirk checked his phone—no messages from Jennifer. But from the newscasts it looked like Tennessee hadn’t been hit hard yet by the Black Death because, well, it was Tennessee. Probably not a lot of travelers from Venice booked their next flight to Memphis. But the rest of the country? Especially New York?
He didn’t even try to suppress the shudder. All those infected—breathing, hacking, and coughing. Again, the shudder. Quirk turned to Ronnie to give her a well-deserved “I told you so,” to find her laptop open and fingers on the keyboard, but her head was propped up against the window. Given that the French guy was unabashedly snoring, Quirk assumed that Ronnie was asleep as well.
Quirk looked ahead at the passenger’s seat to find Zach in nearly the same position. Oh, the nerve! He’d gone all Special Agent to secure the shotgun position, and then fell asleep? That just wouldn’t do.
As he opened his mouth to let the entire car know his disdain, Quirk caught the pilot’s eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. Those liquid brown orbs, so like molten chocolate, silenced Quirk. Fine. Maybe he didn’t have to awaken everyone. He could let them know his disappointment upon their arrival.
Quirk gave a little shrug. Of course, he rolled his eyes so that the pilot knew exactly the toll keeping silent was taking.
Then the pilot winked.
Okay, there were definite perks to being on the road.
* * *
Zach opened the car door and was met with warm, heavy air. It was just early May, and already the South was ready to drown visitors with humidity. He glanced across the street to the wrought iron gates that guarded the mansion. They were aptly decorated with musical notes and Elvis’ iconic figure. They were the perfect protectors of the white columns of Graceland, even this late at night, illuminated against the dark sky.
Funny, Zach had been here…how many times? Yet, never at night. During his childhood, they’d come to Elvis’ mansion, but always during the day with the mobs and mobs of tours. Which was kind of ironic, since Elvis had moved out here to the “country” to get away from the maddening crowds. In the end, the maddening crowds had followed him to Graceland.
Weird to be here again, especially under these circumstances.
Although Quirk didn’t seem to share his unease. Even though they were across the street from the mansion, the kid was snapping picture after picture, making the pilot move this way or that to get the best shot. Of course, he’d said they needed surveillance pictures, but come on, he knew a fan photo shoot when he saw one.
It was odd to think that such everyday, ordinary suburban items such as a strip mall surrounded a prominent landmark like Graceland. The mansion, in some small way, reminded Zach of the White House. How surprised he’d been to find the nation’s seat of power surrounded on every side by… well, everything and anything. The White House was an oasis in a sea of city buildings. Much like Graceland.
Next to him, Ronnie began to get out of the car, stretching as she straightened.
“So that’s the King’s crib, eh?”
“Yep.”
“Well, security is so bad that 2005 is calling, and wants it back,” Ronnie said as she yawned, pulling out her palmtop. “I broke through its firewall in, like, twenty-two seconds flat. After we neutralize the two security guards, we should be able to slide in and get whatever painting we need—”
“Of Elvis,” Zach added. “The painting we need is of Elvis. It was his father’s last gift before Elvis died.”
“Okay…” Ronnie said, tilting her head.
Zach tried to shrug it off. “Dad was a pretty big fan. We came here on summer breaks.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Zach realized that Graceland was the last family vacation before his dad…He shook off the memory. What in the hell was he doing dwelling on crap like that, when the world was under siege by the Hidden Hand?
“Anyway, I know exactly where the painting is hung.”
Ronnie went to say something, but Quirk burst into their conversation. “So, are we ready?”
“We?” Ronnie answered. “Since when do ‘we’ do the actual recon work?”
“Um, since it’s Graceland,” Quirk rambled on, pulling out his tablet. “I say we go in the back here…”
Zach looked at the schematic and shook his head. “Nice try.”
“What?” Quirk said apparently trying to look innocent.
Ronnie glanced at Zach. “Yes, I’d love to hear what Quirk is up to.”
“That,” Zach said pointing to the map, “is the window to the jungle room.”
The young assistant took in a sharp breath. He was busted, and he seemed to know it.
“Quirk?” Ronnie pressed.
“Well, yes, it is the jungle room, but that doesn’t mean tha
t it isn’t the most strategic location for insertion.”
