Internal Threat (20 page)

His hand shot out and clasped the man’s throat. As his victim dropped the cup of coins, his hands fumbling weakly in defense, John tightened his grip. He felt the windpipe crush beneath his fingers and watched his victim slump lifelessly. Yet, even then he did not stop. Pushing the man down on to the sidewalk, John rammed the heel of his hand into his face again and again until all that remained was an unrecognizable mess of blood and cartilage. Suddenly, he was gripped by a pain in his chest.

John stumbled backwards, struggling for air. He had never experienced anything like the sensation before and his mind frantically searched for an answer. Was he having a heart attack? No, he quickly told himself. The pain was in his lungs, not his heart, and there was no numbness. At last, his breath slowed to ragged whistle. He realized he had just suffered a panic attack. The idea was so foreign to him that he almost laughed, although the thought of him guffawing was even more shocking.

He looked down at the corpse lying on the sidewalk, the crimson pool spreading beneath it. Throwing a glance back to where he had seen the people entering their cars, he noticed with relief that they were gone. The street lay empty. He was lucky nobody had seen anything. Looking down, he saw that his hands were shaking. Willing them to stop, he gathered himself. He tried to find the inner core of numbness that he so relied on but it slipped out of his grip each time he reached for it.

Matt Weatherly had unleashed something in John he had not felt in many years.

The raw, ugly power of anger.

On wobbly legs, John climbed back on to his motorcycle. His mission was almost complete and there was no way it could end now. He had to find Weatherly and force him to take down the final server. He was not sure yet how he would do it since his bargaining chip of Luke was now compromised. His plan would have to be shaped on the fly. Although he did not know what it was, he was sure it would end with Weatherly’s death or his own.

N
o one paid any attention to the boy weaving through heavy foot traffic. Sunset Boulevard was thronged with the masses that clubs and bars belched out at this late hour. Among a crowd consisting of teenagers with fake ID’s, transvestites and usual assortment of unsavory residents, there was nothing unusual about a shaky-legged nine year old making his way slowly down the sidewalk by himself.

Luke figured that he must have been walking for an hour. He was shocked when he glanced down at his digital watch to learn that he had only left his father’s car about twenty minutes ago. At this rate, it would take him hours to reach his ultimate destination. His toe caught on a crack in the cement and he pitched forward into a group of girls draped in low-cut dresses and towering high-heeled shoes. One of them caught his arm before he struck the ground.

“Watch it, kid,” she said, straightening him up.

Luke nodded his thanks, finding her eyes. They were green, surrounded by black mascara. Pretty. Until they began to stretch at the edges. His vision swam. He shook his head to clear it away.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re on something,” he heard the girl ask from somewhere far away.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. He pulled his arm free from her grip and began walking again. Behind him, he heard the girl’s friends telling her to leave the kid alone as they shuffled away.

The world was spinning now, Luke’s head incredibly dizzy. He stepped out of the way to avoid a giant man covered in black leather and shiny steel chains and steadied himself with a hand against a nearby doorway. He wished his dad were here. Providing a comforting voice, telling him everything would be alright.

A memory flashed and faded.

His father handing him a small white pill, telling him it would make him feel better. Luke fished in his pocket, thrilling at the discovery of the other pill he had placed there for safekeeping. He did not relish the thought of taking it dry but knew that there was no other choice. He brought the pill to his lips and swallowed.

A hand appeared on his shoulder. Grimy fingernails stroked his shirt.

“Hey, little dude,” a wiry young man was saying through a mouth covered in a scraggly goatee. “You alright? Why don’t you come upstairs and rest for a while, huh?”

Luke swayed, waiting for the pill to take effect. His lips moved but no sounds came out. He could feel the man pushing him towards the shadowy doorway.

“Yeah, dude, come on. You can chill on my couch, alright? Maybe have a drink or something.” The man’s eyes were surreptitiously cutting back and forth down the sidewalk. His grip tightened as he withdrew a set of door keys with his other hand.

