Encrypted: An Action-Packed Techno-Thriller

by Carolyn McCray

  She scrolled the new map over. There were several locales scattered in Latin America. Quickly, she scrolled up, pulling the United States into view.

  Sure enough, several other junctions glowed red. One in San Simeon, another in South Dakota, with another in New Orleans.

  But one? One shone right out at her.

  Cutler, Maine.

  One of the most northern points along Maine’s rugged, rocky, isolated coast, Cutler was exactly the kind of place Ronnie would have chosen if she needed to hide the cure for the Black Death.

  CHAPTER 28

  Undisclosed Location

  12:37 p.m., EST

  Zach stood in the center of a perfectly white room. It was almost hard to look at the walls. They shimmered so brightly. Was this what heaven would feel like? Probably for Ronnie and Quirk, since the only things that punctuated those pristine walls were plasma screens, computer bays, and tech equipment he’d never seen before.

  “So this is what your cold room looks like,” Zach commented, knowing that Warp would give his left nut to even have a picture of it, let alone stand amongst the Robin Hood hacker’s infinite greatness.

  “Oh, please,” Quirk said, rolling his eyes. “This is only a minor backup station.”

  Ronnie grinned as she loaded up equipment bags. “You should see the one in Tokyo.”

  Yes, Zach would have to see the one in Japan, because he could not imagine how anything could outdo this one located in the rolling countryside of upstate New York. On the far wall were two magnetic discs very similar to the one Ronnie used in El Paso, only these were about five times the size. A bank of computer drives, three deep, rose up to the ceiling. And the feeds they were monitoring? Zach couldn’t identify half of them.

  “This truly is…” Zach didn’t have the words to complete the thought.

  Ronnie’s lips bloomed into a full-on smile. “Well, then, maybe I shouldn’t show you the armory.”

  “Armory?”

  The Robin Hood hacker was known for her ability to run her operations miles—if not continents—away from her target. Besides stealing well over a hundred billion dollars, she had yet to be charged with even breaking and entering. And she had an armory?

  “Duh,” she said, as she hit a few commands and the wall with the computer banks slid open to reveal a room not nearly as neat and tidy. Weapons lay at odd angles. Pistols, assault rifles, and even RPG launchers. “A girl has got to be prepared.”

  There was prepared, and then there was this. Not that Zach was complaining, mind you.

  “Ever since the Zetas cartel targeted the hacker group, Anonymous, brutally kidnapped one of them,” Ronnie said, her voice not quite as chipper. “We’ve had to stock up.”

  Quirk chimed in as he joined them. “I tell her to put her toys away, but does she?” He waved his hand dismissively. “And the pilot is getting antsy. We promised to be in and out in three minutes. You know how Francois likes to touch equipment he shouldn’t.”

  “Take your pick,” Ronnie said to Zach, indicating the stockpile of weapons.

  Um. Did Zach mention how much he loved her?

  * * *

  Amanda’s hand shook, finding it hard to grip the syringe as she pulled a vial of Devlin’s blood out of his arm. The CIA liaison was tied to a chair in her office, his mouth bound by a gag. While shocked, Dr. Henderson had heard her out and decided that they needed proof that Devlin was faking his condition before condemning her.

  Someone had contaminated the facility with the plague. Was that person sitting in front of her?

  As she pulled the needle from his arm, Devlin roused. He glanced down at the needle poke. Eyes dilating, his head snapped up as Dr. Henderson used the last of the phone cord to bind Devlin’s feet to the chair. They’d had to use what they had available. Completely jury-rigging the entire hostage-taking system.

  Devlin tried to shout something, but the gag muffled his attempt. But it probably went something like: “Dr. Rolph just sent highly classified information to the enemy.” Luckily, Dr. Henderson had agreed with the wisdom of gagging the CIA liaison to keep from bothering Jennifer.

  Even though Devlin was bound and gagged, he gave escape a run for its money. He banged the chair back and forth, to and fro.