Again, nice try. Zach pointed to the room on the map that had served as Elvis’ living room. “The painting is just to the right of the front door. I go in there, grab the painting, and then come back out again.” He nodded toward the pilot. “Our driver will have the SUV revved and ready for the road. I should be in and out within a minute.”
Zach thought that pretty much settled things when Francois stepped off the curb and headed for the mansion.
* * *
Ronnie rushed along with the others to corral Francois back to the car, but the Frenchman was on a mission. Actually, he seemed more like a moth to a flame. He had a singular purpose, and that was to get into Graceland.
“Yeah,” the pilot sighed as he stopped giving chase. “I’ll get the car.”
As Zach tried to wrangle Francois, Ronnie turned to Quirk. “I’ll take the property, you take the periphery.”
The younger man frowned, clearly wanting to be at “one” with Graceland, but even Quirk must have realized that now was not the time to argue. Her assistant brought up the energy grid that serviced the area with two swipes of his finger across his palmtop.
“Bring down a whole city block so they don’t zero in on Graceland as the target,” Ronnie added as she set off a perimeter breach at the back of the property. All thirteen point eight acres to the back of the property. With only two guards, one of them was going to have to hop in that golf cart and ride out to check on the alarm. That would leave only one guard at the gate. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, had Francois not decided to go on his walkabout.
The entire block plunged into darkness. Streetlights went out. The mansion’s façade darkened. Hopefully, security would chalk it all up to a power surge or downed power line.
Zach was clearly trying not to make a scene. However, no amount of coaxing stopped the old man’s march to the gates of Graceland. Even now, the gate’s guard exited the little shack behind the fence and stood watching the very awkward group.
“Down all video feeds,” Ronnie whispered. Many of these buildings might have backup generators.
“Look,” Quirk retorted, “you worry about those gorgeous gates, hon. I’ve got the rest.”
They had to trot to keep up as Francois and Zach reached the wrought iron gates. Francois stopped, swaying from side to side, his eyes intent on the mansion behind them.
“I am really sorry,” Zach said to the uniformed guard. “We were just trying to show Grandpa Graceland, and he kind of…”
Zach indicated the clearly altered Francois.
“I understand,” the guard said, although he didn’t exactly look all that understanding. “But you are all going to have to back up. This is private property.”
“You heard the man, Francois,” Zach said, trying to urge the Frenchman back. “We’ve got to go.”
Francois refused to budge. Zach spoke to the old man as his eyes darted to Ronnie. “The nice guard can’t open the gates for us.”
Ronnie knew a cue when she heard one. Tapping into Graceland’s security matrix, she hit the controls for the gate. A loud clunk sounded and the metal lurched; however, the sides did not swing open.
“What the hell?” the guard drawled, backing up.
She hit the command again. Again, the gate clunked, but did not open. Damn it! There must have been a physical lock that wasn’t controlled electronically. The guard went to pull his gun. Zach reached for his, but it was long gone back in El Paso, and since they didn’t have a safe house in Tennessee… Imagine that—he was unarmed.
Zach was FBI through and through. He charged the gate, hitting it squarely with his shoulder. The gate groaned but didn’t give way.
“Get back!” the guard yelled, pulling his weapon out with a shaky hand.
“The latch,” Ronnie urged.
Zach slipped his hand between the ironwork and popped the metal latch holding the gate shut. Freed of its restraint, the gate swung open as the guard stumbled. His hand flew to the radio on his shoulder.
“We’ve got intruders!”
But Zach was there, knocking the radio from his hand, getting the guard in a chokehold before the man could even raise a finger. “Just relax,” Zach said, closing off the man’s windpipe. “I swear—it’s just like taking a nap.”
The guard did anything but relax, flailing and clutching at Zach’s hands, and then he slowed, closing his eyes. Zach let up as the guard went slack. He bent down to check the guy’s pulse, however. Francois didn’t miss a beat as he headed straight toward the mansion’s front door. Ronnie checked the security feed. The offsite monitors were only getting static. Unfortunately, the damned the golf cart was making a quick U-turn, making a beeline for the mansion. The other guard must have heard at least some of the guard’s transmission.
“Damn it, Quirk,” she hissed. “You’ve got to throw up enough interference to block communications.”
