by Dee Davis
"All right," Gabe said, his tone grudging. "I'll admit the idea has merit. But in order for it to have value, we need to find out what he was after."
"That's going to be a bit trickier." Harrison turned back to the computer. "Once I've restored the system, all traces of the failure will be eliminated. I've run almost all the diagnostics I can without rebooting. So it's sort of a rock and a hard place."
"What about tackling it from Cullen's end?" Madison had moved over to look at the computer screen. "You said they had damage, as well. But his system wasn't wiped clean, right? Maybe you can work backward from there."
Gabe had to admit it was sound thinking. "Is that possible?"
"It might work." Harrison frowned, obviously considering the idea. "A lot of it depends on if the perp actually accessed Cullen's computer or if the failure there was merely a proximity problem. Our servers are linked by necessity."
"You certainly have my authorization to have a look. Anything we can do to find out what's going on. If an unauthorized access was made to either computer I want to know about it." Cullen's expression was grim. "Could the problem have generated from my computer system?"
Harrison shook his head. "Based on what I'm seeing I'd say it definitely started with us."
"Which leaves us with some really big questions. Not that many people know we're here, right?" Gabe asked.
"I haven't broadcast it, if that's what you mean." Cul-len shrugged. "But I haven't kept it a secret, either. I thought your presence might actually act as a deterrent. So I imagine most of the employees here are aware of your existence. And of course, the consortium members know."
"So we're talking at least a couple hundred people." Madison sighed. "Which means finding the culprit will be next to impossible."
"At the moment, I'm more interested in what they wanted." Gabe walked over to Harrison. "I want you to see if you can use Cullen's system to back in to the information. We need to get someone over here to check for physical evidence. Although I suspect it's been destroyed." He glanced down at the keyboard.
Harrison winced. "Sorry. I should have thought about that. I was just so shocked to find the system failure."
"It's totally understandable," Gabe said. "I'd have probably reacted the same way. Still it's worth checking out. I'll put a call in to Nigel."
"I already contacted him." Madison's gaze held just a hint of one-upmanship, and despite himself, he smiled. "He's on the way."
Yeah, he'd definitely underestimated her. But the jury was still out on whether that was a good or a bad thing.
"You're wired tighter than the Energizer Bunny. Something else going on?" Harrison asked, his keen eyes seeing far more than Madison wanted him to.
They were sitting in the Marriott's bar. Harrison had gone as far as he could with Cullen's computer system, the rest would have to wait until morning. She hadn't wanted to go back to her apartment and hadn't been up to staying at the scene. Besides, her expertise was putting together who from what, so she was better off letting the others work on the what.
"Only three murders, a hacked computer, and an apparent conspiracy with the potential to affect all international trade as we know it. Not to mention Cullen's involvement. I don't like the idea that he might be a target."
"How about your dad? He have any dealings with the consortium?"
Madison shook her head. "He's not interested in China. Not until they're more technologically advanced, anyway. I think the truth is that he doesn't want the political ramifications. His bread is buttered on the other side."
"Frankly, I don't see how you keep up without a scorecard."
She allowed herself a smile. "I've had lots of practice."
They sat for the moment, letting the sound of the bar wash over them, happy conventioneers whose only care was which seminar to attend in the morning.
"Have you formed any impressions about who might be behind all of this?"
"Isn't that the question of the hour." Madison sighed, and took a sip of wine. "The first two deaths point to someone with experience and contacts. Either someone in the medical field, or a pro. And based on the way things went down with Bingham Smith, I'd lean toward assassin. But the fire is another thing entirely. Really messy. Hit the man, then burn the evidence."
"Seems logical to me."
"In a situation where the murder was unplanned, or unintentional maybe. But if we're to believe it was planned, then it doesn't follow. The fire didn't destroy the evidence. Granted, the first M.E. missed the details, but Tracy didn't."
"She didn't miss the potassium chloride, either. So does that count as a mistake?"
"No. A pro. He doesn't care if the method is discovered as long as it doesn't point to him. Ultimately, he just wants the man dead—preferably with as little fanfare as possible. That's the problem with all three murders really. If it was terrorists, why not a more dramatic attack? Something to really hit the news and make waves. Surely that would be the best way to guarantee the accord failed."
"Maybe not." Gabriel's baritone filtered down from above her, and she looked up to meet his glacial stare. "Mind if I join you?"
Yes came to mind, but it probably wouldn't stop him, so she resisted the urge to voice it. Instead she waved at the empty chair next to Harrison, but he ignored it and sat beside her, his thigh grazing hers in the process. She waited for him to move it, but he didn't, instead leaning back, the movement pressing him closer. With a feigned sigh, she shifted her chair away from him.
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow in amusement, but stayed put, signaling a passing waitress and ordering a whiskey on the rocks. "You were saying that the obvious ploy for a terrorist is to make a splash."
"And you, as usual, were disagreeing." She hadn't meant to snap, but the man was trying, to say the least.
Harrison's lips quivered as he tried to contain a laugh.