  “Are you sure the agglutination test will be definitive?” Dr. Henderson asked.

  “Definitive?” Amanda queried. “No. But highly suspect? Yes.”

  Trying to ignore the spectacle that Devlin was putting on, Amanda moved to her makeshift laboratory. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to perform this basic field test.

  Amanda mixed a drop of Devlin’s blood with a drop of serum filled with fragments of the bacteria’s cell wall onto a microscope slide. If Devlin had antibodies preexisting in his system, they would clump together, forming ringlets. If he didn’t, the two fluids would simply mix together, a smooth combination of the two.

  “Umph. Trllmk,” Devlin tried to say, fighting against the gag.

  “Well?” Dr. Henderson asked as his eyes flickered over to the CIA liaison. “If this doesn’t clump, we have broken about half a dozen laws for nothing.”

  “It isn’t instantaneous,” Amanda answered, well aware that simply drawing Devlin’s blood without his permission was considered assault. “It can take a few minutes.”

  She got discouraged, though, as the fluids just swirled together going from clear on one side and red to the other, to a pinkish fluid in the middle. Absolutely no sign of antibodies were in Devlin’s blood.

  “Maybe I should check under the microscope.” It had been years, probably back in Microbiology 101, that she’d performed such a crude test. “I might be able to identify micro-agglutination.”

  Dr. Henderson nodded as Devlin nearly tipped his chair over backwards. So much for staying quiet.

  When Amanda picked up the slide, tilting it accidentally, a clump settled on the edge of the fluid pool. She had forgotten step three. Rock the slide to isolate the clumping on the periphery.

  Gently, she tilted the slide back and forth as more and more—and more—clumps appeared.

  Amanda and Dr. Henderson looked from the slide, to each other, and to Devlin.

  The CIA liaison was suddenly perfectly still.

  * * *

  Ronnie shifted on the chopper’s seat. Not because of rough flying, although the storm brewing was knocking them around far more on this leg of the trip than it had heading out of Manhattan, but because there was literally no room for her legs. The helicopter’s interior was crammed full of computing equipment and weapons.

  Zach sat on the floor of the chopper like a little boy next to a Christmas tree. He felt the heft of each gun, turning it over in his hands and checking the sights. Then, if the weapon passed muster, he would try to find somewhere to pack it. He already had, like, four guns on his hip with extra clips, plus a smaller pistol on each ankle. The guy was going to be walking bowlegged soon.

  “Seriously, Ronnie, there are, like, three other satellites closer than the one you are trying to re-task,” Quirk whined, despite the fact he had enough toys littered around him to make him a very happy boy as well.

  “I need this one.”

  Quirk snorted. “Ronnie, you’ve got to get over your superstitions. Just because a satellite’s call sign shares your birthday, does not make it your ‘lucky’ satellite.”

  Ronnie just shrugged, letting him think that was her reason for wanting this particular satellite. Far better than arguing over the real one. She did, however, have to shut him up before he sniffed out her real ploy.

  “There!” she said as she brought up the satellite image of the coordinates off of Maine’s northern coast. “Satisfied?”

  Hitting the zoom key, Ronnie punched in deeper and deeper to the structure that sat upon that rocky cliff. It was some kind of building. No, more like a mansion. No, the closer they got, the more it looked like the Hidden Hand had built themselves a castle.

  A full-on medieval castle.


  Although in New England, just being a castle wasn’t that big a deal. There were probably a dozen of the structures within a hundred miles. But a castle this big? With turrets and ramparts and a central courtyard? That was a big deal.

  Even Francois, who had gone back to his mumbling meditation, came over for a look. Was it a bad sign that the Frenchman’s pupils spread wide at the sight?

  “What is it made of?” Zach asked as he rose from the floor and made room on the seat next to her.

  She switched modes, finding one of the satellite's opticals that registered density. “Looks like stone, but this portion…” Ronnie indicated the centermost section of the castle, right at the heart of the compound. “Everything is pinging back. It must be some high-density metal. Titanium or tungsten.”

