Kitabı oxu: «Countermeasures»

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Dude, I’m just saying, if you didn’t want a terrible job assignment then you probably shouldn’t have punched out your boss.”

Sawyer Branson rolled his eyes and kept walking down the hall of the nondescript building that housed the offices of Omega Sector Headquarters. “C’mon, Evan,” Sawyer told his fellow Omega agent. “I didn’t punch him out. I tripped.”

“Yeah, you tripped and your fist accidentally fell into Burgamy’s jaw.” Evan couldn’t even say it without chuckling.

Hell, just about everyone at Omega couldn’t say it without a chuckle now.

Sawyer stopped by his desk and began looking for a tie in the drawers. Okay, yeah, he had punched his boss two weeks ago, but only because it had been an emergency and his brother Cameron had been about to do much worse, like pull his gun on their boss.

So Sawyer had tripped and accidentally popped Dennis Burgamy—his supervisor here at Omega—right in the chin. But seriously, was it Sawyer’s fault Burgamy had crumpled to the ground like a rag doll at the slightest tap?

Most importantly, though, due to the “accident” with Burgamy’s chin, he and Cameron had saved Cameron’s fiancée’s life, arrested some very bad guys and pretty much saved the world.

Which had gotten Sawyer a two-week suspension without pay, thank you very much.

Sawyer rooted around in the drawer some more. Where was that damn tie? It was Sawyer’s first day back and he wasn’t about to walk into Burgamy’s office without a tie, despite the fact that proper office dress was not high on the priority list at Omega Sector.

As a multiagency task force, Omega Sector had much more perilous concerns than whether or not the people who worked there—all handpicked and highly qualified—were dressed too casually. Sawyer, a five-year Omega veteran at thirty years old, especially did not worry about it. Usually.

Sawyer cursed under his breath as he continued his search for a tie, smashing a finger in one drawer while opening another. He heard a throat clear from behind his back and turned to find Evan swinging a tie from his finger.

“Thanks, man.” Sawyer took the tie, figuring one with little golfers on it was better than no tie at all. “I’m just trying to do anything I can to get back toward Burgamy’s good graces.”

Evan gave a bark of laughter. “And also attempting to keep yourself from desk duty for the foreseeable future. Or the next twenty years if Burgamy has his way.”

Sawyer rubbed a hand over his eyes at the thought of desk duty. The normal charm and charisma Sawyer counted on seemed to escape him—he had no idea what he was going to say to Burgamy in their meeting. Lord, Sawyer hoped it wouldn’t come down to him being forced to a desk.

He was an agent. That was all Sawyer knew how to do. All he wanted to do.

And damn it, he was a good agent. Sawyer knew his strengths: he was likable and friendly. And people—witnesses, victims, hell, even perps a lot of times—had a way of opening up to Sawyer. Unlike his brothers, who tended to be the strong, sullen type, Sawyer was the strong, charming type. And people loved him for it.

He’d used his friendliness and charm to his advantage multiple times over the years. Sawyer just hoped he could figure out how to use them now when it mattered the most.

He gave another pull on the tie, straightening it at his collar. “Do I look okay?”

Evan gave the knot a mock straightening. “Yes, dear, you look as pretty as a princess.”

Any other time Sawyer would’ve harassed Evan back, but he was too caught up in the thought of dreaded desk duty to bother. “Wish me luck, man.”

Sawyer struggled not to compare the walk to Burgamy’s office to a death march, but he had to admit he was distinctly nervous knocking on his boss’s door. Not a feeling Sawyer was used to.

And damn his brother for all his falling-in-love stuff that had put Sawyer in this position in the first place. Sawyer would take his confirmed-bachelor existence any day.

Cameron entered the office at Burgamy’s barked command.

Burgamy sat back in his office chair, dressed in impeccable officewear. His tie definitely had not come from a desk drawer, nor did it have little golfers on it. Burgamy obviously put a great deal of stock into the saying “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”

Evidently the job Dennis Burgamy wanted was the director of the United States intelligence and/or fashion community.

