Read Born with Secrets: A Political Thriller Online
Authors: Bowen Greenwood
In the pitch black that came after the moon had gone
down but before the sun had come up, Alyssa planned her attack. In prison, Moira
had told her that Cobalt Data Mining Systems was the hacking victim that
finally got her arrested.
Zack confirmed it; identifying this company as the
one Moira would surely go after again now that she had escaped from prison.
So Alyssa was here to look for information. Whatever
Moira hacked this place for, Alyssa intended to find it. Hopefully, finding out
what the girl wanted here would yield a hint as to how to track her down. Then
she could hand her over to Wheeler and put the whole mess behind her.
Driving right up to the front door didn’t seem wise.
Besides, it was impossible. A gate blocked the private drive. Thus, Alyssa
parked her rented car by the side of the road a mile or so from the approach to
the campus. The giant suitcase Wheeler had given her was still stored in the
back seat, and Alyssa opened it up and took out a set of lock picking tools.
Wheeler had also given her a black box with a small alphanumeric display and a
set of protruding wires — that was for defeating electronic locks. She imagined
that, for a man who worked directly for the President, the CIA could provide
this kind of thing.
Once geared up, she took a moment to talk to Zack.
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I’m going in here to
look for clues about what Moira was up to. I hope I’ll find something that will
help us find her, but I don’t expect to find the girl herself. And anyway, I’m
not knocking on the front door. I’m going to break in.”
Alyssa made eye contact with the boy and held it.
“It’s time for that decision, Zack. I’ve treated you
honorably so far, and I’m telling you that if I find Moira I’ll send her to
talk to you. But I want you to wait here with the car.”
When Zack didn’t reply right away, Alyssa added a
bit more assurance.
“You’ll be sitting in my car, which has all my gear
in the back seat. I’m not going to abandon you here.”
She threw him the keys and then went on, “I’m a
trained professional at getting into places like this. You’re very very good at
what you do, but what you do is not covert approaches to a heavily guarded
targets. If you come, we’ll be caught and both of us will be in prison before
we’ve gone five hundred feet.”
She concluded, “Wait here. I promise you, I’ll be
back. Hopefully when I am, I’ll know where we go next to look for Moira.”
Zack reluctantly nodded.
Strapping the light-amplifying monocle over her
head, she set off through the wooded grounds of the CDMS campus, heading toward
their main building.
The hemlocks, red cedars, and pine trees enfolded
her like a blanket. Alyssa placed each step with the care of an artist. She
never even picked a foot up until she had already picked out a small patch of
ground without twigs or leaves, so she could put her boot there without making
noise. The practice of silent movement was all about care and attention to
detail. But because one often had to stay in a crouching position for long
periods of time, it also required endurance. Under the tight straps of her
night vision headset, sweat soon glued her hair to her forehead.
The walk gave her time to think. If the pardon
really was a miracle, what then? Was Matt right about everything? The Bible,
God, Jesus, the whole nine yards? She had a hard time picturing herself at
church bake sales. She had been shot at, she had parachuted into foreign
countries, she had fought for her life, and she had survived in the jungle for
a week with nothing but a knife. Alyssa Chambers could blend in at a cocktail
party for billionaires or backstage before a Mixed Martial Arts match. She
didn’t feel cut out for a church choir.
But she couldn’t escape the fact of what happened.
Unasked for, unsought, impossible: A Presidential Pardon out of the blue, right
after she asked God for one more chance.
And here she was using that second chance to break
and enter, to fight, and to help a politician cover up a past affair. She
couldn’t understand how it all fit together.
The first laser perimeter alarm came as a relief to
her when she found it. To begin with, it took her mind off her moral dilemma.
Besides which, if she hadn’t seen one sooner or later, the most likely thing
would have been that she’d missed it and thus been discovered.
She avoided tripping the alarm by using tree
branches to pull herself up over the laser, then swinging forward until she
could come down on the other side.
She assumed there were also infrared surveillance
cameras in the trees somewhere, but her government-issue fatigues had infrared
signature management technology, and she trusted that to keep her safe.
