Graf shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to loosen my belt and tuck into your wife’s cooking.”
21
Clayton Hummel Residence
Annapolis, Maryland
Two Years Ago
Clayton Hummel picked up the pace slightly, there nothing more annoying than a doorbell rung a second time. He opened the door and smiled.
“Hey, Clay, we were beginning to worry about you!”
Hummel’s eyebrows rose as he took the pizza from the delivery man. “Huh?”
“Well, you haven’t ordered for a couple of weeks. Some of us at the shop were thinking we should call the police.”
Hummel forced a chuckle. “I was visiting family.” He began to close the door and was given a thumbs up.
“Next time warn us!” The young man laughed and Hummel closed the door, locking it. He carried the box into the family room and sat it on his ottoman as he snapped open a can of Diet Pepsi, pouring it over the already waiting glass, filled to the brim with ice. He pressed the button on his remote control, a missed episode of Game of Thrones resuming. He pulled the ottoman closer then lifted the pizza, placing it on his legs as he rested them on the cushioned surface. Flipping open the lid, he smiled at the cheesy perfection in front of him.
Life was getting back to normal.
To hell with Melanie, or whatever her damned name was. He didn’t need a woman in his life. He had everything he needed here. And now he had money. Enough to keep him going until the day he died.
And as he took his first bite, savoring the burst of flavors, he had little doubt that day would be coming soon.
22
Clayton Hummel Residence
Annapolis, Maryland
Present Day
Dylan Kane examined the front porch of the nondescript home his subject lived at. According to the file sent to him, Clayton Hummel had lived here for over ten years, paid his taxes on time, and his only blemish was the fact he had been suspected of leaking the NSA’s ToolKit to persons unknown.
Yet they had never actually found any evidence of the crime beyond the copying of the files.
And his confession.
The classic Honeypot operation probably stretched back to when the first Neanderthal cave decided to spy on the next. It was effective if you targeted the right person, and from the file photo he had seen, he could understand why it had worked. What was interesting was the variation employed by the NSA agent in charge, Janine Graf.
Hummel had never met her.
Had never seen the sexy woman at the other end of the conversation.
Instead, he had seen a larger person, like him, and had fallen into the trap.
Graf was good.
She had recognized that for Hummel, it wasn’t sex that would work. It was the promise of companionship, of the end to a crippling loneliness. He actually felt kind of bad for the guy. Everything he had read suggested he was a model employee, a little arrogant online, perhaps a little overconfident in his abilities, though his evals had all been excellent, so perhaps his confidence wasn’t misplaced.
But as was too often true when it came to techies, he was a loner. Kane thought of his friend Leroux, and how lonely he had been before he had met Sherrie. And Sherrie was the classic Honeypot. Director Morrison had given her the task of seducing Leroux, to see if he would spill his secrets in exchange for sex with an incredibly gorgeous woman. If he failed, his career was over. If he passed, he’d be promoted.
He had passed.
How, Kane would never know.
But in the process, Leroux had fallen in love with Sherrie, just as Hummel had for the imaginary Melanie Driscoll. The difference was Sherrie had developed feelings for Leroux as well, even requesting to be taken off the assignment. When Leroux had discovered the betrayal, he had holed up in his apartment, bitter and hurt. Kane had forced the two of them back together, and the rest was history.
Leroux had passed the test.
Hummel had failed.
He rang the doorbell again, this time adding several firm raps to the door. Hummel was home, Langley confirming his phone of record was located there, and his Netflix account was active on a device identified as his Smart TV. The fact the man wasn’t answering wasn’t much of a surprise, loners rarely coming to the door voluntarily.
He heard a noise, then the curtain covering the window moved.
“Clayton Hummel, I’m Special Agent Kane, Homeland Security. I need to speak with you.”
A deadbolt clicked and the door opened slightly, a large man peering at him. “Yes?”
Kane held up his ID. “Special Agent Kane, Homeland. May I come in?”
“Umm, do you have a warrant?”
Kane smiled pleasantly. “No, we don’t need to get the courts involved. I just have a few questions to ask you, then I’ll be on my way.”
Hummel began to close the door. “Come back when you have a warrant.”
Good thing I’m not actually Homeland.
Kane shoved the door open, stepping inside, pushing Hummel backward with a palm to the chest. He closed the door behind him, locking it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I have rights, you know!”
“Yes, and so did the victims of this week’s cyberattack.”
Hummel froze. “What does that have to do with me?”
Kane smiled, stepping deeper into the home, all the blinds closed, all the light artificial including the glow of the large television, Stranger Things on pause. “Oh, I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“I have no idea.” Hummel followed him, his anger morphing into near panic as Kane continued through the house. It was surprisingly tidy, Hummel likely employing a maid service, and judging by the stack of four pizza boxes on the kitchen island, she was due in three days.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Hummel?”
