Internal Threat (8 page)

Ashley nodded. “So, do we have a deal?”

Before the guard could answer, a red light popped to life on the desk console. “Shit!” he said, grabbing a nearby phone. “This is Officer Grafton at the Hobson Building. We need a car here right away.” He slammed the receiver down and sprang from his chair, hurrying to the elevator. Ashley was right on his heels.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Mr. Weatherly tripped an alarm wire on the top floor.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Tom stepped in, Ashley trying to follow. He placed his arm across the threshold. “I can’t let you come. This could be dangerous. Stay down here.” The doors shut in Ashley’s face.

She sighed in frustration as the numbers climbed above Tom’s elevator. Noticing that the lobby remained empty except for her, an idea blossomed. She depressed the button for the other lift and waited. When it arrived, she chose the button for the same floor as Tom selected. She was not about to give up on learning what Weatherly was doing. In fact, she would not be surprised if somehow Matt knew what she was attempting with Tom in the lobby and used the alarm as a ruse to lure the guard away.

“You’re not a step ahead this time, Weatherly,” she whispered as the elevator ascended.

I
t was Matt’s invention.

As an additional security precaution, his company added a slim thumbprint identification system on to the server cage. Upon the execution of the contract, the renter’s print was assigned to the box. The only other person that could access the cage was Matt. The technology had really been added as an upsell, a way for Matt to charge an additional fee and convince prospective customers that his company provided a unique level of extra security. Since his firm usually provided all maintenance, the owners had never before used the system.

Now, however, it became clear why the killer required Matt. In addition to the unique access his passcards and codes would get him, it was only his thumbprint that would give access to the multitude of cages and boxes that his company controlled.

“Okay, let me just take a look here,” Matt stalled, intimately familiar with the design of what he was now staring at. Luke stood behind him, leaning on one of the other cages. Seconds before, Matt had toggled a small red knob that lay on the side of the server cage. It was an emergency switch which he knew would signal Tom, probably already on alert by his and Luke’s trip up the side stairwell, that something was truly wrong.

“You know what to do,” the killer snapped, the first time Matt could recall him showing any hint of emotion.

“Right, right, I just-”

“Weatherly, I know you are a very bright individual. But so am I. I know that you do not need time to figure out how to disable a system that you created.”

“Listen, uh, what do I call you anyway?” Matt asked. “If we’re going to spend the night together, my practice is to usually get someone’s name.”

Whispered static of silence in the earbud. At last, the voice rematerialized:

“You can call me John.”

“Right, John. Last name Smith, I assume.”

“You have three minutes to disable the server or you are forcing my hand to do more damage. Do you understand me now?”

“Yeah, I do.” Matt pressed his thumb against the smooth black pad and waited for a beat. Behind its surface, he knew that a small laser was scanning every square millimeter of his digit and instantly matching it to the image buried in its memory. As the three seconds the scan typically took passed, Matt’s heart hammered in his chest.

Nothing happened.

Suddenly, a range of unfortunate possibilities raced through his head.

The pad was broken.

The ID had been changed without his knowledge.

The small cut he got on his thumb after the bike crash the previous week was throwing the system off.

As panic crept in, there was a small click. Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He reached forward and pulled the cage open, revealing the stack of blinking servers behind it. He stretched his hand to the back of the rectangular box in the center. This was the heart of the connected servers and, once disabled, would permanently disrupt the data that was coursing through its metal veins.

“Find something to cut the power cord and then break the box. I need it to be damaged enough not to fix in the next twelve hours.”

And what happens during that time?
Matt wondered to himself. His eyes scanned the room and landed on a small toolbox that lay in the corner of the room, most likely used by the facilities personnel to repair breaks in the cable or the cages themselves.

“Luke,” Matt directed his son by nodding at the toolbox, “go find a pair of pliers for me.” While Luke crossed the room, Matt swept his eyes towards the far end of the room where the elevator doors were located.

