“Yes. Dad made sure I ate it.”
“You’ve become skin and bones,” Dugal clucked as he shut the cover of the grill to let it heat up. “Are you still hanging around that meathead detective and working out too much in the gym?”
“Stop bullying our girl,” the fourth man of their group, Arthur, stepped forward. At sixty-eight he was the most soft-spoken of the bunch. He lived in the fourth apartment, the one beside her dad. He had a slender frame like Stephen and was frequently Clyde’s walking partner in the mornings. Arthur also tended the rooftop gardens. Sometimes he and her dad would mess around with chemical compounds from the plants.
“I’m not bullying, just reminding her she doesn’t need to hang around that detective when I have two perfectly able-bodied sons whose muscles don’t come from that powdered crap who could take care of her and feed her.”
“Marriage is more than about the care and feeding,” Clyde put in, turning his shrewd eyes on Nadia. “It has to be about chemistry.”
Nadia froze. Had Clyde seen John? She glanced at her dad who shrugged and dropped his attention to the appetizer spread of cold cuts. He didn’t seem to understand the question in her eyes.
Ever since Stephen retired from the pharmacy, Nadia was worried he would become bored. He still liked to tinker in his makeshift lab in the second bedroom of his apartment. As long as he didn’t blow up shit, and it wasn’t illegal, Nadia was onboard with what kept her dad busy. Being around these guys also helped, dispelling her worry about her dad getting lonely.
“Chemistry, bah,” Dugal scoffed. “Worry about that later. Make sure he can support ye, take care of ye. Teresa came to love me very much after we were married.” He grinned slyly. “She gave me strong sons. I can tell ye that came from chemistry—”
Nadia covered her ears with her hands. “Lalala. Don’t want to hear it, but I get both your points.” Dugal was about to brag again about the very active sex life he’d had with his wife who died six years before from cancer. It was after that tragedy that he moved into his son’s apartment from their house that was also in West Hollywood. Too many sad memories, he said.
“Colin is on his way,” Dugal said, momentarily distracted with his phone. “He’s just taking care of one last customer before he heads over. Better get these bangers on the grill. Colin made them last night.” He waggled his brows at Nadia.
“He’s laying it on thick,” Clyde grumbled, still rocking back on his chair and drinking his beer. “If any of my sons were unmarried, I’d fix you up with one of mine too.”
“Guys,” Nadia said, feeling like she needed a drink. “Do I look desperate for a man?”
“No, but I’d hate for an unworthy one to snatch you,” Dugal grumbled at his grill before glancing at Stephen. “We’d make good in-laws.”
“Stop badgering my daughter before you burn the sausages,” Stephen said dryly.
“They’re called bangers,” Dugal insisted. “How many times do I have to tell ye that.”
“When in Rome …” her father started but let it hang.
“Here,” Arthur came up to her, holding a pink drink with a stem of rosemary.
“Mimosa?” Nadia asked.
“A grapefruit one mixed with my own rosemary extract.” Arthur adjusted his spectacles. His wild, unkempt, long hair framed a narrow face. His lips were thin but distinctly contoured and sharp; intelligent eyes peered from behind rectangular frameless glasses. He had the look of a mad professor. Arthur and her dad were always mistaken for brothers with their similar builds.
The MoMoS continued to bicker amongst themselves. Well, usually it was Dugal who grumbled, Clyde who riled him up more, and then her father would step in as referee, with Arthur standing back and making the drinks.
Colin arrived. He was Dugal’s middle son. Unlike his two brothers and his father who had dark hair, he had coppery strands that matched his trim beard and eyes that were almost amber. Besides playing a brutish Scotsman on a Hollywood set, he modeled as well.
And he was thirty-five. Right now, he was staring right at Nadia, so she willed herself to give him a flirty smile. She needed to get past her infatuation with he-who-shall-not-be-named.
“Colin.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’m here to rescue the rose among the thorns.” He glanced at Dugal. “Did I hear you arguing with Clyde about who makes better tatties?”
“It’s mashed potato,” Clyde said. “Where I grew up in the South, there’s only one way to make mashed potatoes.”
“Well, I’m making bangers and mash and that’s that,” Dugal returned.
They went into another round of bickering until the older Scot glared in the direction of the stairs. “For fuck’s sake.”
Dugal grumbled, “Can’t the lass have a relaxing day without you cops pulling her into shit?”
Nadia turned around to see Kelso entering the rooftop courtyard from the opening between apartments. His face was serious, so this wasn’t a social call.
“What’s up, Kelso?”
“Tried to call you. Figured you were out here.”
“I slept late. I left my phone inside.”
“It’s cool,” the detective replied, glancing around the rooftop. “I’m sorry to pull Nadia away, but we need her.”
“Brief me while I throw some clothes on and get my gear.” The menfolk were used to this from her. Her father sighed and walked back to his apartment where she figured he was going to pack some food for her to take.
Sprinting back to her own apartment with Kelso keeping pace with her, he said, “You know our victim.”
Nadia braked right before the door to her bedroom and spun around. “Who?”
“Kenneth Huxley.”
