TWO

WASHINGTON, D.C., METROPOLITAN AREA, ONE MONTH EARLIER

Jason Archer, his starched shirt dirty, his tie askew, labored through the contents of the piles of boxes. A laptop sat beside him. Every few minutes he would stop, pull a piece of paper from the morass and, using a handheld device, scan the contents of the paper into his laptop. Sweat trickled down his nose. The storage warehouse he was in was hot and filthy. Suddenly a voice called out to him from somewhere within the vast space. “Jason?” Footsteps approached. “Jason, are you here?”

Jason quickly closed up the box he was working on, shut down his laptop and slid it between a crevice in the stacks of boxes. A few seconds later a man appeared. Quentin Rowe stood about five-eight, weighed perhaps a hundred fifty, with narrow shoulders; slender oval glasses rested above a hairless face. His long, thin blond hair was tied back into a neat ponytail. He was dressed casually in faded jeans and a white cotton shirt. The antenna of a cellular phone sprouted from his shirt pocket. His hands were stuffed into his back pockets. “I happened to be in the area. How’s it coming?”

Jason stood up and stretched his long, muscular frame. “It’s coming, Quentin, it’s coming.”

“The CyberCom deal is really heating up and a they want the financials ASAP. How much longer do you think it will take you?” Despite his carefree appearance, Rowe looked anxious.

Jason eyed the stack of boxes. “Another week, ten days tops.”

“You’re sure?”

Jason nodded and methodically wiped his hands off before resting his eyes on Rowe. “I won’t let you down, Quentin. I know how important CyberCom is to you. To all of us.” A twinge of guilt hit Jason between the shoulder blades, but his features were inscrutable.

Rowe relaxed somewhat. “We won’t forget your efforts, Jason. What with this and the job you did on the tape backups. Gamble was particularly impressed, to the extent he can understand it.”

“I think it’ll be remembered for a long time,” Jason agreed.

Rowe surveyed the warehouse with incredulity. “To think the contents of this entire warehouse could fit comfortably on a stack of floppy disks. What a waste.”

Jason grinned. “Well, Nathan Gamble isn’t the most computer literate person in the world.” Rowe snorted. “His investment operations generated a lot of paper, Quentin,” Jason continued, “and you can’t argue with success. The man’s made a lot of money over the years.”

“Exactly, Jason. That’s our only hope. Gamble understands money. The CyberCom deal will make all the others look puny by comparison.” Rowe looked admiringly up at Jason Archer. “After all this work you’ve got a great future ahead of you.”

Jason’s eyes took on a soft gleam and then he smiled at his colleague. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jason Archer climbed into the passenger seat of the Ford Explorer, leaned across and kissed his wife. Sidney Archer was tall and blond. Her chiseled features had softened after the birth of their daughter. She inclined her head toward the rear seat. Jason smiled as his eyes fell upon Amy, two years old and dead asleep in her baby seat. Winnie the Pooh automatically clutched in one fist.

“Long day for her,” Jason said as he unknotted his tie.

“For us all,” Sidney replied. “I thought being a part-time law partner would be a breeze. Now it seems like I cram the same fifty-hour week into three days.” She shook her head wearily and pulled the truck on to the road. Behind them soared the world headquarters building of Triton Global, her husband’s employer and the world’s undisputed leader in technologies ranging from global computer networks to children’s educational software and just about everything in between.

Jason took one of his wife’s hands in his and squeezed it tenderly. “I know, Sid. I know it’s rough, but I might have some news soon that’ll let you chuck the practice for good.”

She looked at him and smiled. “You devised a computer program that’ll let you pick the correct Lotto numbers?”

“Maybe something better.” A grin flashed across his handsome features.

“Okay, you’ve definitely got my attention. What is it?”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not until I know for sure.”

“Jason, don’t do this to me.” Her mock plea brought a broader smile to his lips. He patted her hand. “You know I’m real good at keeping secrets. And I know how you love surprises.”

She stopped at a red light and turned to him. “I also like opening presents on Christmas Eve. So come on, talk.”

“Not this time, sorry, no way, nohow. Hey, how about we go out to eat tonight?”

“I’m a very tenacious attorney, so don’t try to change the subject on me. Besides, eating out is not in this month’s budget. I want details.” She playfully poked him as she went through the green light.