Burgamy was always prepared in case he had to take an unexpected meeting with someone important. And often, Sawyer and his three siblings thought, went out of his way to make those meetings occur. Burgamy had butted heads with each of the Branson siblings, all of whom worked or had worked at Omega at one time or another. None of the Bransons liked Burgamy much. Although Sawyer was, to his knowledge, the only one of his family to have ever knocked his boss unconscious.

“Branson, come in and sit down,” Burgamy told Sawyer without any pleasantries. Burgamy’s nasally tone negated whatever credibility the man built with his impressive fashion sense.

Sawyer entered the room and sat at one of the chairs across from the desk.

“I want you to know that if it was up to me, you’d be fired right now,” Burgamy began. Sawyer nodded; he didn’t doubt it. “But since I’m the bigger man, and because your brother Cameron swears you actually tripped, I am willing to not push for your termination.”

Sawyer didn’t relax. Burgamy still had the authority to take Sawyer off active duty.

“Not to mention we have bigger problems than your lack of coordination or outright insubordination, or whatever you want to call it,” Burgamy continued.

Sawyer nodded. “It won’t happen again, sir. I can assure you of that.”

Burgamy’s eyes narrowed. “It best not, Branson. That little stunt you and your brother pulled? Well, you’re damn lucky it all worked out the way it did or being fired right now—which you both would’ve been, believe me—would be the least of your problems.”

Burgamy continued without even giving Sawyer the chance to speak. “The Ghost Shell technology in the wrong hands would be a disaster. Thousands of lives could be lost if terrorists got their hands on it.”

Sawyer decided he better stick up for himself before Burgamy spun into a complete tizzy. “Absolutely, sir. But there was never any danger of the Ghost Shell technology falling back into DS-13’s hands.”

Sawyer didn’t mention what an utter lie that was. Telling Burgamy that he and Cameron had basically delivered the encoding technology to the crime-syndicate group definitely wouldn’t help Sawyer’s case for non-desk-duty.

“Ghost Shell is in our custody, sir.” Cameron continued with his most engaging smile. “So, all’s well that ends well, as they say. And I really am sorry about the—” Cameron made a popping sound with his tongue as he mimicked a punch to the chin.

Burgamy’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Branson, I found out yesterday that all isn’t as well as we think. You and your brother arrested Smith and some of the other key members of DS-13, but it looks like some others within the organization have taken Smith’s place.”

Sawyer wasn’t surprised. In a crime organization the size and caliber of DS-13, removing one head usually just caused another, uglier one, to grow in its place. DS-13 was more than any one person; eliminating a single person—no matter how high up—would not bring the organization down.

“And we’ve found out that Fred McNeil, the FBI agent on DS-13’s payroll, has gone completely off the grid,” Burgamy continued.

“That’s not surprising. McNeil had to know we’d be coming for him next. He’s probably with DS-13 full-time now.”

Burgamy nodded. “Intel confirms that he is. That’s not the problem. Ghost Shell is the problem. We were able to trace Ghost Shell back to the company that made it.” Burgamy slid a file across his desk to Sawyer. On the outside it was marked Cyberdyne Technologies.

Sawyer shook his head. “Cyberdyne. Can’t say I’ve really heard of them.”

“No reason you would have. They’re a tech-development company based in North Carolina. Evidently, earlier this year one of their senior computer scientists got concerned about some software they were developing.”

“Ghost Shell?”

“Yes. They were actually working on encoding technology for medical records and account-security type stuff. Then they realized Ghost Shell was something that could be used as a weapon if tweaked.”

Sawyer nodded. He wasn’t sure exactly how Ghost Shell worked, but he knew the results if it was used by a terrorist group: shutting down communication and computer systems within law enforcement and first-responder groups. Basically it turned the computers against themselves. If Ghost Shell was used in conjunction with a terrorist attack, the results would be devastating. Thousands of lives would be lost.

