Lying in Shadows

by Sofia Grey

  “That’s good. But I can go back home. To my parents.”

  “It’s not safe, babe. Do you want to put them in danger too?”

  Sylvie laughed. He had to be messing with her. His serious expression told her otherwise. “You’re not joking,” she said.

  “I wish I was. Make a note of any contacts you want from your phone, because that’s going off and staying off. I’ll sort out a couple cheap pay-as-you-go phones for us this morning, when I get the rental car.”

  “Rental car?” She was incapable of anything more intelligent.

  “I don’t know what resources they have access to. If they can tap into the cell phone network, they can locate you to within a quarter of a mile from the pulse on your phone. It stays off.”

  “This is like something out of a film. I keep expecting Tom Cruise or Kiefer Sutherland to kick the door down.”

  Rico held her close and kissed her hair. “No movie, I’m afraid. Just me.”

  There were so many questions to ask. Where did she start? As she tried to untangle everything he said, Rico picked up his phone and showed her a picture message he was sent. The time stamp showed he received it last night.

  Her house, burning. The caption read, Say goodbye to your girlfriend.

  She was going to throw up. She stared at Rico, speechless.

  “These are the kind of people we’re dealing with. They have no qualms about torching your house, thinking you’re asleep in there. Now do you understand my concern?”

  She nodded, but it was shaky. Tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, and she swiped them away with a trembling hand. Someone wanted to kill her. Why? Nothing she’d ever experienced could prepare her for this. And what kind of people was Rico mixed up with?

  “It’ll be okay.” He stroked her arms, and then cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I’ll look after you; I promise. I got you into this, and I’m so very sorry.”

  He kissed her hard, as he prepared to leave. “Remember the rules. Don’t answer the door to anyone and don’t use your phone. I’ll be back no later than ten.”

  It was a shade after seven. She had three hours to wait, and she was terrified.

  * * * *

  Marianne had to play it cool with Marcus. He was her boss, and above all else, she needed to be professional. She strode into his office the next morning, prepared to be on her game, and found him snarling at Rico. It was like a rerun of the day before.

  “You’re going to tell me this has nothing to do with you?” Marcus held out his phone to Rico.

  “Whoa,” said Marianne. “What have I missed?”

  Marcus swung to face her, and her stomach plummeted to her boots. He looked angry, but afraid underneath the bluster. “Someone sent my wife a bouquet of flowers yesterday, and she thinks they came from me. Then, while we’re at dinner, I get a picture of her when they arrived.” He paused and seemed to get himself under control. “After that goddamned email yesterday, you could say I’m not happy.”

  Marianne remembered the odd text she received and showed it to the two men. “This was sent to me last night. Did it come from the same number?” That would be too much to hope for. As she expected, they were different.

  “I replied to the text,” said Marcus, “but I got an automated message saying the number was out of service.” He turned back to Rico. “This seems like the question of the day—what the ever loving fuck is going on?”

  Rico stepped to the window and gazed at the streets below.

  The rising sun was obscured behind a layer of cloud, with ghostly fingers of light trying to escape. Marianne shivered. “Don’t tell me. You had a weird text too?”

  He turned slowly, phone in his hand. His face was pale and grim, lines of tension cutting across his forehead. “Yeah. But mine was in a class of its own.” He passed the phone to Marianne.

  She half-expected another picture of her and Marcus, not a burning house. She read the caption and felt sick. She grabbed the nearest chair. “That’s...” Words deserted her. “Oh my God. Is this Sylvie’s house? Is she okay?” Panic clogged her chest, and she had to force the words out.

  “She’s fine.” Rico handed the phone to Marcus, who made a shocked noise.

  Fine could be anywhere from completely unhurt to recovering in hospital, and Marianne needed to know. She liked Sylvie. She wasn’t convinced the girl had nothing to do with the data leak, but she wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. Dear God. She’d been annoyed by some jerk bumping into her on the street. Rico’s text put everything into perspective. “Did she get out in time?”

