The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (20 page)

“For fuck’s sake, Addy! We can’t let personal problems get in the way of our work.” He threw up his hands. “You’re already on Trent’s case. You don’t even know how you’re going to handle the situation with him. You can’t go helping out some old flame.” He shook his head. “No way. No fucking way. It’s not even an option.”

They shared an intense moment. The former admiral wasn’t about to back down.

“You don’t care, do you?” Turner said.

“I wouldn’t say that. I see your point, and you’re right. This isn’t something I should be considering.” Simpson drew in a deep breath and said, “But I have to help her out. I wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror if I didn’t.”

“You’ve lost it, haven’t you?”

“No, I’m being serious.”

“Love can do some crazy things to a man”—Turner’s eyes narrowed—“like diluting his judgment. No question about it.” Simpson didn’t respond. “What? Do you want my permission to do something stupid?” Jack Turner paused for a long moment. “I want you to think about this, Addy. I mean, really think about it.” Turner stood and began to pace back and forth. “Some days it seems like Senator Soller’s sole purpose in life is finding ways to throw you under the bus.” He shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time before he finds the right bus.”

Simpson laughed. “Come on, Jack. Like it’s possible to make things worse with him.”

Turner shook his head again. “Sticking our noses into his daughter’s boyfriend problems? That’s just asking for trouble.”

Simpson smiled as he stood and walked to the weapon safe. “Oh, come on. Stop being so melodramatic.”

“So I take it you’re going to cut Trent some slack. You know, for what’s going on with Ryan?”

He opened the safe, and his tone turned serious. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, but for now I need you to check something out with me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A house in Poolesville.”

He watched as Simpson collected some gear. “I guess you’re expecting company?”

“You only live once, so I’d rather go over prepared.” Simpson smiled. “We’ll need your truck. I’ll give POTUS a call on the way there.”

White House Oval Office, Washington, DC

PRESIDENT VINCENT CROSS fixed his gaze on a painting across the room as he waited for the man on the other end of the phone to respond. His eyes had drifted down to the wooden trim on the
Resolute
desk before there was an answer.

“Mr. President, this is quite a surprise,” Federal Reserve Chairman Bart Stapleton finally said.

“Bart, call me Vincent please,” President Cross said. “Sorry to interrupt your Saturday evening. Something’s come up and I need your help.”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Please keep this conversation between the two of us. It’s of an extremely sensitive nature.”

“Absolutely. What is it that you need?” Stapleton responded without any real conviction.

This was a sticky subject, so Cross figured it would be best just to lay it all out there. “I need you to work out how to get someone on my team access to the Federal Reserve computer systems.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“We’ve discovered a computer threat in the wild, and there’s a chance the Fed might be a target. They’ll need to check every system that deals with money. Rates, transfers, domestic and foreign accounts.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the chairman considered the request. “Our computer systems?”

“Yes. It’s a matter of national security.”

“I’ll need a little more information than that to consider something like this.”

“Unfortunately, at this point in the investigation we’re short on details, but we won’t be at liberty to share them until there’s more clarity on the situation. Suffice it to say, this is a highly advanced threat, and this is now our number-one priority. It’s imperative that the investigation be centralized to minimize the risk of setting off alarm bells.”

“That’s convenient, Vincent, now isn’t it?” Stapleton’s tone had quickly changed to one of a skeptic. “Giving your people the keys to the kingdom under the auspices of national security without offering a shred of detail.”

Stapleton was a man with enough power to do battle with the president. His position at the Federal Reserve gave him the power to use interest rates as a tool to stabilize the economy as much as he could a weapon to destroy the current administration’s economic policies. Cross knew the man had no qualms about doing whatever it would take to suit his needs.

“I appreciate your concern,” Stapleton barked in a belittling tone, “but I think you knew the answer to this question before you made the call.”