“I’m in cybersecurity.”
“Really? Where?”
“Umm, I’m currently between jobs.”
Kane sat in one of the kitchen chairs, removing his Glock and placing it on the table. He motioned toward it. “I hope you don’t mind, it’s been bugging me all day.”
Hummel’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
Kane resumed their conversation. “You’ve been between jobs for two years now, haven’t you?”
Hummel leaned against the island, his face turning red, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Is he nervous, or just out of shape?
“What of it?” Hummel sat with a huff, the chair creaking, Kane glancing at the legs for a moment.
“You seem to be leading a fairly comfortable lifestyle for someone who has been unemployed for two years.”
Hummel flushed, his eyes darting away, and this time Kane knew it had nothing to do with his lack of conditioning. “I have savings.”
“Yes. I checked your accounts. It looks like you had a very large deposit made two years ago into your account. Care to explain that?”
Hummel stared at the linoleum, the pattern a tacky design straight out of Leave it to Beaver.
“Well?”
“I, umm, can’t.”
“Maybe I can.” Hummel stole a quick glance at him before returning his attention to the floor. “I think you sold the data you stole, and that deposit was your payoff.”
Hummel’s eyes widened, and he stared at Kane for a moment. “No! That’s not at all what happened.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Hummel bit his thumbnail. “I-I don’t care what you believe.”
Kane moved the gun an inch to the right, the barrel aimed directly at Hummel’s prodigious stomach. “You should.”
Hummel stared at the weapon, unblinking. “Listen, I really want to help you, but I can’t. I’m”—he sighed, reaching up and massaging his temples—“I’m not allowed to.”
Kane resisted the urge to react. It was an unexpected response. An interesting response.
Not allowe
d to.
The word “allowed” was the key here. “Allowed” implied he had been told by someone not to talk about it, but “allowed” also implied by telling him, Hummel would be breaking some sort of rule or law. If a criminal told you to not tell anyone, you wouldn’t tell a law enforcement official that you weren’t “allowed” to tell him anything, you’d say you “couldn’t” or you “can’t” or even more specific, “they said I couldn’t” or the ever-popular “they’ll kill me.”
But no, Hummel had specifically said, “I’m not allowed to.”
Kane stared at him for a moment. “Who told you you’re not allowed to tell me where you got the money?”
“I-I can’t say.” He bit his nail again.
“Was it who you sold the data to?”
Hummel shook his head. “I never sold it.”
“But according to the agent you were ready to spill your secrets to, you admitted to stealing the data, then plead ignorance as to what happened to it after you left the building.”
His eyes widened, and he stared at Kane. “She said that?”
Kane nodded. “Yes.”
“I-I didn’t think she’d be allowed.”
There was that word again. “Allowed.” But why would it apply to an NSA agent? It made no sense. Not in the context of Hummel being a traitor to his country.
Kane paused, a thought occurring to him.
And he smiled.
“They gave you a deal, didn’t they?”
Hummel looked away, biting his nail again.
Bingo.
“You stole the data, they covered it up, but couldn’t let you work there anymore, so they gave you a deal to keep your mouth shut.”
Hummel continued the silent routine, though his lack of denials was enough confirmation for Kane.
“You’re aware of the ransomware attack?”
“Of course.”
“Are you aware that the method used was the very one you developed two years ago, and was included in the ToolKit you stole?”
He nodded.
“Do you have an explanation?”
He shook his head.
“Care to theorize?”
Hummel glanced at him for a moment, then back at the floor. “Well, umm, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say someone discovered the vulnerability, just like I did, and decided to exploit it.”
“Using the exact same code you developed?”
Hummel’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You developed the code that could exploit the bug. Are you telling me they not only discovered the bug, but created, line for line, the same code to exploit it?”
Hummel’s jaw dropped and he stared at Kane, his tasty thumb forgotten. “Are you serious?”
Kane nodded. “Yes.”
Hummel stared at the gun as Kane watched, the man clearly reevaluating everything. He let him play it out rather than interrupt him, Hummel finally figuring out more was going on here than he realized.
He looked at Kane. “Someone else must have stolen the ToolKit.”
“I’ve been assured that is now impossible.”
“Of course they’d say that.”
Kane smiled. “Of course they would, but they assure me that the current version of the ToolKit code surrounding this attack doesn’t match, and hasn’t matched since you left. Someone else on your team modified it. That means that the version used this week, is the version you wrote, and it was the copy you stole.”
Hummel rose, heading for the fridge. He opened it and pulled out a Diet Pepsi. He held it up. “Want one?”
Kane shook his head. “I’m a Diet Dr. Pepper man myself.”
Hummel reached in the fridge and produced a can of Kane’s preferred soda, sliding it across the table toward him. Hummel returned to his chair, opening his can with a hiss, Kane doing the same.