  “She was lucky. She wasn’t there when it happened.”

  Marianne nodded, relief washing over her.

  “My wife and now your girlfriend.” Marcus sounded shaken. “The people we care most about.” His gaze leapt to Marianne. He looked so torn, she wanted to hold him. No. She had to stop thinking like that.

  Rico shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ve got some updates for you, and then I have to go. I’ll be away probably until Sunday; there’s some personal business I have to sort out. While I’m away, Marcus, I suggest you stick close to Louisa. And Marianne, don’t go anywhere on your own if you can help it.”

  He glanced around the office, his gaze wary. “I’d also feel happier if we could hold the briefing somewhere else this morning. Let’s go out for coffee.”

  The implication was clear—he thought Marcus’s office might be bugged.

  Starbucks was quiet, and they took a table at the back.

  Marianne kicked off the update. “I’ve divided the audit team into two work streams—one to examine how the leak occurred, and the other to work on preventative measures, to stop it from happening again.” She ran through some statistics on data storage and intrusion-detection systems, and Marcus nodded. They both looked to Rico.

  “I’m working on a hunch at the moment, so bear with me. I don’t have any hard evidence yet. I’m concerned about the personal element of this, though. It’s too much of a coincidence to think the new issues have no connection to the data leaks. Take the laptop thefts. The spy had the prime opportunity to make this a personal vendetta, by setting up Sylvie Woodrow, a member of the audit team. I want to be one-hundred-percent sure of the integrity of the data on that laptop, so I’ve passed it across to Aiden Bradley, to investigate.”

  That didn’t sound right, and Marianne flicked through her reports, to check. “Pete didn’t say anything about a request to move the laptop. I thought he reviewed it and retrieved all the data?”

  “I didn’t ask him.” Rico stared at her, then looked back at Marcus. “Can you make your laptop available to Aiden too, please? I want to establish the provenance of the data, in case Pete has been misled.”

  Marianne’s doubts about Rico came roaring back. “How do we know this guy of yours can be trusted?”

  Rico gave her a half smile. “He’s PV-level cleared—that’s Positive Vetting, which is almost as high as you can go in the UK. And he’s on loan from IG-6, a subset of GCHQ, although that’s not common knowledge. We tell everyone he’s a network consultant.”

  “IG-6?”

  “They look after cyber intelligence and threats.”

  That made sense, when many of TM-Tech’s customers were in the defence business. It also meant the data leak was potentially more dangerous than any of them expected. “So if your guy comes up with a different set of results, what would that mean?”

  “It could prove Sylvie has been set up. By Pete. By the way, I told Pete we were dropping the daily briefings for the moment.”

  Marianne prickled with annoyance. Yet again, Rico was making decisions and taking actions without consulting her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he spoke over her.

  “My current line of thinking is that TM-Tech systems have been infected with a virus or viruses, via the stolen laptops. Let’s suppose that, each time a laptop is taken, there’s a window for a few hours, for our thief to gain entry into the building and
access the network. Now, as we previously discussed, only relatively junior members of staff were nailed, so it’s unlikely to be on the chance of getting into the secure-data drives. More likely, is to use them to upload a virus.”

  “It wouldn’t work.” Marianne was confident in her dismissal. “We use all the current antivirus software. All the patches are loaded as soon as they become available.”

  Rico laughed. “You think that makes TM-Tech invulnerable? Think again. There are hundreds of viruses out there, Trojans, worms—you name it—that are incapable of being picked up. It’s like developing an antidote for a new strain of the flu. Someone has to be the first to get sick, before you can identify, classify, and inoculate against the strain.” He stared back, as though challenging her to speak.