Tremors overtook Luke’s body. Instinctively, he knew this man was trouble. He could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. Tattoo ink covered the sinewy arm that was attempting to box Luke in. The building door was open now, the man herding Luke through it.

Just then, the pill took effect.

Luke’s faculties roared back in full swing. He wrenched free of the stranger’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” the man said, reaching for Luke again.

“Get off of me!” Luke shouted. A couple of people across the street turned to look in his direction.

“Take it easy, bro,” the young man had his hands raised in supplication now. “I just thought you could hang for a bit.”

A memory of his father giving advice popped into Luke’s brain. He said that if Luke ever felt a hint of danger, he should run. Which is exactly what Luke did now. He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. The pill’s medicine was chugging through his veins at a full clip now, allowing him to reach maximum speed. Lungs burning, legs aching, he finally stopped. He bent forward to his knees to catch his breath. Chancing a look back, he saw that he was alone. The area of Sunset Boulevard he had run from was far behind him, along with the scattering of late-night street wanderers. Looking around, he noticed that he was now deep in the heart of Beverly Hills. Ivy-draped mansions with dark windows loomed, separated by perfectly manicured lawns.

He hunched his shoulders and began walking at a faster pace. His destination lay at the end of the boulevard, he knew. Only when he reached it did Luke believe he had any chance of saving millions of lives.

T
he gun was steady in Jason Worth’s hand. His aim was placed squarely in the middle of Emma’s forehead; a kill shot. She was staring back at him placidly.

“Jason,” she began.

He shook his head to indicate he was not in the mood for listening. “I’m going to walk you out of your office and take you directly to the MP’s. As of now, you are-”

“Jason, please!” she blurted out, her emotions finally getting the better of her. “Please,” she repeated, her eyes pleading as she rose unsteadily to her feet. “All I’m asking for is an explanation as to how you came to this conclusion. You at least owe me that.”

Jason took a deep breath, mulling it over. He had his problems with the military and his government in general but there was one thing he absolutely stood against – treason. It was the sole reason he had continued on with his service, a feeling that he was honor bound to dutifully protect his country against traitors. That was the reason he would not let Emma have a chance to defend herself.

Yet there were even more reasons for him to give her that opportunity. He thought back to when he had first come to the office and the disdain shown to him by most of the other workers and enlisted men. Despite technically being a war hero, the word had somehow leaked to them that he was not someone to be trusted when it came to the chain of command. Emma Hosobuchi had made it clear from their very first meeting that his distrust of authority was precisely what she valued the most about his character. Beyond that, in her unique way, Emma had actually been kind to Jason. She praised him for his good work and never belittled him when he made a mistake. She treated him like a trusted advisor, not a lackey.

It was the history of those multiple kindnesses that finally tipped the scale in her favor. Jason continued aiming the gun at her but he thought Emma was right - he at least owed her an explanation.

“I like to read mysteries,” he said at last.

Emma looked at him quizzically around the barrel of the gun.

“I heard one time that the good mystery writers always start with the ending and work backwards to tell the story,” he continued. “That’s what I did.”

“Ah. Now I understand,” she replied.

“First, I started with how many people knew about FALCON’s existence to begin with.”

“Makes sense. That would be about twenty-five people, maybe thirty,” she said.

“Right. But whoever is attacking the servers knows their exact locations.”

“Which is only six of us.”

“Right again. Obviously, I eliminated myself because I know I’m not the mole.”

“Obviously.”

“So you tell me, Ms. Hosobuchi. Who does that leave?”

“Besides myself,” she didn’t hesitate before rattling off the list, “the Secretary of Defense, Mike Saunders, General Griggs and the President’s Chief of Staff.”

“I could have been wrong but I went on the assumption that the Secretary of Defense and Chief of Staff don’t want to bring down our entire defense system. Probably would hurt their chances of keeping their jobs.”

“And out of the remaining three, you chose me? I still don’t understand why, Worth.”

