Intrusion (A Chris Bruen Novel Book 2)

by Reece Hirsch

  “Okay, Justin, but don’t get all handsy about it,” Zoey said with a grin.

  After the hug, a patron slouched over a beer offered, “I like hugs too, you know.”

  “You stay on your side of the bar, Wiley,” Zoey said.

  The greetings went on like that for a while, and then her friends began to wonder what they were doing there.

  “We need a place to crash, and I was wondering if anyone’s bunking upstairs tonight in the Cave,” Zoey said.

  K shrugged. “I was planning on sleeping one-off up there tonight, but I would gladly give up the place of honor for you—and your friend.”

  “Thanks, Krissa.” Then to the assembled parties, Zoey added, “This is Chris Bruen.”

  “Your new boss?” Wiley asked.

  “You need to rephrase that,” Zoey said.

  “Colleague?”

  “Better.”

  “The word ‘boss’ isn’t really part of Zoey’s vocabulary,” Chris said. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Nods all around.

  Krissa led them up a narrow flight of wooden stairs. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, but is everything okay?”

  “We just need a quiet place for a night, maybe two,” Zoey said.

  “If you’re looking to be off the grid, this is the place,” Krissa told Chris.

  Krissa swung the door open to reveal a tiny room with a bed, a couch, a couple of worn chairs, and a minifridge. The walls were plastered with posters from the club’s shows, many of which had been signed by the artists.

  “You know, this place is not just for bartenders and employees who’ve had a few too many. The Cave has been the crash pad for rock royalty. You know who’s slept in that bed? Alex Chilton. Paul Westerberg. Lucinda Williams. Jack White.”

  “I’m impressed,” Chris said. “But you change the sheets, right?”

  “Every five years.” Krissa lingered in the doorway for a moment. “So how’s the nine-to-five world treating you, Zed? You know you can always come back here. There’s always a spot. The music’s been better than ever lately.”

  “No poaching,” Chris said.

  Zoey waved a hand at him, taking the question seriously. “It’s actually not bad, K. I’ve got to admit that I’m surprised, but it’s not bad.”

  “So you like the work? Hunting down hackers? I still have trouble getting my head around that coming from you.”

  “I know, but most of the ones that we go after are just criminals with a keyboard. Some are even violent.”

  “Is that why you’re hiding out here now?”

  “Yeah, well, sort of.”

  “Stay as long as you like. It’s good having you around again.”

  “If I have time, I might come down there and do a shift for old times’ sake.”

  “Cool,” said K. “Hey, if you need a place indefinitely, my brother has a little house in Stinson Beach, and he’s out of the country indefinitely. I know where he keeps the keys. No one would find you out there.”

  “I thought you liked having me around.”

  “Shut up, you know I do. I just mean that if you seriously need to lay low for a while, that would be a place.”

  “Thanks, Krissa.” Zoey glanced at Chris. “We just might need that.”

  Krissa backed toward the door. “I’ll let you guys regroup. See you later.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but was there ever a thing between you two?” Chris asked as soon as the door closed. “Because I was sensing a certain vibe.”

  “There was something many years ago. Call it an experiment. It was brief—but intense.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “You have no idea. Speaking of which, there’s something that I need to tell you.” She paused like she was about to take a header off a diving board. “I made a copy of the emails from Owyang’s computer.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Zoey. Why did you make the copy?”

  “So that I could share it with Matt Geist, a reporter for the Sentinel.”

  “Wait. You actually did that?”

  “Yes.”

  Chris stood and gave her a stony look. “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t think it was right for the State Department to bury that information about the PLA’s role in hacking US corporations. How are companies going to defend themselves unless they understand the nature of the threat?”

  Chris tried to keep his emotions in check. He took a breath and then said, “You know that information was privileged. It was an ethical violation to disclose it.”

  “But you didn’t disclose it, I did. And I’m not an attorney.”

  “I doubt the State Bar or our client is going to make those kinds of distinctions.”

  “There’s something else that I need to say before we get too far into this. Geist’s dead. Someone came to his apartment after I gave him the flash drive and murdered him.”

  Chris dropped to the couch. “Murdered? He was murdered? Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

  “I wanted us to be someplace safe before I told you.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “No one has been arrested, but I’m pretty certain that it was the same guy who fired those shots at us in the alley.”

  “Jesus, Zoey.” Chris wanted to rise from the couch, but he only made it halfway before falling back. “Do you know where the flash drive is?”

  “No, I didn’t see it when I was in the apartment with the body. But I wasn’t in any state of mind to conduct much of a search.”

  “We probably have to assume that he got the flash drive.”

  “I think so. Geist would have told him anything that he wanted to know, judging by how he looked.”

  “Wait,” Chris said. “How did he know that you had the flash drive and were giving a copy to Geist?”

  “I was getting to that,” she said. “He must have hacked my phone or the firm’s email system. I think we have to assume that our usual methods of communication are not secure.”

