“JP’s getting the list. But just wait. This is only one active worm, and every worm is different, remember? These were the names we were lucky to get. And we don’t have dates or other information. Just names.”
“There could be other targets?” asked Miller.
“Almost certainly. But there’s more. I don’t think the main course has even been served.”
“And that means?” asked Savas.
“That last 25 %. The really bad part? It does a lot of things. It infiltrates, copies, and reports out to address that are relays to relays: I can’t track them, but it’s pooling information somewhere, likely ending at his terminal. But the weird part is that this region always has empty space. In the code, nonsense. It’s filler. But no way this guy would write junk code. That code is something else. I think it’s a marker for new code. The virus is waiting for new command modules, something that is going to come down the road.”
“Why?” asked Savas. “Why not just hide it all around like the rest of the code?”
Lightfoote shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Poison rested her head on the table and spoke through a mumble. “Fawkes. It’s Fawkes. He’s paranoid. A total douche about it, too. Never get involved with a paranoid. Fucking misery.”
“What do you mean?” Savas asked her.
“It must be the kill shot,” she said, her eyes closed. “He’s too paranoid to ever trust his code. He thinks he can hack anything — that anything can be hacked. So he’s worried he’ll get hacked.”
Miller looked at Lightfoote and chuckled. “He was right.”
Poison’s eyes flashed open. “So, he’s saving the best for last, just in case.”
Lightfoote nodded. “Now I see. The relay system to the worm. He’s going to use it to upload a final code sequence.”
Poison slammed her hand on the table, causing the others to jump. “And then we're fucked. Once he sends that signal, it’s over. You can’t let him send that signal. You’ve got to stop him or the worm will carry out his final instructions.”
“And what might those be?” asked Savas.
“Who the hell knows?” said Poison, her arms out to her sides. “But seriously, Einstein, after all this shit, how do you think his kill shot is going to go down?”
Savas looked toward Lightfoote. “I hope you have some good news about stopping it.”
“Sorry, John — no. That’s a whole other story. But, I’ve sent out my little spies to find out as much as they can.”
“Little spies?” asked Miller.
Lightfoote beamed at Savas. “The virus I used to discover we’d been hacked? Well, I’m a few generations down the road with it and it’s spreading across the net. The worm gave me a few ideas of using NSA backdoors and we’re using them. They’re looking for worm activations and taking what snapshots they can, sending them back to me. Real time. You should come down and see the data. Like some war going on out there.”
Poison stared at her. “Beautiful.”
Miller held his hands up. “You’re infecting computers now? That makes us hackers, too?”
“You’re amateurs compared to the NSA,” said Poison. "As American as apple pie."
“Too true,” said Lightfoote. “But we’re not looking for stealth or long term stability. We’re going in full bore. But don’t worry, Frank. It’s a good virus. A pet virus. It’s on God’s side.” She smiled.
Miller stared incredulously at her. “Jesus. John? What do you say to this?”
Savas appeared not to have heard him. He stared intently at Poison, his eyes focused, seemingly both near and far away.
“John?”
He glanced toward Miller. “Yeah. I’ve green-lighted Angel’s shenanigans. Paying off, I’d say.” Then he turned back to the hacker. “You stopped seeing him?”
Poison frowned. “Fawkes? Yeah. Look, I told you, I don’t know his real identity. He only trusted me with his dick.”
“But you said he pursued you.”
“Jeez, yeah. And you know, when you have the world’s best hacker stalking you online, it’s a fucking nightmare. I spent months shaking him off. I mean, he said it was over, so get the fuck out of my life, right? I think he finally gave up.”
Savas held up a small cylinder. “Are you sure?”
She reached over and grabbed it from his hand. “What’s that?”
“GPS tracking device. An agent pulled it off your car at the warehouse. It’s not in our records. Not a model we use.” Savas stared intently at her. “Anyone else you think might be interested in following your every move?”
“Oh, Christ, that fuck!” She stared furiously at it.
“He likely knows you’re here by now.”
“Yeah, well, so what? He won’t be tracking me anymore.”
“He might try to get you out.”
Poison laughed. “You’re kidding right? Why would he do that?”
Miller leaned forward. “Because he’s obsessed with you. Maybe he thinks it’s love. But it’s obsession for sure.”
Savas nodded. “And that makes me wonder just what we’re going to do with you.”
Poison shook her head. “You really think he’ll come after me?”
Savas smiled for the first time. “I’m counting on it.”
35
A deep voice chanted in the darkness beside the candle flames.
“God of power and mercy, maker and lover of peace, to know you is to live, and to serve you is to reign.”
Houston observed the flickering light from a distance, giving Lopez space as he dressed. Body armor under vestments, belts and holsters for guns, magazines, knives, and grenades. All the while he chanted. She would never understand. He reached out to a God who had rejected him. He sang the song of a priest when the Church had cast him out. It was his way.
“Through the intercession of St. Michael, the archangel, be our protection in battle against all evil.”
Michael. The older Lopez brother. The man whose death had brought her together with Francisco. The man whose life had upturned theirs and so many others. The man whose actions had created a monster of terrible vengeance that had burned like acid through the Central Intelligence Agency. The wraith. A killer whose life ended before the barrel of the man before her.
Michael. An archangel. Like his brother, Gabriel.
“May our cause be just. May we have clear vision. May our courage not falter. May our efforts bring lasting peace. Should we perish in the struggle, may God embrace us and find for us a place in His Kingdom. Amen.”
Crossing himself in front of an icon of St. George slaying the dragon, he blew out the votives and turned toward her, his black cassock a flowing shroud over layers of death. She waited as he approached, a shadow herself in dark camouflage, an energy anticipating the coming violence burning within her.
Lopez spoke softly, staring into her eyes, black to blue. “Everything will depend on removing the sentries on the roof. Those snipers will pick us off if we try to enter. We’ll have to be fast and accurate. The diversion will buy us only moments.”
She smiled beneath the covering of the mask. “Amen.”
Lopez frowned. “Let’s hope our recon remains accurate, that they don’t change anything.”
“Lord hear our prayer.”
He watched her silently for a moment and then pulled down the fabric of the mask covering her mouth. He kissed her, lingering until they pulled away for breath.
“In case it’s the last kiss,” he said. “I want to make it count.”
She reached her hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. “Every mission you do that. And every time I want you to. Because one day, we won’t come back, Francisco.”