“And so are you,” Georgia said, bumping her fist against his shoulder. “You weren’t born yesterday, Parker. Yeah, sure, the program has evolved over the years. But you have, too. You have the benefit of hundreds of operations, hundreds of outcomes. You’ve got your own intellect, the benefit of Ethan’s training.”
“I’m not like them, though. I’m not a skilled operator. I don’t work well under pressure—I need data, time. I can’t just glance at a situation and make a best guess.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. Why Ethan had allowed Parker on a tactical team but never taught him the confidence needed to succeed in that environment, she didn’t know. But it damn well stopped now.
“We talked about this, Parker. Everyone’s skill set is different. That doesn’t make it any less effective or deadly. The whole point of specialized units is to decrease redundancies and increase specialized skill sets. You may not be an expert marksman or proficient in hand-to-hand combat, but aren’t you the guy who said he could erase my entire digital existence? Didn’t you stand in your loft, barely caffeinated, and swear it would be easy?”
“Yeah.” Parker swallowed hard, and Georgia pressed her advantage.
“Don’t you get it? The team doesn’t work without you. They can’t fix this; they wouldn’t even know where to begin. At the end of the day, the CWU starts and ends with you!” She really wanted to tack “you moron” onto the end of that sentence but didn’t want to push her luck. “Your team trusts you to figure this out. Ethan came to you. I trusted you!” She took a deep breath, caught off guard by just how much she meant it.
“Past tense?”
“Don’t be a moron.” She glared at him. “I know you can do this. The answers are there, but if you keep up this cycle of doubt, if you keep convincing yourself that Parker 2.0 is better, faster, stronger . . . then yeah, this is going to end badly.”
Parker sighed, bringing his hands up to settle on her hips. Staring down at her, he asked, “So what do you suggest?”
“First, step away from the computer. Staring at it unblinkingly is only going to give you a migraine.”
His mouth quirked. “And second?”
“You,” she said, curling her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, “need a distraction.”
“So far, I like your plan,” he said, sliding a hand along the deconstructed collar of her sweatshirt, pulling it to the side to expose her shoulder and trace the mark he’d left there.
“What is it”—Georgia fought hard against a shudder and lost, goose bumps rising across her skin—“with you and leaving a mark?”
“I like knowing it’s there. Like knowing if anyone else stumbled upon it, he’d know I’d been here. Left my signature, marked my territory.”
“Such a stupid, macho thing to do,” she complained with a forced roll of her eyes. Truth was, she liked it. Liked the way it brushed against her clothes, the way her fingers sought it out, almost as a reflex.
“It’s a hacker thing, too. Leaving a mark, a signature, so others would know your work . . .” Parker went stock-still, his mouth dropping open in a stunned expression she’d never seen him wear before.
“Parker?” Georgia asked.
“I,” he said, looking down at her, “am an idiot.”
Excitement propelled Parker straight back to his computer. Finally, finally, he knew what to look for. That it had taken him three days to see what should have been obvious infuriated him. He’d been so torn up about Will, so busy keeping Georgia at arm’s length, he hadn’t been able to concentrate, to close out everything else and focus exclusively on what mattered. He wasn’t sure that had ever happened before.
“I’ve spent all this time combing through the files, looking for details and connections.”
“Yeah?” Georgia flicked her fingers at him in an “oh, do continue” motion.
“I was so busy looking through the data in the files, I never stopped to look at the files themselves.” He started pulling them up, one by one. “If Ethan grabbed these straight off the server, I should be able to look at the security logs.”
“What?” Georgia asked, pulling her chair in closer to him.
“The government tracks everything. Every file accessed, every person logged on to the server—it all leaves a mark. That way, if any files are ever tampered with, we can see who’s had access to them.”
“Aren’t there ways around that?”
“Sure,” he said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “But whoever this asshole is, he’s been pretty fucking brazen. He never expected anyone to notice—and why would he? All these operations were closed, their files sealed, the information classified. And I guarantee you, whoever’s doing this has the right level of access. So why hide?”
Georgia leaned over to look at the screen. “How long will it take to go through the records?”
“I don’t need to,” Parker said. “I’ve scrolled through the history on ten of them while we were talking. Only one name aside from Ethan’s is on every single one of them.” It was such a fucking cliché, too. Overworked, under-recognized bureaucrat close to retirement and looking to pad his bank account. What a prick. “Charles Brandt.”
“Should I know who that is?”
“No,” Parker said. “But I do.” On some level, Parker had known that there’d be a personal connection, that he’d know the person responsible, but he’d still hoped that no one he knew, no one he worked with and trusted, would be capable of being so selfish. Of risking so many lives.
Of leaving a man behind to rot in a South American hell.
Georgia placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
“He’s the director of the DoD’s off-book operational forces.” And was about as untouchable as anyone Parker could possibly imagine. What a nightmare.
“So who does he report to?” she asked, watching over his shoulder as he opened another file history. Then another. All produced the same result.
Parker turned and looked up at Georgia, the full weight of what they were up against settling around his throat like a noose he’d always known was there but had only just been cinched.
