Asher's War (Asher Benson #3)

by Jason Brant

With the guts of the computer exposed, she could see the motherboard, DC power jack, memory card reader, RAM, cooling fan, and...

  “The RAM!”

  Nami bit her lip as she stared at the tiny chip of memory.

  While she considered herself a super-mega boss in the wonders of digital forensics, she specialized in software more than hardware. She was competent in the space, but not as proficient as she was at working around encryption and finding back doors into operating systems.

  Grabbing information from a hard drive was relatively easy. A hard drive, solid-state drive, or flash drive’s data was mostly static. A novice could do it. But extracting data from DRAM, or dynamic random-access memory, which was used by consumer laptops, was a different ballgame. DRAM was volatile memory that lost its information almost instantly when a computer was powered down.

  The data usually disappeared in seconds to minutes.

  She’d heard about a few techs being able to extract information from RAM by freezing the chips and then removing them from a computer quickly. If they could keep them cool while inserting them into one of their forensic machines, they could sometimes see what the user was working on before the computer had been shut off.

  Freezing the memory chips could retard the process by several more minutes at best. It had been more than an hour since Tate and company had acquired the mangled computer.

  But Nami had a hunch. A hunch and a hope. If Christie Tolbert had put her computer to sleep rather than turning it off, and the battery in the laptop had a full charge, then the RAM might still have power running to it.

  When an operating system went to sleep, most of the power-hungry components were shut off and the machine state was stored in the RAM. A small amount of juice supplied to the RAM kept the data contained there from erasing so the computer could wake up quickly.

  So if Christie had opened a file from the thumb drive on the laptop, and if she’d put it to sleep and it hadn’t suffered too much damage from Smith’s men, then Nami had a chance to find something. But that was only if she could find a way to keep the memory chip cool while she extracted it from the motherboard.

  That was a lot of ifs and a dearth of hope.

  Nami cracked her knuckles as she stared at the open computer.

  “How do I freeze your bitch ass?”

  Ice wouldn’t work. Electronics had a rocky relationship with water. She drummed her fingers on the desk as she inspected the office. A tall fan sat in the corner, blowing into the open side of a desktop computer. She had two graphics cards in there, hammering away at a distorted surveillance video. The image quality of the video neared that of something recorded by a sponge, so Drew had asked her to clean it up a bit. The extensive computing had the tower churning out a ton of heat.

  The fan wouldn’t be cool enough for freezing the RAM.

  She needed something frigid.

  Three cans of compressed air sat atop a safe where she stored the remnants of the hard drives recovered from Smith’s old computer servers.

  “Yeah!”

  Nami hopped off the chair and skipped to the safe. She could just reach the top of it and grab one of the cans. She used these for cleaning dust out of the fans in the computers and for clearing sandwich crumbs from her keyboards.

  When held upside down and sprayed, the air and liquid coming out got damn cold.

  She hurried back to her desk and kicked the chair out of the way. It rolled on the plastic mat, smacking into the far wall.

  One of the computers she used as a forensic machine sat at the corner of the desk. She mostly used desktops because of how much more powerful they were, but she kept two laptops on hand for when she had to use equipment not easily compatible with desktops.

  She slid the laptop toward her, flipped it over, and removed the back cover. Because of the purpose for the computer, she never put the screws in the case so she wouldn’t have to waste time removing them every time she had to try something. With a quick glance, she verified the components were compatible with the smashed laptop.

  That was the first in a series of hurdles.

  If this would work, she had to move quickly. Even with the RAM frozen by the compressed can of air, the data would degrade faster than made her comfortable. There was one shot at getting this right.

  She pulled the RAM sticks out of her forensic laptop and placed them on the desk. After opening a case that held the physical disks of all of her forensic software, Nami grabbed a DVD she’d made with a tiny Linux tool. It allowed her to boot a minimal operating system that she used for dumping the contents of hard drives from suspect computers. She’d never used it for copying data off RAM, but she knew it had the capability.

  Nami put the disk in the optical drive of her forensic machine.

  She looked to the ceiling.

  “Please, gods, let this work. Ashley is a tool bag, but he’s my tool bag. I want him back.”

  Nami flipped the can in her hands and held the nozzle toward the ram.

  “Come on, ya wanker. Give Momma some suga.”

  She sprayed the air back and forth over the RAM stick. A film of frost covered it as she continued to coat it using her left hand while covering her right with the sleeve of her shirt. Without stopping the spray, she reached down with her covered fingers and plucked the stick free.

  As she quickly moved the component to the next computer, Nami chewed on her lip and hoped that all the ifs required for her plan to work would fall into place.

  35 – Who is the Queen?

  Bree sat with the rest of them in the conference room and watched video of the escalating riots in D.C. Officers with giant shields and heavy-duty helmets pushed back against the violent crowds.

  She dwelled on the image of the mangled hand of the man she’d shot. Knowing he was about to use a weapon against a crowd of people justified her actions, but it didn’t entirely wash away the guilt of having crippled someone.