President Cross quickly realized his mistake. The United States Code restricted what information the Government Accountability Office could access about the country’s central bank. Congress had tried repeatedly to have the records showing its dealings with foreign governments and entities made available, but had had little success. Many had fallen in the fight, but the Federal Reserve’s financial records abroad remained shrouded in secrecy. Cross’s request had been interpreted as a back door to gain information, and he knew changing Stapleton’s attitude at this point would be practically impossible.

He took a deep breath as he considered the long odds, and gave it his best shot. “Bart, this is real,” he said. “There’s something going on right now, and the scope of the problem isn’t completely known, but it will be in your…” He thought better of putting it directly on him and changed his approach. “It will be in our best interest to work together here.”

“In our best interest,” Stapleton repeated in a scathing tone. “I see. Unfortunately, politics provides for many interpretations of what may be in one’s best interest.”

Cross had expected a tough sell but was surprised that Stapleton was being so combative. He decided his angst was probably some combination of his request to look into the Fed’s foreign accounts and fallout from a recent transgression in the banking industry. The Federal Reserve’s failure to act on early information to expose the Libor rate scandal had put intense pressure on the central bank. Even the mainstream media had considered whether it could have something to do with a larger conspiracy among world finance leaders. There were endless profits that could be made by collectively manipulating global benchmark interest rates. The world was screaming cover-up, and Stapleton had put up a roadblock.

The president wasn’t left with much choice, so he said, “I can assure you this isn’t an excuse to poke around in the Fed’s financial dealings. It’s about making sure the bank remains stable.”

“And there we have it,” Stapleton said sharply. “No?”

Cross closed his eyes and shook his head. “No.”

“It would be in the best interest of your presidency to end this conversation now,” Stapleton added.

Cross maintained his cool, knowing this was bigger than him and his ego.

“Bart, we’re still trying to crawl out of the economic crisis the previous administration put us in. America doesn’t need another financial meltdown. We were lucky to pull out of this last one.”

“We did what we had to do there,” Stapleton said bitterly.

The tone of his comment reminded Cross that the central bank was still reeling from details uncovered about trillions of dollars in discount-window loans made by the central bank that had flowed out of the country. A major newspaper’s Freedom of Information Act request to get said information had been upheld by a court order and given the Federal Reserve’s reputation another hit. The maverick institution that answered to no one.

“I suppose this conversation is over then?”

“What conversation?” Stapleton said. “Like you said, this call never happened.”

The chairman ended the call.

Cross knew there would be some political backlash for this, but if he were concerned, he didn’t show it. He fixed his gaze to the opposite side of the Oval Office and admired the iconic painting of George Washington on the wall.

“Well, George,” he said, “be thankful you didn’t have to deal with these arrogant pricks when you were president.”

He punched a button on his phone and placed a call to a building across the Potomac River.

“Hi, Cynthia. No, he wouldn’t go for it. Go in and check things out anyway. Just do me a favor and don’t get caught.”

Dulles Airport, Northern Virginia

TRENT TURNER GRABBED his newspaper off the seat and sat down at the packed gate. The old woman flashed him a friendly smile and settled herself contently, confirming she’d gone to battle to save his place. He returned the gesture and pulled out his vibrating XHD3. His jaw tightened as he read the message, and then he looked up to scan the area. It was an alert from Cannibal indicating Etzy Millar had been identified by a security camera.

The news meant the airport should have been crawling with agents by now, but he saw no signs of a takedown in the works. No one within eyeshot pinged his radar. He read further to see that the event had originated from an FBI system. It wasn’t difficult for him to draw some conclusions. The bureau had left Millar out of the headlines, and keeping that morsel of information about his involvement from law enforcement only served to underscore the significance of what was going on. Boarding for his flight had begun, so Turner needed to stay vigilant and assume he’d be up against the bureau’s elite.

Then he felt it. Even before looking up, he could sense the attention burning into him like the midday sun. She was leaning against the wall across the gate from him, a violin slung over her shoulder. He managed to avoid eye contact, but there was no doubt she noticed his recognition, and it pissed him off.

