Hack, page 13
“So, what have you been up to?” Mo asked. “Besides not sleeping.”
“Following OmniSoft leads, but before I tell you about my adventures, first fill me in on what you found out about Colonel Mustard,” Nik said.
Mo looked at Mia and nodded, and she recapped their conversation with Lance Duvall, the private security officer. “Pretty sure Calkins is not his last name and he went by an alias when he applied to Yellow Jacket. Registered as Brick, but we’re fairly confident it’s the same guy you encountered at Trident the night of the explosion. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a picture of him in their files, but he fits the physical description. I got a request in to my Pentagon sources to pull recent photos of military personnel with the surname of Brick. I’ll let you know when I hear back.”
“Duvall have any idea what happened to this guy?” Nik asked.
“Nope. It was a while ago. Duvall thinks there’s a good chance he signed on with some other outfit that wasn’t as picky as Yellow Jacket. Apparently soldiers of fortune are in high demand, especially ones with some technology experience,” Mia said.
“Okay, that’s us. Now, what about you?” Mo said.
“Last night,” Nik said, stopping briefly to inhale the espresso, “I was interviewing this guy when someone took a shot at him and nearly blew the top of his head off, and would have, too, had they fired a fraction of a second later.”
“Bullshit,” Mo said.
“God’s honest truth. He was sitting as close to me as you are now when they opened fire on him and parted his hair with a slug. It’s a miracle he’s alive.”
“Hold on,” Mia said, concern in her voice, “and rewind. Who got shot, who was doing the shooting, where did this happen, and what’s it got to do with OmniSoft?”
“I know,” Nik said, tilting back in his chair and throwing up his hands to ward off the skeptical looks around the table, “it sounds crazy. It is crazy. I wouldn’t believe it myself had I not been sitting right there when it happened.”
The waiter appeared with their lunch order, and Nik paused. Mia offered to share her plate with the table.
“What is it?” Mo asked skeptically.
“Avocado toast. It’s delicious. Try it.”
“No, thanks,” Mo said. “I don’t put peanut butter on tacos, and I don’t put guacamole on toast.”
“Suit yourself.”
When the waiter left, Nik told them about meeting Walker at the Sand Bar, the stakeout in front of the bar, going to Walker’s boat, and Mr. Liu.
“We’re in the cabin and Liu’s telling me this fantastical story, and just when I’m thinking this guy is nuts, all hell breaks loose. The porthole shatters, Liu slams facedown into the table, Walker storms on deck and starts firing at the guys who tried to kill Liu, and I’m sitting there covered in glass and in shock. I only snap out of it when Walker starts screaming at me.”
Mo said, “What the fuck.”
“Yeah, WTF,” Mia added.
“So, what now?” Mo asked.
“Dunno,” Nik said. “I was hoping we might figure that out together. I’ve got a few ideas, but nothing approaching a plan.”
“I have one.” It was Frank. He had been silent during most of the conversation. “Want to hear it?”
“Sure,” they answered in unison and turned toward him.
Frank, the wizened veteran, who always seemed to grow calmer and measured the more chaotic things became, said: “First order of business, we need to confirm Liu’s identity. Even if he says who he is, we still don’t know if we can believe his story. We need to establish his credibility. If he’s a defector, you can bet the Chinese government will either paint him as a traitor who can’t be trusted or claim he’s an insignificant bureaucrat.”
“We should start at the United Nations. They would have a record of his service,” Nik said.
“I can take that on,” Mia said. “I have a college classmate who went to work for the UN as a communications specialist. We follow each other on Twitter. I’ll reach out to her.”
“See if you can get your hands on a picture of him and send it to me,” Nik said.
“Will do,” Mia said.
“Next, we need to pin down this Calkins-slash-Brick guy and figure out his role,” Frank said.
“Mo should handle that,” Mia volunteered. “He’s got the best military and intelligence sources.”
“Agreed,” Nik said. “Mo?”
“Do my best,” Mo mumbled, wrestling to get his mouth around a football-size hamburger.
“That leaves the guys in the van and the federal government’s involvement with OmniSoft. I’ll take those,” Nik said.
“Good,” Frank said.
After paying the tab, Nik asked, “You sure you’re up for this, Frank? You don’t look so good.”
“You might want to take a look in the mirror,” Frank said.
Nik pulled Mo aside when they were outside. “Is everything all right with Frank?”
“No, it’s not, but you need to hear it from him, not me,” Mo said.
When Nik looked up, Frank was already gone.
Chapter 32
January 2, Washington, DC
Nik’s ex-wife was sitting in a tall, red-tufted chair, sipping a champagne cocktail and talking on her cell phone when Nik limped into the bar of the Hay-Adams hotel at six thirty on the dot as they had arranged. Maggie, dressed in a light-gray blazer, matching skirt, and a sky-blue blouse, hurriedly finished her call and lifted her face to Nik when he leaned in over the table to give her a kiss, but she quickly jerked back when his stubble rasped her cheek.
“You know there are companies now that deliver razor blades directly to your doorstep. Might want to look into that,” she said, rubbing a palm across her cheek and shoving a chair out with her foot. “Have a seat, Nik. Good to see you.”