When she finally reached the CDMS building itself,
it sat isolated in the middle of a vast expanse of parking lot. When crossing
it, the dark of night would be her only defense. At this hour, the only cars in
it were those that had been left overnight. Alyssa picked one of those and
sprinted across the open space to it, hating the exposure. One more sprint took
her to the back wall of the building, where she leaned against the door
catching her breath for a moment.
Moira mentioned this place, and Zack mentioned it.
If there was a clue to be had about Moira’s current whereabouts, it would be in
here.
Alyssa plugged in her toolbox and opened the door.
***
They were still together.
Matt knew Vincent was in the room with him. Based on
the struggling sounds he heard, it seemed likely that the Congressman was in
front of him. Based on the physical sensations he experienced when he moved as
much as he could, Matt suspected they were tied to chairs that were at or near
a table.
Conclusion: He and Vincent sat at opposite sides of
a table. From that deduction, Matt formed the beginnings of a plan.
He said a quick prayer and then used the friction of
his feet against the floor. He pushed, trying to move the chair away from the
table. Little by little, it began to work.
Slowly, because he wasn’t sure if there was a guard
nearby, he began to move further. The idea was to get to the end of the table,
scoot around, and get near to Mike. If their chairs were right next to each
other, then each man could work on the other’s knots. They might be able to get
free.
With his wrists tied to the chair, Matt couldn’t do
much about occasionally mashing a finger into the table or a nearby chair as he
began to move. But he just ignored the pain.
In time, he began to hear noises from the other
side. It sounded like Mike had the same idea or had heard Matt doing it and
decided to join in. Gradually, the sounds of Mike scuttling toward him grew
nearer and nearer, until Matt’s patience wore out. He jerked his chair harder
and harder toward Mike, until he hit his shin on the leg of the table. He
clamped his jaw shut over the cry of pain that wanted to come out, and just growled.
Finally, their chairs touched.
There followed a rough experimentation, trying to
get the chairs into a position where one could help the other. Both of them got
their fingers pinched again but eventually soon Matt found his fingers touching
a rope that wasn’t his own.
From there, it was only a matter of time and
patience. Eventually, both were free.
“Do you think there’s still a guard outside?”
Vincent whispered.
“I don’t know,” Matt replied as quietly. “I don’t
think we’re guarded. I tried my best to be quiet about moving the chair, but we
made some noise. I’d think a guard would have heard that if he was out there.”
The Congressman said, “Yeah, but are you willing to
bet on it? If we open the door and you’re wrong, then all that effort was for
nothing, and we’re tied up worse than before.”
Matt nodded. He looked around the room, trying to
formulate some kind of plan. He saw Mike doing the same. They were obviously
being held in an office, and not just some lowly middle manager’s office
either. A heavy teak desk dominated the end of the room, with a giant,
floor-to-ceiling glass window behind it. Framed artwork hung on the walls, and
the conference table and chairs that had been used to secure them were solid
hardwood that matched the desk perfectly. The floor was also wood.
Suddenly, a rare obscenity slipped halfway out of
Congressman Vincent’s mouth before he could cut it off.
Matt turned to look at him in surprise, raising his
eyebrows.
“Sorry,” Vincent whispered. “But I just figured out
where we are. This is Doyle Bloody Cobalt’s personal private office.”
Matt blinked. “It can’t be.”
“I know, it’s crazy. But this is Doyle Cobalt’s
office at the big server farm where he archives electronic genetic data. We’re
in northern Virginia, maybe two hours from D.C.”
“How do you know?”
“He used to donate to my campaigns before he ran
against me. I’ve been out here picking up $5,000 checks every two years for a
while now.”
Matt shrugged and replied, “OK, well, now we know
where we are. How do we get out?”
Vincent held his palms open. “Hey, I figured out the
first part. Now it’s your turn.”
The reporter rolled his eyes and then went back to
looking around the room. He settled on the computer sitting in the middle of
the giant desk.
“Let’s see if there’s anything on the boss’s PC that
might help,” Matt said.