  When she didn’t, he continued. “So, let’s assume they used each laptop for a single penetration into the network, all low-level stuff and unlikely to be noticed. The laptops have now served their purpose. But when it became apparent that one of the audit team had been a victim, it was too good an opportunity to miss. The laptop resurfaces with suspect data, in a questionable location. Supreme bluff. Now I’m gambling on two assumptions. One, there will still be some traces of the virus on the machine—a fingerprint if you like—and two, they will have rushed to get the data to match Marcus’s personal drive. I want Aiden to make sure the timestamps and logs haven’t been tampered with. In their greed and hurry, they may have slipped up and given us a chance.

  “In addition, Aiden is going to run a series of specific virus tests on the systems. That’ll take until the end of next week. And I’ll ask him to organise a sweep of the offices for listening devices, just in case.” He stood and gathered his notes. “I’ll be back for the briefing on Monday.”

  Marcus nodded, and Rico swept out of the café, obviously in a hurry.

  Marianne leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice to Marcus. “I don’t know about this. I think he’s mixed up with Sylvie and trying to manipulate the situation, to show her as an innocent party. It’s a lot to take on trust. The pictures of us, the email, the laptop—and now the pictures from last night.”

  “At the end of the day, Thaddeus trusts Rico implicitly. We have to take our lead from him.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t Rico who did that stunt with the flowers for Louisa? Or took the picture of me outside the apartments? He’s the only other person who knew Louisa was coming up yesterday.”

  “The office could be bugged. We can’t rule that out yet.”

  Frustration welled inside. “Marcus, tell me again, how long have you actually known Rico?”

  He thought for a moment. “He’s been friends with Jordan since we were in high school, but I got to know him properly nearly four years ago. He came into TM-Tech Houston, to investigate a leak in similar circumstances to this. He identified the guy behind it, who was prosecuted and went to jail.” Marcus broke off and frowned. “Rico said it was getting personal, and what if he’s right? The guy he helped to put away. What if he’s out and looking for revenge?”

  Marianne snorted. “Unlikely. You’ve been watching too many movies. That doesn’t happen in real life.”

  “Neither does shit like this, Marianne.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the first time too many months to count, Alex woke early, with a riff running through his head. He lay there a few minutes, letting it settle and mentally playing it through again, then hurried out of bed to grab a guitar.

  When he bought this massive house, he planned a studio in the basement, but the further he fell into his black moods, the less enthusiasm he had for it. He headed down there and gazed at the disarray. His guitars lined half of one wall. Amplifiers and effects pedals sat on the floor, but the mixing desk and eight-track recorder were still in their boxes.

  He had to capture the riff before it disappeared like the morning mist. He sang it aloud, kicking himself for not setting up his gear. He knew the style the song would take, heard the chorus and the lead break in his head, and had lyrics nudging at his brain. Damn it all to hell. He wasn’t losing this.

  Inspiration struck, and he grabbed his cell phone and set it to record, while he played it out.

  Ages later he sat back, satisfied. He’d get the mixing desk set up today, and while the eight-track would take a little longer to configure, in a couple of days he could be recording again. He paused. Where had that thought come from? Fuck if he knew, but it felt good.

  His phone jangled with a call from Jordan. “Hey there. It’s early, I know, but I wondered if you were up yet?”

  “Yeah.” Alex glanced at his watch, surprised to see it wasn’t yet nine. He thought it was much later. “Does Kate need more work done?”

  Jordan paused. “No, but I need to talk to you. Is it okay if I come round?”

  Ten minutes later, he stood in Alex’s kitchen, looking ill at ease. That signalled bad news.

  Alex’s heart sank. The day had started so well. He hoped it wouldn’t all turn to shit. Was it something to do with the amount of time he spent in Jordan’s house? Was he seeing too much of Kate or Louisa? Those three were his lifeline. Surely they wouldn’t cut him loose?

  He made some bitter coffee and winced at the taste. “I make a lousy brew. I won’t be offended if you leave it.”

  This raised a hint of a smile, but then Jordan put down the mug and shoved his hands in his pockets. The grim line returned to his mouth. “Look... I want to ask you a huge favour, but I will understand if you say no.”

  Alex gestured for him to continue.