“Not a fucking clue,” Parker admitted. “You have to understand, we aren’t dealing with traditional chains of command here. The CWU is entirely off book, and oversight is thin at best.”
“But you’re still a government-controlled entity. There has to be some sort of hierarchy, some sort of reporting structure. The budget alone means other people have to be involved, to be aware of what’s happening.”
Parker shook his head. He couldn’t fault Georgia’s logic, but it was all based on traditional military perspective. Neatly ordered. By the book. But none of it applied. CWU was an off-book unit, and operating without oversight was the whole point of being off book. “All our funding gets appropriated in very small amounts from other sources.”
“Surely someone must notice, keep track of what money goes where . . .”
Parker laughed. “I’m sorry, were you under the impression our government was actually good at working with a budget?” He shook his head. “More than a trillion dollars was allocated to discretionary spending last year alone. Shifting small amounts, even amounts in the thousands of dollars, would be comically easy to do.”
He barked out a laugh that tinged dangerously toward hysterical. “I guess I should be grateful.”
“What do you mean?” Georgia asked.
“Charles Brandt may be a greedy bastard, but he’s also unimaginative. He’s using the program to get rich, to fleece major corporations”—not to mention cartels—“of what I can only assume is millions of dollars. Can you imagine if he’d had grander ambitions? In the wrong hands, my program could be used to play the long game—all the world powers on one chessboard. Depose this dictator, empower that one. Remove this head of state, spark a civil war.” Parker looked up at her, devastation sucking him under a wave of guilt. “In the wrong hands, my program could destroy nations, kill millions.”
In
the wrong hands, his program had torn apart a family. And so much worse.
“I never should have designed it.”
Georgia leaned forward, lacing her fingers around his wrist, the touch at once welcome and heartbreaking. He didn’t deserve her.
“You’ve spent the last several days looking at all the ways your program has been used for the selfish gain of one—you aren’t seeing the whole picture, aren’t considering all the good it’s accomplished. You have to take it as a whole, Parker. Consider everything, weigh all the factors. And there will be time for that. Time to figure out what’s next. But right now, we’ve got to deal with what’s in front of us.”
She was right; he’d told himself as much every time he’d wanted to crawl into bed next to her, whisper out his confession. One problem at a time.
“So where do we go from here?”
“Proof. This”—Parker waved at his computer—“isn’t going to be enough. We need something ironclad. Something undeniable.”
“Such as?”
“I’m thinking paper trail. We can already show that Brandt accessed these files; if we can connect him with large-sum payouts from the organizations involved, that should be enough to do it.”
“Motive and opportunity.” Georgia stared off across the kitchen, drumming her fingers against the table. “And we do that how, exactly?”
“Accessing Brandt’s personal computer shouldn’t be that hard.” Parker grinned; there really was little he enjoyed more than letting himself into a system he wasn’t supposed to know existed. “At least not for me.”
“Okay, hacker extraordinaire. You adept at tracing complex financial records, too?”
“God no.” That sort of analysis was time-consuming and mind-numbing in equal measure. He had neither the patience nor the thought process for digital forensics. “Ethan, on the other hand . . .”
“You’re joking,” Georgia said after a long, stony silence.
“Bet you thought he was only good at barking orders and pulling triggers.”
She shifted, a blush climbing up her neck.
“You’re forgetting, Georgia, everyone permanently attached to the CWU has a technical skill set to match their Special Forces training. Ethan’s a force to be reckoned with in the field, but he didn’t start out that way. He had a full ride on the table from three different Ivy League schools when he graduated high school.”
“Awesome. I’m surrounded by geniuses.”
“If there’s a paper trail, Ethan can produce it,” Parker continued.
“Is he up for this? The guy was shot three days ago.”
Did it matter? Every day that went by heightened their risk of discovery—and was one more day Will had to hold on . . . if he wasn’t dead already.
“He’s going to have to be.”
Now, more than ever, Parker felt the pressure to end this. For good.
“Ready?” Georgia asked, putting two fresh cups of coffee on the table, then pulling a chair close so they could share the screen. Parker, freshly showered and smelling of soap and timeworn cotton, radiated a casual warmth Georgia wanted to fold herself into. There’d be time for that, she reminded herself. Time to stay up late, sleep in later, and discover the strength of the bond growing between them.
After Parker was safe. After Brandt had paid.
Parker’s computer beeped, and as he enlarged the screen, waiting for Ethan to appear, Georgia shrugged off the feeling that everything started now. That one way or another, they were hurtling toward the finish line.
“Can you see me?” Ethan’s voice, strained and tired, came through the speakers.
“We can see your T-shirt,” Parker said, adjusting his monitor so that he and Georgia sat squarely within the frame.
“I told you to let me tilt up the screen.” Ortiz’s exasperated voice filtered through the connection. The picture wobbled, slowly rising from Ethan’s Columbia T-shirt to the man’s face.
“Hey,” Parker whispered, then swallowed hard.