“One of Cyberdyne’s computer scientists got concerned that something weird was going on at Cyberdyne. So, this—” Burgamy referred down to his notes. “Dr. Fuller contacted the FBI. Unfortunately the person put on the case was Fred McNeil.”

“And Fred McNeil took the information given by said scientist and sent Ghost Shell straight to DS-13.”

“Pretty much. Dr. Fuller had no idea Fred McNeil worked for DS-13. Of course, nobody did. Just bad luck all the way around.”

Sawyer grimaced. The only bad luck was that Fred McNeil was still out there. Sawyer would like to take that treasonous bastard down. “But at least Cameron got Ghost Shell out of DS-13’s hands before they could sell it to anyone.”

Burgamy shook his head. “That’s what we all thought. But we found out yesterday through a call to Cyberdyne that two versions of Ghost Shell were given to Fred McNeil.”

Sawyer sat up straighter in his chair, his attention focused on Burgamy’s words. “But we only recovered one.”

“Exactly.”

Sawyer clenched his jaw. “And McNeil still has it?”

“We’ve had no intel of him trying to sell it. Evidently even other members of DS-13 didn’t know there was a second Ghost Shell. This second version wasn’t entirely complete. McNeil needs somebody who can finish it for him.”

Sawyer’s thoughts spun. A not-working Ghost Shell was definitely better than the fully functional version; it gave them a little bit of time. But Omega Sector needed to begin active measures right away to keep Ghost Shell from becoming sellable by DS-13. An undercover operation would be the best solution, but difficult at this late a time. It had taken Sawyer’s brother Cameron nearly a year of undercover work to truly infiltrate DS-13.

Omega didn’t have that kind of time now.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Sawyer asked Burgamy. “I can try to set something up, call in a few favors to see if I can get in deep undercover with DS-13 quick. It’s risky, but—”

“No, you won’t be going undercover, Branson.”

“Sir, I really think a quick, deep undercover mission is critical if we want to get Ghost Shell back.”

“I agree that we’re going to need to send someone in. But that someone will be Evan Karcz.”

Sawyer knew his best friend, Evan, was highly qualified and even had an established cover that could probably work well in this situation. But Sawyer did not want to be left out of the action.

“I’ll go in with him. He can use his buyer cover and I’ll—”

“No.”

Sawyer began to argue his case but then saw Burgamy’s raised eyebrow and the way his boss sat back in his oversize office chair. The man wasn’t interested in anything Sawyer had to say. Whatever was about to come next was Burgamy’s retribution for Sawyer punching him two weeks ago.

Damn. Sawyer just hoped it wasn’t a desk job at an outpost in Alaska.

“You will be heading to Swanannoa, North Carolina, for protective duty of Dr. Zane Fuller, the head of Research & Development at Cyberdyne Technologies.”

Babysitting. Almost as bad as a desk job in Alaska.

Sawyer knew he had to make some sort of case against this assignment. “Sir, respectfully, I feel as if my talents may be better used somewhere else. Somewhere a little more...active.” There was no way Sawyer wanted to spend the next couple of months babysitting some geriatric computer scientist. Not when there was real work that needed to be done.

“What’s happening at Cyberdyne is active, Branson. Dr. Fuller at one time was working on a Ghost Shell countermeasure—a decryption system. That system being finished will be key if DS-13 finishes and attempts to sell the new Ghost Shell.”

Sawyer grimaced. “I understand that and agree, but I just think someone else might be better suited for this particular job—”

“Someone who, say, isn’t coming off unpaid leave for striking his superior officer?” There was the raised eyebrow again.

Sawyer shook his head and slumped back in his chair. All right, so Burgamy wasn’t going to cut him any slack. Looking at his boss, Sawyer realized he wasn’t getting out of this.