“Very, very soon, Sid. I promise. But not now, okay?” His tone had suddenly become more serious, as though he regretted bringing up the subject. She looked over at him. He was staring rigidly out the window. A trace of concern came over her face. He turned back to her, caught the look of worry, put a hand against her cheek and winked. “When we got married, I promised you the world, didn’t I?”

“You’ve given me the world, Jason.” She stared at Amy in the rearview mirror. “More than the world.”

He rubbed her shoulder. “I love you, Sid, more than anything. You deserve the best. One day I’ll give it to you.”

She smiled at him; however, as he turned to look out the window the look of concern returned to her features.

The man was bent over the computer, his face bare inches from the screen. His fingers were pounding the keys so fiercely they resembled a column of miniature jackhammers. The battered keyboard appeared ready to disintegrate under the relentless attack. Like pouring water, digital images flowed down the computer screen too fast for the eye to follow. A weak light overhead provided illumination for the man’s task. Thick droplets of sweat clustered on his face, although the room temperature hovered at a comfortable seventy degrees. He swiped at the moisture as the salty liquid slid behind his glasses and stung his already painful, bloodshot eyes.

So intent was he on his work that he did not notice the door to the room slowly open. Nor did he hear the three pairs of feet as they made their way in, moving across the thick carpet until they stood directly behind him. Their movements were unhurried; the intruders’ superior numbers apparently provided them with overwhelming confidence.

Finally the man at the computer turned around. His limbs started to quake uncontrollably, as though he had foreseen what was about to happen to him.

He would not even have time to scream.

As the triggers snapped back simultaneously and the firing pins rammed home, the guns roared in deafening unison.

Jason Archer jerked upright in the chair where he had fallen asleep. Real sweat clung to his face while the vision of violent death clung to his mind. The damn dream, it wouldn’t let go. He quickly looked around. Sidney was dozing on the couch; the TV droned on in the background. Jason rose and covered his wife with a blanket. Then he went down to Amy’s room. It was almost midnight. As he peeked in the door he could hear her tossing in her sleep. He went to the edge of her bed and watched the tiny form as it moved restlessly around. She must be having a bad dream, something her father could well relate to. Jason gently rubbed his daughter’s forehead and then picked her up and held her, slowly swaying from side to side in the quiet darkness. This normally chased away the nightmares; and in a few minutes Amy was back in a peaceful sleep. Jason covered her up and kissed her on the cheek. Then he went to the kitchen, scribbled a note to his wife, put it on the table next to the couch where Sidney continued to doze and headed to the garage, where he climbed into his old Cougar convertible.

As he backed out of the garage, he did not notice Sidney at the front window watching him, his note clutched in her hand. After his taillights disappeared down the street, Sidney turned from the window and read the note again. Her husband was heading back to the office to do some work. He would be home when he could. She looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was nearly midnight. She checked on Amy and then put a teakettle on the stove. She suddenly slumped against the kitchen counter as a deeply buried suspicion exploded to the surface. This wasn’t the first time she had awoken to find her husband backing his car out of the garage, leaving a note behind telling her he had gone back to work.

She made her tea and then on impulse raced up the stairs to the bathroom. She looked at her face in the mirror. A little fuller than when they had first married. She abruptly stripped off her sleeping gown and underwear. She looked from the front, side and, finally, the back, holding up a hand mirror to check this most depressing angle. Pregnancy had done some damage; the stomach had pretty much recovered, but her bottom was definitely not as firm. Were her breasts sagging? The hips did seem slightly wider than before. Not so unusual after giving birth. With nervous fingers she pinched the millimeter of extra skin under her chin as acute depression sunk in. Jason’s body was as iron-hard as it had been when they first started dating. Her husband’s amazing physique and classic good looks were only part of a very attractive package that included a remarkable intellect. The package would be immensely attractive to every woman Sidney knew and certainly most of those she didn’t. As she traced her jawline she gasped as she realized what she was doing. A highly intelligent, well-respected attorney, she was examining herself like a piece of meat, just as generations of men had routinely done to womankind. She threw her gown back on. She was attractive. Jason loved her. He was going to work to catch up on things. He was building his career rapidly. Soon, both their dreams would be fulfilled. His to run his own company; hers to be a full-time mother to Amy and the other children they expected to have. If that sounded like a 1950s sitcom, so be it, because that’s exactly what the Archers wanted. And Jason, she firmly believed, was right this minute working furiously to get there.

At about the time Sidney wandered off to bed, Jason Archer stopped at a pay phone and dialed a number he had memorized long before. The call was answered immediately.