  “I really don’t know what to say,” Chris said after a long moment of silence.

  “C’mon, don’t get all quiet. I’d rather you just say it.”

  “Well, if my partners knew what you did, they would fire you. And I don’t want to fire you. I like working with you. But I understand why they would want you gone.”

  “I did what I thought was right—but I understand that it isn’t something that I can do and work at the firm. If I feel the need to do something like that again, I’ll at least talk to you first.”

  “That doesn’t give me a lot of comfort.”

  “It’s the best I can do.”

  “The original hard drive went to Zapper, right?”

  “Right. And they’ve probably shared it with the White House by now.”

  “And you haven’t made any more copies of Owyang’s emails?”

  “No. And I won’t.” After a moment of silence, Zoey added, “What’s really tearing me up is that Matt Geist would be alive if I hadn’t approached him with that story. It’s almost like I killed him.”

  “No, it’s not like that at all. As angry as I am at you right now, you shouldn’t think like that.” Chris said it to spare Zoey the pain of guilt, which he knew all too well. But the truth was, the instant Zoey told him about Geist’s death he had thought the same thing.

  “I know how pissed off you are at me, so you don’t have to be nice like that. It confuses me.”

  Zoey got undressed and climbed into the legendary bed, leaving him to the less legendary couch. Chris could hear her breathing quickly in the dark for a while, clearly wide awake. She probably knew he was awake too, but they didn’t say another word to each other that night.

  Chris knew that they would need to pres
ent a united front the next day to the State Department, but he wasn’t sure yet if that was going to be possible.

  30

  The State Department’s outpost in San Francisco was in Spear Tower, one of the office buildings at the head of Market Street near the waterfront, close by the Reynolds Fincher offices. Judging from their website, the office mainly served as liaison to foreign consulates and diplomatic visitors to the West Coast.

  It was 8:00 a.m., and the low clouds over the Bay were glowing like kindling catching fire. Chris and Zoey introduced themselves as walk-ins to the receptionist, who sat behind a mahogany desk under an imposing US seal. Chris attempted to convey the seriousness of their visit to the receptionist without saying too much. He and Zoey had already decided that they weren’t going to mention Geist’s murder unless they had to. They needed to avoid questions about what Zoey was doing in Geist’s apartment, because the State Department did not give aid to those who leak state secrets—they had them prosecuted.

  “Are we okay?” Zoey asked.

  “I’m not okay with what you did, but at least I understand it. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  “Fine.”

  They were greeted by Russell March, a young, clean-cut junior diplomat in shirtsleeves and tie who looked to be fresh out of the Kennedy School. He led them into a conference room that looked out on the Bay Bridge, the shipyards of China Basin, and AT&T Park.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” he said.

  “We work for a law firm that represents Zapper,” Chris said. “We helped them track down Chinese hackers who had stolen their intellectual property. We provided evidence linking that theft to the Chinese government and the People’s Liberation Army. The State Department is aware of this. You can check with your colleagues.”

  “Wow, okay,” said March, who clearly hadn’t perfected his unflappable diplomatic game face. “So what brings you here?”

  “Yesterday someone tried to kill us, and we believe it was a representative of the Chinese government.”

  “Again, wow. That’s a serious charge.”

  “Yes, wow,” Zoey said. “Wow, we were nearly murdered.”

  “We believe we’re still in danger, and we’re seeking some kind of protective custody,” Chris said. “The man who came for us seemed like a professional. In fact, we believe that he’s a contract killer known as Red Sun, who offers his services through the Silk Road website. We think he’s going to try again.”

  Now March looked like he’d just downed a double espresso. “The director is going to need to hear this,” he said, rising. “If you will please wait just a few minutes.”

  A half hour later, March returned with the director of the office, a man with prematurely white hair and a flat-line demeanor.

  “Richard Berkheiser,” he said, shaking their hands. “I’m so sorry to hear about the incident yesterday.”

  Marsh sat down next to Berkheiser at the conference table. It was clear the junior diplomat wouldn’t be doing any more talking.

  “Are you aware of Zapper’s cooperation with the State Department regarding the Chinese hackers?” Chris asked.

  “I had not been involved, but I just spoke with my colleagues in DC, and I think I’m up to speed. Now I’d like you to tell me what happened yesterday—from the beginning.”

  Chris and Zoey told the story again. Berkheiser took careful notes.

  “You seem pretty composed for two people who’ve just been shot at.”

  “Well, you should have seen us yesterday,” Zoey said.

  “So you believe the man that fired on you was Chinese?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Chris said.

  “Are you certain of that? It was dark, and the man was how far away?”

  “About fifteen yards.”

  “And then when you looked back at him in that dark alley, you were in a car that was speeding away. In a situation like that, a visual identification can be difficult.”

  “We’re certain,” Zoey said.

