Firewall (7 page)

NEW YORK

10:56 P.M. EASTERN, MONDAY

My plan was flawless.

I gave him all the necessary resources to secure information from Taryn Young and do my legwork. I even paid for a nose job after he broke it in a prison fight. Gave him her pathetic history. Her education. Wine and dine her. Sleep with her. But she had this prudish idea of marriage, so I arranged that too. His only task was to give the iPad to Breckon when he dropped off the honeymoon couple at the airport. Then eliminate her in Puerto Rico. I put the funds in her account to ensure she looks guilty of selling Gated Labs’s information.

I pick up my burner phone and try him again, the fourth time in the past hour. I hate his lack of communication. He’s avoiding me because he’s failed. He knows he’s a dead man.

The idiot thinks he can trump my ace. Thinks he can outsmart me and sell the software for a small fortune. What a fool. He has no idea what I’m capable of or who’s pulling the strings
 
—a powerful man who has no regard for life when he’s motivated. Sometimes I think I’m crazy for working with a man who hates Americans, but the money is too good to pass up.

He won’t ruin what’s been in motion for months. Let him line up the bidders.

I’ve worked too long and hard for this. He’ll spin this mess until he bleeds out.

The airport bomber did a great job of sidetracking law enforcement agencies. I’ll congratulate him on his clever tactic and stay on his good side. I deserve to know all of his activities, although I’m not happy being left out of the loop. After all, I’m a partner in this. He will hear from me about it.

I should have researched his background more thoroughly instead of him always arranging our meetings. Never will the lure of money trump common sense again. But he can’t complete the mission without me, and he knows it.

10:05 P.M. MONDAY

At the FBI office, Grayson slipped into a chair beside Vince with a cup of coffee strong enough to stop al-Qaeda. That’s what he needed. Who knew all the players in today’s game? Rumors about a bidding war connected to Gated Labs held credibility, but they didn’t have names of any potential buyers. Unconfirmed info indicated North Korea, Pakistan, and Iran were among the bidders. The question driving him nuts was why bomb the airport if the bad guys had the software?

The op room was filled with special agents poring over intel. Like him, they labored over the many angles of the airport bombing according to their specialty. No one planned to leave until arrests were made. No one wanted to leave. The director of Homeland Security had elevated the threat level, and questions about how the government had allowed this to happen bellowed from the media. News reports made comparisons to other incidents, and blame scattered in a spiderweb across the globe. Grayson shoved aside media reports, which were often unreliable, to concentrate on confirmed info. His first concern was finding Young and Shepherd if they were still in the country. Now they had a photo of the man who called himself Francis Shepherd. If the man was in their system, the FIG would have an actual ID on
him shortly. But Grayson’s patience wore thin. Without the man’s real name, Grayson fired blanks.

While waiting, he sorted through FBI updates. A woman by the name of Claire Levin had been found murdered in her photography studio. Her cell phone lay under her body, and the call history indicated she and Young talked frequently. He shook his head. If Young had been involved in the bombing, then killing a friend meant nothing. But why would Levin’s phone be under her body unless the killer wanted to implicate Young?

A woman by the name of Lydia Garza had called into the office. She claimed to be employed by Claire Levin as a babysitter for three-year-old Zoey Levin. The child was missing. An Amber Alert had been issued.

Another update caught his attention. A young woman resembling Young had entered a Starbucks six blocks from Levin’s studio and used an employee’s cell phone. The barista stated she was clearly shaken and upset. That supposed appearance matched the timeline for the 911 call reporting the murder. Why kill, then report the crime?

Little about this case made sense, and nothing more had surfaced from the BOLO bulletin. Background checks on Young’s team brought little, except that Brad Patterson was Kinsley Stevens’s uncle. Another plug for her to take over Taryn’s position. Gated Labs’s financial reports were sound, and their stock was up 12 percent over the previous quarter.

He blew out an exasperated sigh while arranging and rearranging facts. What had he missed that possibly linked Gated Labs and the bombing? Agents and law enforcement officials were divided on whether they were two separate incidents or somehow related.