“Hello, Jason.”

“I’m telling you this has to be over soon, or I may not make it.”

“Bad dreams again?” The tone managed to sound sympathetic and patronizing at the same time.

“You’re implying that they come and go. Actually they’re always with me,” Jason curtly replied.

“It won’t be long now.” The voice was now reassuring.

“You’re sure they’re not on to me? I get these funny feelings, like everyone’s watching me.”

“It’s normal, Jason. Happens all the time. If you were in trouble, we’d know it, believe me. We’ve been through this before.”

“I have believed you. I just hope that belief is not misplaced.” Jason’s voice grew more tense. “I’m not a pro at this. Dammit, it’s getting to me.”

“We understand that. Don’t go crazy on us now. As I said, it’s almost over. A few more items and then you officially retire.”

“Look, I don’t understand why we can’t go with what I’ve already gotten.”

“Jason, it’s not your job to think about those things. We need to dig a little deeper and you’re just going to have to accept that. Keep your head up. We’re not exactly babes in the woods on things like this; we’ve got it all planned out. You just hold up your end and we’re fine. Everybody will be fine.”

“Well, I’m going to finish up tonight, that’s for damn sure. Do we use the same drop routine?”

“No. This time it’ll be a personal exchange.”

Jason’s tone registered surprise. “Why?”

“We’re nearing the end and any mistakes could jeopardize the entire operation. While we have no reason to believe they’re on to you, we can’t be absolutely sure we’re not being watched. Remember, we’re all taking chances here. Drops are usually safe, but there’s always a margin of error built in. A face-to-face out of the area with fresh people eliminates that margin, simple as that. It keeps you safer too. And your family.”

“My family? What the hell do they have to do with this?”

“Don’t be stupid, Jason. These are high stakes. The risks were explained to you from the start. It’s a violent world. Understand?”

“Look—”

“Everything will be fine. You just have to follow the instructions to the letter.” The last three words were said with particular force. “You haven’t told anyone, have you? Particularly not your wife.”

“No. Who the hell would I tell? Who would believe me?”

“You’d be surprised. Just remember: Anyone you tell is in danger, just as you are.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jason snapped back. “So what are the details?”

“Not now. Soon. The usual channels. Hang in there, Jason. We’re almost through the tunnel.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope the damn thing doesn’t collapse on me before then.”

The response drew a small chuckle and then the line went dead.

Jason slipped his thumb out of the fingerprint scanner, spoke his name into the small speaker mounted on the wall and patiently waited as the computer matched his thumb and voice prints to the ones residing in its massive files. He smiled and nodded at the uniformed security guard sitting at a large console in the middle of the eighth-floor reception area. Jason was conscious of the name TRITON GLOBAL spelled out in foot-long silver letters behind the guard’s broad back.

“Too bad they don’t give you the authority to just let me in, Charlie. You know, one human being to another.”

Charlie was a large black man in his early sixties, with a bald head and a quick wit.

“Hell, Jason, for all I know you could be Saddam Hussein in disguise. These days you can’t trust outward appearances. Nice sweater, by the way, Saddam.” Charlie chuckled. “Besides, how could this big, sophisticated company possibly trust the judgment of a little old security guard like me when they got all these gadgets to tell them who’s who? Computers are king, Jason. The sad truth is human beings don’t measure up anymore.”

“Don’t sound so depressed, Charlie. Technology has its good points. Hey, I tell you what, why don’t we switch jobs for a while? Then you can see the good stuff.” Jason grinned.

“Sure thing, Jason. I’ll play with all those million-dollar toys and you can go sniffing around the rest room every thirty minutes looking for bad guys. I won’t even charge you for use of the uniform. Of course, if we switch jobs we also switch paychecks. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on a windfall like seven bucks an hour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re too damn smart for your own good, Charlie.”

Charlie laughed and went back to studying the numerous TV monitors mounted into the console.

As the massive door opened on whisper-quiet hinges, the smile on Jason’s face abruptly disappeared. He moved through the opening. Striding down the hallway, he pulled something from his coat pocket. It was the size and shape of a typical credit card and was also made of plastic.

Jason stopped in front of a doorway. The card slid neatly into the slot in the metal box bolted to the door. The microchip buried within the card silently communicated with its counterpart attached to the portal. Jason’s index finger pecked four times at the adjacent numeric pad. There was an audible click. He gripped the doorknob, turned it and the three-inch-thick door swung back into the darkened space.