He went over to the desk, sat down, and touched the
mouse. The screen came to life when he did.
Matt started clicking through folders on what they
assumed must be Doyle Cobalt’s computer, scanning through the lists of files
for something that stood out. But there was nothing.
Then Matt whispered, “Of course!”
He opened the web browser and dialed up his email
account.
Vincent stared at him. “Really? Your best idea is to
clean out your spam folder?”
“Nice, wise guy,” Matt shot back. “The people who
kidnapped us asked me about my email account password. I’m going to find out
why.”
When he looked, most of his email was predictable.
His editor had sent about a dozen emails, increasingly frantic about where he
was. An incredible mass of political press releases clogged up the inbox. An
offer from Nigeria had slipped past his spam filter.
And there was one email from a sender he didn’t
recognize. Some woman named Moira LeBlanc had sent him a huge, multi-gigabyte
file attachment.
Matt clicked on that. The moment it opened, he
stopped clicking and typing and backed away from the keyboard..
“Hey, it’s me Lyss. Zero time to talk and please
don’t stop coming for visiting day because I got mixed up in this. But trust
me, you want this file. It’s about Mike’s opponent, Doyle Cobalt. It might win
Mike the race.”
Matt just stared at the screen with his mouth open.
Vincent knelt down beside him and put his arm around his shoulder. “Hey man.
It’s cool you get to hear from her. I wonder how she got access to a computer?
Last time I talked to her, no one was letting the infamous data thief anywhere
near one.”
Matt had to take a few deep breaths before he spoke.
“Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t had an email from
Alyssa since long before she went to prison. It’s like you say, they don’t let
her use a computer.”
The Congressman said, “Don’t be embarrassed,
brother.”
“Thanks Mike. Anyway, I’m sure the ‘How did she get
access to a computer?’ question is related to the ‘Please don’t stop visiting
because I got mixed up in this,’ line. About which, by the way, how much more
do I have to do before it’s clear that someone will have to kill me before I
stop coming to see her?”
“I’m sure she knows, Matt,” Vincent replied.
“Judging by the rest of the email, I’m guessing she was under some stress when
she wrote.”
“Yeah,” the reporter agreed. “So let’s have a look
at this video that she went to so much trouble over.”
Vincent asked, “Right now? While we’re supposed to
be escaping and there might be a guard outside the door?”
His friend replied, “You’re the one who says we’re
in Doyle Cobalt’s office. If so, and this email is about Doyle, and it was
important enough for Alyssa to risk gaining unauthorized access to a computer…”
Vincent nodded and said, “Maybe it’s relevant right
now.”
Matt Barr and Mike Vincent began to play the video.
She hated winging it. In the old days, she would
never have entered a building like this without memorizing a full map of the
facility, learning the work schedule of the security guards, and having a
support team waiting in a van outside.
Tonight, she had barely done more than look up the
address on the Internet. She’d had no time to prepare for this break-in at all.
She hadn’t stopped moving since Wheeler escorted her out of FCI Rocky. She left
a bunch of very annoyed Correctional Officers in her wake, flew to D.C., visited
Zack, and come here. No research, no backup, no plan.
Alyssa found a door and tried it. Unlocked, it
concealed an office with a cheap metal desk, cheaper chair, and no windows.
Leaving the door open, she went in to rifle the drawers. The usual collection
of pencils and pens, half-gone notepads, and abandoned business cards occupied
the center drawer. The file drawer on the side held what looked like personnel
records. There was a long row of folders with people’s names on the tabs, but
none of those names was Moira LeBlanc.
Alyssa peered uncertainly at the computer occupying
the center of the desk. The flat, black, rectangular screen sat next to a squat
rectangular box of the same shade.
On the one hand, computers were virtually guaranteed
to have overflowing smorgasbords of information. On the other hand, if there
was any kind of electronic security in place at all, turning on a computer was
like shouting “Come and get me!” into a bullhorn.
Just as she was reaching for the screws on the back
of the case so she could open it and disable whatever security measures might
be in place, the lights in the hallway went on.