  “But you didn’t actually see the man, did you, Zoey?”

  “Well, no. But if Chris says he saw a Chinese hit man, then that’s what he saw.”

  “About that,” Berkheiser said. “It sounds like this man might have been stalking Chris for a robbery when you interrupted him by pulling up in your car.”

  Zoey bristled. “Then why would a robber fire shots at our car as we pulled away? He was trying to kill us, not rob us.”

  “There are a lot of mentally disturbed street people in the Financial District and particularly south of Market,” Berkheiser said, leveling his cool gaze at them. “He might have been delusional for all we know.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t believe our story?” Chris said.

  “Not at all. Not at all. I’m just trying to ascertain the facts. Clearly, you two have been through a traumatic event. But my job is to determine whether this is something that requires a commitment of State Department resources as opposed to, say, the San Francisco Police Department. I’m just asking you the questions that my supervisors are going to ask me.”

  “I understand,” Chris said, and he believed that he did. The State Department was not going to be inclined to acknowledge that the Chinese government might have directly or indirectly sanctioned a hit on two Americans. If Berkheiser accepted their story as told, then that would necessitate a series of next steps, each of which would be more diplomatically awkward than the last. You do not accuse your primary creditor of murder for hire without recognizing the economic and political consequences of that decision.

  “Did you report this incident to the police?”

  “No,” Chris said. “Given the context, we thought that the State Department was the correct venue for this discussion.”

  “We appreciate your sensitivity to the situation, but I think this actually sounds like a matter that is best directed to the San Francisco Police Department.”

  “I’m not sure you understand,” Zoey said. “There is a hired killer who is hunting us. That hit man was probably paid by the Chinese government. We are US citizens. How is that not a State Department matter?”

  Berkheiser raised an index finger. “Let’s rewind that because, with all due respect for what you’ve been through, there are some problems with those statements. First, I’m not hearing any evidence that we’re talking about a hired killer. The connections to this Red Sun person are . . . tenuous. Even you put a ‘probably’ in front of your statement that the assailant was hired by the Chinese government. I think ‘probably’ is a very strong word, given the facts that you’ve presented.”

  “So you’re not going to help us?”

  “We are going to help you by referring you to the proper authorities—the San Francisco Police Department.”

  “If you don’t believe our story about a Chinese hit man, even with all you know about the Zapper intrusion and the activities of APT1, then I don’t think we can expect the SFPD to take our story seriously,” Chris said.

  “I wouldn’t prejudge that,” Berkheiser said. “It’s their job to protect our citizens from street crime, and that’s what this sounds like. If they believe that you need protection, then I’m sure you will get it.”

  “You know that what we’re saying is true, but your bosses have told you not to act on it because it would be—awkward—for you,” Zoey said, her face beginning to flush. “How awkward would it be for you if we ended up dead?”

  “I understand that you’ve been through a trauma,” Berkheiser said. After a beat, he added, “I even know that you discovered the body of that journalist Matt Geist.”

  “You knew all along,” Zoey said.

  Chris recognized that this was the point where he needed to intervene. “Then you also know that’s further evidence we are being stalked by a killer.”

  “Once again that’s not a co
nnection that I would necessarily make. The police view that as a drug-motivated robbery-murder. If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Doucet, what brought you to that journalist’s apartment in the first place?”

  Berkheiser clearly had known before they arrived at his office that Zoey visited Matt Geist’s apartment, and he already suspected that she had been attempting to leak the emails from Owyang’s computer. If Zoey answered that question fully, then she would be revealing that she had attempted to publicly disclose information that, when it was handed over to the State Department, had become state secrets. The State Department would have already had the FBI arrest Zoey if they had even a shred of evidence to support their suspicions.

  Before he could stop her, Zoey spoke. “Matt Geist was a friend. That’s why I was there.”

  Chris was relieved that Zoey had spotted the trap. If she had told Berkheiser what she had told him, then she wouldn’t have been permitted to leave the office. Chris might also have been detained as a potential accessory to the disclosure of classified state secrets. While that would presumably put them out of reach of the killer, it would come at a very high price tag, which might include a federal prison sentence.

  “Fair enough,” Berkheiser said, looking a bit disappointed.

  “I think we’re done here,” Chris said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Sorry we can’t be of more assistance,” Berkheiser said.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  Chris stood. Zoey remained seated. She clearly had a lot that she very much wanted to say to Berkheiser, but knew that it would be a bad idea to do so. For once Zoey exercised discretion.

  “C’mon, Zoey,” Chris said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  When they were back on Market Street outside the office tower, fog had now rolled in over the waterfront, and the light was gray.

  “We’re on our own now, aren’t we?” Zoey asked.

  “Yes, and we need to find a place to hide,” Chris said. He felt exposed walking among the suits and tourists. He kept scanning the crowds for a glimpse of the man from the alley advancing on them through the sidewalk throng.