"The problem with your logic is that there is more than one kind of terrorist." Gabriel went on as if they were having a normal conversation. "The first is the kind you referenced. They're in it for the impact. And publicity only helps that. They jump at the opportunity to claim responsibility."
He paused to pay for his drink, then continued. "But some terrorists are more like soldiers. Attacking an enemy using less-than-acceptable means to achieve their goals."
"How does that differ from Delta Force, or black ops?" Madison voiced the question before she thought about how it sounded. Or maybe some part of her had asked it on purpose, wanting to goad him the same way he did her.
"It doesn't, really." He shrugged, ignoring her barb. "It's all a matter of perspective. If someone is fighting for your interests you're much less likely to question their methods or label them. If it's the enemy, then..."
"Surely there's a difference between someone righteously striking an enemy even under clandestine circumstances, and someone who randomly blows away innocents." Harrison leaned forward, interested.
"Morally, there is definitely a difference. But righteousness is in the eye of the beholder. And in either case the attackers could be termed terrorists."
"While I appreciate the lesson, I don't see how it applies here." She still sounded snippy and hated herself for it. She'd always prided herself on her self-control. "We're not talking about either flagrant attacks, or anything remotely righteous. In fact, if I had to call it, I'd say that greed was the most likely motivation."
"Bigger crimes than this have been committed for less." Gabriel shrugged. "The point is that even with the lack of splash, this could still be considered terrorism. If some entity is determined to stop the accord, and killing the consortium's key members to do it, then the methodology doesn't matter. They're still considered acts of terror. Especially in today's political climate."
Madison nodded, not really listening to his argument, a new thought having occurred to her. "Has anyone thought to check the Chinese delegation? Maybe they're having the same kind of problem."
"One step ahead of you." His smile was
smug, or maybe it was just a trick of the shadows. "Payton did some checking before he left China. He knows Beijing and he's familiar with most of the players on that end."
"I suppose there's no point in asking why he knows so much about them?" Harrison queried, idly turning his beer glass with his fingers.
"None at all." Gabriel grimaced. "And believe me, I tried. But according to his intel, none of the Chinese involved have died from natural causes or otherwise."
"So whatever is happening here, it's targeted at the American side of things." Madison took another sip of wine, her mind turning over all that they knew, trying to assemble pieces into a recognizable whole. "At least that limits the investigation."
"But it still leaves us with a lot to prove. Although it goes a long way, three of six doesn't establish conspiracy." Gabriel's icy gaze encompassed them both.
"Don't forget the computers." Harrison leaned back in his chair, still playing with his beer glass.
"I take it you've finished your analysis?" Gabriel asked.
"I still have a few more tests to run." Harrison shrugged. "But I've exhausted most of my options. I even checked Cullen's tracking system. Old bastard designed a hell of a program. But whoever did this wiped it clean, as well."
"So you think they were after something of Cullen's?" Madison frowned.
"It makes more sense than wanting something off of ours. All of the accord records are stored on his system. But it's still only an educated guess. One that I certainly can't prove. Once everything is back online, I'll finish the diagnostics. But I wouldn't hold my breath." Harrison sat back with a sigh. "Did Nigel find anything?"
Gabriel shook his head. "Nothing conclusive. Some partial prints. Most of which are probably ours. Anything that we can't identify will be checked against Cullen's employee list. He's got prints on everyone in the building."
"Nice of him." Harrison smiled. "And I suppose if we still have any unidentified we can ran them through the computers at Langley just to be certain."
"Exactly, but my guess is they won't turn up anything significant."
"Even if we don't identify the hacker," Madison said, "I'd still say the fact we had one, combined with the murders, is a pretty strong indication that we're on the right track."
"It would seem that way, certainly. But until we verify that the other three deaths were also intentional, I'd prefer we maintain our skepticism." Gabriel sat back, finishing the last of his whiskey.
"Well, without an autopsy, how do you suggest we proceed?" Harrison asked. "They're all in different jurisdictions."
"Divide and conquer." Gabriel smiled, and Madison was certain she wasn't going to like the rest of what he had to say. "Harrison, you can check out Macomb's death. The car wreck happened in Albany, so you should be able to request records from here and still finish your work on Cullen's computers. Payton and Nigel can head for Virginia. Dashal has family there. And we already have the police report."
Madison's stomach churned. Alan Stewart had died in Colorado. In a remote mountain town.
"And you and I—" Gabriel's gaze collided with hers, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth "—will head for the mountains."
Madison looked to Harrison for support, but he only shrugged.
Some best friend.
There had to be a way out. Something she could say. But her brain stubbornly refused to provide an excuse, choosing instead a completely reprehensible route, and before she could stop them, the words tumbled out of her mouth.
"What time do we leave?"
Cullen Pulaski sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen. The list of files stared back at him, the cursor blinking, waiting for him to take action. He entered a series of keystrokes and a password, and the machine buzzed, then presented him with a list of documents. Opening one, he skimmed the pages, wondering if the intruder had made it this far.
He'd set up safeguards. But nothing was impregnable. Whoever had broken into the computer system had obviously known what they were doing, and what they were after. Cullen entered more keystrokes and checked the hidden log. He hadn't shared its existence with Harrison. The man had found the decoy. And searched it. But of course there was nothing to find.