  “I’ve got some people coming to see me, and I was hoping they could stay here for a few days. It’s an awkward situation. They’re kind of in hiding and need somewhere safe to go. It’d only be until I find somewhere longer term.”

  Alex’s first thought was relief. Then he was intrigued. “Awkward? Not an ex-wife or something is it?”

  “Hell no.” Jordan grinned briefly, then sobered again. “I don’t know all the details, and it’s probably for the best. They’re not on the run from the police or anything, though. And it’s not drug related.”

  It seemed a reasonable request. “Sure. I don’t have a problem with it. This place is big enough for a dozen people to rattle around in. I offered to make the spare rooms available to party guests anyway.” He took another sip of the coffee and regretted it. “I’m curious, though. Why me?”

  Jordan shrugged. “It’s a bit like Fort Knox here, with the electric gates and cameras and all that. Besides, I feel I can trust you.”

  Jordan trusted him? Alex felt a surge of pride but tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, and there are freaking great holes in the wall. The cameras aren’t connected at the moment.” He contemplated the jobs that needed doing. Top of the list was still the mixing desk and studio.

  “They’ll be here later today,” Jordan said.

  Alex thought about the perpetually untidy state of the house and nodded. “As long as they don’t mind a bit of dust. I haven’t got a cleaner sorted yet either.”

  Jordan relaxed his shoulders, and his lips curved into a ready smile. “Thanks, Alex. I mean it. It’s a big favour. Kate and Lou don’t know about this, and since my friends will only be here a couple days, I might not even tell them.”

  Alex was intrigued. “I’m curious about what I’m letting myself in for.”

  “I don’t know the full story, but I trust the guy concerned. He’s as clean as they come. I’m thinking he upset someone, but like I said, I don’t really know. His line is the less we know, the better.”

  * * * *

  Sylvie was dressed and ready, with her few possessions packed into her overnight bag. Was it really only yesterday morning, when Rico suggested she come stay the weekend? She’d been upset at the email, but excited at the prospect of spending a few days with him. Twenty-four hours later, she was the prime suspect in an investigation and the possible target of vicious criminals. She also lost practically everything in
the fire.

  It was hard to take it all in.

  The truth hit again. Everything she owned was inside that bag. Her knees shook, and she had to sit down as she fought off another bout of tears. Beth and Lesley were fine. That was more important than a few pairs of shoes or the odd photograph album. Or her guitar.

  When Rico arrived, she hurled herself into his arms and hugged him hard, her emotions still fragile and close to the surface. One more knock and she’d crumble.

  “Come and sit with me,” said Rico. “We have to go soon. I’ve arranged a rental car, and we need to go collect it.” He handed her a cheap-looking mobile phone. “Here’s a new phone for you. I’ve programmed it with my number and loaded it with credit. We’re driving up to Wales this morning, to meet up with a friend. I can only stay until Sunday night. I need to be back in London Monday morning.”

  She nodded. She was trying to take it in, along with her new status as some sort of fugitive. “I only have a few clothes. How long will I be staying there?”

  “Good point.” He handed her a wad of cash. “There’s two hundred. Use that for whatever essentials you need. Don’t use your credit cards, bank cards, or chequebook, or anything that can be traced back to you. If you need more cash and I’m not there, text me.”

  This seemed weird. “Yes, but how long will I have to stay without you? I mean are we talking days, weeks, or months?” Her voice rose.

  Rico wrapped his arms around her and held tight. “I’ll be with you this weekend, and then I’ll be back next weekend. I’m hoping we can get the whole thing resolved in a few weeks. Try to relax and get some rest. You’ll be safe wherever my friend has arranged for you. Before I forget, let your friends and family know you’re going on vacation, so they aren’t expecting to hear from you.”

  Sylvie felt another ripple of unease when they collected the hire car, a half hour later. Rico signed for the BMW using a false identity. Sylvie stood outside the booking office, but she heard him say his name was Frederico Jorge and he was here on holiday. What the fuck?