“All right, Cyberdyne it is.” Sawyer spoke through his teeth with forced restraint.

“You’ll be bringing Ghost Shell with you. Dr. Fuller needs it in order to complete the countermeasure system. Downright adamant about that. You’ll have to explain what Fred McNeil did, and convince Dr. Fuller and the Cyberdyne team to help us.” Burgamy didn’t even try to hide the delight on his face. The thought of Sawyer having to deal with a grumpy computer scientist for the next couple of months in the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina, made Burgamy practically gleeful.

Burgamy had chosen Sawyer’s punishment well; he knew how much Sawyer would hate this.

Burgamy filled Sawyer in on a few more details—none of which made Sawyer any more excited about the operation ahead. But fine, Sawyer would pay his dues, protect some old head of computer-nerdom for a couple of months, then get back to Omega, where he could do some real good.

And he would damn well make sure he never punched his boss again.

Chapter Two

Sawyer’s arrival at the Cyberdyne Group Headquarters in Swanannoa, NC—more like Swananowhere, NC—the next afternoon did nothing to help reassure him that he would be doing any good in the fight against DS-13 while here. Sure, he could recognize the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains all around him. But he’d give it all up to be inside some sleazy warehouse somewhere, with no views but concrete and sewage, about to arrest some bad guys.

This place—no matter how beautiful the surrounding scenery—was a waste of his time.

Not that Cyberdyne and the work being done here was a waste of time, but as far as Sawyer could tell, Dr. Fuller and his cohorts were not in any danger. No attempts had been made on their lives, nothing out of the ordinary had been reported recently. Which was great. But it also meant that somebody with a little less experience in the field could be here completing this assignment rather than Sawyer.

Sawyer sighed and got out of his car. There was no point bemoaning this any longer. He cursed his brother Cameron once again on his way up the steps. This assignment from hell was all Cameron’s fault for falling in love and trying to rescue the girl and save the world.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. Evidently Sawyer was a sucker for a good love story. And this was what he got for it: Swananowhere.

Sawyer looked at the file again as he walked through the door. Cyberdyne Group had been around since 1983, a midsize company, mostly focused on conceptual and computer engineering. They’d done some contractual work for the US government over the years, but not as much as bigger corporations. Most companies similar to Cyberdyne in this area were located a couple of hours away in the Raleigh-Durham Research Triangle. But the original owner of Cyberdyne had loved the Blue Ridge Mountains so much he had built the Cyberdyne offices and labs just outside Asheville rather than Raleigh.

There wasn’t a lot of information on Dr. Zane M. Fuller, the head of Research & Development at Cyberdyne—the person who had helped develop Ghost Shell and then turned it over to the FBI. Sawyer glanced at the file. Looked as if Dr. Fuller held two doctoral degrees from MIT—barrels of fun.

What the file didn’t hold was any useful information about Dr. Fuller to help Sawyer plan out his protection detail. Was he married? Did he work fourteen hours a day? Did he have any bad habits that might get him into trouble?

Sawyer pictured a balding, cranky older guy with thick glasses and probably a bow tie. If that really was the case, Sawyer was going to take a selfie with Dr. Fuller and send it to Burgamy. His boss would probably cry tears of delight.

Sawyer might cry tears also, but they definitely wouldn’t be of delight.

Sawyer made his way inside Cyberdyne, taking a few minutes to chat with the attractive and attentive receptionist at the front desk. Far be it for Sawyer to miss an opportunity to talk to a pretty lady, especially in a situation like this.

The receptionist called a security guard—not nearly as friendly or attractive—to escort Sawyer to the R & D wing. Sawyer gave the woman a wink as he walked away. Maybe a couple of months here wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

The security guard led Sawyer down a series of hallways to a set of double doors. Sawyer watched as the man swiped a key-card through a scanner to unlock the door—adequate security, but not excellent and certainly not unbreakable—and opened it.