“There has to be a connection between Thomas Brandt’s murder and this one.”
Gabby and Kelso walked into Ken’s office where Nadia was busy marking evidence for the crime scene techs. She was the most flexible in the group and sort of a Jill-of-all-trades for the forensic department. She had her own lab, which Kelso had christened “The Nerd Lab” that was equipped with the latest technology. Another one of Nadia’s specialties was comms, and hence, her arsenal of drones. She was the eyes and ears on the ground for the team. At the moment, she had on her digital forensic hat.
“Why were you and Garrison here last Wednesday?” Kelso asked.
“He wanted to use my friendship with Huxley to coax him to put his Crown-Key technology under Homeland Security protection.”
“Which really means CIA,” Gabby said. “It looked like his concerns were valid. What exactly does it do?” She paused. “Give it to me in layman’s terms quick-like, so we know what to look for.”
“It’s a two-part system,” Nadia said. It took her almost an hour to get through her contact with the Feds to allow the manufacturer of Ken’s computer to give her the backdoor into his machine. Nadia put in her own clearance code which was still valid from when she worked on Thomas Brandt’s computer, and she was in. But that was the easy part. Like Brandt’s computer, she needed to unlock several partitions. The app was installed, but that only performed surface-level hacking. “To be fully functional, we need the hardware as well.” She glanced up from the screen to look at the detectives. “Ken showed me a simulation last Wednesday. If it truly does what I’ve seen, we’re in deep shit.”
“Explain,” Gabby said.
She nodded for her colleagues to get behind her. “It’s a device that can analyze networks for vulnerabilities. It uses an AI program to project feedback and maps out several paths to what Ken calls the Crown—the top of the food chain. Not only that, but it can also figure out a path from a less secure computer, and move laterally, if it has to, and then up.”
“What does that even mean?” Kelso asked.
“Let’s say our hacker has targeted a company. Lower-level computer users are more lax with authentication credentials because they have less access to critical data. If the hacker has the credentials of, say, a pe
rsonal assistant to a low-level manager. He’s already in the network, he can move laterally to another computer with higher security clearance on the same network, and continue hopping across and then up the chain until he gets what he wants.”
“And the Crown-Key simplifies this?” Gabby asked.
“It’s one of its features,” Nadia said.
Both detectives were quiet for a while, contemplating the impact of her words. Finally, Kelso said, “Tell us what to look for.”
“We’re looking for a device eleven by nine by two inches,” Nadia said. “Ruggedly built like military laptops, Ken said its case is made of titanium. I doubt he keeps it here. I would have the techs search for something like it.”
“Got it.” Both detectives made a turn to leave the room, but she recalled their attention. “Oh, and guys…”
Both turned to look at her.
“I don’t see one of his security guys among our DBs.” It was the guy Garrison knocked out first.
“We’ll have you identify him when we get back to the station. I’m sure a couple of them are off-duty,” Gabby said, and then smacked her head when Nadia grinned. “Oh, right, you’re the one who’ll be giving us that information.”
“This should be interesting,” Kelso said. “When your crime analyst becomes the witness.” He addressed Gabby. “You think Nadia is too close to this? Maybe we should have someone else take over.”
Gabby shook her head and strode out the door. Nadia might have heard her muttering about John Garrison dragging her team into his shit.
Back at the CTTF HQ, the team was assembled in the war room where a link chart was already started. One white board held everything they knew about Thomas Brandt, while another link chart on Huxley was taking shape on a second.
“Huxley was found dead in his bedroom,” Kelso said. “Two shots to the chest. The rest of his security was systematically eliminated. One by the elevators, two in the kitchen, one by his office and the last was just before his bedroom.”
“Nothing on the surveillance footage?” Joe Henderson asked. He was a veteran detective who used to work the Robbery and Homicide Division.
“No,” Nadia said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “The video had been tampered with and we’re missing a whole eight hours of surveillance that included the timeframe when the murders happened.
“Though not a suspect yet, Nadia identified a person of interest.” Kelso flashed a picture of a blond-haired man, with rough features on the screen. “Cain Morris is a former Navy SEAL who worked for a private military company that did a lot of business in Ukraine. He’s not the head of Huxley’s security, but he did most of the hiring.”
“If he, indeed, is the mastermind, that would explain the poor security,” Nadia said.
“Gabby and I went to his residence,” Kelso said. “No one is answering. We’ve filed for a search warrant.”
“He’s got to know that he’d be an immediate suspect given his background,” Gabby added. “If he’s guilty, we’re sure he’s already planned an escape route.”
“What’s this Crown-Key you all have marked there with an asterisk?” another officer on their team asked.
Nadia repeated what she told the detectives when they were at Ken’s condo.
“Motherfucker. Why would Huxley create such a device?” Henderson asked.
Ego. Nadia didn’t say, but there it was. Ego was the root of most evils. However, maybe Ken had an altruistic purpose. “Ken has long criticized the government and other major corporations for easily exploitable weaknesses in their infrastructure.”
“So he created this to prove a point?” another officer on their team scoffed.
“Or, maybe, so he could help strengthen it against attacks.”