Cullen had almost told him about the second one, wanting to share his genius with someone who could appreciate it. He'd designed the program himself. A way to track activity within his systems. An extra set of eyes watching his back.
But in the end, caution had won out. He needed to look on his own. See what, if anything, was there. He scrolled down the screen, stopping when he reached the record of the day's activities.
It took a moment to isolate, but it was there. An unauthorized entry. Someone had gained access to his files. Unfortunately there was no identifier. Just as Harrison had predicted, the pathway had been wiped clean. There was nothing left to tell him who it was.
Nothing at all. Only the fact that someone had been there. Someone who desperately wanted to bring Cullen down. But Cullen couldn't let anything get in his way now. He was too close. Everything depended on these final moves, the death dance of opponents in a battle for survival.
And despite all he had accomplished, Cullen Pulaski was afraid.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Town was probably too optimistic a word for Creede, Colorado. Situated on a horseshoe bend in the highway, there wasn't much more than the main street, but the way that street settled into a majestic crag in the mountains went a long way toward explaining why summer homes had sprung up all along the valley. That and the fact that the Rio Grande was prime fishing water.
There was big money here. Discreet money. A far cry from the town's heyday as a rip-roaring boomtown, but no less important to its survival. Gabe drew in a cold, cleansing breath. Winter was in the air, but hadn't come yet, the aspens still decorated with gold.
The streets were fairly deserted—tourist season was on the wane. Some of the shops had already closed for the winter. It gave the street a desolate feeling, as if it didn't really exist. Gabe swallowed a laugh. He'd gone poetic.
"We're almost there." Madison pointed toward an open parking area between two buildings. "The one on the left should be the courthouse, and according to this map, the sheriff's office is just beyond that."
They'd flown into Alamosa a couple of hours ago, rented the Jeep, and had been on the road ever since. Between red-eye flying, jet lag and the tension emanating from the woman next to him, it had been a hell of a ride. A sort of pleasurable pain. He liked to keep his edges sharp, and Madison Harper, it turned out, was the perfect hone.
He pulled the Jeep into the parking lot, and without further conversation they got out and walked back to the main sidewalk. The sheriff's office looked more like a house than a public building, but the truck out front was clearly marked and the man getting out of it was unmistakably the law.
"Gabriel Roarke?" The big man closed the distance between them quickly, already extending his hand. "Patrick Weston."
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with us." Gabe shook the offered hand. "This is my associate, Madison Harper."
"Not sure what I can give you that you don't already know, but always glad to lend a helping hand." The sheriff's eyes crinkled at the corners. A lifetime spent laughing. Gabe wondered idly what that would feel like.
"We've read the report of course," Madison said, looking up at the sheriff as they walked. "But you know as well as I do that sometimes things are omitted."
Weston nodded, his expression turning serious. "I take it you all are considering something more than an accident?"
"It's possible," Gabe said, not willing to reveal too much too soon.
The sheriff shrugged, leading them up the path to his office. Gabe put him somewhere between forty and forty-five. A career lawman, if he had to call it, but with the rugged look of an outdoorsman.
"Did you know Mr. Stewart?" Madison asked, her brows drawn together as she studied the man.
"Everybody knows everybody up here. Or ha
s heard about them." Weston held the door open, then followed them into the office.
The room was a hell of a lot like every sheriff's office in the country, right down to the smell of burned coffee. They followed Weston into a cramped space that served as his office, taking seats in the perfunctory metal chairs that were meant, no doubt, for guests and suspects alike.
"Alan Stewart was a good man." Weston leaned back in his chair, tipping it to balance against the wall. "Gave a lot to this community, even though he was only a part-time resident."
"Part-time?" Madison pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Gabe noted that Weston followed the motion with his eyes, his gaze appreciative. Not that he could blame the man.
"Yup." He nodded. "Creede isn't the most hospitable of places in the dead of winter. And without the draw of major ski runs, most of the population clears out at the end of October, leaving only a handful of full-timers until the spring thaw."
"Did you actually see the body, Mr. Weston?" Madison looked up, her gaze searching, and the sheriff's focus returned to matters at hand.
"Nope. I was over in Del Norte at a meeting. By the time I got back, everything had already been taken care of."
"How do you mean?" Madison's frown deepened.
"Alan's death had been ruled an accident, and arrangements had been made to take his body home."
"To Texas," Gabe said. When not in Creede, Alan Stewart had made his home in Austin.
"That's right. Body was transported directly from their cabin. So I never saw it."
"But you wrote a report." Madison paused, her gaze meeting the sheriff's. "Who gave you the information?"
"Got some of it from the widow, and the rest from Doc Martin. It was all pretty routine and my report was just for the record. We had no reason to believe there'd been any foul play." Suspicion colored Weston's formerly genial face. "Are you saying I did something wrong?"
"Not at all." Gabe held up a conciliatory hand. "We're just trying to understand what happened."
The sheriff nodded, but his expression remained watchful.