Her hand flew back from the computer like lightning,
just in case she had somehow set off an alarm. But no, she couldn’t have; she
never touched it. And if opening the drawers had set off an alarm, wouldn’t the
light have come on when she did that, rather than afterward?
Out the door and down the hall, she heard footsteps.
Alyssa eased the door to the office shut, just as
she had found it. She leaned against the beige metal door to listen.
She held her breath.
Outside the door, she could hear muffled voices
engaged in conversation.
“This job is getting out of hand. How many people
are we holding here, anyway?”
“It’s three unless there’s someone I don’t know
about. We’ve got the girl downstairs and the two guys upstairs. And you’re
right, it is out of control. I’ve had way more than I bargained for so far, and
that’s without even talking about Luther.”
“That guy’s certifiable. I thought he was going to
kill Karl.”
“He might have if we hadn’t been there.”
“Why do you suppose he didn’t want us to put the
guys in with the girl?”
“I heard him telling his brother that the girl’s got
something to do with politics. I don’t know what. All I know is if he sends us
out to kidnap anyone else, I’m quitting.”
As the voices faded down the hallway, Alyssa finally
allowed herself a deep breath. She hadn’t understood a lot of that, but one
part had been impossible to miss.
They were holding a girl in the basement who had
something to do with politics.
Alyssa was looking for a girl who had something to
do with politics.
Judging by the direction their voices had moved, the
guards were heading back the way Alyssa had come in. Assuming they were
patrolling inside, then they would turn back when they hit the door Alyssa had
come in through, since that was the end of the corridor.
When they did, she would follow them.
***
Conscious of the fact that there might be a guard
outside the door, they kept their voices low and turned the volume down on the
computer. As Matt clicked through the footage one piece at a time, they saw
various scenes from the exercise yard at the Federal prison where — as far as
they knew — Alyssa was still being held. Eventually, they happened upon one
frame of a tall, bald Correctional Officer with a crooked nose talking on a
cell phone.
Matt immediately clicked the pause button on the
video.
“I’ve seen him before,” he said. “I overheard Doyle
talking to him after your last debate. He was saying something about how
there’s more to the Genetic Probable Cause Bill than anyone appreciates. When
he caught me eavesdropping, he tried to attack me. He’s a prison guard?”
They pushed play again. On the video, the following
words came through, with the volume set almost to zero.
“…Doyle, you just do not get it. I didn’t pull in
all my favors with the intelligence community just so we could give them a new
toy to spy on people. This is so much bigger! So you’ve found a gene for
criminality. Big deal! What happens when we know the gene for alcoholism? The
gene for overeating? The gene for all addictive behaviors? And when our company
has the contract to store all the genetic data the Feds are gathering, we can
sell that stuff. How much will beer and wine retailers pay to know who might be
an alcoholic? Or who’s an addictive shopper they can get with a sale ad? Or a
thousand other uses. Sure, we can make some money on the Federal contract, but
that’s only the beginning!”
Barr and Vincent turned to look at each other in
surprise.
Mike paused the video and said, “I knew the Genetic
Probable Cause Bill was bad, but I had no idea how bad.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Matt replied.
Mike whispered, “What Doyle Cobalt’s telling the
world is, ‘Genes can tell us who’s likely to be a criminal. Let’s find out who
has those genes and put them all under surveillance. It can stop murders. It
can save lives.’
“But if this other guy is right, they’re talking
about way more. It’s not just, ‘Genes can tell us who’s a criminal.’ It’s,
‘Genes can tell us everything about you.’ Doyle Cobalt is planning to be
sitting on a giant database holding everyone’s genetics. From what this guy’s
saying, it sounds like they think they can give the government or corporations
a perfect list of everyone who’s vulnerable to any idea, any temptation. It’s—”
That’s when Matt got punched in the head.
He fell over to the side with a groan, and Vincent
leapt to his feet in surprise. Standing in front of him was a huge man, well
past six feet, with a bald head and one eye of a different color than the
other. He was the one they’d just been watching on the video.
The man said, “Mike Vincent. Here you are in my
brother’s office, illegally using his computer. Looks like you broke in here to
me.”