  “Which is also going to shield the interior to any EM pulse we might use,” Quirk added.

  Ronnie felt that weight on her breastbone again. Even though she knew the Hidden Hand would have some gnarly defenses, it was still a blow to see them in action.

  “Do we have anything to penetrate the metal shielding?” Zach asked.

  She looked at Quirk, even though she knew the answer. Even if they had a hundred acetylene torches, it would take them a week to cut through metal that thick. Zach glanced at both of them, but didn’t even bother to ask for clarification.

  “I’m assuming that this is where they would be hiding any vaccine—if they do have any?”

  Ronnie nodded, letting him figure out that despite all the high-tech equipment and firepower they had, they didn’t have enough to get to the vaccine.

  “What’s that flare there on the edge of the image?” Quirk asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Ronnie answered as she zoomed in to the base of the castle.

  “Switch to ground-penetrating radar,” Zach suggested. Then, when she raised an eyebrow at him, he finished. “I mean, you have got to have some ground-penetrating radar, right?”

  Of course her satellite had ground-penetrating radar. She was just glad Zach could appreciate that fact.

  A few keystrokes later, the image shifted from opaque angles to a jumble of lines and squiggles.

  “Here,” Quirk said trying to take her laptop. “Put it through the 3-D imaging software.”

  Ronnie held tight to her computer. “I’ve got it.”

  Okay, after about ten attempts to bring the image into focus, maybe she didn’t.

  “Don’t be hogging the hologram if you can’t use it properly.”

  But Ronnie finally figured it out, projecting the image in 3-D before them.

  “Holy mother of…” Quirk breathed out.

  “Damn,” Zach added.

  Even Francois contributed, “Baise.”

  The castle was massive, with machine guns instead of archers for long-range defense and a metal-encased core, and the grounds had a sprawling underground complex.

  “Check out the heat signature,” Ronnie said, pointing to the lower chambers. “Or should I say, lack of heat signature?”

  One room in the underground complex was showing a stable fifty-three degrees. The perfect temperature to store vials upon vials of vaccines.

  “At least we know for sure that they are there,” Zach offered, clearly trying to cheer her up.

  Which was great—except that they had a major problem. How in the hell were they going to break into the grounds, penetrate that metal shielding, and fight their way through the castle to the staircase that led them down into the completely rock-walled subterranean chamber?

  Ronnie looked at the others. No one exactly seemed brimming with ideas either.

  * * *

  Francois sat back as the rest bandied about ideas for breaching the castle. Did they not know the Hidden Hand would have thought of each of these earthbound ploys? They’d had centuries to perfect their stronghold. Centuries of war and famine and strife to challenge their defenses and shore them up.

  No.

  The answer would come from the heavens, as it was wont to do. He gazed upon his arm. So many new symbols outlined in dried blood. The angels were talkative of late. Almighty God in his wisdom had retreated from man’s daily life. In infinite understanding, God had left man to develop his own free will.

  But the angels? Ah, the angels who loved man could not allow such evil as the Hidden Hand to flourish. They had walked amongst man, teaching those who would resist the Hand’s quest for dominion over the earth.

  Many spoke of the end of days—shouting it from street corners and pulpits. But Francois did not, or more likely, refused to believe, that the true apocalypse was upon them. That this could not be God’s will for mankind.

  Perhaps it was man who had gotten himself into this position, but it would be grace from on high that would deliver them from it.

  Francois felt certain of such. So again, he studied the symbols on his arm. hoping to divine what the angels needed of him.

  * * *

  Quirk typed. That’s what he did best. Coding. Surveillance. Hacking. Ronnie and Zach were busy talking insertion points and tensile strength. While he loved building prototypes, the entire Mexico debacle had taught him one thing… do not try to fire those prototypes.