The Research & Development area was a much more open space than the hallway they had come through. It buzzed with activity, at least two dozen people working and talking at different stations and tables around the large room.

Another reception-type desk was near the door. The woman working here was not nearly as put-together as the graceful blonde at the Cyberdyne entrance. Here was a sort of mousy brunette with hair piled up in a messy bun at the top of her head and glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She didn’t even acknowledge Sawyer and the guard as they entered the room—she was too busy rooting through a drawer.

Evidently she didn’t find what she was looking for because she got up and walked over to a nearby filing cabinet and began searching through there.

Her gray pencil skirt and high-heeled black pumps with little bows made it difficult for Sawyer to stop staring at her legs. Wow. She might be mousy librarian on the top, but those legs... Sawyer noticed the security guard was also taking in the view.

When it became obvious the receptionist wasn’t going to notice them, the security guard cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am—”

The woman turned and took a few steps toward them. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, Mark. You know me.”

“It’s no problem, ma’am.” The guard’s Southern accent was noticeable. He gestured toward Sawyer. “This is Agent Branson.”

The receptionist glanced over at Sawyer, looking away before he could even smile at her. She turned back to the guard. “Thanks, Mark. We were expecting him. I’ll take it from here.”

The security guard smiled and nodded as he turned to leave—the man obviously had a little crush on the receptionist. Sawyer stepped forward to shake her hand and talk to her further, but she moved back.

“Can you give me a second? I’ll be right with you.” She didn’t quite look him in the eye as she said it; her gaze never seemed to move past his chest.

Sawyer watched as the woman reopened the drawer in the filing cabinet and began rooting through it again. When the search proved fruitless, she moved to another drawer. She seemed to have forgotten Sawyer was even there. Sawyer just enjoyed the view of her legs until it seemed as if she might never come out.

“Did you lose something in there?” When the woman glanced up over her glasses, blinking at him with big round eyes, Sawyer offered her his most engaging smile.

She just continued to blink at him for a few moments, then shoved her head back into the search without saying a word.

Okay. Sawyer crossed his arms while watching her. He wasn’t used to being ignored outright by women—especially cute little librarian ones with glasses, even though cute-librarian wasn’t generally his type.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still appreciate her. Sawyer could appreciate all women.

Eventually Cute Glasses found whatever it was she was looking for in the cavernous drawer—some sort of stain-remover stick or something. She gave a small sound of triumph and turned around. And seemed authentically surprised to see Sawyer standing there.

More blinks. “Um, yes. Agent Branson, right?”

Sawyer’s eyebrows rose. “Forget I was here?” Sawyer shook his head with a half smile. She might be cute, but she was definitely the worst receptionist ever.

“I’m sorry, my mind tends to only focus on one thing at a time.” She looked back up at him, again more at his general chest area than in the eyes. Meanwhile still blinking those big brown eyes of hers.

Maybe she was shy. Sawyer didn’t mind shy and scatterbrained. Although the sophisticated beauty he met when he first entered the building was generally more his type, Sawyer certainly didn’t mind spending a few minutes with shy, either. So he winked at her, when she finally peeked up at his eyes for a second, trying to put her at ease.

But that just seemed to throw her into more of a tizzy—she began reorganizing all the items on the desk—so Sawyer decided to just try to talk to her.

“So, I’m Sawyer Branson, the law-enforcement agent you were expecting. What’s your name?”

“Megan.” She was still clutching that stain-remover stick in one hand, moving office-supply products on the desk with the other.

“Have you worked here long?”

She looked at him oddly, then nodded. “About eight years.”

Eight years? Wow, she must be somebody’s relative or something if she was still this bad at her job after eight years. Sawyer smiled at her again—when he could catch her eye for a second—and leaned up against the desk. “That’s great. Maybe if I have some questions about how things operate around here I can ask you about them.”

Cute librarian Megan just nodded.

Sawyer looked around the open R & D area. People were still working, although Sawyer noticed he and Megan had drawn some attention.