As the lights came on, Jason was illuminated briefly in the doorway. He quickly closed the door; the twin dead bolts slid back into place. As he looked around the neatly arranged office, his hands were shaking and his heart was beating so hard he was absolutely certain it could be heard throughout the entire building. This was not the first time. It was far from the first time. He allowed himself a brief smile as he focused on the fact that this would be the last time. Regardless of what happened, this was it. Everyone had a limit, and tonight he had reached his.

He moved to the desk, sat down and turned on the computer. Attached to the monitor was a small microphone mounted on a long flexible metal neck that one could speak into for voice commands. Jason impatiently pushed it out of the way so he would have a clear view of the computer screen. His back ramrod straight, eyes glued to the screen, hands poised to strike, he was now clearly in his element. Like a pianist’s in full swing, his fingers flashed across the keyboard. He peered at the screen, which fed instructions back to him, instructions so familiar as to be rote. Jason hit four digits on the numeric pad attached to the base of the computer’s microprocessor unit, then he leaned forward and fixed his gaze at a spot in the upper right-hand corner of the monitor. Jason knew that a video camera had just that instant electronically interrogated his right iris, transmitting a host of unique discriminators contained within his eye to a central database, which, in turn, compared the image of his iris to the thirty thousand residing in that computerized file. The entire process had taken barely four seconds. As accustomed as he was to the ever-expanding muscle of technology, even Jason Archer had to shake his head occasionally over what was really out there. Iris scanners were also used to closely monitor worker productivity. Jason grimaced. Truth be known, Orwell had actually underestimated.

He refocused on the machine in front of him. For the next twenty minutes Jason worked away at the keyboard, pausing only when more data flashed across the screen in answer to his queries. The system was fast, yet it had a difficult time keeping up with the fluid swiftness of Jason’s commands. Suddenly his head jerked around as a noise from the hallway filtered into the office. The damn dream again. Probably just Charlie making rounds. He looked at the screen. He wasn’t getting much of anything. A waste of time. He wrote down a list of file names on a piece of paper, shut the computer down, rose and went to the door. Pausing, he leaned his ear against the wood. Satisfied, he slid the dead bolts back and opened the door, turning off the lights as he closed the door behind him. A moment later the dead bolts automatically moved back into locked positions.

He moved quickly down the hallway, finally stopping at the far end of the corridor in a little-used section of the office space. This door had an ordinary lock that Jason opened using a special tool. He locked the door behind him. He did not turn on the overhead light. Instead, he produced a flashlight from his coat pocket and turned it on. The computer console was in the far corner of the room next to a low filing cabinet piled three feet high with cardboard packing boxes.

Jason pulled the computer workstation away from the wall, exposing cables that dangled down from the back of the computer. He knelt down and gripped the cables while at the same time inching aside a filing cabinet adjacent to the worktable, revealing an outlet on the wall with several data ports. Jason attached a cable line from the computer into a port, making sure it was tight. Then he sat down in front of the computer and turned it on. As the computer came to life, Jason perched his flashlight on a box top so that the light shone directly on the keyboard. There was no numeric keypad on which to input a security pass code. Nor did Jason have to stare at the upper right-hand corner of the computer screen waiting to be positively identified. In fact, as far as Triton’s computer network was concerned, this workstation didn’t even exist.

He slipped the piece of paper from his pocket and laid it in the flashlight’s beam atop the keyboard. Suddenly he was conscious of movement outside the door. Holding his breath, he buried the flashlight into his armpit with his hand before hitting the off button. He dimmed the monitor until the images on the screen receded into blackness. Minutes went by as Jason sat in the darkness. A drop of sweat formed on his forehead and then lazily made its way down his nose before settling on the top of his lip. He was too afraid to wipe it away.

After five minutes of silence he turned the flashlight and computer monitor back on and resumed his work. He grinned once as a particularly stubborn firewall – an internal security system designed to prevent unauthorized access to computerized databases – collapsed under his persistent nudgings. Working quickly now, he made his way to the end of the files listed on the paper. Then he reached inside his coat and withdrew a three-and-a-half-inch micro floppy disk and placed it in the computer’s disk drive. A couple of minutes later, Jason withdrew the disk, turned off the computer and left. He walked quietly back through the maze of security, said good-bye to Charlie and moved out into the night.