  The detective went in and out of the room several times, making calls to officers he knew in Washington. He had every acquaintance of his in the city keeping an eye out for his missing friend. Bree thought they were all full of shit about the whole telepathy thing, but she could clearly see how distraught Lloyd was at losing his friend.

  And regardless of whether the psychic nonsense was true or not, the men they’d gone up against in the apartment building were real. They’d handled themselves like pros and had inflicted some serious damage.

  Nelson had disappeared twenty minutes ago to take a call and hadn’t come back.

  Bree couldn’t help but consider the repercussions of what they’d done this morning. The news thought a bunch of terrorists had run around the city with guns, even though that obviously wasn’t the case. If they were terrorists, they would have emptied their weapons into the crowds of protestors.

  But what would the final narrative be? Who would take the fall for their failure that morning? If Bree knew anything about the government, it was that shit always rolled downhill. The higher-ups rarely took the fall for anything.

  People like Bree were hung out to dry.

  Tate lounged in a chair on the other side of the room, his feet propped up on the conference table. He had ignored her outright since they’d returned. That was fine with Bree—she couldn’t stand the asshole and didn’t want to deal with him unless absolutely necessary.

  Particularly at a time like that when the man was obviously pissed off over their failed mission. Everyone else was in a sour mood over the debacle. Tate was furious.

  “Yo, Manning.” Briggs sat on her side of the table, at the far end. He got up and slid his chair toward her. “What happened when those guys ran out of the apartment building? We heard the shot and saw the cowboy with the busted hand. Why didn’t you put him down?”

  “Because she’s soft,” Tate said without looking over. He kept watching television, his scowl as deep as always. Even though he was pissed off, he seemed relatively relaxed in his chair. To Bree, it looked as if he’d
just returned from a few rounds of golf rather than a massive shootout. “The girlie doesn’t want to kill anyone. Even pieces of trash like those men today.”

  Huxx sat in front of the television, watching the events in Washington unfold. He remained quiet, absorbing everything coming across the screen.

  Shea sat behind Bree, eating a slice of pizza. He’d picked up a couple of pies for everyone after they got back. All of them ate greedily except Bree. She kept seeing the man’s destroyed hand. It was hard to work up an appetite after experiencing something so grotesque.

  “I ain’t buying that.” Briggs sat down beside her and leaned forward. “I ain’t buying that for a second.”

  Bree had only known him for half a day or so, but she respected Briggs immensely. Though he was physically hard, just like the rest of them, he didn’t carry the same gruff manner as Huxx or the asshole mentality of Tate.

  “He was about to use the same device they had at the subway this morning. If a crowd as big as the one in front of the apartments went insane, then we all would have died. I was afraid that a shot to the chest might not kill him instantly and that he would still initiate the weapon.” Bree inspected her hands, lowered her voice. “So I took his hand and destroyed the device. There wasn’t time for a second shot.”

  “Well done, Manning.” Briggs nodded in approval. “Well done.”

  Coming from a seasoned vet like Briggs, that meant a lot to Bree. He extended a meaty paw toward her. She took it in hers, feeling his thick fingers wrap around the back of her hand and squeeze. The gesture of respect raised her spirits.

  Tate merely grunted.

  “You don’t agree?” Briggs asked, releasing Bree’s hand. “You would have done something differently?”

  “Yeah.” Tate finally peeled his eyes from the television and glanced at Bree. “I would have brought a real soldier into the fold, not some glorified target shooter. She didn’t do a damn thing to help us out there today. If she’d been inside with us, they never would have escaped in the first place.”

  “You know what, dickless?” Bree exploded to her feet, knocking the chair over behind her. “I’m getting really sick of your shit. Just because I didn’t spend any time overseas doesn’t mean I have nothing to offer. I kept your ass from turning into a psychotic murderer today, didn’t I?”

  Tate raised his eyebrows, didn’t stand.

  Shea dropped a pizza crust to his plate and grabbed another slice. He watched them with a slight smirk on his face.

  “Sit down, Manning.” Detective Lloyd walked in behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “We have enough to worry about without more fistfights between you two.”

  Bree opened her mouth to argue before deciding it wasn’t worth it. That prick Tate was just trying to get under her skin. And he’d succeeded. Again.

  “What’s the word?” Huxx asked over his shoulder. “Any sign of Benson?”

  “No. The whole goddamn city is in chaos. And I’m hearing that a few protests are starting in Philadelphia soon.” Drew put his hands on the table and leaned over. “Smith is going to start a civil war in this country if we don’t catch him soon.”

  Bree wanted to walk away from everything. She wished she’d never climbed into that damned helicopter at the range. She could have been lifting weights at the gym right now rather than being caught in the middle of the insanity unfolding around them. If not for what she’d witnessed on the subway surveillance footage, she would have.

  There were still terrorists out there capable of driving an entire city mad in an instant. If there was even a remote chance that she could help put a stop to them, then she had to hang in there. Even if it meant dealing with Tate’s constant jabs.

  She picked her chair up and sat down. Her stomach grumbled as she watched the television with the rest of them. She turned to Shea. “Got a slice for me?”

  “On the house.” Shea slid a half-full pizza box in her direction.