“I’m sure you know Dr. Fuller, right?” Sawyer asked in a conspiratorial tone. He might as well try to get as much information as he could before meeting the man.

That question certainly got Megan’s attention—she finally looked him fully in the eye. “Oh.” She said it with wonder as if some puzzle had just become clear to her. “You don’t know who Dr. Fuller is.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, unfortunately, I was sent here without much information about him. Just that he needed protection while finishing a project for the government. As director of R & D, he would be your boss, right?”

Megan nodded. “Um, yes. Dr. Fuller is everyone’s boss, I guess.”

Sawyer smiled encouragingly; at least she was talking to him now. “Do you like him? Is he easy to get along with?”

Megan looked down and began moving items on the desk around again nervously. She obviously didn’t want to answer his questions. That was fine. Sawyer didn’t want to put her in a place where she had to speak badly about her boss. He decided to change the subject before Megan rearranged everything on her desk.

“Megan, do you think you could get me a cup of coffee somewhere or point me in the general direction of one? I’d just like to get some caffeine in my system before I meet Dr. Fuller.”

Megan opened her mouth as if to answer him, but then just shut it again shaking her head. She seemed at an utter loss at what to say.

Cyberdyne really needed to look into replacing Megan as their R & D receptionist.

A man in a white lab coat, probably in his early forties, walked over to where Sawyer and Megan stood looking at each other. “Megan, is everything okay?” When Megan nodded, the man turned to Sawyer. “You must be Agent Branson. We were told you’d be arriving today. I’m Jonathan Bushman, Dr. Fuller’s assistant.”

Sawyer shook the man’s outstretched hand. He decided not to mention the coffee; it had just been an attempt at changing the subject and he didn’t want to get Megan in any sort of trouble.

“Great, Jonathan. I’m ready to meet Dr. Fuller whenever it’s convenient.”

Jonathan looked to Megan and then back to Sawyer, frowning. “But you already have.” He gestured to Megan. “This is Dr. Zane Megan Fuller, lead conceptual and computer scientist for Cyberdyne.”

* * *

OKAY, HAD THE federal agent just asked her to go get him some coffee? Megan had to admit he hadn’t been obnoxious about it, but still...coffee? Of course, she couldn’t really blame him. She had been puttering all around the desk, resorting back to her college behavior when she’d had no idea what to do when she was attracted to a member of the opposite gender—she’d practically lost her ability to speak for goodness’ sake.

She had thought those days were long behind her, but evidently not when a man as gorgeous as Sawyer Branson talked to her. She could barely bring herself to meet his eyes for most of the conversation. He must have thought she was the worst secretary in the history of the world.

Megan had to remind herself that she was no longer that socially awkward, painfully shy sixteen-year-old girl she had been at MIT, intellectually ahead of all her classmates, but emotionally much less developed. Now Megan was twenty-nine years old, well respected and liked in her workplace and confident in her abilities and accolades.

If still a little shy socially.

Megan could see the wariness crossing Agent Branson’s face as he realized his mistake. He probably wasn’t too thrilled that he had asked her for a cup of coffee, either.

Megan stuck out her hand for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Dr. Fuller. Megan.”

“Not the receptionist. I’m sorry about that.” Megan could appreciate that Agent Branson had the good sense to at least look sheepish. His handshake was firm, and if Megan didn’t know better she would almost swear she could feel his thumb caressing the back of her hand. That totally had to be her imagination. She pulled her hand back quickly.

“Yeah, there’s not actually a receptionist for R & D, despite this desk. We just pretty much keep the desk as a catchall for office supplies and stuff.” Megan held up the stain-remover stick. “I got a stain on my lab coat, so I was coming to see if I could use this to get it out.”

Agent Branson nodded and gave her a half smile. “Well, a lab coat might have clued me in that you weren’t a receptionist, but I definitely didn’t know you were who I was here to see. My apologies.”