  No, he was much happier with the current plan. Have him run all the cyber interference and leave the Captain America stuff to Ozzie and Harriet over there. Even now he had found miles upon miles worth of cabling hidden underground servicing buried gun turrets. They hadn’t even landed at the castle, and Quirk had saved Ronnie’s little hiney yet again.

  He glanced over his computer monitor, mainly to check if the pilot was busy flexing those biceps of his, and found Francois, his hands pressed together in prayer. Yep, probably if there ever were a time for full-on begging of the heavens for a boon, it was now.

  Quirk sent his own little request up to the big guy when he heard his name mentioned. Not in that good way, where Ronnie was reassuring Zach that Quirk was, in fact, the fastest coder in the world.

  No. From the way she said his name, Quirk could tell that Ronnie wanted something from him. A large something. A mega-sized something. His eyes narrowed as he looked up to find her standing in front of him, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

  Ugh! Perhaps there wasn’t a God after all.

  * * *

  Lino stood, patient and tall. Others scurried about the castle’s war room, worried for the fly who thought to spoil God’s picnic. The door behind him burst open and by the insufferable grunting the man made as he crossed the room, it could be only Deacon Havar. Lino did not turn or slide his eyes away from the long-range radar.

  “I demand that you step aside, Lino.”

  The man spoke as if he held God’s authority. Seldom did God allow a man such as Havar, filled with consistent failings, to hold anything of His—let alone authority.

  “Had you allowed me to kill Francois at the field office, we would not be here,” Lino remarked. “At this tentative juncture.”

  From the corner of his eye, Lino saw the deacon scowl. “We would have had to kill the entire office.”

  “Yes, and how more efficient that would have been, no?”

  Havar’s cheeks billowed in and out. His fleshy nostrils constricted, making every breath a wheeze. “It was not my failing during the assault on El Paso or the Met. That falls on your narrow shoulders.”

  A grin flickered on Lino’s lips. So many had tried to intimidate him because of his lean stature. So many had failed.

  “Again, fruit from the poisoned tree. Indecisive action requires so much tidying afterward.”

  Now each breath of the deacon’s rang in Lino’s ear. He tired of this man’s pomp and dyspnea. In addition, the fly grew so much closer. Nearly within range of their missiles.

  “Go back to your chambers, Havar. Enjoy your last moments indulging yourself.”

  The man took in a sharp breath. “You have so little faith in our defenses?”

  Lino finally turned to the deacon who thought himself the better. �
��God is our defense. It is only that you should not see our ultimate victory. Regrettably, you shall be in stage four of the plague by the time it is accomplished.”

  “I am anointed,” the deacon hissed.

  “El Paso was your true baptism, Father. Had you succeeded you would have been vaccinated at a ceremony in Venice. Again, regrettably, you failed…”

  Deacon Havar shook his head side to side, yet Lino could see the man’s mind begin to grasp his new reality. A hand flew to his neck, where the glands were already swelling.

  “You said it was a side effect of the vaccination.”

  “I lied.”

  With as much satisfaction as a man of God could enjoy, Lino watched as the deacon realized he would be no better than the paupers who died spitting up blood in the street.

  “Sir, they have passed the outer marker.”

  He urged the deacon to the door. “Enjoy the next few hours…before your lungs fill with blood.”

  Havar defeated, sagging, shuffling, left the room.

  Lino turned back to the radar.

  Finally. Time to end this stalemate.

  CHAPTER 29

  Skies over Maine

  2:03 p.m., EST

  The helicopter skimmed over the roiling sea. The threatening storm was now in full rage. Rain hit the windshield in sheets, clattering like gunfire. Ronnie steeled herself. Soon, that would be real gunfire.

  She glanced over to find Quirk typing rapidly. “Is there a problem with the countermeasures?”

  “Did you know that there have been seven shark attacks in the region?” Quirk informed the entire aircraft. “That basically, we are flying over the same waters that Jaws swam in?”

  “First off, that was Martha’s Vineyard. And secondly, it was a film.” She turned to Zach. “Which was not Steven Spielberg’s first.”