Nothing at first. Her fists clenched. Her heart raced. This was the heart of the battle. Was he holding back, toying with her? Was he on the attack, about to launch? Was he investigating?
Now that she was in, it was time to attack. No covert soft option here. She played a concerto across her keyboard, effectively bringing up her prey’s system, and began a search that would show her his security protocols. To take down his CCTV operation plus his cell and hardline monitoring capabilities, she’d need the heart of the system.
As she worked, the screen to her right blinked. It flashed, it went dark, and then suddenly resumed, only now it displayed the head and shoulders of a rather angry looking man.
Karin gawped. “Christ, how did he do that? And shit, I know him!”
Komodo blinked. “Huh?”
“I know this guy. Salami Bob, called SaBo for short. He was the guy helping Kovalenko in DC. The one that hacked the traffic light network. He also used to be a cyberwar strategist working for DARPA. Shit, I think I just met my match.”
SaBo was indicating that Karin establish a communications link. With a few taps she did just that, then sat back chewing her lips as Sabo spoke.
“Good try, little miss. But I got you. I’m inside you now. You like?”
Komodo growled softly. “Say the word and this guy—”
“First strike.” Karin waved the ex-Delta soldier away. “I drew first blood. Geek like you; all you can ever do is talk.”
“Oh, I can do more than that.”
SaBo’s eyes flicked down as he entered a series of commands. Instantly, Karin’s screen wavered, the image warping, but then righted itself as a red flashing band warned of an intruder alert.
“All right. You got firewalls.” SaBo nodded. “Military grade at least.” He made a face. “Gotta admit I am a little undersupplied out here but you gotta make do. Especially with the big bucks they’re paying. Wanna join me, sweetheart? There’s plenty of Sabo to go around.”
Karin didn’t react, casually playing for time. What SaBo didn’t know was that she’d allowed for this. Her backup plan was actually superior to her original one.
“How much?” She played for time as she suspected he was doing.
“Watcha worth?”
Karin saw an intruder alert flash across the screen. SaBo was in their system. With a keystroke she wiped him out, denying access. He was gone in an instant. If he’d hung around a few moments longer she might even have been able to launch a denial-of-service attack; an attempt to make his machine and network unavailable to him.
“Straight out of the playbook,” she scoffed. But she knew the playbook was a living document, constantly updated and improved upon.
Sabo grimaced, shoulders shuffling as his fingers moved furiously. He was planning something, of that Karin had no doubt; his lesser attacks were mere red herrings.
“Playbook?” The mere insinuation seemed to infuriate him.
But she was almost ready. Karin felt a moment of pride, a gathering of excitement, and pressed the button that would launch her epic, destructive counter attack. Many years ago, whilst immersed in this grand game of cyberstrategy, she’d developed her own virus; a program that carried one hell of a destructive payload. She’d never intended to use it — seeing the creation of such malware as a challenge more than anything. To keep it safe and secure, and away from thieving fingers, she’d hidden it inside a mostly redundant network. The virus had lain there, dormant, all these years, just awaiting activation.
Karin could think of no better time for it than now — an unstoppable attack that would wipe SaBo out for good.
It took a second for the old network to respond, a while for those old circuits to start whirring, but when they did Karin’s virus shot across the web at lightning speed.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Drake led the way as the team pounded toward the location of the closest nano-vest and the unfortunate person Coyote and her mercs had forced into it.
The appearance of the green signals alongside their own red ones had galvanized them all into action. If any doubts remained as to Coyote’s iniquity — especially within Drake — they had now departed. The stretch between sugary Shelly Cohen and merciless Coyote was still a tough one, but it was becoming easier to make. All those years, all that time laboring in the field, isolated, sometimes under fire, never knowing if they were going to make it out; the only thing his men and himself could look forward to were those homely, sweet tones at the end of the day. Shelly had pulled more than one man home through with the sheer charm and reassurance she offered.
At the same time she’d secretly been plotting her next kill.
What type of person could do that?
Drake shrugged it off as they raced up the final steep hill toward the graveyard. Dahl was staring intently at his screen, pinpointing the closest green-colored signal. Mai and Alicia led the way, keeping lookout but moving fast, hyperaware that Coyote had given them only two hours to defuse four bombs. Up into the graveyard they hurried. Drake slowed as a hundred timeworn, dilapidated gravestones appeared, some standard designs, others crafted into many different shapes and sizes.
He turned to Dahl. “C’mon mate. You got a position?”
“It’s not that accurate.” Dahl pointed ahead. “There.”
They aimed at a cross-section of paths, beyond which lay a flat, sparser area of ground. Drake was the first to see the partially filled shallow grave…
… and the coffin that sat inside.
“No.” He gasped in horror. “Oh no.”
Mai came to a sudden stop. “They buried him alive?”
Alicia raced through and jumped straight down into the grave. “No time to fuck about. Help me!”
Alicia wrenched at the lid of the coffin. The earth beneath her feet, which ended just below the lid, hampered her movements. Drake saw immediately that the thing had been nailed shut with some heavy duty fixings.
“Jump in,” he cried. “Shit. Just everyone get in there.”
The team hurled themselves into the open grave, trying to get a decent handhold, and straining their muscles until the lid squealed. There was no thought as to whether the lid might be booby trapped, no thought as to whether or not a sniper was watching. The man in the coffin was dying in more ways than one; the team’s ethics put him first.
Drake felt small splinters jab at his fingers, slicing under his nails. He gripped harder. Maybe they would give him better leverage. He wrenched again and again, grunting with the effort. Dahl scooped out a mound of earth with his shovel hands then leaned back, pushing himself into the ground. Then, after setting himself, he kicked hard at the lid.
Bit by bit, against the wishes of its tough squealing fixings, the lid came up.
Now with space to work, the team dipped their shoulders and heaved. Drake immediately saw the man trapped inside, a duct-tape gag across his mouth, hands tied in front of him. The eyes said it all — they said, “Look out! Look out!”
Drake held his palm out. “Don’t worry. We know you’re wired and we brought an expert.”
He looked up. Alicia’s eyes were slits, as if to say, “Oh yeah?” Mai frowned. Dahl assumed Drake meant him and started blowing expertly on his hands.
Drake smiled. “Not you. Him.” He pointed.
The slightly belabored figure of Michael Crouch had just entered the graveyard.
“Christ,” Alicia whispered. “I forgot about him. Did ya get lost, old man?”
Crouch toiled up and then leaned over, breathing heavily. He held up a finger for three seconds, then straightened and stared at Alicia. “Fuck you.”
Drake hid a smile. Crouch may be the big boss, the biggest in fact, but coming up through the ranks meant he shared the soldiers’ camaraderie. He was one of them. Accepted. He turned again to the bound man. “Where’s the vest?”