Desh handed his laptop to Griffin and watched carefully as the giant worked his magic, downloading software and setting traps on his system.
About ten minutes into the exercise a troubled look came over Griffin’s face. He glanced at Desh but said nothing for several more minutes as he worked the mouse and keyboard. Finally, he stopped what he was doing and met Desh’s eyes worriedly. “I’m afraid your plan’s not going to work,” he said grimly.
Desh tilted his head in confusion. “Why not?”
“Because you were right. She does know you’re after her.”
“How in the world do you know that?”
“Because she’s already paid a visit to your computer,” explained Griffin evenly. “Last night.”
Desh felt his stomach clench. “You’re positive?”
“I’m afraid so. I confirmed it twice. She got through your firewall and invaded your computer. And she downloaded everything she needs.”
“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”
“I mean everything. She has a copy of it all. Your hard drive, your e-mail logs—everything.” Griffin looked back at the computer monitor and shook his head in disbelief. “She may just be as good as me, after all,” he said with just a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.
Matt Griffin performed computer forensics on Desh’s laptop for several hours, but in the end was unable to come up with a single lead. Kira Miller had worn the computer equivalent of gloves for this theft, leaving no fingerprints or DNA behind to help give them a direction in which to search for her.
But Griffin did discover she had created a backdoor entrance for herself: one that would make future journeys into his laptop’s inner sanctum to retrieve this and other data routine, regardless of any added security.
Connelly’s suspicions were certainly warranted. There was a leak in USASOC—wide enough to steer a supertanker through. Whether this was due to a mole or otherwise was unclear, but it was the only way to explain how Kira Miller had known about Desh being put on the operation practically before he had known himself. She had been one step ahead of him before he had even taken a step, which was very troubling. If Griffin had not been placing sophisticated tracking software on his computer, Desh would never have known it had been compromised.
Kira Miller must have invaded the computers of all of Desh’s predecessors, only they had never discovered the intrusion. If they would have, Connelly would have warned him. Given her access to their computers, it was little wonder they had failed to find her. Not hard to avoid being caught when those searching for you were—quite literally—telegraphing their every move.
Desh knew he had almost been caught with his pants down. But he had been lucky. Once discovered, Kira Miller’s computer invasion played right into his hands. He wanted to lead her to his computer and plant false information: now he had the perfect conduit for this, one that was above suspicion. He instructed Griffin to leave the backdoor entrance alone.
Now, while Desh continued his search for her, he would be planning the specifics of his trap. He knew he needed to be patient. She would never believe he had closed in on her in only a day or two, so he would need to wait a while longer. And the more progress he made prior to setting his trap the better. The closer he got to her, the more clues he uncovered, the more convincingly he could craft his misinformation.
Desh returned to his high-rise apartment in the heart of Washington. He had chosen it almost entirely on the basis of its location and premium fitness center. While his daily workouts couldn’t compare to his regime while still with Delta, they still managed to keep him in excellent shape.
While upscale, the apartment was a bit cramped. Not that he cared. Being single, he didn’t need much room, and he traveled much of the time on protection assignments, anyway. Saving money while he determined what new course his life would take was more important than additional square footage. His apartment was tidy, but he had been too busy and too numb to personalize it in any way. His taste in art was eclectic, from the reality bending, impossible constructions of Escher, to the surrealism of Dali, to the serene, impressionistic work of Monet. Yet his framed reproductions of favorite works by these artists remained entombed in brown paper in his closet, a telling sign that his spirit had been sapped and he had slipped into a steady depression. Even more telling, he loved books beyond all else, and had collected many thousands over the years: but while being surrounded by shelf upon shelf of his favorites in their myriad of colors brought him great pleasure, he had yet to unbox them.
Connelly had read him perfectly. Even before Iran he had been contemplating leaving the military, struggling mightily with the decision. On the one hand, he had found friendship and camaraderie in Delta, and the importance of what he was doing could not be overstated. His work had saved thousands upon thousands of innocents from horrible suffering and death from dirty bombs, nerve toxins, train derailments, and the like, including children who were in some cases the principle targets of planned attacks, unconscionable as this was. Many Westerners were still blissfully unaware that the future of progressive society was anything but assured. Desh had been on the front lines and seen the fanaticism that threatened to turn the world’s clock back a thousand years. He was helping to defeat a rigid and destructive ideology. It was a fire that was blazing across the world that, if left unchecked, would surely consume civilization.
But he had also dreamed of settling down one day. Of becoming a father. Of raising a family. And if he remained in Delta, this was impossible. He was always on the move, being called away overseas on missions about which he couldn’t discuss with anyone—including a future wife. Being married was the sharing of two lives, and he would be unable to hold up his end of the bargain. And if he did have children, each time he left his family would wonder if this would be the time Daddy wouldn’t be coming back—or be coming back inside a body bag, in pieces—leaving his children fatherless. What kind of life would this be for them? The answer: no life at all. He had refused to even consider it.
But now he had no excuse not to pursue a wife or family. He was no longer in the military and soon wouldn’t even be involved in something as dangerous as executive protection. He had wallowed in self-pity long enough. Desh made a vow to himself: once he finished this final mission, he would find a way to get beyond what had happened in Iran and get on with his life.
He rummaged through his near empty refrigerator and found just enough leftover food to cobble together a dinner. He then spent several hours re-familiarizing himself with the contents of his laptop and the thousands of e-mails in his log. He needed to know the full extent of the data to which Kira Miller now had access.
Finally, he sat down in a comfortable chair in his living room and began reading the dossier on his quarry yet again. He knew he would probably read it dozens of times before this was over. And each time, as he learned more and more about her, he would bring a slightly different perspective to the material and would glean fresh insights.
Desh’s cell phone began vibrating, an unwelcome intrusion. He reached into his pocket, removed it, and examined the screen. It was a text message from Matt Griffin:
key discovery 4u. visit me asap. don’t call. computers, walls, phones: all might have ears.
The message drove Desh to a heightened state of awareness within seconds. Griffin had found something important and had reason to believe Kira had breached more than just Desh’s computer. Maybe Griffin was being overly cautious, maybe not, but Desh approved. He had liked the friendly hacker from the start, and the man had already demonstrated that his glowing reputation was well deserved.