“Because you’re the only one whose cell phone has made multiple text messages to an unknown number tonight. You may have forgotten, but we have a system in place that can track all cellular communication, even if it’s encrypted. I checked the logs. Your phone has texted someone in Southern California nine times in the past twenty-four hours.”

Emma’s eyes cut to her purse, lying beneath her desk. She reached for it but Worth’s voice stopped her short.

“Don’t. Move,” he commanded. Her hand shrank away, moving back to the top of the desk.

“I was reaching for my phone,” she explained.

“I’m sure you were.”

“It’s either been stolen or cloned.”

“That’s something the MP’s or the FBI can sort out. Let’s go.” He motioned with the gun.

“James,” Emma said softly. “I’m asking you to believe me.”

“I wish I could,” he answered.

Before the last word was out of his mouth, Emma’s right hand shot up from her desk. In one smooth move, she knocked Worth’s gun arm to the side while bringing up her other hand to chop across his neck.

Pain exploded at the base of Jason’s skull. He struggled to remain upright as Emma leapt across the desk. Another blow landed on the scar tissue of his leg. His knees buckled in agony as the gun slipped from his fingers.

Suddenly, Jason’s face was being pressed down on to the surface of the desk. The ice cold metal of the gun was placed snugly against his temple.

“Are you hurt?” he heard Emma say.

“Fuck you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. It was the only way I could get you to really listen to me.”

“I don’t give a damn about my leg. The ‘fuck you’ was for being a traitor, Emma.”

“Those texts don’t prove anything. You think if I were really planning something like this, I would be stupid enough to use my own phone in this place?”

Worth hesitated. “Maybe,” he said.

“You think I forgot about the cellular tracking system? I helped create it last year.”

“The evidence points to you, Emma.”

“Jason, why would I do it? Take everything that I’ve built and throw it all away.”

“Revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“You hate this country for what it did to your grandmother.”

Emma lifted the gun from Worth’s head and helped him to his feet. She sat him down in the nearby desk chair.

“Who told you that?” she whispered in shock.

“It’s the rumor around the office. Always has been.” He rubbed his sore leg to get the circulation pumping again.

Emma nodded as if that answered something for her. “You don’t know how wrong you are. I love this country because it’s the only place in the world where they could have locked up my grandmother for being a threat to the nation and then, just a short while later, allowed me to create the means to safeguard it.”

She shook her head, then raised the gun. James flinched, waiting for the roar of the bullet and the searing heat he remembered tearing through his flesh.

But it didn’t come.

Emma expertly tossed the gun lightly into the air, flipping it around to grab the barrel. “I’m not the mole, James.” She held out the handle for him to take it back.

He did, just as she told him, “But I think I know who is.”

“L
uke!”

No response. Just as there had been no response to the last several times Matt had called out his name. His voice echoed mockingly back at him from the walls of the surrounding buildings. Ashley was at his side, her face growing more concerned with each passing minute. Detective Larson was a few steps ahead, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him as he walked. He had not said a word since they left the Porsche together.

Matt shouted Luke’s name again. When there was no answer, he cursed beneath his breath. He felt Ashley’s hand on his forearm.

“It’s okay. We’ll find him,” she was saying.

“What if we don’t?”

“We will,” she insisted.

“I screwed up, Ashley. I should have been there protecting him.”

“You’ve been protecting him the whole time. We wouldn’t have been involved in this entire mess if you hadn’t cared for Luke above everything else.”

Matt wanted to believe in that but his heart was having trouble doing so. “I keep thinking of him out there, all alone. If I had just…” If he had just
what
? he kept asking himself. The answer eluded him. “What the hell kind of father am I?” he mumbled.

“A great one,” Ashley told him.

Suddenly, Larson called out from ahead of them, “Weatherly.”

Matt and Ashley turned to see the detective squatting on his haunches, peering at the pockmarked cement at his feet. “What kind of shoe does your kid wear?” he asked.