“We don’t think Morris has the device at this point,” Gabby said. “Nadia indicated Huxley wouldn’t be keeping it in the same location. We also believe that Huxley was killed elsewhere and dumped in his bed. Forensics and the medical examiner are confirming this.”
“So why kill Huxley?” Another detective asked. “And why didn’t they take his laptop?”
“Maybe they’re afraid it has a tracker the LAPD would have access to and don’t want to risk it. Ken also has it locked up tight. There’s only the app on the machine. The source code is somewhere else, but I think I can run a program through his files to find his code repository,” Nadia said. “As for killing Huxley, I have a feeling he was starting to consider Homeland Security protection, and maybe Morris knew he was out of time.”
“You think he cut and run?” Kelso asked.
“He must have gotten something out of Huxley,” Gabby said. “What do you think, Nadia?”
“We’ll need to review every single piece of evidence from the penthouse,” she replied.
“Agreed, but I want you to concentrate on digital forensics. Find that source code,” Gabby told her. “I’ll tell the other techs to work on latents and other evidence.”
“Sounds good.”
7
The chain stringing him up was released, and John dropped to the floor with a grunt. The day’s interrogation was over, and he wondered if his ribs were broken this time.
“He didn’t give up anything useful.” His interrogator, a man who was a hulk at six-seven with a physique that matched, spoke in Russian to a skinny man half his size. “Are you sure I can’t break his legs?”
“Unfortunately, no.” The smaller man with a scar across his eyes said. “Boss said no visible injuries.”
John wasn’t surprised with that directive. The mob liked to intimidate American operatives, but history had shown that the U.S. had a taste for swift retribution when one of their own was harmed. Unlike terrorists, who would love nothing more than to get their hands on the enemy, organized crime preferred to fly under the radar of the law. Not that John was the law.
Steel toe boots appeared in his line of vision before he was kicked from his kneeling position, sending him flat on his back. Three hundred pounds leaned on the sole of a boot to express the air from his lungs.
“Just a jab to the face, boss,” the Hulk said. “I want to see him bleed.”
Normally, John would treat his captors with smartass comebacks, but self-preservation drove his silence for the past three days. Visions of leaving Nadia alone and pregnant had been giving him cold sweats and nightmares.
“Enough. Things are happening as we speak, and we don’t want a damaged or dead CIA officer to add to the complication,” Scar-Eye said.
“Are we sure this is the guy named Stryker?” Hulk asked.
“Ilya said he is.”
Son of a bitch. Not that he could blame Ilya for giving him up. The man wasn’t trained to withstand torture, but, for his transgression, the Ukrainian Brotherhood would be keeping the businessman on a tight leash. John would worry about that later.
“Take him back to his cell. We’re scheduled for a call with the boss.”
The weight on his chest eased, and John was yanked to his feet. His wrists were bound. Even so, he could probably take on Hulk and Scar-Eye, but there were other men with guns outside the torture room, and he had Bristow to consider.
He was led down the stairs back to the basement. From what he could tell, they were being kept in a house that had a staircase that led straight into a dungeon that used to be part of the Odessa catacombs. It was rumored to be used by smugglers. Real estate developers had filled up majority of the tunnels, but no one really knew how many remained. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Odessa Order found use for it as well.
Stacked stones served as retaining walls and formed their asymmetrical cell. The ceiling revealed excavated earth and rock, and John hoped there were enough foundation and support beams to hold up the ancient structure. A bulb strung in the middle of the room provided lighting and, depending on how fond their captors were of them at any given day, it would be switched on and off. He and Bristow memorized the path to the buckets at the corner of the room that served as th
eir toilet. It would suck if they made a mess. Food and water were provided once a day. If one could call stale bread food.
Hulk found it necessary to march him down the steps. He was followed by two guards—one to make sure Bristow didn’t try anything funny, and the other was in charge of swapping the buckets.
When they were left alone, John leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the ground. Bristow didn’t budge. He was flat on his back with an arm over his eyes. He was recovering from his own interrogation earlier. At least they were lying on earth instead of a cold slab of granite.
“How did it go?” Bristow murmured without turning his head.
“Same.” He suppressed a groan when his ribs bitched as he tried to get more comfortable. They never discussed anything about their business with Ilya, given that their dungeon may be bugged.
There was no question they were in an Argonayts’ base of operations. Despite the dilapidated state of the house, both he and Bristow spied a room full of computers with operators at the helm. Their laptops were the first to be confiscated. But since they were on the trail of hackers, they didn’t bring their agency laptops, but ones that provided their cover as wine merchants. However, John doubted they bought their cover since the interrogations continued.
“But something big is happening, and it may be connected to why they detained us.”
“Think they’ll let us go after?” Bristow asked. “‘Coz it seems they were detaining us because they think we’re going to expose whatever shit they’re planning.”
“Don’t know.”
“The guy with the scar threatened to ship us off to Siberia.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He could feel the burn of Bristow’s gaze on the side of his cheek.
“You’ve been acting strange.”
Her Covert Protector (Rogue Protectors Book 4) Page 7