  As she reached for it, Nelson shuffled into the conference room. His shoulders were hunched, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t look at anyone as he came in and moved to the head of the table.

  “We’re shut down.”

  “What?” Drew spun toward him. “We’re what?”

  “I just got a call from President Thomas. He wanted to personally inform me of how screwed I am. He’s shutting us down, effective immediately.”

  Huxx muted the television. Everyone gaped at Nelson.

  “You’re telling us that we went on one insane op and now we’re all toast?” Tate asked. “Just like that?”

  “I’m afraid so. Some high-ranking intelligence officers are on their way here now to make sure we’re handled appropriately. The Secretary of State is assuming all of our responsibilities. And she’s not someone we want to cross.”

  “What does that mean?” Bree asked.

  Her stomach had ascended into her throat and was lodged somewhere around her jawline. Was she going to prison for this? Guantanamo Bay? She knew those ideas were ridiculous, but... were they?

  “I don’t know.” Nelson stared at the table. “I apologize for getting each of you involved. Things wouldn’t have been run this way normally, but we were in an unwinnable situation.”

  “What about Ash?” Drew stood in front of Bree, his hands clenched into fists.

  Nelson shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me any of their new plans, just that we aren’t a part of them. Knowing Smith might have Lieutenant Benson sent President Thomas into a rage. If I had to guess, they’re going to burn all of this down and pretend it never happened.”

  “I can’t accept that,” Drew growled. “We can’t just walk away.”

  “We don’t have a choice. If we do anything but sit here and wait to be relieved of duty, we’re committing an act of treason. They might hit us with a treason charge anyway.”

  Bree wanted to vomit.

  Speakers crackled in the ceiling.

  Nami cleared her throat from an intercom system that Manning didn’t even know was there. “Anyone in the conference room?”

  “All of us are,” Nelson said. “You need to come up here too.”

  “The queen is a bit busy, my minions. I have something you might be interested in, however.”

  “Ms. Williams, I’m not in the mood for—”

  “Who is the queen?”

  “Just tell us what it is.” Nelson glared up at the ceiling.

  “Who is the queen?”

  Drew sighed. “She won’t stop until you say it. You’re the queen, Nami. What do you have? We’re busy here.”

  “That’s better, baldie. I thought you might like to know that I managed to get a little something off the super-fucked laptop you brought me. And it just might help us find Gigantor. Because I’m the queen.”

  Drew gaped at the ceiling for a moment.

  Then he sprinted out of the room.

  “Did you hear that? The queen, bitches!”

  36 – Todd

  I startled awake. Darkness entombed me as I waved my head around. That was when I remembered I was strapped to a torture chair getting electric jolts in the ass. Sweat covered my naked body. Soreness and fatigue wrenched my muscles.

  The agony in my head continued to throb.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Benson.” Smith’s voice came from somewhere off to my left. “You passed out.”

  “Just taking a little nap.” I turned my head toward him. “You were boring me.”

  “Defiant to the end. Admirable.”

  “It means a lot to have your approval.”

  Smith paused for several moments, said, “You remind me of a younger version of myself. I used to believe I could change the system from the inside. Politics bored me, however, so my delusions of grandeur didn’t last long. I saw everything in black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. That’s not the way things work however. Sometimes, evil can bring about good. If you want a garden to flourish, you have to get your hands dirty.”
<
br />   Having a conversation with someone while you were naked, covered in blood and urine, and blinded because of a helmet was an odd experience. To say that my life had seriously derailed at some point would be an understatement of hilarious proportions. Then again, I was sure someone in Thailand would pay serious money for an experience like that.

  “First of all, I didn’t even want to play the game. I didn’t want to change anything. All I’ve wanted since my discharge was to be left the hell alone. The system sucks, and I didn’t want any part of it. You dragged me into this. And second, I—”

  Smith cut me off. “Is that true? Did I force you to expose yourself during a bank robbery? Did I make you stick your neck out for others?”

  “Helping someone in the heat of the moment isn’t the same as getting involved with a bunch of government dickbags such as yourself.”

  “And yet here you are, captured while working for an agency of government dickbags, as you so eloquently put it. You say that you want to be left alone, yet you joined the military after 9/11, you stopped a bank robbery, you stayed in Arthur’s Creek to help rescue survivors, and you joined up with Albert Nelson to find and eliminate me.”

  I recoiled at the mention of Nelson’s name. No one was supposed to know about his involvement with the new version of the Psych Ward except for a handful of people in Washington. We knew Smith had gotten to several high-ranking members in the intelligence community, but his knowledge of Nelson meant something much worse.

  He might have someone in President Thomas’ cabinet in his back pocket.

  The magnitude of what I’d gotten myself involved in was mindboggling.

  “Surprised I know his name?” Smith asked. “You’ve been playing the game for weeks, Mr. Benson. I’ve dedicated my life to this.”

  “What’s your name, anyway? Your real name. Not this Smith crap.”

  “Does it matter?”

  A metal ting came from the cart to my left.

  It made my heart flutter. There were knives, tin snips, and other horrible instruments on that cart. The electricity was bad, but I still had all of my fingers and toes attached after a few jolts.