At Wit's End (21 page)

“I’m going to turn this light off. It won’t help us that much outside. Our natural night vision should be fine. The moon and stars are out now.” Wit opened the screen door and looked out over the lawn.  A light fog was beginning to form and the moonlight was reflected, brightening their path.

“It really is beautiful here,” Marie commented. Their shoes were growing damp as they walked to the treeline. “I hope we don’t find anything horrifying in that shed.”

Wit ducked under a branch and waited for Marie to do the same. “Are you expecting a mad scientist’s lab?”

She thought about it. “Not that but I am worried about a criminal mastermind’s meditation room.” She shivered. “I don’t want to think about what that would look like. What do you think we’re going to find?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Wit told her.

“Bullshit.” Marie faked a sneeze.

Wit chuckled. “Okay, you busted me. I think it’s where they put their bombs together; a staging area.”

“And you really, really want to take a look at that, don’t you?”

“You bet your lovely ass I do,” he told her.

When they reached the shed Marie gave an appreciative whistle. “I hadn’t looked at it before. This thing is huge.”

He pulled on the lock hanging from the door. “I doubt anyone is in there unless they figured out how to lock this again.” Wit rapped his fist against the door. “Solid construction.” He felt ar
ound the framework. He tapped a few spots until he found one he liked. “Stand back.”

Marie moved away a few steps. “What are you doing?”

He measured the distance and took a half step forward. “The door and lock are new but the building isn’t.” He lifted a foot and smashed it through the wall next to the handle. His foot went through easily and he pulled it back out. Three more kicks and he’d opened a hole large enough for both of them to crawl through. “After you, my dear.”

“Chivalry be damned,” Marie told him, “you go first.”

The switch next to the door turned on several hanging lights. The building was far larger than Wit had thought when he’d seen it from the outside. It was the size of a barn though the ceiling was not as high. The concrete floor was stained with oil in places and the smell of gasoline and kerosene was faint.

“This was probably the landscaping building,” Wit broke the silence.

“There isn’t much in here,” Marie commented. She was bent over a chest and Wit found he was distracted by the view. “Some blankets but no papers or wires or clay or anything that looks like it could be used to make a bomb.”

He tore his gaze from her heart shaped derriere. “What?”

Marie rubbed the dust from her hands and joined Wit in the middle of the building. “There’s nothing in here.”

“There’s a partition over there, let’s go look. Then we can say we’ve looked at the whole thing.”

“I didn’t even notice that.”

“The curve of the ceiling gave it away. It ends too abruptly.”

“There was something I wanted to ask you,” Marie began after a few moments.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, too,” Wit said. They stopped walking and Marie turned to Wit. “Me first, okay?” At her nod Wit took a deep breath. He exhaled s
lowly and took her hand in his. He laced their fingers together and looked at their joined hands. He began speaking slowly.

“There’s this want I feel at the idea of you. I want my world filled with the colours you bring, the music that follows you wherever you go. I want your scent wrapped around me.” He leaned in to her throat and took a breath. “You smell like cinnamon.”

He held their joined hands up. “Look at this, our hands can demonstrate what I mean.” He opened his clasped hand to show hers resting lightly in his palm. The tips of his fingers curled around her shorter digits. “Your hand looks delicate in mine but there’s a hidden strength that can pound dough into submission. A strength that can bring me to my knees but a gentle touch that wouldn’t allow that.

“You inspire me to feel again
. The idea of you brings colours into a world that has been grey and bleak for so long. I can breathe and feel again, all for the idea of you.”

“Bradley, I’m more than an idea-“ she began.

“I know that, I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I should have said thoughts of you. When I think of you I’m inspired to live and breathe, think and feel, create and mould.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s the idea of you.” He stroked his thumb across her palm and Marie shivered. “I’m sorry I interrupted you. What were you going to say?”

Marie gave a subdued laugh. “Nothing nearly as romantic. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, not yet,” Wit said.

Marie thought about it for a moment. “I think we have a couple of conversations we’ll have to continue at another time.”

Wit gave a bark of laughter. “Indeed.”

“No, I was going to say that I’m starving and thought you might like to go to breakfast when we get out of here.”

The echoes of his laughter died away. “I’d love to. Are you ready to see what’s behind door number 1?”

“I have a feeling it won’t be a luxury car or vacation.”

“Probably not but it might guarantee you a glorious temporary job as witness in a federal trial.”

“Sounds lovely. How can a girl resist an offer like that?
”

He shook his head. “That one’s beyond me. You can’t say I don’t take you to interesting places.”

“Uh-huh. Next time I’ll pick the venue.”

“Deal.”

“How touching.” Henry stepped into view. He held a gun at waist level and aimed at Wit. “I don’t think you’re going to make it to your breakfast date.”

An enterprising agent had connected the new generator and lights were shining throughout the building once more. The members of the Brotherhood – men, women and children – were together in the call centre. Some of the children were crying, frightened of the men in military looking gear, but most stood there, stoically watching as their parents were handcuffed and placed against a wall. Hirsch found it creepy as Hell.

He was making his way through the crowd and had been handing out new radios to his men. Hirsch wanted to help search the building in the hopes he could find Wit and Marie before anyone else did. He hadn’t yet decided if he would cuff them or give them a head start.

              A middle-aged woman came out of the kitchen. She was carrying a large wooden spoon and wore an apron and a look of murderous rage. Smoke billowed out the door behind her. “Who’s in charge here?” she demanded loudly. When no one answered she looked at each man before stopping at Hirsch. He nearly groaned when she started his way.