Georgia understood why. Ethan’s appearance was nothing short of haggard. She’d been prepared for it, knew what to expect—she’d visited more than a few people with serious battlefield injuries, knew the toll massive trauma took on the body. But Parker didn’t. Not really. Georgia slipped her hand beneath the table and placed it on Parker’s bouncing knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze. There was no way he’d been prepared for how Ethan, who had this way of appearing forever young, fit and indestructible, would look post-gunshot.
Stubble Georgia had never seen covered Ethan’s jaw; deep circles carved crescent-shaped grooves beneath his eyes; and new, tense lines bracketed his mouth as if they’d always been there.
Ethan looked old.
“You look like crap,” Georgia said, stating the obvious to get it out in the open. “So maybe don’t get shot again.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” A crease formed at the edge of Ethan’s mouth, though if he was laughing or grimacing, Georgia couldn’t tell. “I assume you wouldn’t have made contact unless you were somewhere safe and had news. So fill us in,” Ethan ordered, his stare intense even through the camera.
“I went through all the files you grabbed. You were right; the only thing that makes sense is private war profiteering. None of those missions were authorized, and there’s too many conveniently tied to parties with deep pockets to assume anything else.” Parker took a breath. Reached for his coffee, trembled so hard liquid spilled over the rim. “Ethan, it’s Charles Brandt.”
“You’re sure?” Ethan asked, not so much as a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Ortiz, at least, cursed violently off camera.
“Yeah.” Parker nodded. “Positive. He’s the only one to access every single record. And really, it makes sense. He’s got the access, the clearance—no one would think twice if he sent an operational directive down the chain outside of normal channels.”
“Okay. So we know who, and we know why. But?” Ethan asked.
“But we still have to prove it,” Parker admitted.
“Which means we need to follow the money,” Ethan said on a sigh. “That takes time, Parker. And a level of access to Brandt we don’t have.”
“Actually,” Parker said, “we do. I had a few hours to burn before our call, and I got to thinking.”
“Danger. Danger,” Ortiz chimed in from the background, breaking into an impressive imitation of a siren.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Anyway, I realized you’d need access to Brandt’s personal files, his digital history. Banking records at the very least. I could hack my way in, but that would take forever and potentially expose us.” Parker brushed a hand toward Georgia.
“Not to mention be illegal.”
“Seriously?” Georgia choked around a mouthful of coffee. “I think we’re way past that.”
Ethan grimaced as if it burned the very fabric of his soul to even think about breaking the law.
“Anyway,” Parker said, bringing everyone back on track, “it was a long shot, but guess who’s a Jungle Gem fan?”
“You’re kidding,” Georgia said, staring at him openmouthed.
“Nope. And since I’m the app developer, guess what I store on the company servers?”
“Passwords,” Ethan answered.
“Bingo.”
“How does a password to your silly game help us?” Georgia asked.
“It shouldn’t,” Parker agreed. “Unless the head of the DoD’s black-ops division doesn’t bother to read the interdepartmental memo about cybersecurity.” Parker let his mouth quirk into a full smile. “Guess who uses the same password for everything?”
“You’re sure?” Ethan asked, for the first time relaxing back against the pillows propping him up.
“Oh yeah. I took every available precaution, then used the remote log-in portal to access Brandt’s computer using his e-mail and password. It worked. I downloaded his browsing history and did some checking. Same password across the board—the cable company, uti
lities, banking—you name it, you’ve got access to it.”
It couldn’t be that easy. Yeah, they were due for a break, had earned it if Georgia’s opinion counted for anything, but still . . . it just felt too easy.
“I’ll need a list of webs—”
“Already done.” Parker pulled up a new window, uploaded the file, and sent it to Ethan. “A link should pop up on your end; just click accept.”
“Got it.”
Georgia watched the sheer effort it took Ethan to maneuver the track pad. And now they were asking him to spend hours, maybe even days, combing through Brandt’s digital history for a smoking gun. He should be blissed out on the happy drugs and focusing on his recovery. Only one of many things Brandt had to answer for.
“You sure you’re up to this, Ethan? We could find someone else,” Georgia said, immediately regretting it as Ethan straightened and leaned toward the screen.
“Who?” Ethan asked, his voice a harsh accusation. “Forensic accounting is my specialty, no one else on the team is equipped to handle this, and we can’t risk bringing anyone else in.”
Georgia sat back. Nodded. He was right, after all; there wasn’t a choice. And no time to wait for him to recover.
Ethan sat back, sweat breaking out along his brow. “I only wish I had something more specific to look for.” He brushed off Ortiz when he offered Ethan a plastic cup with a straw. “I usually have an account number or a transaction ID to start with.”
“Actually,” Parker said, going suddenly stiff and still, “I think I can help with that.”
What? Since when? And why the hell hadn’t he told her any of this before the call? Georgia did a slow pan to her left, studying Parker’s profile even as the hair at her nape stood up.
The muscle at his jaw twitched, as if he were putting a considerable amount of effort into staring at the screen . . . and avoiding her.
“What is it?” Ethan asked, drawing Georgia’s attention back to the screen. Ethan licked his lips, pushing himself up against the pillows, jostling the computer until the view skewed, cutting away half his face. Swearing, he fixed the laptop. “Anything could be useful. Account numbers. Dates. Transaction origins or destinations.”
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 22