“Thanks.” Kane took a long swig, his Adam’s apple bouncing greedily. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until presented with the opportunity to quench it.
“You do realize what this means, don’t you?”
Kane stared at Hummel. “Let’s pretend I don’t.”
Hummel chuckled. “If we assume it was my copy of the data that was used to perpetrate the attack, and if I didn’t sell it to anyone, and if the agent who searched my house and claimed that the memory stick was blank is telling the truth, then someone stole the data between the time I left the house, and the time the agent arrived.”
Kane nodded, already having come to that conclusion, though there were too many ifs in there for his liking. “And you didn’t tell anyone you were doing this.”
“Of course not, I’m not an idiot.”
Well, yes, you are. You fell for the trap.
Kane let it go. “Then how did anyone know to actually be here at that precise moment, with the equipment necessary to not only copy the data, but wipe it as well.” Kane leaned forward, pushing the Glock aside. “And why bother wiping it at all?”
Hummel drained his soda. “I’ve been asking myself that very question for two years.”
Kane leaned back in his chair. “And have you found an answer?”
“I didn’t until today.”
Kane put his can on the table. “What changed?”
Hummel stared at him. “I’ve figured out the motive.”
“Which is?”
“Two years ago somebody wiped the memory stick. That made it look like I was lying about either stealing the data, which they had proof of, or what I had done with it after I left the building. The fact it had been wiped was the only inconsistency that I couldn’t explain. It made me look like I was lying.”
“And?”
“And now, here I am, two years later, getting a visit from someone who is definitely not Homeland, accusing me of selling that same data.”
“So you’re saying—”
“Someone stole the data, and wanted to plant the seed, two years ago, that I lied, so that I’d be blamed when it was eventually used.”
Kane grunted, Hummel’s theory plausible. “Any idea who?”
“I’ve got an idea, but you’ll never believe it.”
“Humor me.”
When Kane heard who Hummel thought was behind this, he pursed his lips, staring at the man. “I think you might be right.”
23
Bureau 121
North Korean Cyberwarfare Agency
Classified Location
Colonel Park Ji-Sung looked up as his aide entered his office. “So? What have you found?”
Captain Tann closed the door, glancing around the room as if to make sure they were alone. “Colonel, you were right. It is the same code from the ToolKit retrieved by Agent K two years ago.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. There is no doubt. One of the previously unknown exploits had a tool written to make use of it, and that code was found, line for line, in the infected computers we’ve analyzed.”
Park leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he removed his glasses. “Could there have been another leak?”
“Possibly. Without Agent K at the NSA anymore, we can’t be sure. Our other operatives have had no indication of a breach, but it’s not like the Americans would publicize this.”
“They may have no choice.”
Tann’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I think the Americans need to be taken down a peg, as they might say.”
A smile slowly spread across Tann’s face. “You’re going to leak the story.”
Park nodded. “We’ve already prepared for this eventuality. Execute the option that makes it look like the Russians leaked the story. I want this in the hands of every news organization in the world before the hour is out.”
“Right away, sir.”
Park raised a finger as Tann headed for the door. “And send a team to collect Agent K. It’s only a matter of time before the Americans figure out he’s behind this. It could get uncomfortable for us
should he be questioned.”
Tann paused, his eyebrows rising. “You want him brought here?”
“No. Take him to one of our safe houses in America for debriefing.”
Tann clicked his heels. “Yes, sir!”
Park leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin. “I wonder…”
“Yes?”
He frowned, staring at Tann. “Could the leak have come from within?”
Tann’s eyes widened. “From within the Bureau?” He lowered his voice. “I suppose anything is possible. More likely it would have come from one of our subcontractors.”
Park leaned forward. “Go on.”
Tann approached the desk. “Well, we’ve deployed some of the ToolKit to our hacker collectives for targeting exploits. I don’t think we’ve let this particular tool outside of our own staff, but a mistake might have been made.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll check.”
“Do that. But first I want that story leaked.”
Tann bowed. “Yes, sir.”
24
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“So what do we know about these agents?”
Chris Leroux stared at his screen, creating an executive summary as quickly as he could while Kane sat in his car on the other end of the headset. “Not much at all. I can tell you she’s still with the NSA, clean record, though her career trajectory seems to have taken a hit two years ago.”
Kane grunted. “Probably because the fake leak became an actual one. What about her partner?”
“We don’t even have his name. She never gave it during the briefing, and since there appear to be no records of the investigation that we can find, I’m not sure how we’ll find out short of asking her point blank.”
“We might just have to do that.”
“What if she’s involved?”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take, but I don’t think so.”
Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Gut feeling.”
“You saw her picture, didn’t you?”
He could almost hear the grin through the headset.
Retribution - A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller Book #7 Page 7