He glanced at Niner with his tacky starfish Hawaiian shirt only half-buttoned, cigar jammed in one side of his mouth—unlit since smoking wasn’t allowed in the room—dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, a tacky Las Vegas lime green croupier visor completing his ensemble.
I think he does it to distract us. At least I hope that’s why.
Nickels started to be tossed into the pile, the bets quickly up to the massive twenty-five cent limit within moments.
“Too rich for my blood,” said Spock, tossing his cards after the last raise, apparently having nothing after all.
Niner lowered his sunglasses slightly, giving the man a look. “We seriously need to discuss your finances.”
“Hey, don’t judge me. Maybe I’m just a penny pincher.”
“Penny pincher my ass. I’ve seen your new car.”
Atlas’ impossibly deep voice joined the conversation. “Maybe that’s why he can’t afford a high stakes game like this.”
Niner grunted as he eyed his cards. “Yellow Camaro convertible. Please tell me you don’t have that lame Transformers decal on the back.”
Spock said nothing, leaning back in his chair as he took a swig from a can of Diet Pepsi.
Niner shook his head. “Christ, you do, don’t you?”
Spock shrugged. “I bought it used and it was already there. I didn’t want to mess up the paint job trying to take it off.”
“Bullshit!” coughed Atlas, he doing Iceman proud.
Niner threw another quarter onto the pile. “I think I’m going to start calling you Bumblebee.”
“As you wish, Beaver.”
Atlas snorted, Dawson stifling a laugh. “Forgot about that one,” the huge man rumbled. “Beaver. Yeah, maybe I’ll start calling you that too.”
Niner folded up his cards and placed them on the table. “You know, looking through that sight can be pretty confusing at times. I’d hate to put a round in someone’s ass.”
Dawson smiled. “I think we’ll leave them as Niner and Spock.” He nodded toward Niner’s cards. “And now that Niner’s out, it’s just you and me, Atlas. I call.”
“Hey, I wasn’t folding!” protested Niner, grabbing his cards.
Dawson shrugged. “Hey, you put them on the table. You know our rules.”
“Yeah, but they’re not the rules.”
“Hey, you’re the one who came up with it. You were sick and tired of waiting for Mickey to come back from the pisser. What did you say that day?”
Atlas leaned forward. “If you can’t hold’em, you fold’em.”
Niner frowned, tossing his cards onto the pile. “Fine. But I’ve got starving cousins back in Korea to feed, and you guys just took away next week’s groceries.”
Everyone groaned. “South Korea, man, South Korea. If your parents were from North Korea, you’d never have made The Unit,” said Spock, watching as Atlas revealed his cards.
“Pair of Aces and Kings. Read ’em and weep.”
Dawson’s eyebrows raised slightly, his head bobbing in appreciation of a decent hand. “That’s good, damned good. I hate to say all I have is this pair of deuces”—he revealed the pair of twos—“and their friend.” He dropped the third and Atlas groaned.
“Are you kidding me? I lost to triple deuces?”
Dawson leaned forward, scooping the pot toward him. “Never underestimate the underdog.”
“Or the Big Dog!” added Spock.
“Arf! Arf!” barked Niner as he grabbed the cards. “Time to win my money back. This time no cheating.”
Somebody pounded on the door. “Hello?” cried a female voice from the hallway.
“Sounds like another pissed off girlfriend,” said Spock, checking his watch.
“Must be for you,” said Atlas, smiling at Niner.
“Ha ha. I’ll have you know I leave all my women very disappointed, not angry.”
“Help! Please!”
“Okay, jokes over,” said Dawson, nodding toward Spock who was closest to the door. Spock rose and looked through the peephole, waving off the weapons. “It’s one of Jones’ staff.” He opened the door and stepped back as Tammy Clavin burst in, her face ashen, her eyes wide with terror.
“You’ve gotta help me!” she cried, her eyes flitting from one operator to the next, finally settling on Dawson.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, donning his shoulder holster as the others did the same.
“I was supposed to be in a meeting with Mr. Jones and the senior staff but no one is answering the door, and I think I heard somebody moving inside, but I’m not sure. I saw drag marks on the hallway carpet.” She took a large sip of her coffee. “I think something’s wrong!”
Dawson holstered his weapon and stepped forward, taking the coffee. “I think you’ve had enough of that,” he said, placing it on a table. “You stay here, we’ll check it out. Don’t open this door unless it’s one of us, understood?”
She nodded, looking about as if not sure what to do. Dawson directed her toward a chair by the phone. “Sit here. Wait for us. If we’re not back in fifteen, call 9-1-1. Understood?”
“Y-yes.”
Dawson shoved the comm piece in his ear, activating it as they left the room. “Sawhorse this is Deacon One, come in, over.”
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
“Comms are working but no reply.” He pointed at Atlas and Spock. “You two take the west stairwell, we’ll take the east.”
Niner took point as the others sprinted down the hallway to the other exit. Dawson activated his comm again. “This is Deacon One to anyone on this frequency, do you copy, over?”
Niner opened the door cautiously, peering up and down the stairwell before proceeding, Dawson following as again his communications attempt failed. They covered the flights quickly, soon at the tenth floor where Jones and his core team were staying. Niner peered through the small window and shook his head.