“Sorry. Haven’t had time to shave,” he said, dropping into the chair.
The Hay-Adams personified Establishment Washington, genteel, conservative, and moneyed, and Nik guessed that was why Maggie was drawn to it. Nik had been there once before to meet with a congressional staffer who was investigating the OmniSoft complaint. He thought the place staid, pretentious, and overpriced.
He ordered a Budweiser—$16.50—and they exchanged small talk.
Maggie said she had been looking at condos to buy but couldn’t decide if she wanted to live in the District or in one of the close-in suburbs. She had narrowed her choices to McLean, Virginia; Chevy Chase, Maryland; and Kalorama in the District. When she and Nik had divorced, he had agreed to a sixty-forty split of their assets, and she had invested wisely and could afford a place in an upscale neighborhood.
“Sounds like a First World problem,” Nik said.
“You still like living in Georgetown?” she asked.
“I do. The place is small, but it suits me,” he said.
Maggie asked Nik about his love life, and he told her about Sam. “She’s an investigator for the sheriff’s department in Northern Virginia,” he said. “We just sorta clicked.”
“That’s good to hear, Nik,” she said without a trace of jealousy. “Try not to screw it up this time.”
Nik didn’t want to open old wounds by pointing out that it was Maggie who, when their marriage was faltering, had the wandering eye. Instead, he said, “Thanks, Maggs. I’ll take that under advisement.”
Maggie handed Nik her phone and showed him a picture of her with a group of skiers on a snow-covered mountaintop. She told Nik she had been in Vail over the holidays on a ski trip with new friends from a book club she had joined. She also shared a picture of Gaylord Spence, an assistant to the attorney general, and told him they were officially dating. The photo was Spence in a contorted position on a mat.
“We take yoga classes together,” Maggie said with a smile.
Maggie freely admitted Spence wasn’t particularly bright or ambitious, but he was good-looking and, because of his position, had a direct pipeline into everything important that was happening in the attorney general’s office.
Nik swiped through the pictures on Maggie’s phone and longed for some time off for himself, if for no other reason than to sleep. But he didn’t see a ski vacation in his future anytime soon, even if he could afford one, which he couldn’t. He was envious of Maggie’s lifestyle and the way she had landed on her feet after the divorce.
Her good fortune irritated him, and he snapped, “I’m happy for you, Maggie. Really, I am, but I’m not here to look at your Instagram account. Can we talk about OmniSoft? That’s why we’re meeting, right?”
“Don’t bite my head off. I was just making conversation.”
“Sorry, Maggs,” Nik said again, realizing that being rude to her wasn’t going to help his cause. “I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
“Forget it,” Maggie said, an edge creeping into her voice, becoming more businesslike. “Yes, we’re here to talk about OmniSoft. I’ve been authorized to speak to you on background. We’re offering you this information so you have a better perspective on what really transpired between the government and Cal Walker. It’s not as Walker paints it, but you can’t use anything I tell you in a story unless you confirm it independently, understood?”
“I know what background is, Maggie,” Nik said and spun around to search for their waiter. When he caught the server’s eye, he asked Maggie if she wanted another cocktail. She did.
“What you pay for alcohol in this place would keep me in beer for a month,” he said when their drinks arrived. “So, what do you got for me?”
“The US government was Walker’s primary client and financial supporter, pumping tens of millions of dollars into POOF. The FBI, CIA, and DIA were all excited about the technology’s potential. In return for the government’s investment, Walker signed over certain rights to the software to the United States government, as well as issuing it stock in his company,” she said.
“What’s the DIA?” Nik asked.
“Defense Intelligence Agency. They were the first ones to spot POOF’s potential applications, but the Justice Department and FBI took the lead role since OmniSoft was domiciled in the US,” Maggie said, stopping momentarily to answer an incoming text message on her phone.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s Spence. Just confirming dinner reservations.”
“How nice,” Nik said.
Maggie continued: “Walker’s technology, while buggy, was superior to anything we’d ever seen and, properly deployed, would give the United States an edge in identifying, surveilling, and neutralizing terrorists. It also had the benefit of being virtually invisible.”
Nik cut in, in an exasperated tone, “So, what’s new? I know most of this already, Maggie.”
She nodded. “But what you don’t know could fill a wing at the Smithsonian. First, Walker’s not quite the innocent bystander he likes to make himself out to be. Do you know what he did at the CIA?” she asked.
Nik shook his head.
“He was assigned to the division that carried out wet work.”
“What, assassinations?”
“I’m sure as hell not talking about skinny-dipping. I’m not saying he was directly involved, but he was attached to that particular unit as an analyst. Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”
“I will,” Nik said, “but what’s that got to do with OmniSoft?”