Cobalt’s tone of voice made the smirk on his lips
unnecessary. He was obviously relishing telling Mike the spin he planned to put
on this.
“We had a break in. I discharged my weapon in self-defense.
Who knew a candidate would be so desperate to get back up in the polls that
he’d break into the other candidate’s office?
“Don’t you think that’s a terrible way for the myth
of Mr. Clean to end?”
***
Once the voices sounded like they were at a safe
distance, she opened her door and looked out. Carefully, she tiptoed out into
the hall to follow them as the guards turned a corner. They were turning lights
on as they came and shutting them off as they went. The lights in Alyssa’s hall
went out as they turned the corner and in the distance, she could see lights
come on.
These weren’t garden-variety rent-a-cops, either.
They carried carbines and tactical shotguns, not just pistols. They were clad
in Kevlar helmets, fatigues, and heavy, bulletproof vests. And these weren’t
the light, form-fitting kind that Alyssa wore. The guards wore heavy,
ceramic-plate ballistic vests designed to stop rifle bullets, not just pistols.
She scurried up to the corner and poked her head
slightly around it. The guards were stopped in the middle of the hall,
clustered around one door. She couldn’t distinguish what they were saying but
several of them pointed at the door.
Eventually, they turned away from whatever had their
attention. They continued down the hall. Apparently, they’d been ordered to
patrol the whole building. Based on past performance, they would go down to the
end of the corridor, turn back and return to the corner where Alyssa waited,
and then try the next hall.
Which left her wondering where to hide when they
came back.
The walls of the lighted corridor were wood paneled
and lighted with discreet sconces. The floor was stone tile. This wasn’t just any
office building; someone had invested in making it look nice.
The problem was that places to hide were limited.
There was a door a few feet down the hall that the guards were in now.
Unfortunately, the only way to get to it was to step out into the hallway —
into the open. She looked. The guards were almost at the end of the hall. They
would turn back in moments.
Alyssa zipped to the doorway, opened it, and shut
herself in to wait for them to go by. Judging by the lack of any commotion,
they hadn’t seen her.
She was in a supply closet. Brooms, mops, cans, and
spray bottles full of cleaning fluid filled almost every available space.
She heard the guards coming back. She held her
breath, to make sure she kept silent as they moved. Apparently, they reached the
end of the corner because, as they had before, they shut out the lights in the
hall once they were finished with it.
The thin rectangle of light under the closet door
went away. Alyssa waited a few moments, assuming the guards would do as they
had last time and go down a different corridor.
Finally, she moved to let herself out of the supply
closet.
In the darkness, she bumped into a thick mop handle
as she twisted the door knob and pushed it open.
The mop fell to the floor, clattering as it hit.
At once, she heard rapid footfalls as the guards
returned to the hall they had just patrolled.
Alyssa grabbed the mop handle and broke it against
the door frame. She gripped the end without the mop head on it in her hand like
a weapon.
She stepped out of the closet and charged forward,
just as the guards came back around the corner with weapons drawn.
Alyssa smacked one in the gun hand with her stick
and immediately turned the stick around and did the same thing to a second
guard. Both shouted in pain and dropped their weapons, squeezing their right
hands.
The problem was there were four of them. The third
one was bringing his shotgun around to bear on Alyssa. She kicked one of the
guards she’d already injured, sending him flying into the shotgun-wielder. Both
fell to the ground.
She swung her stick at the fourth guard, who leaped
back out of the way. He was trying to bring his M-4 to bear on her, but the
quarters were too close for him to aim the weapon properly. They struggled, gun
pushing against mop-handle-turned-weapon. Quickly, Alyssa dropped her stick; it
wasn’t doing any good anymore. She got the guard in the jaw with a right cross
and then kicked him in the knee. The man screamed, his leg probably broken.
Seeing movement to the side, Alyssa turned to confront
the shotgun-wielding guard, who was getting back up off the floor. She stripped
the weapon out of his hand while he was off balance. Then she struck him in the
side of the head with the butt. He went right back down.