“Nobody.”
Dawson frowned. “Not good.” He activated his comm. “Deacon Zero-Two, Deacon Zero-One, in position, over.”
Atlas responded. “Zero-Two in position, over.”
“Zero-Two, Zero-One, proceed in three… two… one… Execute.”
Niner pulled the door open and Dawson stepped through, checking left and right then advancing, Niner slightly behind him, Atlas and Spock pressing toward them from the other end, the floor empty the entire way.
Dawson paused, something on the floor catching his eye, a wet spot on the carpet. He knelt down and dabbed a finger in it.
Blood.
He showed it to Niner then wiped it on his pants as they continued. The two teams met at Jones’ door, Dawson pointing at the drag marks on the floor, the others acknowledging with a nod. Clearly something was wrong. There should have been six Secret Service agents on the floor and the marks on the carpet definitely looked like bodies had been dragged.
But the only blood was the few spots near the elevators.
Maybe they were forced to surrender.
He looked at the carpet, there easily half a dozen distinct sets of drag marks.
Then why wouldn’t they have just walked?
He held an ear to the door and heard nothing. Standing to the side, he knocked three times. “This is Agent White, please open the door!”
Nothing.
He knocked.
Harder.
There was a faint sound, as if someone was yelling against a gag.
Dawson pulled the keycard for the room and swiped it, the light turning green as a click sounded. Niner pressed down on the handle then pushed the door open, shoving a boot in to hold it as Dawson burst through followed by Atlas and Spock. He quickly swept the room, left to right, ignoring the ten bodies on the floor.
“Clear!” he shouted as he advanced on the closed bedroom door, Spock at his back. He threw open the door, revealing a darkened room, then reached over and flicked on the lights, the room empty. He advanced around the far side o
f the bed, looking behind the curtains as Spock checked the ensuite bathroom.
“Clear!” called Spock as he returned to the bedroom.
Dawson turned to leave when he heard a whimper. He froze, raising his fist and cocking an ear. He pointed to the bed, aiming his weapon, Spock doing the same.
“Come out from under the bed now, hands first.”
“O-okay, d-don’t shoot.”
He recognized Constance Jones’ voice immediately. “Mrs. Jones, is that you?”
“Y-yes.”
“It’s okay, it’s Agent White. I’m part of your husband’s security detail. It’s safe, you can come out.”
“O-okay.”
The woman was terrified, that much was clear. A hand appeared from under the low hanging bed covers, a moment later the other. The frail woman slowly emerged and Dawson helped her to her feet, directing her to the sit on the bed. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Did they do anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No, I just heard the shouts and I crawled under the bed. I heard the door open then someone walking around, then it closed again. That was it until you came in.”
“Did you see them?”
She shook her head. “No, just his shoes.”
“His. So it was a man?”
She shrugged. “Or a woman with huge feet.”
Dawson smiled. “You never know.”
“They’re coming to,” said Atlas from the door, his deep voice causing the woman to flinch.
Dawson nodded then turned back to Constance. “You stay here, I’ll be right back.”
“My husband?”
He glanced at Atlas who shook his head.
“We don’t know yet,” said Dawson. “But there’s no evidence that he’s been hurt so let’s not jump to any conclusions.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
She nodded, her shoulders slumping.
Dawson stepped back into the suite, everyone’s bonds and gags removed, some still out cold, others in various stages of recovery.
“What took them out?” he asked.
“Looks like tranquilizer darts,” said Niner, holding one up. “Nobody’s been hurt.”
“And the blood?”
“I shot one of them,” said a groggy agent. “I know he went down. They opened up on us and after that”—he shrugged—“I have no clue.”
“How many?”
“I saw six I think.”
“Yeah, six,” said another agent, pushing himself to his feet. “They came off the elevator, opened fire on Larry and Marsha and before we knew what was happening they had taken out Tom and Arnie at the west position. The only reason they didn’t get us right away was because some of the staff were in the way, but once they were down that was it, they had clear shots as soon as we did.” He frowned, shaking his head. “They were quicker.”
Dawson twigged on something. “Why were the staff in the hallway?”
“We were asked to leave.”
Dawson turned to find Russell Saunders sitting in a chair, his head dangling between his knees. “Explain.”
“Mr. Jones had a private meeting—”
“Mr. Quaid.”
“Yes. He wanted to talk to Mr. Jones alone so we cleared the room.”
“How long after did the hostiles appear?”
Saunders’ eyebrows narrowed. “Huh?”
“The bad guys.”
“Oh, umm, five minutes maybe?”
“At most,” said the Special Agent in Charge, McCarthy, one of the last to wake up, he evidently taking more shots than the others. “Have you called this in?”
“Not yet. Comms are down and we’ve just secured the room.”
“Understood. Status?”
“Mr. Jones and Mr. Quaid appear to be the only ones missing. Mrs. Jones is in the bedroom, she hid under the bed but saw nothing of use. Everyone was taken out by what appear to be tranquilizer darts. Tests will confirm it.”