His BlackBerry beeped with the FIG’s latest findings. Francis Shepherd’s real name was Phillip Murford, an ex-con who’d done time in Arizona for several bank robberies and murder. Ex–Navy SEAL. Now they were getting somewhere. Not sure how Murford managed parole, but once released, he disappeared. Murford had
lightened his hair and shortened the style, shaved a scraggly beard and mustache, and possibly gotten a nose job. But his identity was confirmed. Definitely a man who had skills and experience. The FBI finally had something concrete. An updated BOLO was going out statewide and nationwide. Based on this latest info, Murford could have killed Claire Levin, but was Young with him?

If the two were separated, as her appearance at the Starbucks indicated, she could be upset with the murder and ready to talk to authorities. All they had to do was locate her.

10:12 P.M. MONDAY

Taryn knew it was fruitless, but she had to know how far Shep had gone in building this elaborate scheme. Two more calls would cement Shep’s fraudulent dealings in their supposed marriage. How many were involved? Had any part of their relationship been real?

The first went to Tony’s Restaurant, where they’d shared dinner last night. She found the number online and reached for the pastor’s desk phone.

“I dined there last evening and a particular waiter did an excellent job. His name is Winston. Is he available?”

“We don’t have a waiter by that name. Is there anyone else who could assist you?”

She startled. “Oh. My husband has misplaced his credit card. The name is Francis Shepherd. Do you have his card?”

The man put her on hold. “No, ma’am. It’s not here. I checked our reservations list from last night and the name isn’t listed. Are you sure you have the right restaurant? This is Tony’s.”

“So you don’t have a record of us being there?”

“Not at all. Unless it was a cash transaction.”

It wasn’t. “Thank you.” She disconnected the call. The sophistication of what she was uncovering took her breath away.

They spent last night at the St. Regis. Shep had the room key when the limo drove them to the hotel.

“Let’s take the back entrance,” Shep had said and kissed her. “I don’t want anyone gawking at my beautiful bride.”

She called the hotel’s number.

“I spent last night there, and I forgot my pearls. I think I left them in the bathroom. Room 1412.”

“Ma’am, we have twelve floors. Perhaps you were at a different hotel or a different room.”

More lies. “The room was registered under Mr. and Mrs. Francis Shepherd or just my husband. It was our honeymoon, complete with champagne and roses.”

“One moment, please.”

Taryn’s heart might give out before daylight.

“Ma’am, we don’t have that name in our files. I think you have the wrong hotel. This is the St. Regis.”

All physical links of her and Shep’s relationship were supposedly gone. The realization seemed to strangle her. How could she deliberately have put herself in harm’s way?

Taryn hung up. The same man’s name surfaced again. This must be from God because Taryn saw no reason to trust anyone.

10:45 P.M. MONDAY

Grayson scanned through an internal system, gathering more information about Phillip Murford. The man’s work had been solo until now, and he had the brains to pull off the enormity of today’s bombing. But did he work with others to steal the software? None of his fellow prison inmates flagged any interest. No wife or family. What about his Navy SEAL buds? Grayson made a note to do a background on all of them.

His to-do list grew. When daylight emerged, he wanted an interview with Ethan Formier’s widow. She might have insight into the case.

His BlackBerry rang. Not a number he recognized.

“Agent Grayson Hall?” a woman said.

“Speaking.”

“This is Taryn Young.” She sounded weak.

Grayson motioned to Vince and mouthed,
Trace this call.
“Go ahead, Miss Young.”

Vince moved slowly to accomplish the one task that would lead them to the person of interest.

“I need your help,” she said.

He was FBI, not the Red Cross. “Are you ready to give yourself up?”

“Not yet.” She drew in a breath as though in pain.

She wanted to barter? She needed a good lawyer more than the FBI’s assistance. “Explain how I can help you.”

“I’ll speak fast. I’m innocent of today’s bombing. I have no idea where Francis Shepherd is, but I’m convinced he played a part in something illegal. That’s what I want to discuss with you. I have proof he used me, probably to get access to a Gated Labs project in which I was lead developer. But I can’t figure out the reason for the bombing. Or if he’s connected to it.” Exhaustion tipped every word.

How long could this woman go on after the trauma of today? “Why contact me?”

“Because you’re the only person I can trust.”

Whoa. Didn’t see that coming.
“Why?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. But I saw sincerity in your eyes, a commitment to learn the truth. I want the truth too. But there’s something more important than clearing my name.”

Here it comes. . . .
“Which is?”