“Um, I’m doing my part,” he replied. “Yell at Mr. Hellfire in a Hurry up there.”
As Zach dragged the unconscious guard to the small shack, Ronnie hurried after Francois. Her assistant didn’t keep up the pace. “Quirk!”
“What?” he protested. “I can’t hack and run at the same time.”
Ronnie had perhaps never felt so vindicated. “Which is why I insist on training under all conditions.”
“Oh, forgive me. I’m not all Lara Croft.”
She ignored his barb, which really wasn’t that much of a barb, all things considered. Instead, she concentrated on getting that front door unlocked. Zach caught up with them just as they passed the large stone lions that stood sentry at the entrance to the mansion.
“Are we good to go?” Zach asked on the run.
Ahead of them, Francois climbed the four steps up to the front door and opened it.
Since no blaring alarm went off to wake the neighbors, Ronnie answered, “Guess so.”
With the sound of the golf cart’s whine coming around the corner, they rushed into the mansion.
* * *
The door nearly hit Quirk as Zach slammed it shut, but still Quirk did not move an inch. Why would he? Here he stood in Elvis Presley’s mansion. White, pure white, washed over him—only punctuated by bright blues and reds. Graceland’s classic revival style was everything Quirk could have ever imagined, and more.
Sure, it was small by today’s standards of McMansions, but Quirk could imagine how Elvis must have felt when he first walked into the house. Coming from such humble roots, this two-story mansion must have seemed like a palace. And the fact that the King decorated Graceland like a palace? Ah, that just captured Quirk’s affection all the more.
As an orphan bounced from foster home to foster home, Quirk had clung to an old cassette that some random social worker had given to him. Elvis: 50 Greatest Hits. She’d said that if Presley could rise from nothing to be the King of Rock n’ Roll, Quirk could do anything he set his mind to do.
And being the single greatest hacker was what he set his mind upon. Ronnie didn’t count, of course. She was some kind of OCD-fueled cyborg who had code running through her veins.
No, Quirk had risen to his position on some good ol’ hard work and lots of panache. And here he stood in the King’s presence. Straight ahead the tiled foyer opened into an elegant hallway. A marble staircase, roped off to visitors, led to the second floor—the floor with Elvis’ bedroom, and even the bathroom…where he finally succumbed. Quirk might have raced up those stairs, except his feet were rooted in place. He couldn’t move an inch until he soaked up every last glorious moment of what lay before him.
Even the emergency lighting did nothing but enhance the magical surroundings.
To his left was the dining room. How many legends sat at that table and broke bread with Elvis? To the right lay the living room, where the rest of the team was gathered. They were all obsessed with the painting and hadn’t stopped to appreciate the low, white couch or the mirror-topped fireplace. And
the peacock stained glass windows that separated the living room from the music room?
Beyond the doorway sat a grand piano. How often had Elvis tickled those ivories? A chill started at the base of Quirk’s skull and ran straight down his spine. Quirk was all shook up.
“Quirk,” Ronnie whispered, but he ignored her until she grabbed his wrist and jerked him down.
Flashlight beams cut through the windows, sending streaks of light across the room. Light bounced off the mirrors above the fireplace, illuminating the room to nearly daylight.
That was when he saw the painting in question. It was of Elvis. Not the young, brash Elvis or the older jumpsuit Elvis, but the Elvis who had just realized exactly how heavy the burden of fame could become. It was eloquent, yet haunting.
And they were going to burn it.
* * *
Ronnie kept Quirk down, and Zach did the same with Francois. Each seemed in a trance of his own.
Footsteps rang out on the stone steps outside. The guard was coming to check on the front door.
“It’s locked, right?” Zach whispered.
Oh. Crap. She’d been a little preoccupied.
As the doorknob turned, Ronnie pulled out her palmtop and keyed in the codes. The knob made it around three quarters of the way, then caught. The guard jiggled it again, but it held.
Rapid footsteps announced the guard leaving. Luckily, the Presleys didn’t trust their security staff all that much, and didn’t give them keys to the mansion. They would probably have another good ten minutes before someone higher up the food chain came to check the house.
“We need to get moving.”
Zach helped Francois to his feet. “I’ll grab the painting.”
Encrypted: An Action-Packed Techno-Thriller Page 23