“That’s point number two. Some higher-ups in the intelligence community became alarmed about OmniSoft’s precarious financial condition and Walker’s general lack of management oversight of the company and the government’s investment. There was legitimate concern Walker could be compromised and that POOF would fall into the hands of our adversaries and be turned against us. There was little confidence in Walker’s ability to lock it down and prohibit that from happening. For national security reasons, the decision was made to pull the plug on funding; seize the asset, which was rightfully ours; and, in essence, force OmniSoft out of business and into bankruptcy. No one felt particularly good about the decision, but Walker had already been paid millions. Some might say squandered millions.”
“What would stop Walker from just re-creating the technology?” Nik asked.
“We own the patents, and, anyway, you’re talking about very sophisticated algorithms. They would take years to replicate, even if he had the money, which he doesn’t,” Maggie said.
“So the government didn’t grab POOF to commercialize as Cal claims but . . .”
“Quite the opposite, in fact. Quarantine it, contain it, compartmentalize it.”
“But that’s not what happened, is it, Maggie?” Nik said matter-of-factly.
“No, it’s not,” she said, an off-putting note in her voice at Nik’s cocky reply. “Somebody—we believe an intelligence operative with a technology background—got their hands on it. We don’t know who, but we think they’re tied to the Trident bombing,” she said.
“But why kill Walker if they already got POOF? That doesn’t make sense,” Nik said.
“We can only speculate about the motive since we don’t know who’s behind it,” she said. “Cover their tracks, perhaps. Maybe Walker can identify the person. With Walker out of the picture, interest in the story goes away.”
“Seems that would also benefit the government,” Nik said.
“The United States government did not attempt to kill Cal Walker, Nik,” she said icily.
Nik said, “So now your bosses are worried that their fears have been realized and that someone is trying to sell POOF on the black market. Do I have that about right?”
“There’s absolutely no proof that has happened, but, yes, naturally it’s a concern,” she said. “You know something you’re not telling me?”
Nik considered confiding in Maggie about Mr. Liu and the scene on Walker’s boat but decided against it. “Maggie, you’ve known me long enough to know I can’t reveal information before it’s printed,” he said and finished his beer.
She shot back, “Here’s what I know, Nik Byron, and that is you manipulate situations and people and never play by the rules you expect others to follow.”
Her comment stung, because it rang true. Maggie got up to leave, and Nik stood to help her on with her coat. She swatted his hand away and stormed off. Nik left a tip and trailed after her as they made their way to their vehicles. Nik was glad to see that the hotel’s valet had called ahead and their cars were waiting when they arrived at the entrance to the parking garage. He didn’t want to stand around and have Maggie glowering or, worse, berating him.
Nik gave Maggie a quick peck on the cheek, told her he’d be in touch, handed the attendant a couple bucks, and slid into the driver’s seat. He started to pull away, stopped, and rolled down his window. “Your bosses are worried about the wrong thing, Maggie,” he said.
“What are you talking about, Nik?”
“You said they’re worried POOF may fall into the wrong hands.”
“And they are.”
“Too late,” Nik said. “It already has.”
As he pulled away, Nik glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Maggie standing next to her car, the parking lot attendant patiently holding the driver’s door open for her while she held an animated conversation with someone on the other end of her cell phone.
Chapter 33
January 3, Washington, DC
Nik was headed down Pennsylvania Avenue when his phone vibrated. It was Mo. He picked up just as another call was coming in from the sheriff’s department. “I need to take this other call, Mo,” Nik said. “Can it wait?”
“Yeah, just wanted to give you a quick update on our progress. Nothing urgent. Call me when you can.”
He switched over to the other call. “This is Nik.”
“Hey, it’s me,” Sam said. “Sorry I’ve been so tough to reach. It’s been a little crazy around here.”
“Been a little busy myself,” Nik said, “but it’s good to hear your voice. Any luck tracking down that phone number?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Number’s registered to a Sara Conway. It’s a Detroit area code, but the cell tower the call came from is located just outside of a place called Three Rivers, Michigan, and when we look at other recent calls, they all ping that same tower.”
“I can find Three Rivers on a map, but trying to identify where Sara Conway is living might be a challenge,” he said, a little disappointed the news wasn’t better.
“I got something on that, too,” Sam said. “Her cell phone bill is being sent to a Three Rivers rural route address. Owner’s name is a Grant Dilworth.”
“Hang on,” Nik said, and pulled his car onto the shoulder of the road. “Okay, give it to me,” he said and scribbled the address down in his notebook.
“You plan on going there?” Sam asked.
“That’s what I’m thinking. Better to do this face-to-face. Cold calling wouldn’t work and would only tip them off. Not an easy place to get to, though, if memory serves from my college days in Ann Arbor. Probably need to fly to Detroit and catch a small charter. Thank God Whetstone’s out of the office. He’d never approve the expense.”
Nik had not heard from his editor in several days.
“You think that’s wise?” Sam asked, a note of caution in her voice.
“I figure I’m going to get demoted or fired one way or the other. Might as well run up a tab while I still can.”
“I don’t care about Whetstone. I mean taking one of those small planes in the middle of the winter. I hate those things.”
Nik brushed off Sam’s concerns and assured her he had flown plenty on puddle jumpers. “Saw half of Alaska one summer on Beavers that you’d swear couldn’t get off the ground, let alone stay aloft,” he said.
