Page 24 of Until the End

“I’m doing what I can,” Valerie Combs said. As deputy director of the NSA, she had myriad government surveillance toys at her disposal. “But we still haven’t found her, and until then, we won’t know what she knows or how.”

Valerie’s people worked in the NSA’s cyberwarfare intelligence-gathering unit. Shit-hot hackers that did sinister stuff under the protection of the Patriot Act. They were a digital version of SEAL Team Six. Firewalls didn’t stop them, no hardware was safe, and they even owned exit nodes on the damn dark web—a place criminals and terrorists had once been able to hide.

After Westcott had triggered an alert using Z-1984 in an online search at a DC gaming lounge, they’d been hunting her. Westcott had cleverly avoided most of the city’s networked video surveillance system, but when Valerie got wind of the tip-off, she was like a starving dog with a rawhide bone and wouldn’t let it go.

Valerie tapped a digital surveillance army, thousands of botnets—and hell if Lee understood the specifics—to monitor networks and commandeer local video feeds. Technological ingenuity at its finest.

They caught Westcott logging off the tagged computer terminal and leaving the gaming center. Eventually, they also lost her, but not before Valerie had made a positive ID from the live feed and collected enough breadcrumbs of information for Lee’s team to take point on the hunt.

“This is a disaster. An unmitigated fucking disaster!” Ed slugged back his scotch.

“Isn’t it early in the day to anesthetize with alcohol, gentlemen?” Valerie sipped her cucumber water.

“Oh please.” Ed rolled his weary eyes. “What are you, a puritan? It’s a wonder I’m not hooked up to an IV drip of scotch. If this goes sideways, I cannot go down with a sinking ship. I’ve got my reputation to protect. The Boswell name to think of.”

Did Ed really think he was untouchable? In this?

The senator’s involvement had been necessary to redirect funds from the black budget—classified expenditures not meant for public knowledge—and to steer the intelligence committee away from sticking their noses where they were unwanted. But if this problem was exposed, well then, Ed would become expendable.

“This is bad, I agree,” Valerie said. “But we’re all in too deep for any of us to walk away with clean hands.”

“Speak for yourself.” Ed set his empty crystal highball on a side table with a harsh clink. “I agreed to support this endeavor because ultimately, I believe it’s what’s best for the country. But I haven’t gotten to where I am—and stayed for so long—without having a contingency plan. If anything goes public, I’ve got my boy to think about. I’m not tanking his political career when he has a shot at the White House.”

Lee summoned all his years of restraint to hide his contempt.

If this situation turned unsalvageable, Ed wouldn’t hesitate to throw people under the proverbial bus, which meant that bloodsucker would have to be the first to go.

Maybe a heart attack at home in his library. Or better yet, a suicide.

Pin the whole sordid thing on him.

“There’s no need for hysterics.” Lee held his chin high and kept his voice strong. “I’m handling the situation.”

“If anyone can fix this, it’s you,” Valerie said, giving him more reason to like her.

There were three types of people worth mentioning in DC: businessmen, statesmen, and gamesmen such as Lee—the ones who actually got things done.

After 9/11, the landscape of terrorism had changed forever. The previous administration had made it a goal both to reinstate the bioweapons program under the extended liberties of the Patriot Act and keep it hush-hush. For the good of the American people. Lee had been the only gamesman capable of making it happen. And when another radical approach was deemed necessary, this time in the form of an off-the-books agency that skirted bureaucratic red tape and the law, Lee had made the Gray Box happen too. And not only that, he’d coerced the perfect person into being the director, his long-time friend, Bruce Sanborn. Not many gamesmen had the influence or the balls to pull off such feats.

Lee drained the last of his scotch. “I have a team on this to clean up the mess.”

“Mess? This is nuclear fallout. There isn’t a broom and mop big enough to clean this shit up.” Ed threw his hands in the air. “Biological weapons that we created are unaccounted for. We have no idea who stole them. There’s a hacker running around with knowledge of at least one. And now you’re telling me that you’ve read in more people on this.” He tsked, disgust stamped on his long, narrow Ichabod Crane face.

“Settle down,” Lee said soothingly. “At your age, you’re likely to have a stroke.”

“Wouldn’t you love that?” Ed asked. “One less loose end to tie up. Hell, you’d probably try to blame me for the whole thing before I was cold in the ground.”

Great minds do think alike. “Cynicism is healthy, but paranoia is dangerous,” Lee said smoothly. “I’ve got my finger on the pulse of things. My team is this close to getting the girl.” He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “They’re led by the best in this business.”

Well, the second best. Lee’s first choice had been Howe Fuller. A soulless meat eater who’d follow orders without conscience and go to absolutely any length to get the job done.

Too bad Howe was already employed.

“So who’s your man?” Ed asked. “Or should I say magician, if he can make this mess disappear?”

“Randall Wheeler. He and his team are with Zanteon Corp.”

“I’ve heard of Zanteon,” Valerie chimed in. “Most of their folks are prior special forces. Very discreet. Effective methods. They have an excellent reputation.”