Her presence made the situation even more difficult. Now he’d need to work around that plane of view. He noted the monitor overhead was offering travel vouchers for those willing to take a later flight. He was wondering whether she might be a plant when his thoughts were interrupted by an announcement.

“Attention passengers traveling on United World Airlines flight three-six-three bound for Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, the flight is full, and we are running out of space in the overhead compartments. Please check any carry-on bags with our attendant just before boarding the plane. We will make them available to you upon arrival in Chicago. Thank you for your cooperation, and have a safe flight.”

The fact that he was carrying a small armory gave Turner plenty of cause for concern. He hadn’t identified any threats, but under the circumstances, he wasn’t crazy about separating himself from his weapons.

Millar had already boarded the flight by the time he reached the ticket scanner. The attendant processed his boarding pass, and he headed down the retractable tunnel toward the plane. None of the passengers in front of him had put up a fight about checking their carry-ons, which gave him some hope in finding space in an overhead compartment.

He smiled at the attendant gesturing to collect his carry-on bag and said, “No, thank you. I’ll come back if I can’t find a spot.”

Turner couldn’t help but notice the long, slender legs of Victoria Eden as she stepped across the plane’s threshold a few meters in front of him.

He stepped into the plane, and as soon as he turned into the aisle, he knew what he had to do. He was pretty good at this game. The key was to take the first option that presented itself and not to worry about finding space in the overhead near his seat. If you started out being picky, you’d end up with a checked bag.

He spied a space on the right just in front of him and quickly pushed his way through the mass of passengers. He hoisted his bag up into the cavity, and it met resistance from a nylon case that was being shoved in from the opposite direction.

“There weren’t any spots left in the back. Would you mind?” Victoria Eden smiled, her eyes hopeful.

“Uh, no…” Her striking green eyes sucked him in again, and it pissed him off. “I mean, yes. I do,” he said flatly.

“Please?” she asked, clearly concerned. “I’d rather not put this in the cold and unknown below. I have an audition tomorrow and, well, if something happened to it, it would be a disaster.” She bit her bottom lip and her expression pleaded.

He felt bad, and the feeling spread to his eyes, but he didn’t have a choice.

“It’ll be fine. Look at that case. This, on the other hand,” he patted his bag, “won’t offer much protection if it was to be stowed below.” The words were truer than she could ever imagine.

She smiled and looked around the cabin. “You’re a real charmer, Tony, aren’t you?” She increased her volume and said, “I have an idea. Let’s take a vote.”

Eden was obviously amused with herself as she commanded the undivided attention of all passengers within earshot.

“Can we have a show of hands here?” She raised her right hand, scanned her audience and asked, “Who thinks my violin should stay in the cabin?”

Turner realized he needed to end this fast. He shoved his bag the rest of the way into the compartment and her violin shot out the other side.

“That’ll about do it,” he said with a wry smile.

He brushed past her to head for his seat, and when they touched he had to shake off the charge of electricity.

“It will, will it?” Eden said, as she reached for his bag. “Just what’s so important here, Mr. Kalem?”

He looked over at Etzy Millar, and the hacker’s eyes were full of worry as he watched the scene escalate. Turner shot her a nasty look when she began to pull open the zipper.

FBI black site, Poolesville, MD

ADDY SIMPSON READ the intel report on his tablet. He then looked to Jack Turner, who was driving his bright yellow RAM 1500 extended-cab pickup truck. “The place Matilde’s daughter was taken from had an FBI agent present,” he said.

“Yeah well, Culder is Soller’s faithful puppet,” Turner said, his eyes not leaving the road.

Simpson laughed. “Agreed. Imagine if this was all connected. Then you’d have to stop giving me a hard time.”

“Whatever,” Jack Turner said shaking his head.

“Poolesville’s an easy location to sift through the cell tower signals. There aren’t many people around. From the real-estate records, the house smells like a black site.”