“I found my best friend murdered in her photography studio
 
—Claire Levin.” She drew in a breath. “Claire was like a sister to me. I want her killer found. Her computer and photo equipment were missing.” She sobbed, then apologized. “Claire has a daughter, a three-year-old, and I can’t find her. I’m afraid something’s happened to her.”

Click.

Grayson laid the phone on the table, his investigative skills wrestling with Young’s words. “As long as we talked, I know you got her location.”

Vince shook his head.

Grayson’s blood pressure inched up several points. “Why did you drag your feet?”

“Might not have been her. So she wants to bargain?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why the call?”

When this case ended, Grayson would go to the SSA about ending his partnership with Vince. “Concern for Claire Levin’s
three-year-old daughter. I want everything on Levin and her child. Begin with phone records. Client lists. Family. Doctors. Agent Thatcher Graves is working the homicide. Talk to him.”

“Slow down,” Vince said. “We’ll get the field plowed.”

Grayson held back his fury. But his original thoughts of Taryn Young’s innocence surfaced again.

10:55 P.M. MONDAY

Taryn’s stomach growled. When had she eaten last? Didn’t matter. Nothing would stay down anyway. She’d swallowed two more Tylenol 3, knowing her insides would protest and rebel. Adrenaline and the need to locate Zoey kept her going.

She’d completed her online search for Francis Shepherd. No combination of symbols or words produced anything legitimate. She couldn’t hack into something that wasn’t there. Who did Claire know who might have Zoey? No one marched through her thoughts. Claire had been alone in Houston except for Taryn, Lydia, and her church family.

The image of Claire in the photography studio burned in her mind while her stomach churned. They’d been so close, opposite personalities that strengthened each other. Tears dripped over her cheeks, and she whisked them away.

Right now grieving for Claire couldn’t occupy heart space because then emotions would overrule logic. Finding Zoey had to take precedence. Later, when the path ahead was cleared of the rocks and potholes, Taryn could plan her future with the child she loved so dearly. Images of the inquisitive little girl with huge dark eyes and curly hair flashed across her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could almost hear the giggles. Oh, to hear them again . . . and again.
Claire, I miss you. You were my lifeline.

Realization stabbed her hard. Could Zoey have been taken as leverage to get her to cooperate with those who were after the software?

God gave her strength, she knew, because left on her own, she would’ve collapsed.

A clock ticked away on the pastor’s desk. She needed to call Agent Hall back and hope the previous call hadn’t been traced. Picking up the phone, her hand shook as though she’d contracted Parkinson’s. Right now she’d welcome the disease over reality. The phone rang once . . . twice.

“Miss Young?” Agent Hall said. “I was hoping you’d call back.”

“I have no choice but to trust someone.”

“Do you know why Claire Levin was killed?”

“I’m afraid to speculate.”

“Why?” Grayson said.

“I don’t want to falsely accuse anyone of a horrible crime.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Meet with me alone so we can talk. Help me sort through what has happened over the past three months. The more I discover, the more fearful I become.” She caught the near panic in her voice. “Will you meet with me?”

“Can I bring my partner?”

“No, sir. One more thing I wanted to tell you about Claire. With her equipment gone, our wedding pics are in someone else’s hands. Also, the ones that were in my condo and my laptop are missing. I think Shep confiscated all traces of himself. Have you recovered my phone?”

“Not yet. I’ll see what I can do about meeting with you privately. Where do you have in mind?”

She wanted to bolt from her resolve. Everything centered on the agent’s believing her. She’d been set up by Shep, and the idea of being duped again gnawed at her conscience. Yet Zoey knew Shep. She’d go to him willingly. . . .

“Miss Young?”

“I’m sorry. My concern is for Zoey Levin.” She sighed. “And all the dead and injured today. When I was in the hospital, you said Shep hadn’t given me his real name. Have you identified him?”

“Yes. I can give you his information and background when we meet.”

“Okay. I’m at the church on the corner of Voss and Westheimer. There’s a door in the rear by the children’s playground. I’ll be waiting.”

She ended the call and laid her head on the desk. From the hour and traffic, she estimated about thirty minutes before Agent Hall arrived. He might have lied to gain her confidence, and in a few moments the church could be surrounded by a SWAT team with every media camera in the city focused on her. Along with guns.

Great epitaph.

But she had to take this chance for Zoey’s sake.