He noticed the illuminated numbers indicating both of the cars’ ascent and prayed that one of them contained Tom and a coterie of policemen. Remembering that the killer could see everything that he did, he quickly turned his eyes back in the other direction and found Luke holding out a screwdriver. Matt took it and squeezed his arm into the narrow space between the servers. Finding the main power cord, he opened the needle nose pliers and clamped down. There was a buzzing sound as the cord separated into two pieces. The green light on the front of the box flickered to black.

Angling his arm again, he surmised where the motherboard to the server would be located. Putting the nose of the tool back together to create a point, he jabbed it through the aerated top of the box. It plunged into the heart of the server and Matt felt and heard a crack which would render the machine inoperable.

“Alright, it’s done,” Matt said, pulling his arm free.

“Good,” John said in his ear. “Time to get moving.”

Matt was about to respond but before he had a chance, there was a small ding across the space of the room.

The elevator had arrived.

“R
epeat that?” the voice said through garbled static.

“I said, there’s an emergency at the Hobson Building. The server room,” Tom repeated into his two-way radio receiver.

“The server room?” the person asked again, confusion coloring the question.

“Yes, the server room, on the top floor. Do you need me to spell it for you? Just call the police and have them send a car. It’s called standard procedure.”
Moron
, Tom added silently. His eyes looked to the green digital screen on the elevator wall which informed him he was about to reach the top level. At the same time, his hand floated down to his waist where his issued Glock 9mm rested in a holster. He flipped open the button that kept it secured to the belt.

“Just a precaution,” the guard whispered to no one but himself. In eight years on the job, he never had to fire the gun. Truth be told, this was only the third time he had ever felt the need to unclip that. His reflexes and aim, however, were honed by the required eight hours a month he put in at the firing range.

There was a soft chime and the elevator doors slithered open.

Upon first glance, everything looked and sounded normal to Tom. The lights were dim, as they always were, to avoid any overheating. To further keep things cool, the air conditioning system was humming strongly. Tom moved forward, hand on his holster, and entered into the broad tiled area that Matt usually referred to as the “meet-me room.” A large picture window looked out on to the office buildings across the way. This was where prospective clients were brought and shown the large gates that blocked any further entry, the first layer of security.

Tom pulled out his master key from a chain on his belt and unlocked the main gate. “Mr. Weatherly?” he called out.

His voice echoed out across the cavernous space and failed to get a response.

Tom made his way towards the back of the room where the signal switch had been tripped.

“Mr. Weatherly, are you here?” the guard asked aloud.

Again, no answer.

Something was definitely wrong.

As Tom rounded a corner and at last spotted Matt, he knew what it was.

“Mr. Weatherly!”

Damn!
Matt cursed to himself. He had hoped desperately that Tom would come with reinforcements. When he realized that the guard had come alone, he only wished that he would not enter loudly to alert the killer to his presence. His hopes now dashed, Matt frantically tried to think of a solution.

Now, Matt found himself standing ten feet apart from Tom, staring down the barrel of his gun.

“Tom, I can explain,” Matt started, knowing how that ridiculous that sounded. He pictured himself, standing over a short-circuited ultra-secure server with a pair of needle nose pliers, and imagined Tom’s well-deserved disbelief.

“Step away from there,” the guard ordered.

John was suddenly hissing in Matt’s ear. “Big mistake, Weatherly. I told you not to alert anyone.”

“I know, I just-” Matt replied, but was cut off by Tom’s booming voice.

“Step back,
now
,” he commanded.

Matt followed the order, lowering the pliers to his waist to appear less threatening. “I was up here doing some checking on a faulty box and accidentally hit that alarm switch. You can put the gun down.”

Tom eyed him suspiciously, then motioned with the barrel of his Glock. “Put those down on the floor and then let’s talk about it downstairs.”

“Dad?” Luke’s urgent whisper came from behind. Matt looked back and saw the fear etched on the boy’s face.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll be fine.” He dropped the pliers to the floor with a clang.