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to sit down there with the others,” Hirsch began. He raised his arm to point and she whacked him with the wooden spoon. “Hey! Ouch!”

Rhoda looked the agent over. “Y’all are making me waste perfectly good food.” She spat very near his shoe. Her eyes shifted side to side. “We’ve done nothing wrong here. As you can see, there’s nothing but women, children and old men here.”

“And a dead body in an office in the north wing,” Hirsch said. He hadn’t seen the body yet. He had been planning on doing that as soon as he’d handed out the radios.

“What?” The woman paled and then reddened. “Who did you bastards kill?”

Hirsch ducked before the spoon could connect with his skull. He wrapped her forearm with his so she couldn’t swing again. “I’ll give you one, sometimes two but if you hit me again you will be behind bars before the sun comes up.” Never mind the fact that she probably would be seeing those bars without hitting him. There were a lot of felonies and a lot of adults to sort through.

He twisted her wrist and the spoon dropped. “Will you behave?” At her defeated nod he let her arm go. “We believe one of your members shot Roger Ingerhoffe when we shut the lights off. We heard the shots but weren’t inside the building.”

“Oh my God, no! Father can’t be dead!” Rhoda paled once more and swayed. Hirsch stayed close in case she fainted. “That bastard Witson,” she spat once more, “he did this.”

“What?” Hirsch was stunned. “Who’s Witson?”

“Don’t you play coy with me, Agent Hirschenbaum. We know who you are and we know who Witson is. I believe you call him Zero?” she said coyly.

Hirsch spun her around and grabbed his cuffs. “You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it.” He read the rest of her rights and put her on the floor but across the room from the other adults they’d detained. He grabbed one of the men walking by and said, “Watch her. She knows more than she’s letting on.”

The man nodded. “SAC Anderson is looking for you. North Wing. Brace yourself.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Yeah, your CI’s disappeared. There’s no one in this building other than the people you see here.”

“Great.”

Marcus Harris- aka Half Hack Harris or Triple H – didn’t run to his assigned room but it was close. He grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and began throwing clothes into it haphazardly. Then he realized what he was doing. Clothes can be replaced but data? Data must be preserved. 

He turned from the bag and came face to face with himself in the mirror above the dresser. He couldn’t help but think the man in the mirror looked like his world was falling apart. He wished this were the first time that had happened and merely shook his head.

He’d learned to always be ready to run whether it was from the cops, government, ex-wives or fellow hackers. Just once –
just once
– he wanted to finish a job. The sight on his laptop screen had told him that wasn’t going to happen this time.

After the meeting with Father and Uncle Henry
, Marcus had gone back to his office to check for communications from men in the field. There hadn’t been communiques from the Reds squad in months and he didn’t expect that to change. In fact, that job was waiting for a code word to trigger the official start. He could give that code from any location at any time. They would never know if Father had authorized the operation or not and Marcus would have access to computer systems that would make Witson cry.

A silent alarm had gone off and Marcus had seen the gro
uping of FBI agents at the turn-off before the driveway to their stolen resort on his laptop screen. He turned to the computer on his desk and winced. This part was going to suck. He’d been working on this machine for months and had grown fond of it.

Self-preservation dictated he kill his brainchild and kill it quickly. There was far too much information on the hard drive for it to fall into the wrong hands. And if he didn’t wipe the information completely he was sure Witson would be able to bring it back. Marcus would prefer not to spend any time in prison.

He kept something in his closet for this specific purpose. Marcus retrieved the heavy item and winced while he waved it over the computer. The powerful magnet did the job he couldn’t bring himself to do. A separate program on a USB drive would worm into the system and eat – delete – anything in its way. It was the best he could do on short notice. Had Marcus waited the miniature EMP burst would have taken care of it for him.

There was another computer on the grounds. There was another bag as well. That bag held back-ups of everything the Brotherhood had ever done online. The important discs in that bag contained the banking information. That computer and that bag were located where Marcus was now heading.

Over the past couple of months Marcus had traversed the path to the shed often enough to not need light. That came in handy when every light on the grounds went out at the same time. That sign was enough to get Marcus to double his speed. He had never been an athlete but today he had wings on his shoes. Individual access to millions of dollars can encourage that. Ask any pro football player.

The key ring on his belt only held three keys. Two were for his office and room in the North Wing. The third was for the back
door of the shed. He quickly worked his way through the underbrush and got the door opened. The power still worked and Marcus was thankful he had demanded a separate generator for the Operations Centre, as he’d begun calling it.

He stepped in and moved through the various chain link walls that created the Farraday Cage. It was something else he’d demanded beside the generator. A Farraday Cage would protect a system from detection from the outside as well as an EMP blast. Marcus had never witnessed one but he would always be prepared. He’d been learning over the years.

The roller chair behind the desk was where he had left it earlier. Marcus brought the screen out of hibernate and quickly started working through files. He had a few minutes before the scary dudes with guns came this way, he was sure, so why not make sure every file he took was current?

Fingers flew over the keys and he mumbled to himself as he entered stolen passwords. He never gave a thought to the guy he’d taught how to do this years ago, never wondered how Brandt was using what he’d learned from the hacker over a summer of beer and weed
during college.

He thought he heard voices and stopped typing. He peeked over the partition separating his computer from the rest of the lab. He saw and didn’t see the table with the wire fragments on it. He also didn’t see anything to give him pause. He went back to typing.