“Okay, I’ll call it in.” McCarthy pulled out his phone and stepped into the hallway. Dawson nodded toward Atlas. “Go bring Miss Clavin up here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Atlas followed McCarthy out, Dawson turning to Spock and Niner. “You two cover the hallway until backup arrives. Shoot anything that doesn’t immediately cooperate.” Niner grinned. Dawson held up a finger. “Try to wound them.” Niner pouted, Dawson pointing at the door with a “get out now” expression.
“What’s on your back?”
Dawson turned to see everyone looking at Saunders as he rose. “Turn around.”
Saunders did a bit of a spin, trying to see his back like a dog chasing his tail, but Dawson had seen enough, shouting at Niner. “Stop that phone call!”
Niner sprinted into the hall, shouting at McCarthy to hang up as Dawson stepped over and pulled off a paper taped to Saunders’ back.
Tell anyone and he dies.
Acton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Acton jammed his thumb down on the top of his Corona, tipping it upside down, watching the lime slowly rise to the bottom.
“Does it really make a difference?” asked Sandra Milton, watching the display for probably the thousandth time in their friendship.
Acton shrugged, slowly tipping the bottle upright, the lime wedge’s journey complete. “I’ve been doing it since college, why stop now?”
Milton cleared his throat. “We did a lot of things in college that we don’t do now.”
Acton took a swig, the distinct tang of the fresh lime making all the difference. He rested the bottle on his knee. “Name one.”
“Umm…”
Acton winked at Sandra. “See, either he’s lying or what he used to do in college is too embarrassing to say in front of his wife.”
“Umm…”
Acton put his arm across the back of Laura’s chair. “I think I win.” He turned to Tommy. “Now, back to what we were talking about. You said that someone would have been monitoring the computers for that search phrase. Is there any way we can find out who?”
Tommy shook his head. “There’s no way we could find out, but somebody probably could if they had access.”
“Access to what?”
“The Dark Web. Specifically the Dark Web probably used to monitor this system.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is the Dark Web?”
Tommy smiled slightly. “You all of course know what the Internet is.”
“I may be dumb but I’m not stupid.”
Tommy laughed, waving his hands. “No, I don’t mean it that way. What I mean is, you know what the Internet is.”
Acton frowned, now feeling dumb and stupid.
“Okay, I’ll take it from the stunned silence that nobody is willing to admit they don’t know what it is. Well, I won’t bore you with the details because you won’t understand it without the technical knowhow, but essentially it is a communications network. It passes data back and forth either completely unencrypted, or sometimes encrypted with accepted protocols, bouncing around between servers all around the world sometimes, before it reaches its intended destination. It’s completely decentralized so that in the case of a major outage in one area, it will still work everywhere else.”
Milton poked the air with his finger, leaning forward. “That’s right. I read about that somewhere. DARPA designed it years ago to be able to survive a nuclear war.”
“Gold star for the Dean!”
Milton gave Tommy a little look.
Tommy blushed, discovering how much rope he actually had to dangle from.
“But I read the web was invented in Switzerland, at that CERN thing where they have that collider thingy,” said Sandra.
“That’s the World Wide Web. Completely different thing. The Internet is a communications platform, the World Wide Web is an interface. Everything you see on your screen is just data, whether it’s text or images, it’s just data, which is broken down into bits that are
transmitted across the Internet. The basic tech of the backbone hasn’t really changed that much in decades; it’s just become faster and more widespread. And in some cases, more secure.”
“The Dark Web?”
“Exactly. See, some people learned long ago that the Internet was just too public for their liking. They dubbed it the ‘clearnet’. To allow themselves to take advantage of the infrastructure, but protect themselves from the prying eyes of the public and law enforcement, they created darknets, which are networks that run on top of the Internet, but require specific hardware or software to use them. Some even use the Internet as a gateway to an entirely separate, private network that can be global in itself.”
Milton whistled. “Sounds like spy stuff.”
“It is in some cases. So if I have a special darknet interface in my home, I send my data through it, it goes onto the public network, but only someone with the same software or hardware can access that data. To anyone else it’s just gibberish. Or, I can send my data to a specific device on the public Internet, encrypted of course, and then it can be a jumping off point to send that data, and any replies, across a separate, private network without anyone ever knowing.”
“Sounds sinister,” said Laura as Acton took another swig of his beer. “And this is legal?”
“Sure, the tech is legal, what you do with it might not be. Child pornographers live on the darknet, so do piracy sites, arms dealers, you name it. But it’s also used for innocent things like anonymous Bitcoin transactions or just the paranoid conspiracy crowd who don’t want ‘the man’ monitoring them. Like any technology, it can be abused.”
“And you think this darknet or Dark Web is how they’re monitoring this?”
“Possibly. What I do know is that we need someone with a lot more access than we have in order to check this out.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Know any spies?” asked Tommy, laughing.
Acton, Laura and Milton all exchanged glances.
“What?” asked Sandra, suddenly noticing.
“Nothing,” replied Milton a little too quickly.
“Nothing,” said Acton, draining his beer.
It might be time for some Kraft Dinner.
Unknown Location, New Orleans, Louisiana
Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) Page 12