“Let’s go,” Tom said again.

Matt nodded, listening for any words from John but not getting any. He put an arm around Luke and stepped forward. He crossed the room, passing in front of Tom who lowered the gun to his side.

“I can totally explain,” Matt lied when he was near him.

“So you said.” Tom gestured towards the elevators as the trio crossed the floor. Passing through the main security gate, Tom pulled it shut behind him, his eyes never leaving Matt’s.

“At least put the gun away,” Matt pleaded. “You’re scaring my kid.”

“Can’t. It’s procedure,” the security guard replied. “Now, when we get downstairs-”

Luke screamed as the window behind them mushroomed inwards.

Half a second later, Tom’s face was sheared off in a cloud of red.

On instinct, Matt grabbed his son and threw their bodies down the ground. “Stay down!” he shouted in the boy’s ear.

Another bullet whipped through the hole in the window, landing in Tom’s already collapsing body.

Luke was sobbing into Matt’s shoulder, quaking with fear.

“You’re fine,” Matt tried soothing him. “I’m here, Luke. You’re safe.” He was practically screaming the words, his ears still suffering from the concussive blast of gunfire.

Matt did not know anymore if he was telling his son the truth, but at the moment he had something else to worry about.

With a ding, the other elevator had announced its arrival.

A
shley’s foot had been doing a nervous tap dance as the numbers climbed on the elevator screen. As she approached the top floor, her cover story was formulating inside her head.

“I just came to check up on a client’s cage,” she imagined herself telling a frowning Weatherly. “And what are
you
doing here by the way?” She knew he would probably see through her lie instantly but she was willing to take the chance. There was no way she was going to lose another client to her competitor. Or miss the chance to gloat about TekStar, come to think of it.

Her train of thought dissipated as her ears caught a muffled popping sound.

What the hell was that?

It came again, much louder this time, accompanied with screams.

As the two doors parted in front of her, Ashley suddenly found that she was screaming, too.

Matt tensed as the elevator doors scrolled open, ready for one of the killer’s partners to put a bullet in his skull.

He could hardly contain his consternation, however, when he instead looked upon the form of Ashley Kane. Her face was frozen in a mask of shock and horror, instantly spotting Tom’s body bleeding out on to the white tiles of the floor. Without even realizing it, her left foot was inching forward to take her out of the elevator car.

“Stay back!” Matt shouted at her.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his.

“What the hell did you do?” she yelled at him.

“It wasn’t me! Just stay in there if you want to live!”

Ashley paused, then gave a small nod and slipped into the back corner of the elevator.

Matt turned his attention back to his son, who was lying beneath him. He adjusted slightly so Luke could move. Before allowing him to rise up, he listened out for any further gunfire. After a moment, he convinced himself that no more was coming and pulled Luke to a crawling position. His boy was hyperventilating, body wracked with shakes.

“Luke, listen to me,” Matt said softly. “I want you to make your way over to the elevator. Stay low but do it quick. Do you understand me?”
Luke nodded and managed to slow his breathing. On all fours, he scuttled to the elevator where Ashley had reached out her arm to help him in. Even though she was a stranger, he went to her immediately, Matt noticed. She held him protectively against her chest. “It’s okay,” Matt heard Ashley say to him and was instantly grateful for her actions.

The killer’s voice appeared in Matt’s ear. “I was very clear with my instructions,” John said.

“You son of a bitch,” Matt hissed. “You’re a coward, you know that? Shooting someone from a hundred yards away is the easy way out. If you were right here next to me, I would tear you apart.”

“I am afraid that would do little to solve your larger problem of the bomb.”

“I think your bomb is a lie,” challenged Matt.

John chuckled softly. “Do you? Well, I will give you a hint as to its location. It is somewhere in your vicinity. It is bright red, so you should be able to easily find it.” Matt’s eyes quickly checked the room but saw nothing crimson jumping out at him. “In any case, you’ve still got a lot to do tonight and you had better move. Get up.”